The Final Battle, Pt. 1

Sorry it's taken me so long to write this. Two reasons: first, I wanted to wait a full week to make sure there really was nothing left in the house (as far as I can tell, that's true), and second, I plain didn't want to think about ghosts anymore. At least for awhile. I'm over that now. For the most part, anyway.

I walked into the house last Wednesday, and the angry ghost didn't waste any time. As soon as I opened the door, a frigid blast of air hit me, and dread radiated out of the house. I had no idea how to fight a ghost, but I knew right now I had to try my best. Sure, last week I fought it--sort of, anyway--and I like to think I won, but obviously it didn't leave. Unless I slammed the door and didn't go back until everyone else got home, though, I'd have to improvise something.

And improvise I did.

I leapt into the house and was greeted by a roar that ricocheted through my skull so much that I thought I'd pass out. I managed to stay conscious and looked around to get my bearings. Other than my breath, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. With the freezing temperature in an otherwise warm day, I knew it was around me.

Last week I had the idea that I could somehow hurt the ghost with physical blows, and that had worked to a certain extent. This time I knew that wasn't the case. I knew it wasn't a psychic battle, not totally anyway, since he could hurt me physically, but I knew I needed to find a gameplan soon or I'd be toast.

The ghost fired the first shot. My backpack lifted off my shoulders and hit me hard in the back of the head. Not enough to knock me down or anything, but enough for me to see that the ghost was ready for action. I still couldn't see him, which put me at a disadvantage, but somehow I knew that he wouldn't cause me much damage without his visual form. Don't ask me how I knew this (or anything about the situation) but I did.

As I stood waiting, daring the ghost to make the next move, I heard not only thumping from upstairs, but also the cries of children. I knew the boys were on my side. If I could get up there, they might be able to help me enough to win this war. At the very least, I hoped they could at least give me hints on how to hurt the angry ghost.

I dashed for the stairs, but as I neared them, vertigo overtook me, and as the world spun, I found myself on the way to the kitchen. As soon as I entered, everything stabilized, and I watched the silverware drawer open. Three steak knives rose out, and they flung themselves at me. I moved quick to avoid them and slipped on the linoleum floor, spilling myself hard but safe under the head-high projectiles. The knives clattered on the ground, but they wriggled there. I skittered to my feet, expecting them to rise again. Instead, as I watched them, the heavy wood cutting board on the counter flew and hit me in the back with such force that it took my breath away. I fell again, and that's when he appeared at the entrance of the kitchen. He brandished his ghostly butcher knife which I knew would cut me just as easily as a real knife. As he advanced on me, all I could do was stare at him.