The Overthinker's Guide to Ghosts

The crisp October wind howled through the graveyard, but inside the Velvet Parlor, the air just smelled like stale candy corn and pumpkin spice vape juice. Madame Beatrice—born Beatrice Higgins, former dental hygienist turned professional psychic—adjusted her heavily sequined turban. Across the table sat her latest client, Arthur, a man whose anxiety was so palpable it was practically its own entity. "The spirits tell me you are troubled, Arthur," Beatrice said in her best throaty, mysterious voice. "I am," Arthur swallowed hard. "I read about the concept of 'mind over matter.' The idea that if you believe in something hard enough, your mind can physically manifest it or overcome any obstacle. I tried to use it to stop myself from fearing ghosts. But... I think I did it backward." Beatrice stifled a sigh. Halloween month always brought out the weirdos. "Backward how, dear?" "I think my mind over-mattered a ghost into existence," Arthur whispered, glancing nervously at the shadowy corner of the room. "I kept telling myself, 'There is no colonial specter standing behind you.' I thought about it so intensely that now... I think he's actually there. And he's furious about the 21st century." Beatrice smiled inwardly. Perfect. A little theatrical exorcism would net her an extra fifty bucks. "Let us look into the ether," she said, dimming the dimmable LED candles with a hidden remote. She closed her eyes, placing her hands on her glowing crystal ball (which she bought on sale at Target). "Oh, spirits!" Beatrice chanted. "Is there a presence here with Arthur? "Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped. Like, freezer-left-open dropped. Beatrice blinked her eyes open. The LED candles flickered and died. "Arthur," Beatrice laughed nervously, her psychic facade slipping. "Did you mess with the thermostat?" "I didn't move," Arthur chattered, his teeth clicking. From the corner of the room, a low, wet groan echoed. The shadows detached themselves from the wall, swirling into the distinct, glowing shape of a man wearing a dirt-stained tricorn hat and a revolutionary war uniform. The entity floated six inches off the ground, holding a spectral musket. "WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF JEDEDIAH SPRAGUE?!" the ghost boomed, his voice sounding like grinding tombstones.