The Ghost Who Met Seven Visitors

Tom Baxter had worked at Shadow Manor for three years, and every October he became somebody else.

During the day, he was a quiet man who repaired bicycles in a small shop near the river.

Customers often told him that he had a calm, steady voice, the kind of voice that made nervous cyclists trust him with their broken brakes.

But when the sun went down and the gates of Shadow Manor opened, that calm voice disappeared.

He put on a long grey robe, painted his face white, smudged dark circles under his eyes, and became the Ghost of the Third Floor.

It was the best-paid job he had ever had, and secretly, it was also his favourite.

Shadow Manor was an old stone house at the edge of town that had been turned into a haunted house attraction almost ten years earlier.

The building had once belonged to a wealthy family who had abandoned it after a fire had damaged the east wing, and locals had told strange stories about the house for decades before anyone thought to open it to the public.

Every autumn, hundreds of visitors walked through its dark halls, screaming at fake spiders, sudden noises, and actors who jumped out from behind doors and curtains.

Tom's job was simple, at least in theory.

He waited in a shadowy corner of the library, and when visitors walked past the tall bookshelves, he groaned, reached out his hands, and tried to make them scream.

His manager, Mrs. Kelly, had told him once that he was the best ghost the Manor had ever had.

She had said that his groan was so realistic that a grown man had once dropped his phone and run out of the building without picking it up.

The man had come back the following week to search for it, embarrassed but laughing about the whole thing.

Tom was proud of that story, and he told it to anyone who would listen, sometimes more than once to the same person.

That night, before opening, Tom stood in front of a cracked mirror in the small staff room and checked his costume carefully.

His robe was torn at the bottom from an accident the week before, when a teenager had grabbed it and pulled far too hard, laughing as the fabric ripped.

Tom had sewn it back together himself the next morning, though the stitches were crooked and slightly visible if anyone looked closely.

He also wore fake blood on the backs of his hands, which he had to reapply every hour or so because it dried in the warm air of the old house and flaked off onto the floor.

Beside him, a colleague named Danny was adjusting the bandages on his mummy costume, grumbling that they kept slipping down over his eyes.

"At least your costume doesn't try to blind you," Danny said, tightening a strip of cloth near his forehead.

Tom laughed and told him that his own costume had other problems, like a hem that seemed determined to trip him on the stairs.

The two of them had worked together long enough to complain about their jobs while still clearly enjoying every minute of it.

"Ten minutes until we open," said a voice through the small radio clipped to Tom's belt.

It was Mrs. Kelly, checking on all the actors before the doors opened to the public for the evening.

"I'm ready," Tom replied, though he was never completely sure what kind of night it would be.

Some nights were full of screams and laughter that echoed through the halls until closing.

Other nights were strange and quiet, filled with unexpected moments that Tom remembered long after October had ended.

He had a strange feeling, as he looked at his pale reflection in the cracked mirror, that tonight would be one of the memorable ones.

He said goodnight to Danny, who wished him luck with a muffled voice from beneath his bandages, and walked slowly to his usual spot behind an old, dusty bookshelf in the library.

He waited there in the darkness, listening to the wind rattling the windows outside and the familiar creaking of the wooden floor beneath his feet.

Somewhere far away, a clock struck seven, and the heavy front doors of Shadow Manor opened for the first visitors of the night.

The first group to enter the library was a young family: a tired-looking mother, a father carrying a jacket over his arm, and a baby sitting quietly in a stroller between them.

Tom had never really scared a baby before, and he wasn't sure if he should even try.

Babies, he thought, probably didn't understand what a ghost was supposed to be.

But rules were rules, and Mrs. Kelly had reminded all the actors during training that every visitor deserved a proper scare, no matter how young they happened to be.

As the family walked closer, admiring the tall, dusty bookshelves and the old paintings on the walls, Tom stepped out from behind the shelf, raised his arms slowly, and let out his best, lowest groan.

The mother gasped loudly and grabbed her husband's arm with both hands.

The father jumped back in surprise and knocked over a small wooden table that had been placed near the door.

But the baby, who had been fussy and quiet until that exact moment, looked directly at Tom's white face and suddenly began to laugh, a bright, delighted laugh that filled the whole room.

Tom had never heard a baby laugh at him before, and for a moment, he simply didn't know what to do.

He lowered his arms slowly, uncertain, and the baby laughed even harder, reaching out two small hands toward him as if asking to be picked up.

"She loves you," the mother said, smiling with relief now that her racing heart had finally calmed down.

"She's been cranky and tired all evening, and this is honestly the first time tonight that she's smiled at anything."

Tom, still fully in character, gave a small, gentle wave instead of another frightening groan.

The baby waved back clumsily, still giggling with delight.

The father, who had recovered from his jump and picked the fallen table back up, told Tom that they had come to Shadow Manor together every year since they were teenagers, but this was the very first time a ghost had made their daughter happy instead of terrified.

Tom smiled behind his thick white makeup, though nobody in the room could actually see it, and watched the family walk on toward the next room, the baby still giggling happily over her father's shoulder as they disappeared through the doorway.

He had barely returned to his hiding place and steadied his breathing when the next visitors arrived: a small girl, perhaps seven years old, walking confidently ahead of her clearly tired older brother, who kept checking his phone as if counting the minutes until they could leave.

Tom stepped out and groaned as loudly and dramatically as he had for the family, fully expecting the same startled scream.

The girl did not scream.

She did not even flinch or step backward.

Instead, she crossed her small arms and looked at him carefully, the way a strict teacher might look at a disappointing piece of homework.

"That wasn't very scary," she said, shaking her head slightly. "My uncle does a much better ghost voice than that, and he doesn't even try that hard."

Tom, genuinely surprised, lowered his arms completely.

He had scared grown men who had run from the room in a panic, and now a seven-year-old girl was calmly telling him that his entire performance needed serious improvement.

"Really?" Tom asked, forgetting for a second that he was supposed to stay silently in character. "What exactly does your uncle do differently?"

The girl explained patiently that her uncle made a strange sound like he was quietly choking, then whispered instead of shouting, which she said was much scarier because you had to lean in close just to hear the words clearly.

Her brother, standing behind her with obvious exhaustion, apologized to Tom and explained that she had told this same detailed story to every single actor in the house that night, and none of them, in her opinion, had been nearly scary enough.

Tom, rather than feeling insulted by any of this, found himself trying the whisper trick right there in the middle of the library.

He leaned toward the girl and whispered a low, raspy warning about the house being hungry tonight, hungrier than it had been in years.

The girl considered this seriously for a long moment, tilting her head, then nodded slowly with something close to approval.

"Better," she admitted finally. "Still not quite as good as my uncle, but definitely better than before."

She walked on toward the next room, apparently satisfied with the improvement, while her brother thanked Tom sincerely for playing along with her strange game.

Tom returned to his hiding spot behind the bookshelf, thinking that he might actually try the whisper trick again on the next unsuspecting visitor who walked through the door.

He did not have to wait long to test it.

A young couple entered the library next, and Tom could hear them arguing loudly before he could even see their faces clearly in the dim, flickering light.

"You always do this," the woman was saying, her arms crossed tightly. "You promised me we would go to the cinema tonight, and instead you brought me to some dusty old haunted house."

"I told you last week that we were coming here for your cousin's birthday," the man replied, sounding tired and a little frustrated. "You just don't remember things like that because you never really listen when I talk."

Tom decided this was the perfect moment to try his new whisper trick.

He stepped out silently from the shadows and leaned in close, whispering his low warning about the hungry house directly between them.

But neither the man nor the woman noticed him at all.

They were too busy staring at each other, continuing their argument as though Tom were completely invisible.

"I do listen to you," the woman snapped, raising her voice slightly. "You just never explain things clearly enough the first time."

Tom, still frozen awkwardly in his scariest pose, cleared his throat loudly and deliberately.

Finally, after a long moment, the man turned his head and actually noticed him standing there.

"Oh, sorry," the man said, not sounding scared in the slightest. "Can you settle something for us, ghost? Did I mention this haunted house trip last week, or didn't I?"

Tom, completely out of character now and trying not to laugh, admitted honestly that he had no possible way of knowing, since he had never met either of them before that exact moment.

The woman laughed despite herself, and the tension between the couple seemed to ease slightly, like air slowly leaving a balloon.

"See, even the ghost doesn't know," she said to her boyfriend, smiling now for the first time since entering the room. "I suppose I'll forgive you, but only because this room is genuinely a little creepy, and I don't want to argue here."

They walked on together toward the next room, still gently discussing whose memory was actually better, though the argument now sounded far more like a friendly joke between them than a real disagreement.

Tom shook his head, smiling to himself, and returned to his corner, wondering quietly if he had just accidentally helped save someone's relationship for the evening.

The next visitor arrived alone, and he was already breathing heavily before Tom had even stepped out from behind the bookshelf.

He was a middle-aged man in a bright red jacket, and he had apparently been badly frightened by something in the previous room, because his hands were shaking slightly as he entered the library.

When Tom finally emerged from the shadows and groaned, the man screamed so loudly and suddenly that a nearby window seemed to rattle in its old wooden frame.

He stumbled backward into a chair, knocked it clattering to the floor, and pressed himself flat against the wall as if Tom might actually attack him at any moment.

"Please," the man said, his voice trembling, "please don't come any closer to me."

Tom, genuinely concerned now, stepped back immediately and lowered his arms completely to show he meant no harm.

He asked the man, stepping fully out of character, if he was alright and needed a moment to rest.

The man explained, still breathless, that he had always been terrified of haunted houses, ever since he had watched a frightening film as a child that his older brother had insisted was perfectly appropriate for a six-year-old to watch alone at night.

He said that he had promised his young daughter, who was waiting patiently outside with her mother, that he would walk through the entire house first to make absolutely sure it was safe enough for her to enjoy.

Tom felt genuinely sorry for the nervous man and offered to walk beside him through the rest of the library, quietly explaining which dark corners hid actors and which sudden noises were only recordings played through hidden speakers.

The man was deeply grateful and admitted that simply knowing the tricks in advance made everything feel far less frightening than before.

"You're not so scary once someone tells you what's actually coming," the man said, straightening his jacket and standing a little taller.

"Most things aren't," Tom replied kindly, and the man laughed nervously before continuing on his way toward the next room, walking with noticeably more confidence than when he had first arrived.

There was a short gap before the next visitors arrived, and Tom used the quiet moment to lean against the bookshelf and rest his arms, which had already started to ache from all the dramatic reaching.

Danny appeared in the doorway a moment later, his mummy bandages slightly loosened after a long stretch of his own performing, carrying two paper cups of water from the small staff kitchen down the hall.

"You'll never believe the family I just had," Danny said, handing Tom one of the cups gratefully. "A kid asked me if I needed help finding my way out of the bandages. He thought I was actually stuck."

Tom laughed and told Danny about the baby who had laughed instead of screaming, and the little girl who had rated his groan against her uncle's performance.

Danny shook his head, clearly amused, and admitted that after five years working at Shadow Manor, he had learned that no two nights were ever the same, no matter how many times he repeated the exact same jump from behind the same curtain.

"That's the strange part," Danny said, checking his watch. "You'd think it would get boring, scaring strangers in the dark every single night. But it never really does."

Tom agreed, finishing his water quickly, and the two of them exchanged a quick nod before Danny disappeared back toward his own post near the staircase.

Tom straightened his torn robe, wiped a smudge of fake blood from his sleeve, and returned to his shadowy corner just as new footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.

The fifth visitor of the night was completely different from anyone Tom had met so far.

He walked in slowly and deliberately, holding a strange black device with a small glowing screen that beeped every few seconds.

He wore a jacket covered in patches that read "Paranormal Research Society," and he pointed his device directly at Tom's chest the moment he stepped into view.

"I've been getting strange readings in this exact room for the last ten minutes," the man said seriously, not screaming or even flinching at all. "This device detects genuine paranormal energy fluctuations. I strongly believe there is real spiritual activity happening here tonight."

Tom, trying very hard not to laugh out loud, groaned his best and most ghostly groan directly at the man.

He did not jump back even slightly.

Instead, he leaned forward with obvious scientific interest, moving his beeping device even closer to Tom's pale face.

"Fascinating," the man muttered to himself, adjusting a small dial on the side of his device. "The readings are spiking dramatically. Are you aware that you are currently standing in a location with unusually high paranormal activity?"

Tom explained gently, breaking character completely now, that he was actually just an actor named Tom, and that the beeping was almost certainly caused by his own radio, which was clipped to his belt beneath his heavy robe.

The man's excited face fell with obvious disappointment, and he lowered his device slightly.

"Oh," he said quietly, clearly deflated. "I had really thought I'd finally found something real this time."

Tom, feeling genuinely sympathetic toward the disappointed man, told him that the third floor of the real, original house had actually developed a reputation among the staff for strange noises late at night, long before it had ever become a haunted house attraction for tourists.

This small piece of information seemed to cheer the man up considerably, and his eyes lit up again with renewed curiosity.

He thanked Tom sincerely before hurrying off toward the staircase, his device beeping steadily and happily as he climbed the creaking steps two at a time.

Not long after the ghost hunter had disappeared upstairs, a group of five loud teenagers arrived together, talking over each other and holding their glowing phones up in front of them like small shields.

When Tom stepped out and groaned dramatically, none of them screamed even slightly.

Instead, they all turned their phones toward him at exactly the same moment.

"This is perfect for my page," one girl said excitedly, striking a dramatic pose right next to Tom while her friend carefully took the photo. "Can you do that scary arm thing again, but slower this time?"

Tom, unsure for a moment whether he should stay fully in character, raised his arms again slowly for the camera.

Three more phones appeared instantly, their flashes lighting up the dark room.

The teenagers took turns standing beside him one by one, some pretending to scream in terror, others pretending to be incredibly brave while Tom reached toward them with his fake bloody hands.

One boy asked Tom if he could chase him a short distance down the hallway so his friend could properly film it for a video, and Tom, fully entering into the playful spirit of things now, agreed with a slow, exaggerated, dramatic walk that made the entire group laugh and cheer loudly.

By the time they finally finished filming, Tom had appeared in at least a dozen different photos and two separate videos, and the group thanked him enthusiastically before moving on together, still laughing loudly about the footage they had just captured.

Tom returned to his usual spot, breathing a little harder than usual from all the extra performing, and wondered quietly what kind of visitor might possibly come next after such a strange and eventful night.

He did not have to wonder for very long.

An elderly woman entered the library alone, walking steadily with a wooden cane but showing no sign of nervousness or hesitation at all.

Tom stepped out and groaned exactly as he had for every other visitor that night.

What happened next surprised him far more than anything else had.

The woman did not scream.

Instead, she raised her cane high and let out a sudden, remarkably sharp shout of her own, so loud and completely unexpected that Tom actually jumped backward and nearly lost his balance against the bookshelf.

"Ha!" the woman said triumphantly, lowering her cane with obvious satisfaction. "Scared you properly, didn't I, young man?"

Tom admitted, laughing now and completely out of character for the second time that night, that she had indeed startled him quite badly.

The woman explained proudly that she had raised four sons many years ago, all of whom had loved hiding behind doors and furniture to jump out and frighten her when they were small boys.

She said that after nearly thirty years of surprises exactly like that, absolutely nothing in a haunted house could genuinely scare her anymore, but she had certainly learned how to scare right back whenever the opportunity arose.

She told Tom, her voice softening slightly, that her sons had all grown up and moved away to different cities long ago, and that visiting Shadow Manor every single October reminded her fondly of those noisy, chaotic years, even though the fear itself no longer had any real effect on her.

Tom found himself genuinely enjoying the unexpected conversation and told her honestly that she had given him the best scare of the entire night, without any exaggeration at all.

"That's very kind of you to say," she said, patting his arm gently with real affection, "but I suspect you're simply being polite to an old woman with a walking stick."

Tom insisted quite firmly that he meant every word honestly, and the woman smiled warmly at him before continuing on her way through the house, her cane tapping steadily and confidently against the old wooden floor as she disappeared into the shadows.

By the time the last visitors had finally left and the heavy doors of Shadow Manor had closed for the night, Tom was completely exhausted but strangely, deeply happy.

As he removed his thick white makeup in front of the cracked staff room mirror, Mrs. Kelly walked by with her clipboard and asked cheerfully how his night had gone.

Tom told her honestly that it had been the strangest and most memorable night of the entire season so far.

He explained, counting on his fingers as he spoke, that a baby had laughed delightedly at him instead of crying, a little girl had confidently criticized his groan and demanded improvement, a couple had accidentally used him to settle a small argument, a nervous man had needed quiet comfort instead of another fright, a dedicated ghost hunter had been genuinely disappointed to learn he was human, a group of teenagers had turned him into their personal photo opportunity, and finally an elderly woman had scared him back with a single triumphant shout.

Mrs. Kelly laughed warmly and said that this was exactly why she loved running Shadow Manor year after year, despite the long hours and the constant costume repairs.

She reminded Tom gently that every single visitor who walked through those old doors brought something different with them, whether it was fear, curiosity, gentle humour, or simply the quiet memory of a happier time long past.

Danny wandered in a few minutes later, his bandages hanging loose around his neck, and asked whether Tom's night had been as strange as it had sounded from the hallway.

Tom admitted that he had never told so many stories about a single shift before, and that he suspected none of his colleagues would fully believe him about the baby who had laughed or the grandmother who had shouted louder than he had.

Danny simply grinned and said that Shadow Manor had a way of proving people wrong about what they expected, night after night, year after year.

Mrs. Kelly checked her clipboard one final time, confirmed that every actor had signed out safely, and locked the heavy front doors behind the last member of staff.

She told Tom, almost as an afterthought, that ticket sales for the following week had already sold out faster than any week in the Manor's history, which meant that tomorrow night would likely be even busier than tonight had been.

Tom hung his torn grey robe carefully on its hook for the next night's performance and looked around the quiet, empty library one last time, thinking about all seven visitors and the small, strange, unforgettable stories each of them had left behind in their own way.

He wiped the last traces of white makeup from his face with a damp cloth, changed back into his ordinary clothes, and said goodnight to Danny and Mrs. Kelly at the staff entrance.

As he walked out through the heavy front doors into the cool October air, buttoning his ordinary jacket over his ordinary clothes, he found himself already looking forward to tomorrow night, wondering what kind of visitor might walk through those doors next, and what strange, funny story they might bring with them into the dark, waiting halls of Shadow Manor.

Behind him, the old house stood silent under the moonlight, patiently waiting for its next audience, just as it had for ten Octobers before this one.