At precisely 7:23 p.m., as per her FitBit’s insistence, Elvira Henderson threw open the grand doors to Henderson Manor. Elvira was the only one who called it a “manor.” In reality, it was a rather spacious but run-down house passed down through the Henderson family for generations, situated awkwardly between a 24-hour taco joint and a hardware store that hadn’t sold anything but duct tape since 1987.

Elvira, clad in a floor-length velvet robe with stars on it (“Celestial Chic,” she called it), cleared her throat and addressed the twelve bewildered guests who had gathered on her porch, holding their duffel bags, water bottles, and yoga mats.

“Welcome,” she intoned, her voice as grave as a tombstone. “To Henderson Manor: your ticket to holistic healing and otherworldly wellness. Each of you has been chosen for our exclusive, life-changing retreat experience. Come in… if you dare.”

“Is there Wi-Fi?” asked Dave, a balding man in a tracksuit who looked like he hadn’t taken a day off from accounting in three decades.

“We do not speak of Wi-Fi in this sacred place,” Elvira replied, making air quotes around “sacred.” Dave looked horrified, clutching his phone like a talisman.

“Great,” muttered Jenny, a petite woman in a neon-pink workout set. “I’m going to have to live-tweet my chakras offline.”

Everyone shuffled in, casting wary glances around the manor. The air inside smelled faintly of patchouli and something Elvira swore was “ghostly ectoplasm,” though her cousin Martha said it was just “an old lasagna rotting in the fridge.”

As the guests gathered in what Elvira optimistically called the “Great Room,” complete with a ghostly tapestry that might have just been mildew, she handed everyone a binder titled Henderson Holistic Horror: Your Ultimate Guide to Reawakening.

“Now,” Elvira said, with a dramatic flourish of her arm, “I have a surprise. This health retreat will involve more than just your average yoga class or detox tea.”

“Don’t tell me it’s CrossFit,” groaned Dave. “My knees can’t handle it.”

Elvira’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh no. Far worse! Tonight, we will make contact with spirits—spirits from beyond this earthly realm.”

The guests exchanged glances. Larry, a guy who looked suspiciously like he’d arrived on a skateboard, whispered, “Is this like… included in the price?”

“Totally included,” Elvira replied with a toothy grin. “Tonight, we summon the spirit of my great-great-grandfather, Randolph Henderson. He built this manor with his own two hands—and, legend says, with the help of a ghostly apparition who shared the secrets of the beyond.”

“Sounds like free labor,” Jenny whispered, and Elvira shot her a stern look.

Elvira began to set up a circle of candles on the living room floor, arranging a variety of “supernaturally charged” crystals in the middle. She gestured for everyone to sit around the circle, handed them each a small bell, and instructed, “If you see anything… otherworldly, ring the bell.”

“Define ‘otherworldly,’” said Cynthia, an elderly woman with the expression of someone who’d accidentally ended up here while looking for a Bingo hall.

Elvira ignored her. “Begin chanting, my friends. Say it with me: ‘Randolph Henderson, Randolph Henderson, grant us your presence from the great beyond.’”

The group mumbled the words, some half-heartedly, some too terrified to make eye contact with anyone else. But as the candles flickered and the chanting grew louder, a gust of wind blew through the room, knocking over a potted plant.

“Oh my god,” whispered Jenny, clutching her yoga mat. “Did you see that?”

“Of course we did; it was a plant,” grumbled Dave. “Probably just the HVAC.”

Elvira’s eyes flashed with excitement. “You’re wrong, Dave! Randolph is with us. Do you feel that chill? That, my friends, is a ghostly presence.”

“What’s he gonna do, charge us for heating?” muttered Larry, but no one heard him because Elvira’s chanting had grown louder and more intense. Just as she began to enter what she referred to as “a spiritual trance” (or a dramatic whisper), the lights flickered, and an unexpected noise echoed through the hallways—a deep, guttural sound, like a toilet attempting to flush a brick.

Everyone froze. Elvira’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “It’s Randolph.”

Dave shook his head. “That sounded like the plumbing.”

Elvira took a deep breath, then turned, eyes wide. “That,” she hissed, “was not the plumbing.”

Just then, the front door creaked open, and in shuffled a hunched figure dressed in a flannel shirt and overalls, carrying what appeared to be a rusty toolbox.

“Randolph!” gasped Elvira, practically leaping from the floor.

The figure squinted, muttered something about “not being paid enough for this,” and set down the toolbox. Everyone leaned in, holding their breath. “Did Randolph… bring his own tools?” whispered Jenny.

“No,” replied the figure, rubbing his eyes. “It’s me, Gus. The plumber. Y’all called me about the leaky sink?”

“Oh,” murmured the group in unison, though Larry looked mildly disappointed.

Elvira, not one to admit defeat, quickly said, “Of course! Randolph often… uses the living to communicate with us.”

Gus raised an eyebrow. “Lady, I’m here to fix a sink.”

Elvira waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, attend to your earthly duties, vessel of Randolph.”

Gus mumbled something about “crazy customers” and clanged his way to the kitchen. As he left, Elvira tried to reclaim the moment. “Do not let earthly interruptions dissuade you! We have come together to awaken our spirits and commune with those beyond.”

The group, still processing Gus the plumber’s abrupt appearance, reluctantly resumed the chanting. But just as they started up again, a loud scream pierced the silence, coming from the direction of the kitchen. Everyone leaped up and ran toward the noise, where they found Gus, looking pale as a ghost himself.

“What… what did you see?” asked Elvira, her voice quivering with excitement.

Gus, clutching his wrench like a cross, muttered, “I don’t know what kind of haunted garbage disposal you have here, but something growled at me when I turned the water on. I’m not fixing that.”

Elvira beamed. “Randolph! He’s really here! This is unprecedented!”

“It’s mold,” Gus declared flatly. “Possibly a raccoon.”

“Raccoons are of this realm,” snapped Elvira. “Randolph is clearly displeased. We must appease him.”

“By what—getting a new garbage disposal?” asked Dave.

Elvira glared. “By making an offering. Everyone, gather round. We need something he would’ve cherished in life.” She rifled through her purse, producing a half-eaten granola bar. “This should do it.”

They gathered around the garbage disposal, and Elvira tossed the granola bar down the sink. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then, a series of ominous gurgling sounds erupted, followed by a faint, chilling wail.

“Randolph is angry!” shrieked Elvira.

“Or,” mumbled Gus, “the disposal’s on the fritz.”

But the guests were caught up in the thrill. Jenny clasped her hands together, exclaiming, “I feel… rejuvenated! I swear I’ve dropped a whole two pounds of negative energy just being here.”

“See?” Elvira said triumphantly. “The Henderson Holistic Experience is real!”

But before she could continue, the doorbell rang. Standing there was another man, looking slightly bewildered, in a suit with the name “Martha’s Movers” embroidered on his shirt.

“Sorry to bother you, but… we have a couch here for delivery?”

Elvira looked baffled. “A couch? I didn’t order a couch.”

“Are you sure? The name says ‘Elvira Henderson.’ Says it was ordered by your cousin Martha.”

The crowd of guests looked at each other, intrigued by this new twist.

“Wait,” Dave said slowly, “isn’t Martha the one who…?”

Elvira looked mortified. “She did say she had a surprise for me, but…”

The movers shuffled past them, hauling in an enormous, grotesquely pink couch that looked like it had been designed by someone who hated both comfort and the color pink.

“This is the ugliest couch I’ve ever seen,” muttered Jenny.

Just then, Gus gasped, pointing at the couch. “Look—on the armrest!”

There, etched into the hideous upholstery, was the word “RANDOLPH.”

Elvira’s eyes widened. “It’s a sign! Randolph has manifested himself… in the furniture!”

The room erupted in screams, as guests ran around, throwing crystals and chanting. Gus threw his wrench in the air, while Dave fainted dramatically onto the ghastly pink couch. The only one not panicked was Elvira, who stood with her arms outstretched, basking in what she considered an indisputable victory.

Suddenly, Martha burst through the front door, holding a cake. “Surprise! I thought I’d spruce up the place with a couch and some dessert!”

She stopped dead, taking in the chaos of the room—the plumber, the movers, guests chanting around the garbage disposal, and Dave passed out on the couch with “RANDOLPH” written on his forehead in what appeared to be permanent marker.

Martha sighed, handing Elvira the cake. “You said this retreat was a health spa, Elvira. Why is everyone losing their minds?”

Elvira grinned, gesturing to the wreckage. “Exactly as planned!