Bacon Ghost

“This building has been used for some many things. It has such great potential!” The Realtor’s heels clicked sharply across the concrete floor as she made her way from the front door to towards the back of the cavernous building.

“Oh yeah?” Nick asked with some skepticism as he followed, allowing the dingy glass door to swing shut behind him. “Like what?”

Pausing, she glanced around, her eyes sparkling behind her dark rimmed glasses. “Well, it’s been a used car showroom, a mechanic shop, and well…” her zealous enthusiasm faltered a bit.

“Well…” Nick promoted; his dark eyebrows raised.

Clearing her throat, she smoothed her hands down her blouse, obviously a nervous gesture. “It is rumored to be haunted by the ghost of Jack Gustavsson, a former mechanic, who vanished back on Halloween in 1951.”

“I see,” her buyer responded, casting his eyes around the commercial space. “Well, that type of stuff doesn’t bother me. Let’s do this.”

The Realtor hid her shock at his conviction by flashing a brilliant smile. She then whipped out the paperwork from her leather briefcase. Brandishing a pen, the duo worked up the offer on a worktable in the middle of the room. Just as Nick signed his name, a loud crash sounded from the back of the building. The sound echoed through the building like thunder, causing them both to jump.

Glancing over to the woman, Nick saw that she wasn’t about to go and investigate. So, he took it upon himself to venture to the back to see what had happened. Going through a door that led to the storage area, Nick saw the tools that had been left by past owners piled neatly on a countertop along the wall were now scattered across the floor. Wrenches, screw drivers and a tire iron now littered the concrete.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself. Shrugging, he went back to his agent and explained what he saw. They both laughed and shrugged it off, though as soon as they were done, the agent left without much of a backward glance. Her rush to leave didn’t deter him however, he had big plans for this place.

A month later, Nick found himself the proud owner of 450 6th Street in Waukee. He’d begun work immediately to renovate the space into what he wanted. One night, while working late, he went to use the bathroom, located in the back of the shop. Washing the paint from his hands, he glanced up in the mirror to ensure his face wasn’t marked as well. Just as he was about to turn the water off, he caught sight of movement in the mirror. Whipping his head around, he yelled out as the door slammed shut on its own and the lock clicked.

“What the-?!” Nick shouted, reaching for the door to try the handle. Without a doubt, it was locked. He fumbled at the button, attempting to get it to disengage, but it was stuck.

“Niiiiccckkkk,” a ghostly voice sang out behind him.

Freezing in his attempts to free himself, Nick stood stock still, his heart beating wildly. For a second, he convinced himself he hadn’t heard it. But just as he was about to try the door handle again, the voice sounded again, causing him to whip around to face the mirror. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The translucent image of a balding man stared back at him, his eyes hallowed out and black.

“Wha-what do you want?” Nick stammered.

The ghost remained quiet a moment before it whispered something too quiet for Nick to hear. “Come again?” He asked, voice shaking.

“Bacon,” the ghost said, louder this time.

Thoroughly confused, Nick furrowed his brows and leaned closer. “Did you say bacon?” He asked in a tentative voice.

The spirt nodded. “I crave bacon,” it finally wailed.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Nick responded, voice still shaking. He was after all talking to a ghost. “I’m making this place into a butcher shop. We’ll have bacon, chops, steak and a lot more.”

The ghost stopped, a surprised look passing his jowly face. “That would be spectacular,” it whispered.

“You’ll have all the bacon you want,” Nick assured him. “But can we make a deal not to lock anyone else in the bathroom? And no throwing things?”

The ghost contemplated this a moment before nodding. “She wouldn’t let me have bacon,” it added in a sulky tone.

“Who?”

A shuddering sigh escaped the apparition, and he began to fade from the mirror. “My wifeeee,” it finally called out in a ghastly moan.

 Just as the vision faded, Nick heard the door unlock behind him. “Thank you,” he whispered before fumbling with the knob to free himself.

As Nick headed home that night, still shaking from the encounter, he realized it wasn’t seeing a ghost that truly frightened him, but the idea of not being allowed to enjoy bacon. That was the true horror. Nick vowed to make sure the Bacon Ghost would have as much cured meat as he could handle. To this day their deal holds true, each week when inventories are checked at Old Station Craft Meats there is always one package of delicious bacon that is unaccounted for.

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