Turpitude

Once I knew my potential as a spirit, I haunted every house he tried to sell. I slammed doors, broke windows and passed through the bodies of his clients. The business was ready for filing bankruptcy when I appeared to Dunston in his mirror one morning. Based on his reactions I would show up wherever he went. I tormented him in his sleep. He was beginning to look thin and wane, his clothes hung on him and he stopped shaving. His hands would tremble and he didn't dare to look down into his coffee cup because he may see me there.

I had him almost where I wanted him, but I doubted he would confess to the crime. I needed to expose him. While he slept I planted the thought in his head that his finger prints may still be at the crime scene and that he should go back to check.

Then I went into Detective Webster's dreams beckoning her to go back to the crime scene. I told her all would be revealed.

I rode along side Dunston as he drove back to the house. I stayed quiet and stared straight ahead seeing Dunston shivering and knowing I was there but pretending he didn't see me. I vanished as he turned into the driveway. I would meet him in the house.

Pulling up to the front of the house he paused and got out, opened the trunk and pulled out a bag. Walking up to the porch he hesitated as he reached for the front door knob so I opened the door for him. He walked inside mopping his forehead with a handkerchief staring up at the landing above, his eyes focused on the door to the room where I died.

'Come on you jerk,' I said to myself. I didn't want the Detective to arrive too early. The timing had to be perfect.

He finally started up the staircase stepping over the hole where my foot had gone through and where I lost my damn boot. Taking a deep breath he entered the room. I had lit the candles and placed his cell phone in the center of the inverted pentagram. He padded his inside jacket pocket realizing the phone was gone, he never felt me as I slipped it out while he was gathering cleaning supplies to get rid of his fingerprints.

Dunston reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of spray cleaner and some paper towels, he wet the towels and started to wipe the edges of the mirror.

"Make sure you do a thorough job this time." I said to him from the reflection.

"You bitch." He said as he stared back at me. "What do you want? Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Stupid boy, I want my revenge." I could hear the sound of someone else in the house climbing the staircase quietly. Dunston didn't hear anything as he was focused on me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He lied.

"Even as you face the end you're still a weasel." I said. "I'll just have to keep haunting you the rest of your days, I can do it. I have lots of time on my hands."

"I'm not afraid of you." He said smugly.

"No? You look like shit warmed over." I said as I allowed him to see his own gaunt reflection in the mirror. "You're the walking dead. You sold your soul remember?"

"Fuck you!" he spat.

"You tried that too. Didn't get very far, did you?" I said.

"I would have if it wasn't for that bitch demon." He sneered.

"God you're pathetic. You summoned a demon and sold your soul to get my business. Wouldn't it have been easier to just kill me yourself?"

"I needed the power and a way to do it so I wouldn't get caught. It was worth it, all of it." He said.

"Was it really, you gutless wonder?" I knew the Detective was standing outside the door listening. "What did you do call 666-DEMON? Surf the web?"

"I didn't need to I've been a student of the dark arts for years, it was just a matter of timing and summoning the right demon. Not that you would believe me but I never meant for you to die like that." He said.

"Aw, my heart's breaking. Tell me something; do I have things set up right? I've got the mirror, the candles, the symbol and something of yours. I want to make sure I get it all right." I said.

He started to laugh. "You think you can call up a demon? You're dead or don't you recall? I only wish that I was awake at the time to see her do it."

"Hang on I'll show it to you." I brought up the image of my final moments into the mirror so he could see what had transpired. Detective Webster was now inside the room and watching with disbelief as my death played out before her.

Dunston stood there slack jawed as he saw himself being thrown against the wall and winced as he recalled the pain. He grinned during my assault and last breathing moments. I wanted to strangle him right then and there.

"So admit it Harry Potter, you murdered me didn't you?" I taunted.

"Yes, I did. I killed you through my dark powers. I summoned one of the vilest demons from Hell and got what I wanted...and you. You lost your soul and your life and here I am still alive and with all that you've worked for in my possession. It was so easy to set you up, just a matter of timing." He said.

"Just a matter of timing." I said back as he spun around when he heard the clicking of Detective Webster's gun being set into the firing position.

"Freeze Dunston." Said the detective coolly. "I saw it and heard it all. You're going away for the rest of your life."

Webster got on her phone and called for a unit to come and get Dunston. He admitted to the crime and was going to jail.

As the investigators returned to re-evaluate the crime scene I stood next to Detective Webster as she leaned against her car and smoked a cigarette, the first one she had since she quit 5 years ago.

"Detective Webster?" I whispered. "Don't be alarmed, you're not crazy I'm a spirit."

Her eyes grew wide as she stared through me trying to focus on my fading form. "I noticed that from inside the room." She said. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for setting me free. I can move on now since my death has been exacted. I can finally be at peace." I said.

"I'm sorry we had to meet this way, so to speak. I just wish he were getting more than a prison sentence. That bastard deserves to fry for what happened to you." She said.

"Not to worry Detective. He'll get what's coming to him, I promise."

Richard Dunston sat curled up on the cold floor in the corner of his solitary cell weeping into his hands. Across from him on his cot was a black shape chuckling softly. It knew Dunston was sore and humiliated from his nightly buggering. His tattered clothes were gathered loosely around him and scratches still showed on his face. The guards stopped listening to his screams seeing that there was no sign of anyone in the room with him. Not that anyone could be, he was the only prisoner in that part of solitary, and the next closest prisoner was a cellblock away.

Richard Dunston knew that praying for death would be worse than being alive. Richard Dunston had no one to pray to, he had sold his soul and would be damned forever. Poor Dick.