More Harry Hogan stories!
Harry could tell that the young man sitting across from his desk was uncomfortable, and he was pretty sure there was something on his mind that he was hesitant to talk about. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Whitley?”
“I have a problem, Mr. Hogan, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s embarrassing, because I don’t believe in ghosts, and yet… I’ve come to the conclusion that my apartment is haunted. I know it isn’t rational but I can’t think of any explanation.”
“Sounds familiar. Tell me about it.”
Whitley sighed. “I got a terrific deal on the place and that should have been enough to make me suspicious. The view isn’t great, but it came with a fabulous attic space that was perfect for an art studio and I jumped at it without thinking.”
“Can’t blame a man for that. Continue.”
“About a week after I moved in, a neighbour asked if I had seen the ghost yet. I asked what he meant, and he said the previous tenant was convinced that she had a ghost. My neighbour seemed to think I might have inherited the ghost… or some such thing.”
Harry frowned. “I’ve heard a lot of ghost stories but I’ve never heard of someone inheriting one, unless it was a family thing.”
“I don’t know much about these things, but that seemed strange to me too.”
“Have you seen or heard anything unusual, to make you think you have a ghost?”
“Up to that point I hadn’t, but that information got me thinking. If there was anything unusual about the place, shouldn’t I have been told before signing the lease?”
“An unproven ghost story? Probably not,” Harry said. “Such stories might keep some tenants away.”
“I suppose, but what if it was more than that?”
“You don’t believe in ghosts, remember? There’s a logical explanation behind this.”
“I get the point,” Whitley said, laughing. “Anyway, that neighbour said I should talk to you. He said if there’s an explanation for my – ghost – you can find it.”
“Perhaps.” Shaking his head slowly, Harry got up and poured two mugs of coffee, handing one to Whitley. “Cream or sugar?” Whitley shook his head.
“Now,” Harry said, as he resumed his seat. “Tell me exactly what you’ve seen or heard. I need something to start with.”
“Well, sometimes I hear a kind of soft thud, like something hitting the floor inside the wall.”
“Can you think of any explanation for it?”
“Only that I probably woke up from a dream, and thought I heard something. Or that it could be a mouse – though I really hope not. I don’t have time to deal with rodents.”
“Have you seen anything?”
“I’m not quite sure about that. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye – or I think I do – but, when I turn my head, nothing’s there. Probably just my imagination… but it feels real enough to give me cold shivers.”
