[ CW ] Write a horror story . Scare the reader without scaring or harming the characters .

The house was haunted, they ’ d been told. 
 
 Oliver had turned to Pamela then, and shrugged. “ It will be cheaper, you know. These things drive down the price so. ” 
 
 “ Always the economist, I see, ” Pamela had replied, laughing. Oliver hadn ’ t seen what was so funny, but he ’ d taken that for agreement and paid the down payment. 
 
 They moved in a month later, filling the rooms with Pamela ’ s paintings and child-sized furniture for Adam. And they were happier than they ’ d ever been. The first night in the house – their very own house, finally – was spent sitting across from each other at their new oak table, with glasses of champagne and medium-rare steak, smiling at each other across the flickering candlelight. Though truth be told, the candles had only been used because they ’ d moved in a day earlier than their electricity account was supposed to start. 
 
 Still, if that first night was a portent of things to come, then it was a fairly accurate one. The house was huge and old and perfect – everything that they ’ d ever dreamed of. There was a large enough kitchen for Oliver to perform his many cooking experiments in, there was a large veranda outside where Pamela liked to sit with her easel and paintbrush, there were many nooks and crannies for a child of five to play hide-and-seek in. They hosted dinner parties, and had family movie nights ( boring Barney nights, really ), and – even though they now had fully functioning electrical lighting – had even more candlelit dinners after Adam was tucked in and fast asleep. In the back of their minds, though, they ’ d always wondered if the house was really haunted, if they would one day be driven out screaming from their beds. 
 
 It was almost four months before Oliver met the ghost. 
 
 It began with the usual, stereotypical things. Too many loud creaks on the staircase at night, finding the lights turned on when Pamela swore she had turned them off, getting woken to Adam crying non-stop at half-past three in the morning. It all went on for three whole weeks. Oliver had steadfastly refused to believe that this was the work of a ghost, but on Pamela ’ s insistence, one night he pulled up a chair in Adam ’ s room and sat there with a baseball bat in hand, daring any ghost to show its face. 
 
 And show its face it did, just when Oliver was about to doze off. He heard a voice whisper his name, dragging out the syllables. Blinking, he squinted into the shadows, and almost made out something – someone. A figure, tall and stooped, translucent and pearly-white but wearing a cloak of shadows, such that Oliver would have assumed it was a mere trick of the eye, had the figure not spoken then. 
 
 “ Greetings, Oliver. ” A soft, not-quite-menacing but none-too-friendly voice, with a charming lilt. He strained his ears to listen more closely. “ I trust you are enjoying my house. ” 
 
 “ The house is mine, thank you very much. ” Oliver said loudly, getting up and readying himself to take a swing if necessary. Behind him, Adam stirred. 
 
 “ Oh yes, oh yes. ” The ghost laughed. “ I wish you happiness, all the happiness in the world, my friend. ” 
 
 And with that, the ghost was gone, swallowed up by the shadows. Oliver sighed and sat back down, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 He spent the rest of the night sitting in the chair, but the ghost did not return. Nor did the ghost return the next night, or the following, or any other night at all. But the creaking had stopped too, and the lights stopped turning on by themselves, and Adam slept soundly through the night again. Those three weeks had been awful. But now, they could finally properly enjoy life in the house, without living in a state of anticipation and dread. It made Oliver feel free and relieved, when he realised that the ghost wasn ’ t coming back. He and Pamela enjoyed many more nights of steak and wine and cheese. He enjoyed sitting on the veranda with her in silence, watching her make the canvas come to life with artful splashes of colour. He even enjoyed those Barney movie nights, singing along to the ridiculous – though admittedly educational – songs with Adam. 
 
 He could not remember a time in his life when he ’ d been happier. 
 
 Even his friends commented on the change in him. He ’ d been too serious, too sedate, too obsessed with his work. But now, he was more jovial, more cheery, laughing at even the tiniest joke with the most infectious joy. Everyone loved being with him. The monthly dinner parties swelled with guests, and they all had a good time, talking and laughing and drinking. 
 
 But then, the friends slowly stopped coming. Oliver was puzzled, but Pamela had a sharp answer ready for him. “ You laughed for five whole minutes when Eunice tripped over Adam ’ s lego. ” 
 
 “ Oh come on now, Pamela. You ’ ve got to admit it was pretty damn funny. ” 
 
 “ No, Oliver, that was absolutely cruel of you! The poor girl was so embarrassed. And not to mention that time you laughed at Amy for getting retrenched. God. Or when Leonard ’ s kid dropped out of school and you made a joke about him and McDonald ’ s or something. I don ’ t know what ’ s happened to you, it ’ s like I don ’ t even know you anymore! ” 
 
 Oliver couldn ’ t help it. Pamela ’ s crossed look – her furrowed eyebrows and flashing eyes and pouted lips – was just too funny. He laughed. And when Pamela slapped him, he laughed even harder. 
 
 Still, even without the dinner parties, life was good and Oliver was happy. He had the perfect house, a great job, a great wife, a great house, a lovely son, and the most wonderful house. There was so much beauty and happiness to be found in the world – in the most fragile flower, in the swiftly coursing river, in the bright sun hanging high in the clear blue sky, in the fresh air that fills our lungs. 
 
 And also in the way Pamela so hastily packed her suitcase. In the way Adam screamed and cried and had to be prised away from his father there was a certain happiness. 
 
 Oliver smiled, and laughed when all this happened, for he was just so very happy. Indeed, nowadays he laughed often, and he laughed much. 
 
 And deep in the night, when all else was still and the long blades of grass gave not even the slightest rustle, from far away the neighbours could hear the big empty house filled with reverberating echoes of his laughter. 

