Haunted Interview

Francis slammed the plates down on the wood table. "Would you knock it off?" she demanded. There was a moment of silence before the cupboards began opening and closing, creating a mild racket. Francis stormed into the kitchen. "I said knock it off!" The cupboard closed with a resounding bang. With a huff, Francis grabbed the cutlery from the drawer and walked out of the kitchen once more. A cupboard opened and closed in open defiance of her order. She braced herself, but no more noise came from the kitchen.

"Just one quiet night," she pleaded the invisible entity that haunted her.

At first, she had thought it had just been a series of unpleasant dreams. But then the noises had started coming in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Cupboards slamming, doors being opened, windows being closed, books being moved, lights turning on or off at random moments. She wondered if she was just being absentminded or lonely. She began researching similar incidents. Perhaps it was really only a strange pest that had taken up residence in her home. She had hoped a simple mouse trap or bug spray might solve the problem.

The more she researched it, the more she became certain the only solution was an exorcist of sorts. She wasn't crazy enough to call for one. What would her friends think if they knew she'd asked someone to come get rid of a ghost for her?

They hadn't started right away, of course. The first few months had been blissfully quiet in her tiny apartment. She'd finally pinpointed the noises to the same day she had bought a vase from a garage sale. The websites had said to get rid of the object, but to Francis's horror, the vase wouldn't budge. Still, she refused to call for any help. Whatever it was, it hadn't harmed her.

The lights in the dining room flickered off. "Do you mind?" she said with a sigh of temporary defeat. "Please, just one night. That's all I want." After a moment, the lights flickered back on. "Thank you."

Maybe she was crazy.

The doorbell rang. Francis hurriedly set out the last few forks and knives and smoothed her shirt down as she made her way to the door. She reached out for the door knob only to find it already turning. Her rent-free roommate had decided to answer the door for her, it seemed. She smiled as brightly as she could. "Come in, come in."

Instantly, Francis felt as if she'd underdressed. Graham Markum had dressed in a expensive suit. The short-sleeved blouse she had selected felt drab, even if it was made of silk. "Perfect," she muttered as Graham walked right into her one-bedroom apartment. He looked left, then right, and turned back to her.

"Nice place," he said simply, as if she was to be blamed for the simple way it was built, instead of her shabby part-time paycheck.

"Nice suit," she answered under her breath. Graham Markum was a snob, but he was her prospective boss. He prided himself on hiring only the best designers for his business, one of the most successful architect businesses in the country. At least once she was hired, if she was hired, she would have little more contact with the man.

She spied the mirror along the hallway starting to rock back and forth by an unseen hand. Graham's head started to turn. "The dining room is this way," Francis shouted, louder than she had wanted to, and gestured to the table. "Don't you ruin this for me," she hissed towards the mirror.

"Who are you talking to?" Graham demanded.

"Nobody, sir." She pulled out a chair. Perhaps if she could get him in and out he would eat and offer her the job before the ghost, or whatever it was, ruined the only chance she had. She could only hope. The plan was simple, wine and dine him, then wow him with her portfolio. She'd even gone so far as begging Michael to cook up his infamous lamb and cherry glaze for the occasion and spent $60 on a bottle of wine, the rest of her last paycheck. The meal passed quickly and quietly. Francis spent most of the meal rattling off the facts she'd memorized about Graham Markum and Markum Architects.

Finally, it was her time to really shine. Graham refilled his wine glass and followed her into the living room. Her portfolio was spread out, arranged to look impressive at a first glance but the true impression would have to come from her presentation of it all. She looked at the vase, as if searching for some clue that her haunter's presence might stay missing for a little while longer. She moved through her portfolio quickly, explaining the details of each piece. Graham's wine-soaked breath breathed against her neck as he studied each piece.

"Beautiful," he said, finishing the last bit of wine in his glass. Francis smiled brilliantly, just before Graham's hand fell to her thigh.

"You've got to be kidding me," she shrieked, pushing his hand away.

And abruptly the framed picture of some beach fell from its spot over the sofa and landed right on Graham Markum's head. Francis burst out with laughter as the man pushed it away. He didn't find it so funny. Before Francis could stand up and get away, her half-filled wine glass crashed over his head. Francis watched in shock and delight as his empty wine glass hit his head three times before smashing.

"What-" Graham shouted, jumping to his feet. The picture that had fallen on him rose once more and crashed once more. The glass from the frame tinkled to the ground. Graham left no time for explanation. He ran for the door, followed by flying tidbits of the leftover dinner and ice cubes from the bucket that had held the wine.

"Well," Francis huffed, crossing her arms as the door slammed behind Graham Markum's flashy suit. The presence that had tormented her for months was silent, waiting for her reproach. "Just don't do that when I have friends over," she finally said, and went to find a broom.