Chapter 4: The Ghost’s Revenge

Before I could finish, the housekeeper’s ruler swept through my head and struck her hand.

"A young lady must act like a young lady. What kind of household are the Montgomerys? How can you eat food given in contempt? Just a piece of jerky and you’ve shamed the family—so low and base, you deserve punishment."

The jerky fell to the ground, picking up dirt.

The young maid and the driver stepped on it, standing with hands on hips beside the housekeeper, sneering:

"With this attitude, she’s not even as good as the garden shrubs, yet she calls herself a lady."

"If not for needing her for a business deal, who’d want her? The Montgomerys went to see her five years ago, found her awkward and unpresentable, so they didn’t take her."

"She acts like a lady, but doesn’t see where she comes from. An orphan raised cleaning bathrooms, always stinking of bleach."

Natalie clenched her sleeves, head bowed in shame, not daring to look up.

The three grew more and more pleased, their words growing sharper, all mockery and scorn.

The housekeeper’s ruler kept coming down with rules, while the driver and young maid laughed gloatingly—so noisy.

Their voices echoed across the empty field, the kind of sound that lingers on a cold fall morning. If there’d been a single neighbor or farmhand close enough, maybe someone would’ve stepped in. But in small-town America, cruelty like this often goes unseen, tucked away in the cracks between prosperity.

Natalie’s shoulders curled in, the weight of their words pressing her into the dirt. For a second, nobody said a thing—the world just spun on, uncaring.

I thought again of those days of fighting.

"Have you ever seen a human swing?"

Tearful Natalie froze.

"Today, you’ll see it."

I stuck out my long tongue, wrapped the housekeeper up into the maple tree. The maple’s branches groaned, old wood straining as if it remembered every secret buried beneath its roots. The forked branches clamped her neck, and I blew a cold breath. She began to swing.

"Want it to go faster?"

Natalie was dumbfounded.

The housekeeper was nearly strangled.

The driver and young maid rushed over to help.

I gave a chilling laugh:

"Want to see a merry-go-round?"

The driver and young maid were swept up into the branches, spinning wildly.

They screamed hysterically, filth flying everywhere.

In their cries for their parents, their eyes rolled back white.

The little girl, frightened at first, then laughed.

After a few minutes, the three lay unconscious on the ground.

"All soiled themselves—who’s more glamorous now?"

Natalie and I feasted on the jerky.

In the odd hush that followed, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, like she’d done in the foster homes that never truly felt like home. She turned toward me, her voice steady but eyes brimming with resolve.

"What’s your name? When I get back to the city and save up, I’ll help you move on."

She couldn’t touch my name.

Besides, I couldn’t move on anyway.

"Those struck by the Iron Cross Pendant—don’t waste your effort. Besides…"

I didn’t say: besides, I was about to fade away.

"Just say they were strangled by a ghost. Looking like this, even they would only dare say they saw a ghost in broad daylight."

I swung back up the tree.

"Live well. After all, what I want most is to live."

Live, so those jerks get what’s coming to them.

She paused.

"You like the smell of meat? Next time I come, I’ll bring you Popeyes. Extra crispy."

She promised with conviction to bring me fried chicken next time, but once she left, it was half a year.

Sometimes the best intentions get lost in the shuffle of daily survival. Maybe she thought of me each time she passed a KFC or a faded picnic table. Maybe not.