The ghost in my house

My wife is demanding a new house. You'd think a 5,000 plus square foot house with a four car garage, in-house pool, tennis courts, and so on with a 50 acre spread would please a woman. Especially given she doesn't have to lift a finger in the house. We have two live-in maids.

A few months ago Fric started telling me "Roger" was coming to see him at night. We wasted no time at all taking him to Dr. Whacky. Who jotted out a cocktail of meds for my son and sent us on our merry way. We poured into books on schizophrenia and called up relative after relative asking if that weird Aunt or eccentric Uncle ever talked about Rogers. We joined the National Association of Mental Illness local goon squad and attended a couple seminars at S'Pratt.

It was tough accepting my son may be a whack job more than our good friend Cindy. Very tough. For at least two weeks I walked inner city streets and tried to understand all this. I spent many days talking to odd individuals who were having duologues; one where they may hear me address them but meanshile too busy having othrer conversations, even if no one else was present.

We took him to Kennedy Kreiger who did a full work up on him, including a brain scan. They pronounced him sane and said he had an overactive imagination. So, we took him home and no longer allowed an extra chair for Roger at the dinner table.

A few months later, Monica calls me up at work to tell me Frac had told a teacher that Roger came to school with him. The teacher, assuming there was a lost child, called Monica. A full school search began for this missing child, with Frac constantly pointing at blank targets and saying, "he's right there." My son was Baker Acted that night.

Desperate for answers now, Monica went to Fric and allowed him to talk about Roger. Who was a child of a local Millworker killed at 11 by log falling on him. Monica, clearly spooked now, went to the local library and asked a librarian for assistance looking up a child's death in 1933. Sure enough, there was a death on record of a Roger Rhodes, killed by a heavy branch fallen on him.

Within days, my dear wife was communicating with Roger as well. I began coming home every night and hearing three formerly sane people having full length conversations with this "Roger." I called in Ghostbusters. I called in a psychic. I had a full square psychiatric intervention on my wife. Finally, a pedophilic Catholic priest came. Little did Monica know he took money under the table.

Within days I had my wife and children back, only now we're living a hotel until we find another dig. No real estate agent around will touch our house, so this will be costly. William Blatty would be proud of the tale this priest weaved. How Roger is really "Legion" and he was beginning a friendship with one way to hell.

Boo.