Chapter Four

            "I saw him one night while I was taking the clothes from the dressing room.  He was rather tall and thin.  He wore a black cape and hat.  I thought he was a customer at first, but then he turned towards me and I knew!"

            "What?  Who was it?"  The crowed of excited TJ Maxx employees urged.

            "It was the Prasant Ghost!"  Taylor exclaimed.

            The workers cried out in both fear and delight.

            "Yes!  I saw him!  He stood before me in all his wretchedness!"

            "What did he look like?"

            "Oh, it was horrible!  His dark flesh was stretched over his bony face!  His eyes were so far sunken into his head that they were barley visible.  And his teeth . . . they protruded gruesomely from his thin, shriveled lips!"

            A gasp raced through the crowed.

            "Yes, it was horrible.  He stalks this very store, even now!  He lives beneath it in the underground storage rooms.  He has many secrete entrances and trap doors that lead down to his lair.  But be forewarned!  If you should make the mistake of traveling into one of these passageways, he'll hang you for sure!"

            "Silence!"   Came a stern voice from behind Taylor and his audience. 

            They turned to see Tiffany standing with her hands on her hips.

            "You would do well, Taylor, to hold your tongue.  The Prasant Ghost's secrets are his own."

            "Hush you silly girl!  You want to ruin my story?"  Taylor said, upset.

            "And a story is exactly what it is!  You don't know any of that nonsense to be true.  Take my advice and refrain from telling these lies!"  Tiffany wagged a serious finger in Taylor's direction.

            At that moment, Mrs. Brock and Ms. Johnson walked by, overhearing the tail end of their conversation.

            "These rumors are getting out of hand," Mrs. Brock said as Ms. Johnson unlocked the door to the office.

            "Yes, never have I heard such twaddle as this ridiculous Prasant Ghost!"  Ms. Johnson agreed, walking into the office.  She stopped suddenly, nearly causing Mrs. Brock to collide with her.

            "FYI . . ." Ms. Johnson began slowly.  "There seems to be an odd letter sitting on the desk that wasn't here before."

            Mrs. Brock rolled her eyes.  "Great!  Wonderful!  Let's see who it's from, shall we?"

            She shoved Ms. Johnson aside and strode over to the desk.  She picked the letter up and examined it. 

To the Managers

            The words were printed neatly on the envelope.  Mrs. Brock ripped open the letter to reveal a note written entirely in red ink.   It read:

Dear Managers:

Due to the unfortunate events of only a few nights previous, and also to your wise decision-making, Allison was placed in the fitting rooms.  I needn't tell you of the triumph she experienced in this position as it was spoken of throughout the store for many days following.  Alas, her glory did not last as you rather foolishly decided to replace her the subsequent evening with Meme.  I mean not to directly assault Meme's skill or your intelligence, but it is widely known that she is not only rude, but also quite unable to attend to the dressing rooms in the proper manner.  My request is simple and logical; Meme is to be replaced permanently by Allison.  IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN PEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY DENYING MY REQUESTS.

Signed, Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,

Prasant Ghost.

            The two managers were silent for a moment after reading the unpleasant letter.

            "What sort of bad joke is this?"  Ms. Johnson demanded.  "Who would have the audacity to play such a trick?"

            "Perhaps it was that Taylor fellow, the one who was telling those absurd tales to the other employees."  Mrs. Brock offered.

            "No, no.  He doesn't have the vocabulary or the courage to write such a letter."  Ms. Johnson shook her head.

            "Travis then?  Or perhaps Grant?"

            "Highly doubtful."

            "Well, whoever it is, they seem to have quite an interest in that little Allison Kindle."

            "Yes, yes they do."  Ms. Johnson replied dryly. "FYI, she has built up quite a reputation as of late." 

            "Indeed she has, but reputations are easily attained here."  Mrs. Brock observed.

            Ms. Johnson laughed sardonically.  "Yes, after all, you know as well as I do that you haven't the faintest clue when it comes to fashion, and yet, you are accredited with your knowledge of it!"

            Mrs. Brock frowned at Ms. Johnson's comment.  "Yes, well, I believe I'll take my leave early this evening.  See you tomorrow and do be careful of that dreadful Prasant Ghost!"  She jested as she exited the office.

            The next night, after completing a seemingly endless amount of paperwork, Ms. Johnson decided to quickly check all areas of the store.  She casually observed the employees performing their final closing duties as she made her rounds, but stopped when she reached the fitting room.

            The two managers had decided to ignore "Prasant Ghost's" demands and left Meme in the dressing rooms.  Though Ms. Johnson thought the letter to be little more then a childish prank, she couldn't help but wonder weather there had been any mishaps that night.

            "Everything run smoothly tonight, Meme?"  She asked, walking into the fitting room.

            "Yes, fortunately."  Meme said as she swept the floor.  "You've made sure to fix this accursed rack, haven't you?"   She gestured to the clothing rack behind her.

            "Yes, of course.  You needn't worry about any other mysterious happenings.  Mrs. Brock and I have found the prankster."

            "Good."  Meme said, returning to her duty at hand.  After a moment she spoke again.  "Did you say something?"

            "Why, no," Ms. Johnson said, slightly shocked, for she too thought she heard a voice.  "Well, I don't mean to keep you-"

            Both women stopped suddenly when they heard another peculiar noise. 

Ms. Johnson smiled and shook her head.  "Rats."

            Meme frowned, but nodded as well.  The two women stood silent for a moment, unsure weather they were merely hearing things, or there was, in fact, a sound of struggling coming from somewhere near.

            "Do you . . ." Ms. Johnson began to nod even before Meme could finish her question.

            "I believe you've done quite enough in here for one night.  Shall we leave?"  Ms. Johnson tried to hide the uneasiness in her voice.

            "Yes, yes, let us leave."  Meme hastily agreed.

            They took each other's hands and began to back out of the dressing room slowly, still hearing the strange, choking noises all around them.  Though they took hesitant steps back, they stopped short of exiting when they bumped into something in the doorway.  The two spun around but instantly fell back and shrieked in horror. 

There, hanging in the doorway, swung the limp, lifeless body of Taylor.

Chapter Five