Quiet In the House

It was not unusual for Father Maplethorpe to be called to homes on a haunted lane, as people in town have come to call it. He had exercised spirits in every house on that street, except for one. The home of Mrs. Cromwell, the village witch.

Mrs. Cromwell, famously a no-nonsense type of witch, had a simple set of rules for any ghost, demon, or spirit passing through her home, “keep quiet and if you cause any fuss or trouble, I’ll boot your pale butts back where you belong,” she would tell them in her scratchy voice. Which is why Father Maplethorpe was surprised to be urgently summoned there this sunny summer afternoon.

Her home, like all the others of that cul-de-sac, was a three-story Victorian home, with gray siding, black paneling, and an intimidating cone-shaped roof. The rusty gate screeched open as he arrived. Emanating from the house was a hum of gossip and bickering from dozens of voices, all of which were suddenly silenced by a woman screaming “Shut up.” The priest tentatively reached for the gargoyle-faced knocker on the door, but it was flung open before he grabbed it.

“Oh Father Maplethorpe, am I glad to see you.” Mrs. Cromwell was a dainty woman, only five feet tall, with a long, pointed nose, a boil above her upper lip, and was wearing a green, blue and gray jumper outfit with pink running shoes on. “Please come in would you like some tea?”

She gestured to a velvet armchair in her living room area and sat in an identical one. A coffee table topped with a silver tea set steaming with freshly made tea sat between them.

“Why yes, thank you. I must admit Mrs. Cromwell, I was quite surprised to get your call. You typically handle your own exorcisms.”

“Well, yes, of course, but, you see, this is no ordinary ghost or spirit, Father.”

Maplethorpe slurped his tea, eyeing the witch over the rim of his cup. A murmuring from other parts of the house began to grow. There were whispers and giggles from the other room.

“Good god Mrs. Cromwell, how many of them are there?”

“Please Father, call me Dotty.”

“Dotty? Baaah,” some gruff voice said from upstairs followed by guffaws of laughter throughout the house.

“Oh do the world a favor and go back to being inanimate,” she shouted to the voices. “Forgive me, Father. Let me explain, you see every time you or I expel a spirit in this neighborhood they are never gone for long enough. Last week I expelled eight of them. Eight in seven days. So, I came up with an idea that I thought might keep them out for good. I figured I would just make the house alive and then it couldn’t so easily be occupied or possessed by others. I know, I know, the idea was a bit out there,” she waved off his scolding.

“A bit?”

“Anyway, you know how stubborn I am and hubristically I did the spell. I’m not sure this spell has ever been done before so, it’s not like I could ask for tips right? Anyway, now the house is alive. Every single wall of the place with its own distinct personality and nothing that I have done has been enough to fix it.”

Father Maplethorpe looked perplexed, “I don’t understand Mrs. Cr-.”

“Ah ah ah,” she wagged her finger at him.

“Dotty. Sorry. So, you wanted to make the house alive?”

“Yes.”

“And you performed a spell to make it so.”

“Right.”

“And the house is alive?”

“Mhmm.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Don’t you hear it?” She looked at him bewildered, leaning over the coffee table. The voices in the house had risen, it sounded more like a school cafeteria than a home occupied by a solitary witch. She slunk into her chair and palmed her face. “This is not how I am meant to live, Father.”

“Oh, well, excuse us. We didn’t ask for you to put us inside these walls you know?” An insolent voice said from the wall behind Dotty.

“Do you see what I’m dealing with? I am at my wit's end father. I wouldn’t have called you if I knew how to fix it myself. If you could at least get them to shut up. Turn their volume down or mute them. I’ve tried everything, even asking for them to politely keep it down.”

“How rude,” another voice from the house interjected. This one with a caramelly southern accent. “Living with you isn’t exactly a treat for us either.”

“Say no more, Dotty. I will handle this.” Father Maplethorpe clicked open his briefcase and removed a flask of holy water and a string of beads with a cross in the middle, which he wrapped around his wrist.

“Hey, there mister, What’s your name?” An innocent voice asked from the first wall the Father inspected.

“I’m Cedric Maplethorpe. What’s your name?”

“I dunno?” The speaker would have shrugged if it had shoulders.

The priest walked through the house, splashing holy water, signing a cross, and mumbling in Latin under his breath to every single wall in the house. It took him the better part of two hours with nonstop heckling from every wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, you ruddy wanker? Don’t pour that bloody water on me?”

“What did you just call me? Blibidy blobidy bloop right back at you mister.”

“Ooh so, you’re the Father everyone’s been talking about. I’d rather call you daddy.” The last wall whispered to him.

He returned to the center of the house on the first floor, twirling the beads in his hand and muttering under his breath in Latin. He raised his hands to the roof and shouted, “By the power of the father, son, and holy spirit, I command this house to be free and clear.”

The lights flickered and grew brighter, candles all throughout the house suddenly burst into flame, then everything went out. The house was pitch black and silent as a grave.

For a second. Then the lights kicked on and the house burst into guffaws of laughter and loud chatter.

“Ooh look, magic.”

“Was that it? That was your big trick. Baaahahaha.”

Several of the walls repeated his final prayer in mocking voices.

“Well, Dotty, I tried.” Father Maplethorpe said with a shrug.

“There has to be something else you can do. Please, Father Maplethorpe. I can’t live like this,” Mrs. Cromwell pleaded over the chattering walls.

“I’m sorry Dotty, I really am, but that was the biggest trick I’ve got.” He clicked his briefcase shut and shuffled toward the door. “You can try earplugs. I could refer you to a good therapist, though one who would put up with all this is hard to find. Otherwise, you might have to just condemn the house.”

“That’s Mrs. Cromwell to you, you hack. I should have known better than to trust some two-bit-.”

Father Maplethorpe slipped out the front door.

Dotty Cromwell lived out her remaining days battling her loud, obnoxious roommates the best way anyone can, by having hobbies outside of the house and using over-the-ear headphones to listen to podcasts and ASMR sounds.