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The Haunted Nose

John Ragusa

    Immediately after moving into the late Joe Muller’s house, I began to sneeze.
    “God bless you,” my wife Shirley said.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    The sneezing didn’t stop. It continued to happen.
    “How much longer can this go on?” I asked.
    “Maybe you’re allergic to something in this house,” Shirley said.
    “You know, you may be right,” I said.
    I went outside, but I kept on sneezing.
    Back in the house, I said, “It isn’t an allergy that’s causing my sneezing.”
    “I’ve been dusting the furniture regularly, so it isn’t dust that’s making you sneeze.”
    “Do you think I caught a cold?”
    “It’s possible; the weather is freezing. Let me take your temperature.”
    Shirley put a thermometer in my mouth. Then she looked at it. “You’re not running a fever.”
    “I’m not congested, either. I don’t think I have a cold.”
    The sneezing made it hard for me to eat and drink anything. It was almost unbearable. It was like a case of hiccups that wouldn’t go away.
    I couldn’t sleep, either. I got very tired after a few nights of staying awake.
    “You look miserable,” Shirley said.
    “That’s exactly how I feel,” I said. “I wish this sneezing would end.”
    “It just has to run its course, that’s all.”
    “I wonder if God is punishing me for something.”
    “That’s nonsense. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
    “What can end my sneezing?”
    “Try putting your finger under your nose.”
    I did that, but it didn’t help me any.
    “This is the pits,” I said. “It’s enough to make me cry.”
    “Don’t despair. Your sneezing has to stop sometime.”
    My nose was red and swollen. My handkerchief was damp and sticky. I had to stay far away from Shirley so that I wouldn’t sneeze on her.
    “Maybe you have hay fever,” Shirley said.
    “That could be the case,” I said. “I’ll take some medicine for it.”
    I took the medication, but it failed to end my sneezing.
    I was now so desperate for a solution to my problem, I was willing to try anything. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
    “I feel like I’m under a curse,” I said.
    “Did you ever stop to think your nose might be haunted?” Shirley asked.
    I had to laugh. “No, I certainly haven’t.”
    “I’m serious. I talked to Joe Muller’s widow Pam this morning. She said that Joe had a heart condition, and that he had a fatal attack when he sneezed.”
    “Can a sneeze make that kind of thing occur?”
    “I think it can. The strain of it can be deadly to a person with a bad heart.”
    “What does that have to do with my nose being haunted?”
    “It’s possible that Joe’s spirit entered your nose and is making you sneeze as a form of poetic justice.”
    “That’s ridiculous. No ghost is inside my nose.”
    But after a month of nonstop sneezing, I was eager to accept any explanation.
    “I guess my nose is haunted,” I said. “But how can I make the sneezing stop?”
    “There is only one thing we can do,” Shirley said. “We must have your nose exorcised.”
    “You mean we have to get a priest to help us?”
    “Exactly. Evil spirits have been known to be cast out by priests.”
    “I’d feel foolish asking a clergyman to exorcise my nose.”
    “It’s the only way you can stop sneezing.”
    “What if it doesn’t work?”
    “I think it will work. It’s worth a try.”
    “I suppose you’re right.”
    “Of course I am. Once you’re cured, you’ll be glad we had it done.”
    “It certainly will be a relief to stop sneezing.”
    “You bet. Now let’s go see Father Tortorich at the rectory.”

* * *

    Father Tortorich was skeptical. “I really don’t believe that your nose is haunted, Mel.”
    “Shirley seems to think it is,” I said.
    “How else can you explain his sneezing?” Shirley said.
    “What do you want me to do about it?” Father Tortorich asked.
    “We’d like for you to pray on my nose,” I said.
    “I don’t think it’ll solve your problem, but I’ll do it.”
    Father Tortorich prayed on my nose for a good long while. Shirley and I kept our fingers crossed while the exorcism took place; we knew how important it was. We were desperate to end my problem once and for all.
    I have to give Father Tortorich credit: He prayed hard on my nose to cast the spirit out. Without him, I would still be sneezing.
    After an hour of prayer, I stopped sneezing. I was elated.
    But then I started coughing. It would not stop.
    “Oh no!” Shirley said. “Joe’s spirit has left your nose and entered your lungs!”

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