Go... It’s Time

Suzanne Fittles only had to glare at her new house to get shivers down her spine. Her parents, Joseph and Holly Fittles, had bought an old house in a small town called “Spookerson” (as if that wasn’t suspicious enough). The ancient mansion was miles away from any neighbours, with a large foreboding forest encircling the house that trapped the homeowners by who-knew-what was lurking in the woods. Suzanne was looking at those autumn-coloured trees while the Fittle family drove to their new home.

The house seemed to be many feet high. There were boarded-up windows, falling bricks, a grimy exterior and vines of ivy choking the house. There were even large claw-marks at the side of the manor. The inside seemed less abandoned than the outside, even with its dust and cobwebs. Suzanne noticed a large red splotch on the kitchen floor. Her mother said it was ketchup when asked, however Suzanne had a feeling it was blood.

Suzanne questioned her parents the day they moved in why they bought the house. Her father, with his business suit and cell phone to his ear, shooed her away. Her mother, styling her hair while not ruining her Versace blouse, told her 7-year-old daughter that they couldn’t refuse the wonderful price.

That night Suzanne slept in her new bedroom, all dark except for the small streaks of moonlight seeping into the boarded window. The little girl laid her long brown hair on her pillow, her big brown eyes staring at the closet on the other side of the room. She had always had a fear of scary things, and every squeak and crack in the house made her shudder. But what made her yelp was the faint whispering and breathing behind the closet.

“Go,” the whispering said. “It’s time...”

She tried to convince herself she was imagining it, and tried to ignore the voice. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessful at this; she couldn’t sleep the whole night.

The next night she tried to relax herself, but the whispered callings from the closet reached out to her like a long, frail hand. She screamed and ran out of the room to her mother.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she cried. “There’s a ghost in my closet!”

“Darling, no ghost is in your closet,” stated her mother. “Go to bed.”

“Can’t you scare it away for me?”

“Cutie, my nails aren’t going to paint themselves!” she said. “Go to bed, sugar.”

She left her mother and went to go see her father.

“Daddy! There’s a ghost in my - ”

“Suzanne, I’m on the phone!” interrupted her father. Suzanne shuffled back to bed, frightened of what was awaiting her.

She tried to sleep the next night, but the wailing behind the closet continued. Suddenly, she had an idea: why didn’t she make noise to scare the ghost away? She started to bang on her bed vigorously and consistently. She thought she was scaring the ghost away, until -

“Suzanne!” shouted her father as he barged into the room. “I’m taking a business call! Be quiet!”

Suzanne sighed as her father slammed the door shut. What else could Suzanne do? Was there some kind of exorcist chant to scare ghosts away?

“That’s it!” she said to herself softly. “I’ll do a chant!”

Right after breakfast the following day, Suzanne went on her computer to find a ghost-scaring chant on the Internet. She found one she liked and printed it out. Once it was dark, she started to chant. She waved her arms around and gently hummed.

“Hoo... hum... Hoo... hum... Leave, ghost... hum... Leave from the closet, you bad ghost... hum...”

She stopped and listened closely, wondering if her chant had worked. She could only hear the wind outside and the house creaking. Then -

“Go!” shouted a voice from the closet.

She screamed and jumped back in bed, curling up like a ball and shivering. She would have to figure out another way to make it leave.

She thought a lot the following day, but by night time she got the courage to meet the ghost face-to-face. With her baseball bat in hand, she walked to the closet, hearing all the while, “Go... It’s time...”. With a deep breath, she opened the closet.

There in front of her were three white forms, sitting in a circle and holding cards in their pale hands.

“Go!” said one ghost to another. “It’s time for your turn!”

“AAHH!” Suzanne shrieked at the top of her lungs. The three ghosts stared at her.

“Who are you?” said the largest one. Suzanne noticed that it was a family of ghosts: a father, a mother, and a little son. They were all playing cards.

“I - I’m Suzanne...”

“You must be one of the new owners,” said the mother ghost. “I’m sorry, dear, did we bother you?”

“Kind of...” said Suzanne.

“We apologize,” said the father ghost.

“Do you want to play Go Fish with us?” asked the child.

“It’s okay, I have to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Suzanne,” said the mother.

Suzanne closed the closet, and with a long inhaled breath Suzanne relaxed and went to bed. The ghosts weren’t s bad as she thought they were.

A few nights later, her parents talked about the absurd behaviour Suzanne was showing as they walked to their bedroom.

“I do not understand where our sweetie-bear gets these ideas of ghosts,” said her mother.

“Neither do I. And why does she have to interrupt my work with her screams and ghost fits?”

“Where does she think there’s a ghost anyway? I mean the house is lovely - ”

“ - and spacious - ”

“ - so I don’t know why she’d ever think there’d be a gho - ”

“Go...”

Her parents immediately stopped in their tracks. “What was that?” questioned Holly.

“Probably the plumbing; it happens to these ancient - ”

“GO!”

Joseph and Holly Fittle shrieked and huddled close to each other. “Certainly,” her mother whispered, “there can’t be any ghosts.”

“It’s absurd!” Joseph added.

“Go... It’s time!!”

“AH!!” Her parents screamed and ran away, trying to escape the horror of the haunting spirit in their new mansion. They did not know that in the other room, Suzanne’s room, their daughter was sitting in her closet with the family of ghosts to play cards.

“Go... it’s time for your turn!” said the son ghost, named Billy, to Suzanne.

“Sorry,” she said, “it’s just that there’s someone screaming in the hallway. Is our family that disruptive?”

“Sometimes,” said Billy.

“Not that it’s my business... but I was curious... How did all of you die, anyway?” enquired the little girl.

“It’s a long story,” said the mother ghost, Lynne. “Let’s just say it has something to do with a schizophrenic butler, a thunderstorm and spilt ketchup.”

“You mean that stain in the ketchup is actually ketchup?”

“It sure is,” answered Charles, the father.

“I’m so glad I’ve gotten over my fear of ghosts,” said Suzanne to the ghost family. She had become friends with them, and had started playing cards with them every night. After searching through her fold of cards, she looked Charles. “Go, it’s time... time for your turn.”