The house was one of the oldest and loveliest on the road. That much of the façade which was not hidden in the shadow of several large trees, was entwined in lush ivy. There was a large veranda on the front of the house where the original family had spent many hot summer evenings in the lovely shade, watching the many shades of twilight peaking through the branches and reflecting on the windowpanes. The grounds were extensive and the garden was often filled with the gleeful shouts of the children of the house as they ran about and played at having many merry little adventures. Indeed it had been a lovely place, but the last of those children had come and gone and had children of their own, and the grand old house had stood empty for years and years. During that time the gardens began to grow wild and the dark residence, having fallen into sleepy silence, scarcely crossed the minds of the villagers.

It was the children of the village who first noticed the ghost. Often, boys would climb through the protective shrubs of the garden hoping to sneak any apples that might have grown on the trees in the orchard. It was on such an occasion that the first sighting took place. Two boys, by the names of Jerome and Armand were exploring the mysterious, over-grown garden when suddenly Armand cried out,

"Jerome, Look!" Jerome looked at Armand, whose eyes had bugged out and whose small finger was pointing to a window, high in the deserted house, which appeared to be lit by a gas lamp.

"But no one lives in that old house," said Jerome skeptically.

"Let's go, Jerome! It's getting dark!" The two boys headed quickly toward the hole in the shrubbery where they had entered the property, when suddenly, the calm of the descending evening was broken by an unearthly sound. Startled, the boys scrambled desperately to find the opening.

"Armand!" Jerome shrieked, shaking his friend and pointing. Armand turned and saw two eyes peering at him from the darkness, shining like two stars. Armand stood frozen with terror, until Jerome caught hold of him and drug him through the opening to the other side. Once they were on their feet, they bolted through the field, and to the other side of the road, where they hid in the woods. Panting with fear and fatigue, they peaked out from behind the trees at the ominous house. All was still and the light in the window was gone.

"Armand, we've seen a ghost!" said little Jerome and the other boy agreed. The next morning they went about the village, telling their story to the other children. At first, most of the others didn't believe them, but then they too began to see the lights in the windows and hear the strange sounds from the sleeping house. It didn't take long before each believed a ghost had possessed the house and they looked upon it with both fear and fascination.

The grownups in the village saw the same lights and heard the same sounds and came to a much more sensible conclusion. Someone had moved into the house. It became a great topic of discussion among all the neighbors and they began to ask one another if they had seen the new people in the house. Weeks passed by, and no one saw more then an occasional form at the window. Every time someone went to knock on the door, there was never any response. No one ever saw the inhabitants go or come. The people became puzzled and frustrated by their mysterious new neighbors and eventually, they went to the village inspector in hopes of getting some information. The inspector, a man by the name of Renard, knew nothing more then anyone else about the inhabitants of the house.

"Well go and find out who they are!" the villagers cried, "We want to know who is living among us!"

"It isn't the police's business if people wish to stay inside and not come out to appease their nosy neighbors!"

"There is something strange going on over there! Our children say the house is haunted. What if it is vagrants that have moved in?" At last Inspector Renard relented and promised to get to the bottom of it.

The next afternoon, after checking the public record for the correct name and address, the good inspector traveled to Paris by coach, in search of the last known owner of the house. The previous owner was very gracious and recounted for the inspector many fond tales about growing up in the village. When Renard asked the man why he had finally sold the house after keeping it for so many years he told him that he had been holding on to it for retirement purposes.

"My business is in the city now, but I shan't wish to stay in Paris forever," he said.

"Then why did you sell the house at all?" the inspector asked.

"I hadn't intended to, but just two months ago a man called Richard came to me and offered me nearly three time the house's worth if I would sell it to him."

"Three times?"

"Yes indeed."

"But why did he want the house so badly?"

"That was the strangest thing of all! He said he needed the house to break a curse!"

"A curse? What kind of curse?"

"He wouldn't give any details. I asked him why he didn't just buy another house, but he insisted that only my house would do. He seemed so desperate and haggard, and what can you do when a man offers you so much money for something you don't even need?"

"Indeed. I should have done the same thing. Tell me, do you know where I can reach this fellow."

"He is one of the managers of the Opera Populaire. I imagine you might find him there."

Richard was not at the Opera Populaire. In fact, the place was nearly deserted as the Lenten season had just started and the theater was closed. But, Renard was able to get Richard's home address from a janitor and went straight there in hopes that he might find out more about this rather eccentric sounding person. Renard met Firman Richard as he was just leaving his flat with his wife, but he was granted a moment to introduce himself and to ask a few hurried questions.

"I was wondering if you could tell me who is living in that house you purchased."

"I don't know anything about it," the gentleman replied curtly.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur. I had been informed that you were the owner of that house."

"The opera ghost is the owner of the house. I merely bought it in his name. It is HIS house."
"I'm sorry, monsieur? To whom does the house belong?"

"To the opera ghost, monsieur, and may it fall down around him. At least he's out of my hair, at any rate."

"Am I to understand, monsieur, that you purchased a house for three times its worth, in order to appease a ghost?"

"That is exactly correct, inspector, and believe me it is a small investment compared to the amount that spiteful specter cost me in just one opera season. Well, I don't know a thing about anyone else living there, but if I were you I wouldn't touch even the front gate with a fifty-foot pole!" Renard stared at the madman before him in disbelief. Richard glared back at him solemnly. There was not even a spark of humor in his eyes.

It was Renard who spoke at last, "Very good, monsieur. I'll remember that. Sorry to have troubled you." And he turned on his heel and headed back to his carriage.

As he rode back to the village, Renard realized that the only thing to be done was to visit the house himself and investigate.

Upon arriving at the front gate of the mysterious house in question, Inspector Renard got quite an uneasy feeling. He remembered Richard's warning and hesitated for a moment, but then he remembered his promise to the villagers and being a man of honor, he pushed open the gate and strode purposely up to the house. As he drew nearer to the porch he heard a curious sound. He ceased his walking and listened carefully. He was quite sure he heard someone singing. He crept up to the porch and beheld a small girl with golden curls, cradling a doll in her arms and singing to her in a gentle, bell-like tone.

Renard didn't know exactly what he had expected to find, but he found himself greatly surprised by this small creature, playing in broad daylight on the steps of a house that was supposedly haunted. Suddenly, a twig cracked under his foot and the child spun around and spotted him staring at her. She bounced to her feet, clutching the doll in her arms and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Good afternoon, Miss," Renard said quickly, embarrassed at having startled her in such a way, "Do you live here?" The girl looked as if she didn't know how to answer.

"Are your parents home?" Her eyes grew wider and she looked to the side indecisively before she slowly nodded.

"Well I should very much like to speak with them."

Suddenly, to his astonishment, the small girl darted to the end of the porch and disappeared into the dark green leaves. Renard stood in shock for a moment and just when he was about to follow her, he heard a loud click at his side and saw the front door swing open slightly. He stared at the door for a moment and then slowly opened it enough to peer inside. As much of the space as he could see seemed to be tastefully furnished, in order, and quite normal.

"Hello?" he called into the space and started abruptly when a man's voice called out from quite near, "Good afternoon, Monsieur! Do come in!"

"Oh, Thank you, Monsieur!" cried the inspector happily and he scooped off his hat and entered further into the room, closing the door behind him, "I am inspector Renard from the village. I had heard that someone had moved in down here and just stopped in to see how you were getting on…"

At this point the good inspector trailed off, for even as he heard a voice in the room say, "Thank you, monsieur, that was really quite thoughtful of you." He saw that there was no one there!

"Hello, monsieur? I'm afraid I can't find you!"

"No? I'm right here before you!" said the voice.

"Where?"

"Just here." Renard stepped cautiously in the direction of the voice, to a corner of the room that contained a small fireplace with a large mirror over the mantel.

"That's it, monsieur, come just a bit closer." And Renard did come closer, for he observed at that moment that the mirror was very curious and the glass seemed to be lit from within. He was face to face with his own reflection in the mirror when suddenly there appeared an apparition more ghastly then any he had ever imagined. It was the face of the devil in that glass, burning him with his eyes, and shrieking with cold laughter. Renard screamed and drew back, but then to his horror, a skeletal hand of death reached from beyond the mirror and fastened its dead fingers around his cravat. Renard pulled and clawed at the dead flesh of this monstrous hand until he had freed himself and bolted for the door. The door slammed shut of its own accord and Renard, in his terror, worked desperately at the locks and the knob, trying to get it open while deafening, maniacal laughter assaulted him from every direction. At last the door came open and he flew into the light and air so quickly that he didn't even notice the little girl hiding in the bushes beside the steps. He continued running until the villagers saw him and stopped him in the street.

"What did you find out about that house, inspector?" Renard was gasping and sputtering from fear and lack of breath, but at last he got out, "After all my investigations, I have come to the conclusion that there is no one living in that house at the present time."

"Don't be a fool, man! There are shapes and lights at the window as well as smoke in the chimney. Of course there is someone there!"

"I believe those to be apparitions cause by a specter or evil spirit of some kind." The perplexed villagers looked at one another and then back to Renard.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Just what I say. The house is haunted and if I were you, I wouldn't so much as touch the front gate with a fifty-foot pole!"

"But what shall we do?" the frustrated villagers exclaimed. The inspector shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "What can be done with a ghost? I certainly don't know! Now, if you will excuse me, I need a stiff drink!"

The befuddled villagers watched the inspector disappear into the nearest tavern as they stood silently in the street, digesting this information. At last, one by one, they dispersed, many of the crossing themselves, and went about their own business.