Gianfranco Mancini’s Reviews > The Ghost of Old Coal House > Status Update

He hurried to the door that led into the next room, and then he hesitated for a moment. “I can just imagine the excitement of our readers,” he added. “I'm sure that The Haunting of Old Coal House will thrill and delight!”

A moment later, the beating began. I heard the crack of the rope against my sister's skin, and I heard her faint, stifled gasps of pain. Finally, unable to bear such awful sounds, I turned and hurried from the house.

“Arthur, I see someone! Sitting there!” As I raised the candle, I opened my mouth to tell her that she must be imagining things. And that is when I realized that I could see a shape at the far end of the attic, and that it was the shape of a woman. She was sitting on a chair beneath a crack in the ceiling, and snow was drifting down onto her face as she stared directly at us.

“Come, Arthur. Let us see what caused those floorboards to move. Do you really believe it was just the storm?” She began to make her way upstairs, quickly disappearing into the darkness at the top, and I realized I had no option but to follow and prove her wrong.

“Elizabeth -” “He drinks because there is a ghost in the house, haunting him,” she added. “Is that the case?” “He is a drunk,” I told her. “He probably believes all sorts of things that any sane, sober person would dismiss as foolish fantasy.” “And you yourself have noticed nothing amiss since you arrived here tonight?”

“To think that she ingested so much,” he continued, his voice filled with sorrow as he examined the scar more closely. “It must have burned through her from the inside. Indeed, when you see her, you will notice that there is a dark, burned patch on the front of the poor white dress she wears.” He puts his hands down onto his belly. “Right here,” he explained. “The poison burned out of her body.”

“You must go,” David said suddenly, from the other side of the door. “Please, Arthur, I'm so sorry, but I can't explain. You won't be able to talk to her, not while she's like this. Try to find somewhere warm, and perhaps in the morning she will have calmed down.” “Somewhere warm?” I replied. “It's almost nine o'clock in the evening on Christmas Eve. Where exactly do you think I should spend the night?”

Before he was able to finish, a floorboard creaked above us. I looked up at the ceiling, but now the house had fallen silent. “I live alone,” Mr. Ward said. “Supposedly.” I turned to him again, and I did not quite know how to respond.

“What's wrong, man?” he continued. “You're not afraid, are you?” “Why would I be afraid?” I asked, although I must admit that I was trying to think of an excuse to leave. “Then come inside,” he said, taking another step back. “You must have traveled a long way, and it would be rude of me to not answer all your questions. Please, I insist... Welcome to Old Coal House!”

“Or is that what you want?” she snapped. “For there to be nothing else waiting for us after death... is that how you see things? We live one life, one existence, in this unfair world where misery and suffering lurk around every corner, and then at the end of it all our lights are simply snuffed out. Our souls are not souls at all, but mere flashes of light in a void of nothingness.”