Tell Me It’s Not True

Georgina and her sister Fran inspected the Victorian mansion they’d bought sight unseen. It had history, it had gorgeous architecture, and it had dust. Georgina was covered from head to toe whereas Fran remained annoyingly dust free.

In the first bedroom, Fran examined leather-bound books on sagging shelves, while Georgina scrutinized the faded curtains hanging from the ornate Edwardian bed. A skittering sound startled her, and she peered behind the headboard to find tattered cobwebs filled with the husks of long-dead spiders and their prey. The breath caught in her throat as translucent legs wriggled free of the dried carcasses and bulbous bodies sprung free. The wraiths of a hundred spiders swarmed over the headboard.

“Fran! Tell me it isn’t true,” she begged.

Setting aside the musty first edition copy of Tess of d’Ubervilles, Fran observed the surge of spectral spiders. “Should I fetch a priest?”

“Goodness, no. An exorcism would expel all of the ghosts. The elderly cook, the gentleman in the parlor, and your friend there,” Georgina gestured to the apparition behind her sister.

Fran cocked her head. “No one will sleep in the bed otherwise .”

A yowl from atop the chifforobe interrupted Georgiana’s objection. She looked up in time for the specter of a gray tabby to drop a ghost rat. It landed on her shoulder and scampered down her arm before launching itself under the bed.

“Get the priest!” she screeched.

“It was your idea to use a haunted house for a BnB,” Fran muttered.   

Photo by Photoholgic