The Ghost Diaries: Episode I
An original comedy horror serial
A ghost’s afterlife is turned upside down when an obnoxious family moves into his haunted house. Their presence quickly brings his worst nightmare to life — people who refused to be scared of ghosts.
The Ghost Diaries is a comedy horror serial told through diary entries. It is set in Deer Falls — the same Colorado town featured in my stories Snow Dragon, Pandora Reborn, and The Crimson Reaper. This first episode is free to all Strange New Worlds subscribers. The entire eight-episode serial will be available exclusively to paid subscribers of Strange New Worlds and paid subscribers of my Patreon page.
I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII
May 11 —
A moving truck unexpectedly parked outside my house this morning. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I've grown used to enjoying a quiet house to myself — free to do whatever I want when I want.
Then again, solitude is also a quiet rural highway to boredom and loneliness.
Maybe that's why so much time has passed since my last entry. Days blend into weeks and time soon loses all meaning once you've shuffled off this mortal coil.
I'd love to pretend I've been too busy with being the life of the afterlife to keep up with writing this diary. Haunting far-flung places. Hanging out with other ghosts. Truth be told, I’ve written nothing because I’ve done nothing particularly exciting since the old man left.
Charles provided enough entertainment value to keep any ghost worth their salt happy. We hit it off well from day one. I adored his patented deer-in-the headlights expression whenever I rattled the pipes or broke dishes. His eyes bulged out and his lower lip trembled any time I messed with the wind chimes and whispered dark chants in his ears.
Good times. Better memories.
Charles left here almost a year ago. Our last evening together still lingers fresh in my mind as though it only happened earlier this week. Feeling a little bored, I concocted a game involving both of us. I followed Charles into the study and watched him settle into his favorite leather chair with a book. He spent at least a couple of hours during a typical evening combing through one of the books lining the giant oak bookshelf.
With a wide grin plastered on my face, I snatched Emma’s portrait off the wall and floated throughout the room with it nestled in my arms. All the while, I spoke to Charles. My imitation of his late wife’s voice was flawless.
Nothing tickled my funny bone as well as watching him drop an open copy of A Tale of Two Cities on the wood plank floor, unleash a terrified scream, and clutch at his chest with one wrinkled hand. I laughed my head off as I departed from the study.
Ah … the best of times.
Charles didn’t see eye to eye with me concerning my good-natured pranks. When I returned later, I found him staring through a sunlit window with an intense frown. Upon sensing my presence in the study, he wheeled around and jabbed his index finger right at me.
“You did this to me!”
I shrugged.
“Hate the game, not the player. I’m good at what I do. I scared you half to death.”
Charles’ scowl deepened.
“There’s nothing halfway about what you did.” He turned away and faced the window again. “Cut down in my golden years by your tomfoolery.”
I noted how his skin now bore a pale translucence mirroring mine. Poor old man kicked the proverbial bucket. Any ghost would be jealous of my haunting skills. They should be jealous. I excel at what I do.
“The good news is I can give you a crash course on haunting,” I said. “I know a place on the other end of town where —”
“Not a chance.” Charles said, cutting me off. “I plan to reunite with Emma after my funeral. Spending eternity rattling around in this place is not on my wish list.”
True to his word, Charles left my presence and never returned to the house. Random relatives stopped by and claimed his possessions in the weeks that followed.
Whatever. His loss.
I studied the moving truck from the upstairs bedroom window. A man with a thick blond mustache and pot belly exited from the truck. He walked around to the back just as a minivan turned up into the driveway and stopped a few yards behind the first vehicle. Four people piled out of the minivan. A rotund woman and three children.
Cool. A new family to haunt.
New pranks to try out on the kids are already percolating in my mind. I feel excited thinking about the possibilities. This is exactly what I need. A little haunting is always good for the soul.
I walked away once they started unloading boxes and furniture. Might as well let them settle in before I get down to business.
May 12 —
I found an unpleasant surprise in my living room an hour before dawn. Muddy paw prints. Tattooed all over the carpet and an area rug. One set of prints belonged to a large dog. Three other sets were of the feline variety.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I hate pets.
Every cat and dog under the sun used to make me sneeze back when I still sneezed. Days filled with itchy eyes and a stuffed-up nose were quite unbearable. I don’t want pets living in my house! Can you imagine loose hair and dander coating everything?
Yuck.
And don’t get me started on the smell.
The worst part is no one bothered to scrub out the mud tracked through the living room. They all just left it there to dry and form stains in the carpet.
What a bunch of lazy pigs!
I should have paid better attention yesterday when this new family first arrived. I failed to notice their pets bounding out of either the moving truck or the minivan. Once I found muddy tracks, I scoured inside and outside the house to see if those stupid animals did anything else.
My worst fears were confirmed when I laid eyes on a flower bed bordering the front porch. Every rising bud had been trampled into the dirt. That’s likely where the mud came from. My prized flowers are now a shell of their former glory.
This family is already aching to be scared out of their minds and lose their sanity. I’m going to teach them and their pets a lesson. When I finish, I fully expect these oafs will sprint to their minivan and flee back to their former residence without delay.
May 14 —
Two days of pure frustration. I’ve got a real problem here without an easy solution. None of my scare tactics worked well on either the three cats or the dog.
I targeted the dog first. Spent a few hours trying to rile up the mutt while shadowing it two days ago.
Dragged the dog’s food bowl across the floor while it tried to munch on some kibble. No hysterical barking while running out of the kitchen like I hoped. No, the dog reached out and slapped a front paw against the tile twice as though silently ordering the bowl to stay motionless. A clueless scowl was nestled amid ugly low-hanging jowls.
(The dog is a boxer, I think. Can’t tell for certain. I don’t claim to be an expert on dog breeds. Just going off what I overheard one of the children say. All dogs resemble a bunch of dirty carbon copied mutts to me.)
Anyway, I messed with the water bowl next. Floated the bowl high above the floor, spun it in perfect circles, and dumped every drop on the dog’s head when it craned its neck upward. Still didn’t get a worthwhile reaction.
The dumb ol’ boxer simply shook its body vigorously, spraying water droplets across the linoleum. Then it turned away and promptly bounded out of the kitchen. I slapped my forehead and let out an annoyed sigh before following the mutt.
Other attempts to rile up the dog fell flat throughout the afternoon. My chosen target simply ignored me and chose to nap on a long living room sofa, leaving a dusty brown imprint on the white fabric.
I finally relented and refocused my attention on terrifying the three cats yesterday. One thing I’ve observed is a typical cat becomes skittish upon hearing all sorts of random normal sounds. They will stare wide-eyed, hiss at the source of the noise and then run off somewhere to find a safe space to hide.
These cats don’t follow the feline rule book I expected them to follow. Where’s the hissing? Growling? Panicked meows? They seemed more intent on sunbathing near a bay window than reacting like they’re supposed to react. The same way normal cats react.
So frustrating.
I belted out menacing meows at one large orange striped cat. A toothy yawn and a stretch greeted me. The cat turned around and settled back on its window perch, forming an unmoving fur loaf. Those other two furballs were not much better. They did little more than acknowledge my antics with a brief head turn before ignoring me again. No arched back nor puffed out tail anywhere in sight.
Have I lost my touch?
I hope not.
A ghost who fails at haunting is like a singer who permanently loses their voice. They no longer have a purpose for their existence.
Maybe I’ll get better results if I turn my full attention toward the people occupying my house. I suppose if I trot out a handful of my usual scare tactics, it should be more than enough to do the trick. Seeing them all run for the hills, while uttering frantic prayers to their invisible god for deliverance, will warm my heart.
To be continued …
Enjoying The Ghost Diaries? Don’t forget to check out the three stories that comprise the Deer Falls horror series.
Delightful!
You might like this podcast on my thoughts on ghosts:
https://open.substack.com/pub/soberchristiangentlemanpodcast/p/listener-question-the-ghost-spirit?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=31s3eo