“I’m telling you, Frank,” Chloe said to her husband, “I saw a headless turkey running down our hallway last night. It wasn’t my “vivid imagination”, as you put it.”

 

   “Wild or farm raised?” Frank smirked as he raked the leaves.

 

   “How should I know? It was white with those ugly red things around its head.”

 

    “Caruncle,” Frank said.

 

   “Excuse me?”

 

    “The fleshy growth on the head and upper neck is called the caruncle.”

 

   “Whoop-dee-doo.” Chloe swept the leaves into an orange lawn bag.

 

   “Thanksgiving’s coming soon,” Frank said. “Maybe you’re stressed about having to cook your first major family dinner in our new house.”

 

   Chloe doubted the reason was that simple. When she and Frank moved out of their tiny, Vancouver apartment to this newly subdivided, two-acre plot in British Columbia’s Fraser Valley, Chloe was ecstatic. But in the three weeks they’d lived here, the sound of gobbling turkeys outside their bedroom window nearly every night had disrupted her sleep. Each time she’d peeked out the window, there was no sign of the birds. Not even turkey poop or a fallen feather.

 

   “Hi.” Their neighbor strolled up to the fence separating their properties.

 

   “Hey, P.J.” Chloe tucked her hair behind her ears.

 

   A younger man strolled up behind P.J. “This is my son, Walter. He’s going to help harvest the pumpkins. Got to be in the stores soon.”

 

   “So that’s why I see you out here every day.” Chloe admired the wide pumpkin patch that ran half way down P.J.’s property.

 

   “I like growing vegetables and working outdoors,” the older man replied.

 

   “Glad somebody does.” Frank stopped raking to rest a moment.

 

   Chloe observed the son’s oval eyeglasses and short, spiked hair. “Are you in the computer field?”

 

   “No ma’am.” Walter smiled. “After graduation, I’m going into occupational therapy.”

 

   “He’s not interested in farming, like I was,” P.J. remarked.

 

   “Speaking of farms,” Chloe looked past P.J.’s shoulder, “you don’t raise turkeys, do you?”

 

  “Never did. Why?”

 

   Chloe told him about the gobbling noises and then added, “The real estate agent said this used to be a turkey farm before it was subdivided, but no one around here still keeps birds, do they?”

 

   “Nope.” The old man scratched his whiskers. “All that’s left are the bones.”

 

   “Bones?” Chloe shivered in the cool October air. “Turkey bones?”

 

   P.J. nodded. “Your land must have been the turkey graveyard. The previous owners found bones in that big patch of dirt behind your house.”

 

   Chloe’s mouth fell open as she turned to her husband. “The real estate guy never said anything about living over a friggin’ graveyard!”

 

   “They probably don’t know.” P.J. wiped his nose with a handkerchief. “The first couple who lived here moved ‘cause they kept hearing and seeing weird stuff. They asked me not to tell anyone because they were afraid it would decrease their property value.”

 

   Walter grinned at his father. “Are you trying to tell us their place is haunted?”

 

   “Yep. Sounds like a case of poultrygeists.”

 

   “Oh my God!” Scarlett patches warmed Chloe’s cheeks.

 

   Frank cleared his throat to keep from laughing. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that phenomenon.”

 

   “Maybe not.” P.J. stared at him. “But it’s real.”

 

   “There’s no scientific basis for your theory, Dad,” Walter said.

 

   P.J. frowned at his son. “Some things you don’t learn in textbooks.”

 

   Chloe turned to her husband. “What are we going to do, Frank?”

 

   “Serve ham on Thanksgiving?”

 

   She smacked his arm.

 

     “No need for violence.” Frank rubbed his arm.

 

   “I didn’t think turkeys were slaughtered on farms,” Chloe said to P.J.

 

   “They aren’t usually, but some die of disease. Some are killed for private use. Wild animals can stir things up.” P.J. turned to Frank. “Have you heard the turkeys too?”

 

   “No.”

 

   “Frank can sleep through anything.” Chloe clasped her hand around the crystal pendant her sister had given her to attract positive energy. “Now I know why we got this place at a good price.”

 

   “It wasn’t that good,” Frank muttered. “P.J., have you noticed any kids hanging around the house?”

 

   “Nope, but our homes are too far apart for me to hear much at night. I don’t hear so good anyway.”

 

   “I doubt that kids are behind this,” Chloe said. “We need to give the bones a proper burial. If that doesn’t appease the poultrygeists, then I’ll ask André to make them leave. He’s a wonderful psychic.” She saw the men’s blank faces. “I met him at my sister’s last séance. He really is good.”

 

   “Maybe the turkey spooks will leave after the holiday,” Frank remarked. “Thanksgiving can’t be a turkey’s favorite time of year.”

 

   “I don’t want to wait another week,” Chloe replied. “I think we should dig up the bones now.”

 

   “Chloe--”

 

   “Please, Frank.” She squeezed his hand. “I can’t sleep anymore.”

 

   “All right.” He sighed.

 

   By the time Frank finished digging five hours later, he’d filled ten lawn bags with turkey bones.

 

   “You think there are more under the house?” Chloe asked.

 

   “No, these bones were only a foot beneath the soil. The foundation’s far below that.” Frank wiped sweat from his brow. “Where should we take them?”

 

   “How about a nice park?”

 

   “How about the nearest landfill?”

 

   “For crying out loud, Frank, do you want us to be haunted forever?” She opened the kitchen door.

 

   “Chloe, millions of birds die violently every year. They’re not euthanized before they wind up on dinner tables, you know. But you don’t hear about other people being haunted.”

 

   “Other people don’t live over turkey graveyards.” She glared at him. “Maybe these birds were tortured to death by a sadistic farmer.”

 

   “I still think someone could be playing an elaborate joke.” Frank closed the door behind him. “Stuff only happens at night when it’s dark outside.”

 

   “How would he have rigged up a headless turkey running down our hall without getting inside the house?”

 

   Frank slumped into the nearest chair. “Interesting question.”

 

   “I think we should bury the bones in the park down the road,” Chloe said.

 

   “Whatever.”

 

   When they finished burying the bags at two a.m., Chloe collapsed into bed, exhausted. Minutes later, a piercing scream jolted her awake.

 

   “Frank!”

 

   “I heard it.” He threw the covers back as another scream erupted outside their window.

 

   “Oh God.” Chloe hugged herself. “We’ve made things worse.”

 

   Frank opened the window and leaned outside. “Nothing’s there.”

 

   “Never is.” She swept a trembling hand through her hair.

 

   “Don’t worry.” Frank returned to bed and held Chloe. “One way or another this will end, even if we have to move again.”

 

   “I know you don’t like this place as much as I do,” she said, “but I really don’t want to leave.”

 

   “I understand.” He kissed her forehead. “Try to get some rest.”

 

   When Chloe awoke Sunday morning, she welcomed the sunlight brightening her white curtains. Sunshine always made her feel cheerful and secure. Since Frank was still asleep, she decided to take her time preparing a fruit salad and waffles for breakfast.

 

   As Chloe approached the kitchen she gasped. White turkey feathers splattered with what looked like fresh blood covered the floor.

 

   “FRANK!”

 

   She raced up the steps while he stumbled out of the bedroom. “What?”

 

   “Feathers!” she shouted. “Everywhere!” Chloe grabbed Frank’s hand and hurried him down the stairs. “I told you we made the poultrygeists madder.”

 

   “Chloe, I wish you were a tad less gullible,” he remarked, then gaped at the kitchen floor. “Crap.”

 

   “This is bad.” Her voice quivered.

 

   “I’ll clean up.” Frank ushered her out of the room. “When I’m done, I’ll see about having an alarm system installed.”

 

   Chloe folded her arms. “How will that stop a poultrygeist, Frank?”

 

   “You’d be surprised.”

 

    A half-hour later, Frank opened the back door to take the bags of feathers out, and then froze. A bloodied axe was embe dded in the door. He closed it tight.

 

   Chloe, who’d insisted on helping clean up, turned to him. “You look shocked. What’s wrong?”

 

   “Nothing.”

 

   “I don’t believe you.”

 

   “Let’s go out for brunch. I’ll wash the floor when we get back.”

 

   Chloe marched to the back door, but Frank hopped in front of it. “Don’t, Chloe.”

 

   “Open the door, Frank.”

 

   “No. You’ll only get upset.”

 

   Her cheeks grew pink. “Fine.” She marched out of the kitchen.

 

   Seconds later, Frank heard her scream .

 

   Chloe rushed back into the room, her eyes wide with terror. “There’s a dead turkey hanging on the front porch!”

 

   “Damn,” he muttered. “Go upstairs. I’ll get rid of it.”

 

   “When will this end?” A tear slid down her cheek.

 

   “I don’t know.” Frank embraced his wife. “Maybe we really should consider moving. Remember those nice townhouses we saw near the shopping mall?”

 

   Chloe wiped her eyes. “I’m not giving up until I call André.”

 

   Frank tried not to smile. “André the psychic?”

 

   “No, Frank, André the plumber.” She swatted his arm. “If he can’t get rid of them, then we’ll move.”

 

   The second André entered their house two days later, Chloe felt safer. Although things had been quiet since Sunday morning’s horror show, she could relax only at the fitness center where she taught aerobics. Every evening, Chloe waited for the sound of gobbling turkeys outside their bedroom window, or for a headless bird to sprint down the hall.

 

   Even in his platform shoes, André was a full head shorter than Chloe. His black ponytail dangled down his back.

 

   “The spirits have appeared in your kitchen and upstairs corridor, is that correct, Madame Gilbert?”

 

   “Yes.”

 

   Frank entered the room and stared at André. “Are you the turkey slayer?”

 

   Chloe saw the amusement in her husband’s eyes and prayed André wasn’t offended.

 

   “You do not believe in troubled spirits?” André asked him.

 

   “Do turkeys have spirits?”

 

   “All things have spirit, sir. It is the way of God.”

 

   “God isn’t discussed in my husband’s world,” Chloe remarked. “Frank teaches math to teenagers.”

 

   “I suppose someone must.” André turned his back on Frank. “Let us begin.”

 

   “Mind if I watch?” Frank asked.

 

   “Yes.” Chloe glared at him. “This way, André.”

 

   In the upstairs hallway, André halted and closed his eyes. He held his arms straight out in front of him, then slowly opened them wide.

 

   “What’s he doing?” Frank whispered as he followed Chloe part way up the steps.

 

   “Receiving incoming energy.” She clasped her crystal pendant.

 

   André stayed in this position for thirty seconds before he lowered his arms and turned to Chloe. “There is no energy here.”

 

   “Really?” Chloe bit her lower lip. “Does that mean the spirits are gone?”

 

   “Or they were never here.”

 

   “Let’s try the kitchen,” she suggested.

 

   After they traipsed downstairs, André repeated his ritual. “There is faint energy here.” His closed eyelids flickered. “Not on your property, but not far away either.”

 

   “The bones are buried just three blocks from here,” Chloe said.

 

   “Maybe the poultrygeists felt your presence and are making a run for it,” Frank said.

 

   André opened his eyes and looked at him. “I do not frighten spirits, sir. I merely help them to the other side.”

 

    “Do you think we can stay here, André?” she asked.

 

   “Of course, Madame. You may have stirred the spirits by moving their earthly remains, but all is well now. Angry spirits are drawn to evil. You do not possess this quality.” He turned to Frank. “Nor do you, strange as it may seem.”

 

   André nodded to them, then left.

 

   “We’re free!” Chloe threw her arms around Frank. “Let’s celebrate.”

 

   Frank hesitated. “Okay.”

 

   “You might not believe in André,” Chloe said, watching her husband, “but I do.”

 

   He smiled. “Then I’m sure everything’s fine.”

 

   The next three days were so peaceful that Chloe began to enjoy life again. On Friday night, after a day crammed with aerobics classes, housecleaning and Thanksgiving preparations, she fell into bed exhausted.

 

   The sound of gobbling invaded her dreams. Turkey skeletons emerged from their grave and began gobbling. Chloe stirred. The gobbling grew louder. They were coming for her. She began to moan.

 

   Chloe opened her eyes. A glowing white turkey hovered above her face.

 

   “Gobble gobble gobble!”

 

   “Aaagghhhhhh!” She threw the comforter over her head.

 

   Frank sprang upright. “What!” He switched on the lamp by their bed.

 

   Sweat emerged on Chloe’s back. “There’s a turkey in here! Can’t you see it? Didn’t you hear it?”

 

  “I thought I heard something.” He scanned the room. “But I don’t see anything.”

 

   Chloe lowered the comforter. “There was. That red fleshy thing hanging over its beak almost touched my face.”

 

   “Snood,” Frank said.

 

   “What?”

 

   “The fleshy growth that hangs over the beak is called the snood.”

 

   “Would you stop being a teacher for once!” Tears spilled down Chloe’s cheeks. “I can’t live like this, not knowing when they’ll show up. You win, Frank. We’ll have to move.”

 

   “Chloe, this isn’t about winning or losing,” he answered. “It’s about doing what’s best for us. We’ll put the house on the market tomorrow.”

 

   When Chloe and Frank returned from the real estate agent’s office on Saturday afternoon, P.J. and Walter were harvesting the last of the pumpkins.

 

   “How’s it going?” P.J. asked.

 

   “Lousy,” Chloe replied. “A poultrygeist nearly killed me last night.”

 

   P.J.’s jaw fell open. He hurried up to the fence. “You’re kiddin’.”

 

   “Wish I was.” After Chloe told him what happened she said, “We’re selling the house. I couldn’t tell the real estate agent why. He’d think I was nuts.”

 

   P.J. shook his head. “Maybe they should turn your land into a parking lot.”

 

   “Good idea. The cars could run them over.” Chloe sighed.

 

    The following day, Chloe served ham and roasted chicken to thirteen relatives for Thanksgiving dinner. Her mother wanted to know why she wasn’t serving turkey. Chloe told her the menu was Frank’s idea, then changed the subject. Mercifully, the poultrygeists stayed away.

 

   To her surprise and delight, P.J. made a generous offer on their house a week later, provided they left by the end of October. Since Chloe was still hearing gobbling noises and occasionally spotted a headless turkey trotting down the hall, she agreed.

 

   On moving day, Chloe wandered up to the fence. P.J. and Walter were clearing out the pumpkin patch.

 

   “Thanks again for taking this place off our hands,” Chloe said to P.J.. “And for five grand more than we paid. I’m still amazed.”

 

   “Well, the other bidder gave me a run for my money, and I really want to expand my vegetable gardens.” P.J. smiled. “I’ll miss having you around. You’ve been good neighbors.”

 

   Chloe gazed at the house one last time. “Will anyone live here?”

 

   “Walter will when he visits, seeing as how he doesn’t believe in hauntings.” P.J. looked at his son and shook his head.

 

   “Good luck, Walter.” Chloe shuddered.

 

   As she and Frank drove off, P.J. and Walter waved.

 

   “Not exactly the deal I was looking for.“ P.J.’s smile vanished.

 

   “You should have bought it from the first owners,” Walter replied. “It wouldn’t have cost you the extra five grand, but no, you had to get greedy.”

 

   P.J. scowled. “I could have bought that land a whole lot cheaper if Frank hadn’t found your bloody sound effects equipment. You shouldn’t have told him you wanted to be an occupational therapist. The man’s not stupid. He knew you’d need a science background.”

 

   Walter rolled his eyes. “Did you hand over the extra house key like he demanded?”

 

   “Had to, didn’t I? He’d already figured out how the turkey feathers got on the floor.” P.J. grimaced. “Even had to explain how the first owners gave me their key to feed the cats while they went away one weekend.”

 

   “You think Frank’ll tell the cops and my professors like he threatened?”

 

   “Nope. You heard him. The guy decided this property was too much work, and he got five extra grand as compensation for his wife’s stress,” P.J. replied. “Anyhow, Frank doesn’t know I had two extra keys made. The poultrygeists will come back once I sell it to some other sucker, for more money than I just paid.”

 

   “I’ll install more holograms,” Walter said. “Put better sound effects throughout the house.”

 

   “Good.” P.J. grinned. “If we’re lucky, the next owners will be so scared they’ll jump at my offer to buy it back, even at a reduced price.” P.J. chuckled. “Way I see it, I’ll have plenty of cash for my expansion plans.”

 

   Walter grinned. “You’re an evil old man, you know that?”

 

   P.J. chuckled. Soon both men were laughing so hard they didn’t here the soft “gobble gobble” sound emerge from the ground by P.J.’s house.