The carved scary faces on the street were a reminder to Mrs. Florence that it was the Halloween season. She hated the idea of the jack o lantern, not especially when it reminded her of her childhood experiences. Mrs. Florence was an accountant in the Whitehouse at Washington, she was tall, light in complexion, and always wore glasses. She dreaded the event and couldn't stand watching the youth play.
She walked carefully meandering through the crowd as she struggled to avoid contact with the Halloween icon of a witch flying on a magic broomstick.
"This is fetish" she mumbled, "I wonder how children manage to stay up with this at night," she said as she increased her pace.
She got to the office feeling relieved to have escaped the crowd outside with paintings and costumes of Halloween, and there it was on her wall, a big fat cat dressed in its funny costumes, she had screamed when she realized it was just a painting.
"Don't ever do this, you know I hate anything scary", she said to her assistant who had hung the painting.
"But not everyone does"
"Yeah, it's safer when you do it around people who don't" she replied.
A few hours later, the door swung open, nearly coming off the hinges. "Who's there," she asked. Confusion flashed through her as she noticed no one outside, gently she closed the door. A few minutes later, She heard a whistling sound which later turned into the howling of an owl coming from the cupboard. She stood up on cold feet, her eyes wide alert as she walked reluctantly to go check what was making the sound. She turned quickly as She felt like a shadow walked past her,
"There's a ghost in the house," she said. "Cynthia" she called her assistant but there was no response.
It was on a Tuesday, everyone on the third floor had gone for a meeting in which she delegated her assistant to represent her.
"It's Halloween day," she said trying to find reasons for these strange activities as she pants in-between words "yes, everyone can trick you, it's a trick or treat day, remain calm". She had tried to stay calm when she remembered Cynthia had once told her of a man who died in the Whitehouse some years ago on a Halloween day, and there's a story being told that he returns to the Whitehouse on every Halloween day.
"There's a ghost here," she said again.
Her body became stiff, "no, there's no ghost, it's my imagination" she said trying to wave off the feeling. The sound of a cat jolted her, in fear she darted to the door. She opened the door and saw a cute cat sitting on the bronze bar outside her office. Maybe it had been the cat all this while, she thought, sighing in relief.
Everything looked strange as she entered her office, "the portrayal of that man" she said pointing at it, "no, it was not here, I have never seen it". Almost immediately, the hair on her skin started to straighten up and her skin grew goosebumps, before she could think of running, she saw a man, huge and tall standing beside the portrait. All she could remember was waking up and seeing herself surrounded by people who looked blurry. After some minutes her vision became clearer, Cynthia holding a bucket of water and her clothes all soaked.
"What happened?" Everyone asked. Mrs. Florence sat up looking confused.
"There's a ghost in the Whitehouse" she mumbled.
"There's a ghost in the Whitehouse" this time she said it aloud. No one believed her as they ridiculed all she narrated except for Cynthia who knew Mrs. Florence can't forge a story.