In a matter of hours, the Ghost B Gone crew has transformed the living room from airy and modern to cramped and closed. The space feels as though it has aged. Heavy drapes hide the big bay windows. The fireplace mantelpiece is loaded with ornately framed photographs of unsmiling ancestors. The red in the rolled-out Persian carpet looks like blood. The muted lighting gives the space a dank feel.
It looks like a child’s idea of a haunted house.
“Do you think he supplies his own ghosts, too?” I whisper to Malcolm.
He nods toward Terese, whom Gregory is leading center stage—for lack of a better term.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he booms. “Welcome! Tonight Ghost B Gone will confront its toughest foe yet, but confront it we will. And we will drive this malicious spirit from this space and reclai
