Slight Poltergeist Problems

Webster's Dictionary defines a poltergeist as a ghost supposed to cause strange noises and activities. What then separates a poltergeist from your old Uncle Marv who does the same thing, you ask? Well, poltergeists tend to stay near a particular object, such as a house or a Victorian painting. Your uncle never leaves his easy chair, you say? Well, poltergeists were once living people, you see. Old Marv says that his life ended when you cut off the cable TV? Okay, I guess, I can't tell you the difference between a poltergeist and your uncle, but, I promise that there is one. Read on and perhaps you will find the answer for yourself.

Lord Alvin Regis Baxter Devllan was the world's only poltergeist collector. He kept them in bottles lining his study walls 12 deep. If you looked closely at what was inside you would be disappointed with what you saw there. Some contained tarnished silverware. Others had large books bound in dark leather inside. One even contained a pair of lacy women's underwear- Lord Devllan kept that one on his mantle beside a set of teak daggers.

"The bottles", he would say in his stuffy English accent, "are harder to find than the ghosts! Can you imagine what it was like trying to find a bottle that a stuffed and mounted pacific tuna would fit into? Quite hard, I can tell you...." Then he would trail off into a nasal wheeze that was what passed for laughter for him, and his listener would smile and nod while silently promising themselves not to say anything humorous for the rest of the visit.

Each of the mundane bottled objects in Alvin's study contain a poltergeist, you see. He had been collecting them since he was a young man.

There are lots of ghosts in Britain because the wet climate and terrible cooking have been killing people for generations. Any good pub has it's own resident ghost which does amusing things like hurl beer mugs through the front window or set the stairs on fire. The patrons always roar in approval at such antics as it is good fun. The poor ghost returns to the wine cellar, depressed, and sulks until it's next for another bout of frustration.

Devllan's poltergeists had been purchased one by one at auctions and garage sales where desperate owners were more than glad to part with them. Into the appropriate sized bottle they would go, and join the others on the creaking shelves to stare out at Alvin's rather drear life.

The highlight of the spirits' day was when the butler came into the study to dust the furniture. It was always interesting to watch him waltz unsteadily about the room with the coat rack after nipping one too many drinks from the brandy sitting on his master's desk. But, even that wore thin after a decade or two.

Much of the time, the ghosts lay in a deep slumber, dreaming of happier times. They might fondly remember levitating the Peterson's baby across the nursery back in '63, or the time that priest had hurtled a hedge and ran all the way back to the abbey after they dropped a suit of armor behind him during an exorcism. Mostly though, they dreamed of once again being free to do as they would.

Lord Alvin Regis Baxter Devllan was an old man in 1980. Now it was 2006 and the situation hadn't improved. He sat in his armchair before a crackling fire, sipping a snifter of fine brandy, and looking at the rows upon rows of bottles rising into the shadows around him.

"Oh, bloody Hell", he wheezed, referring to his long, boring life as a useless, rich man.

Snorting loudly, he threw his glass of brandy towards the fire. His plan was for it to land in the flames and make them flair up dramatically, then he would go off to bed like some character from a story about a rich old man who collects poltergeists in bottles.

Unfortunately, the glass missed completely.

It struck the edge of one of the towering shelves with a small clunk. The ancient wood quivered minutely from the impact. Silence reigned for a long second. Then they collapsed.

"Blast", Alvin said as the avalanche of bottles crashed atop him with a roar. The worlds only poltergeist collector was also the last.

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"No sir, you are hearing me correctly", the tired real estate agent said into the phone. "The price of Devllan Manor is indeed 12 cents. Pardon, sir? Why? Well...there are some that feel that it is haunted..."