Chapter 7 – Chap 7

I asked Lakota a bunch of questions. She was the most knowledgeable being I’ve ever met when it came to History and old witchcraft, but she didn’t know much about anything else – after all, the poor lady lived many centuries ago.

She explained to me that there were two types of resident ghost in the house, and then the third, Pandora, a unique type.

The first group were the ones like her; they were neutral observers tied to the land itself, so they could move around a little (pretty much only to the nearby properties). They couldn’t fight, but their very presence provided as much balance and protection as possible to the area.

And that’s why it didn’t have an evil atmosphere, and why supernatural intruders appeared once a week or so, instead of swarming my place every single minute.

This group was a vast minority; except for Lakota, there were only three others, and they were shamans too. I asked if I could meet them too, but she explained that they very rarely interacted with anyone but themselves, not even the other ghosts; I could try, but she was the spokesperson of the group.

The second group was there because of the “drain” – they died in resentment and hatred and became wandering lost souls; the house, that is the epicenter of the distortion caused by Lakota’s tribe leader, provided the only vibrational frequency that was comfortable to them.

Those ghosts – like Goofy Voice and Old Lady – were technically able to leave the house, but if they cross the limits of the property, they either have to be ready to go to the actual afterlife, or their spirits will be dissipated into energy and assimilated by the land.

Unlike the shamans, most of these ghosts don’t have a lot of mind clarity, and they don’t recall much of when they were alive; they mostly remember the circumstances of their deaths – most of them tragic, as you might have inferred – and the reason why they seek vengeance.

I asked if they were able to move on eventually.

“Over time, some ghosts have graduated from Sioux Manor, so to speak”, Lakota said. Pandora interrupted her to explain that this is how most of them call the house. “But most refuse to leave until they can have their vengeance, and most times it’s not even physically possible anymore. They’re all simply too lost and confused to realize they have a choice.”

“Have you done something to help them?” I asked. Lakota sighed.

“The other shamans and I are guardians to the land, not to its people; so we can only go so far as talk to them, hoping to pass down some wisdom that leads them to enlightenment little by little.”

I nodded.

“Now, regarding our Pandora here, it’s a special case, even among all the peculiar stuff I’ve seen in my long life here. She made a deal with one of the highest servants of Orcus while still alive, and the unique magnetic field of the house makes this contract pretty much indestructible. She willingly accepted the terms – driven by despair, of course, but a demon doesn’t care about that.”

“Trying to leave the limits of the farm, or sometimes even thinking about it, makes my skin burn”, Pandora explained, like it was no big deal. “It’s unbearable. I wish I could just be dissipated, you guys. Non-existence would be bliss to me.”

I felt sad about the idea of her not existing, but of course it would be so much more merciful to her than living this miserable half-life feeding on raw chicken and attacking monsters.

“I see that you’ve been secretly researching it, and of course I don’t know everything there is to know, even regarding witchcraft, but I know this much: there are only two ways to free Pandora, and she already knows them. But one is worse than her current situation, and the other is nearly infeasible”, Lakota explained.

I blushed. I didn’t want Pandora to know that I’ve been buying obscure e-books on the internet to try finding a ritual to free her from Orcus (and failing).

“Can I hear them anyway?”

Lakota then nodded and disclosed them; here’s what I learned from her long explanation: Pandora either had to ask Orcus to break this deal and have a different one, but he’d give her something even worse, or have someone take her place under very specific conditions.

***

A few nights after the Colonel Army’s raid, something very unpleasant started to happen: stupid teenagers learned of my haunted property, and daring their friends to trespass became a common trend.

Of course, one thing was harming invaders that came to hurt me or take my soul. But it would be both too cruel and too troublesome if my personal demon slashed some dumb 16-years-olds that meant no harm.

It was really fortunate that, while in town that day, I heard some kids talking about going to my property at night; that way, I could prepare Pandora to not kill them.

“There’s a fucking warning, Melinda. If they can’t comply with such a simple thing that is none of their business, they’re better off dead.”

“They’re not bad, just dickheads”, I replied; all these months living together really got me used to expressing myself like a thug. “Can’t you just scare them? I don’t know, just do the non-lethal things you’d do if I had overnight visitors? I agree we should teach them a lesson, but not too harsh.”

“These little shits are thrilled to experience a haunted house, right? Oh I’ll haunt them alright”, she smiled, then yelled. “Burnface! Tonight is the night you shine.”

Burnface materialized before me, and I retched.

I half-knew what to expect, because when we watched a Batman movie Pandora said “he looks like Burnface, but cuter” about Two-Face. Still, nothing could have prepared me for how horribly deformed his face was – and not only his face, every visible inch of his body was full of terrible burns and open scars; like he was made of pinkish lava after it hectically condensed… and he smelled horribly of charred skin and rotten flesh.

“Pardon me”, I managed, covering my mouth and nose.

“Go, but don’t run too wild”, Pandora ordered, and, from the smell, I knew that he had left. “I know you’re feeling super bad because you’re a pathetic cutie-pie, but he’s used to these reactions. He even grew to like them. Makes him feel powerful or whatever.”

Pathetic cutie-pie was one of the loveliest things she ever called me.

“I wish he went to the fucking light already”, I retorted, finally able to breathe properly again.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him. Burnface is having the time of his life. But now that you know how the ghosts work you might want to have a word or two with some others.”

Burnface was a total rock star, making the trespassing teens pee themselves – or worst – in fear, what I considered a fair manner to be taught a lesson and to think before they willingly put themselves into a potentially dangerous situation again.

But youth is a curse, and it’s contagious; finding the exact thrill that they had been looking for, the news spread like fire, and my house became a hotspot for all the biggest assholes between ages 14 and 17.

So, for the next month, there was a ruckus in my property almost every single night. I had to increase slightly the use of non-lethal force (like making them trip and fall face-first in cow shit), or else I’d be just running an amusement park attraction for free.

Never a dull moment in this accursed farm.

This seemed to be finally curbing their obsession with Sioux Manor, but one of these nights things almost ended tragically.