The Ghost's Call, page 7
‘Is there somewhere we can talk where nobody will think we’re crazy or interrupting them?’
Ben looked behind me just in time to see the old woman’s back disappearing around a corner.
‘I need to get back to work, but we can talk after I finish, if you’d like?’ he suggested.
I smiled, nodding. ‘I’d like that.’
*
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right up those ladders, dear?’ asked Mrs Brightman.
I looked down at her. She was a frail old lady, who paid me on retainer for odd jobs every week. I had the feeling she did it because she liked having my company more than anything else, which broke me. She was so sweet I didn’t mind helping her.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I reassured her as I climbed up another rung. She was holding onto the bottom of it, but I wasn’t sure how strong she’d actually be if they started to wobble. Not very, probably.
‘The photos are in a box marked Photos in red pen.’
‘OK.’ I poked my head up through the loft hatch. And screamed.
‘What! What is it!’ said Mrs Brightman in a panic.
‘Sorry, spider,’ I said. ‘Caught me off guard.’
Except it wasn’t a spider. It was her bloody husband. He’d died a few months earlier, before I’d started working for her. I recognised his balding hair, pale green eyes, and hunched frame from the photos in the lounge.
His eyes went wide. ‘You can see me?’
I nodded as I hoisted myself into the loft.
‘Do you want me to get a glass for the spider?’ offered Mrs Brightman.
‘Please,’ I said. It would give me a minute to talk to her husband.
I waited until she started down the stairs, then looked back at her husband.
‘I was looking for the photos she wants,’ he said. He sat on the floor opposite me, his legs crossed. Not the best position for someone wearing a hospital gown, ghost or no ghost. I averted my eyes as we spoke. ‘It was so odd when I realised I could do things like this without pain. It’s almost like being young again.’
I smiled. Ghosts couldn’t feel physical pain, so it made sense he could do things in his ghost form that he hadn’t been able to when he’d been alive. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I usually hide up here when she has guests to give her some privacy. But then I’m still close enough if she needs me. Today I was looking for the photos. My plan had been to move them to somewhere easier for you, but, well, moving takes more energy than I thought it would. And I can’t do it while she’s around. I don’t want her worrying she has an intruder.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I meant, why are you here?’
‘Oh. Why didn’t I go into the light?’
‘Yeah. That.’
He stared into his lap. ‘I couldn’t leave her.’
I wanted to reach out and hug him, that was so sweet. The way Mrs Brightman talked about her husband, I shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d barely been in their twenties when they’d gotten married, and they’d met as teenagers. It had broken my heart when Javi had died, and I hadn’t known him for half as long as the Brightmans had been together. No wonder Mr Brightman hadn’t wanted to move on.
‘Here you go!’ Mrs Brightman shouted up the stairs. ‘I’ll put it on the top bit.’
‘Thanks.’ I reached through the hatch to grab the glass I didn’t need and pulled it inside.
‘Did you find the photos?’
‘Not yet.’ Not that I’d looked.
‘They’re over here,’ said her husband. ‘Will you be all right to move them?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. Seriously, why did people seem surprised I had any upper body strength?
I went in the direction he was pointing in. Sure enough, there were two boxes stacked on top of one another, Photos written in red pen. ‘Found them!’ I shouted.
I picked the first one up. Fiddlesticks, that was heavier than it looked. But I had to take them down. She had no one else to. Even using all his ghost strength, Mr Brightman probably couldn’t have moved them more than a few inches.
I carried both boxes to the edge of the hatch. My plan was to carry one down, then go back for the other. There was no way I was letting Mrs Brightman carry them anywhere. I’d make sure they were where she needed them before I left, that way she didn’t have to risk hurting her shoulders and upsetting her arthritis.
Mrs Brightman held onto the stepladder while I descended it, the first box in my arms. I wobbled a bit, the weight of all the paper throwing me off. Balancing the box on the ladder, I clung to the side of it to regain my balance. Mrs Brightman’s knuckles were white as she tightened her grip on the thing. I jumped down the last couple of steps, my hands still on the box. My feet on the ground, I lifted the box up again and put it on the floor behind me. ‘I’ll carry them downstairs in a minute,’ I told her, before going back up for the next one.
‘Are you sure you’re safe?’ she said, her husky voice filled with worry.
‘I’m fine.’ I looked back down at her. ‘Besides, who else are you going to get to look for them?’
She wrinkled her nose at me, but didn’t reply. She didn’t have a reply, that was why.
‘Don’t forget the glass,’ she said as I carried the second box down.
‘Oh yeah. I missed the spider,’ I said, putting the second box on the floor then going back up for the glass.
After a silent goodbye to her husband, I grabbed the glass and closed the loft hatch behind me.
We went downstairs with the boxes, then sat down with a cup of tea.
‘Are you sure you don’t want some biscuits? I always want to make some, but it seems so silly to do it for just me.’
‘I’m sure Edie could help me eat them if you’d like to bake. She might even come over and help you make them,’ I said. She was always begging me to bake with her, but I was the worst person to teach her. Every time I tried my cakes didn’t bake, my biscuits burnt, and my bread didn’t prove.
Mrs Brightman’s face lit up. ‘She would? Really?’
‘Of course. She loves spending time with you. And I’m sure she’d love to learn more about baking. It’s never really been my thing.’ I sipped my tea, then placed it on the coffee table in front of me.
‘What about your mother? Didn’t she teach either of you?’
I shuddered. Baking was so far away from my mother’s skill set – and the type of person she was – the very thought of her teaching Edie how to do it had never occurred to me. ‘No. Definitely not.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine. My mother is long gone. We never saw eye-to-eye on anything. Edie included.’
‘I’m sorry. If I’d known I wouldn’t have brought her up.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Most people aren’t raised by narcissistic psychopaths. I, unfortunately, was. Was it any surprise I didn’t want to talk about her?
Mrs Brightman shifted uncomfortably in her armchair, adjusting her perm in an effort to delay replying to me. ‘Well, if you or Edie would like to come over and do some baking, you’re welcome any time.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll let Edie know.’
I looked up at the clock above the fireplace. An hour until I met Ben. Why did I feel so restless? Was it because he might know something that could help? Or because I was eager to see him again? Something had me rattled about him, that was for sure.
Edie was hanging out with Josh after college, so I didn’t need to explain to her where I was going when it neared five o’clock. But then, what did I have to be ashamed of? I was meeting a possible source of information, that was all.
Who was I kidding? Edie would see right through that.
‘Are you all right, dear? You seem restless all of a sudden,’ said Mrs Brightman.
‘Sorry. I have another meeting at five.’
She raised a grey eyebrow. ‘With a client? Or a gentleman?’
I gave her a sideways glance.
‘What? I can’t ask?’
I had to admire her. She didn’t care about anything; nothing was off limits.
‘It’s someone who can help me with something,’ I said.
‘I see.’
*
I left Mrs Brightman’s at quarter to five, taking a slow walk into the town centre. Since it was early when I got there, I decided to grab a coffee from one of the cafes. Should I get one for Ben? But what would I get him? What if he didn’t like coffee? What if he was lactose intolerant? Biscuits. They were safe, weren’t they? No. Coeliac. Sugar free. Too much of a minefield. I’d just have to get something for myself.
When I left the coffee shop, Ben was waiting outside, rubbing his hands together for warmth. I immediately felt bad for not getting him something.
‘Sorry, I would’ve got one for you but I didn’t know if you even liked coffee,’ I said.
‘It’s fine, I have a free lifetime supply from the coffee shop at the back of the library. I prefer pop when I’m outside of work.’
‘That’s fair,’ I said.
‘Although, for reference, I’m not picky. I like filter coffee with a dash of milk.’ He smirked.
So he thought we’d be spending more time with each other, huh?
I smirked back. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘This way,’ he said, gesturing down the ramp that led to the library’s entrance, and into the graveyard behind it. If ever there was an appropriate place to talk about ghosts…
The graveyard was full of trees and overgrown grass, which added to its creepiness. But I’d always found it calming.
We walked past the plaque dedicated to Lord Byron, who was buried inside the church, then sat on a bench a few feet away.
‘So you said your daughter was given a message?’
‘Yeah. My friend’s dad visited her, right before he crossed over. Told her to look after his family.’
‘That’s a very specific message to a very specific person,’ said Ben, a pensive expressive creeping over his face.
‘But the thing is, he had no idea Edie or I can see ghosts. He wouldn’t have known to visit us before crossing over.’
‘So you think it was coincidence? He just happened to visit them before crossing?’
‘What else could it be?’
‘I mean, it could be a coincidence. They do happen. It’s human nature to look for patterns in things and assume everything is tied to something else.’ He stared at the church in front of us, leaning back on the wooden bench to examine the steeple. ‘It’s also possible he could’ve wanted to visit his family and warn them, but he didn’t need to because Edie was there.’
‘What, like, she intercepted the message for them?’
‘Precisely. His mission was to warn them, not to fix the problem. He did that, so he left.’
‘His mission was to warn his family, not protect them?’
‘He probably figured he couldn’t help them, but if he gave them the message, they could protect themselves.’
‘Seems lazy if you ask me.’
Ben chuckled. ‘Did you know him?’
‘Yeah. And he was lazy.’ I laughed, lifting my feet on to the bench and hugging them to me.
We sat in quiet for a few moments. Calmness washed over me as I listened to the birds tweeting, the insects whispering, the cars humming. There was no one else in the graveyard, and it was turning into dusk. Most people would’ve found it creepy. I found it – and the lack of ghosts in the graveyard – soothing.
A child dressed in Victorian clothing ran in front of us, chasing a ball that he was kicking. When he noticed Ben and I watching him, he turned to face us.
‘You can see me!’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Huh,’ said the kid.
‘Can you see all of us?’ asked Thomas.
‘Yeah,’ said Ben.
‘Four people, plus me. That’s so cool!’
‘Four?’ I echoed.
The kid nodded. ‘You—’ he pointed to me, ‘—and you—’ he pointed to Ben, ‘—the girl with dark hair who looks like you—’ he pointed back to me, so he probably meant Edie. She talked to almost every ghost she saw if she could get away with it, so that made sense, ‘—And the other guy. I don’t know his name, but he’s got really dark hair.’
That was descriptive of him. Not.
‘Do you see him often?’ asked Ben.
‘Not anymore. He used to hang around a lot, but he hasn’t been here much lately.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
The kid tapped his foot on the concrete for a few seconds. ‘I’m not sure. Time is…weird when you’re a ghost.’
‘We understand,’ said Ben.
We did? I sure didn’t. But then, if anyone could explain, it wasn’t going to be a ghost that had died at ten years old, it was likely to be the human with a parapsychology degree.
‘Will you come see me again?’ asked the kid, clearly excited to have someone to talk to again.
‘Of course we will,’ said Ben. He pointed to the library. ‘I’ll wave to you out that window, too.’
The kid grinned. ‘Thanks, sir!’ He chased after his ball, leaving us alone again.
‘Sir,’ said Ben. ‘I like the sounds of that.’ He straightened up, as if feeling all official and important.
‘Don’t get too used to it, will you?’ I said with a laugh.
He lowered his shoulders and head, feigning disappointment. ‘Fiiiiine.’
His leg twitched as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the bench. ‘You know, there are rumours of a poltergeist haunting the town. The message Edie intercepted could be related to that.’
‘There’s a poltergeist in town? How didn’t I know?’
‘Different circles, I guess,’ he said. ‘I think I might know someone who’s being haunted, maybe by the poltergeist.’
‘Oh?’ I said.
‘She thinks she might be the poltergeist’s latest victim. Says things keep going missing.’
‘That’s it?’
‘A few other vague details. You know how people are. They’re reluctant to admit what’s happening because they think they’re losing it,’ he said.
‘It’s hard to know if it really is a ghost when they don’t give the full details,’ I said.
He nodded in agreement. ‘It might be a starting point. If you think it might be related to Edie, I mean.’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’
10
Edie
‘Where did you get these cameras from again?’ I asked Josh.
After our discussion in the graveyard with Thomas, he’d ran with the idea of tracking the ghosts using cameras. Next thing I knew, he’d called me over to his house. On his bed was a selection of what was basically spy equipment.
Did I mention he was adorable?
‘Online. Where else would I get them from?’ He tipped the contents of the box onto the bed.
I walked over to the half-finished painting on his easel. A photo of Nathan balanced on the bottom, and he’d clearly been copying it. It was from before he’d gotten sick, but you could see the family resemblance. It was striking. Josh had brilliantly captured the blue in Nathan’s – and by association, his own – eyes. I had to take a step back it was so intense.
‘What do you think?’ Josh asked as he sorted through the box’s contents.
‘It’s amazing. Eerily lifelike.’ Worried how that sounded, I clarified: ‘I mean that in a good way.’
He half-smiled, half-blushed. ‘Thanks.’
I walked over to the bed and sat opposite him. Josh held up one of the cameras. It was barely bigger than my pinky finger. I knew tech like that existed, but I’d never seen it before. And I never expected to use it. I mean, I could already see ghosts. Why did I need to see them through a camera lens?
But things were different now. The town was being haunted and we needed to do something about it. It was impossible to find where the ghosts were if we couldn’t track them.
‘So, where are we going to put them? Are we going to get in trouble for placing them somewhere public? Will they think we’re weirdos?’ I asked, suddenly wondering if this really was a good idea.
‘Relax. No one will be able to see them, let alone trace them back to us. They’re tiny. We’ll put them in public places, too, and if anyone asks we’ll tell them it’s for ghost hunting.’
‘We’ll actually tell them that?’ I said.
‘Yeah. Why not? People will dismiss us as nuts and just ignore us. Besides, they’re infrared cameras. We can’t do that much with the footage.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘So where do you think we should put them?’
If we found the right place to put them, we might be able to track what the recently freed ghosts were doing. The ones who were still around, anyway. Then Mum might finally take me seriously and let me help her in supernatural matters. I hoped.
‘I mostly came up with places not to put them. Like the graveyard, since you said people don’t go there much,’ said Josh.
‘We need to focus on places people do go to. Like the town centre or the parks.’
‘Then we’ll start there.’
*
Josh and I were hanging out, in the dark, on a school night. It almost would’ve been romantic if we hadn’t been wrapped in a dozen layers, wandering around in the freezing cold to put up cameras like some sort of ghost Peeping Toms. I mean, that’s basically what we were, but the reports of ghost activity were increasing. We had to do something.
The newspapers had carried more stories of animals lashing out at their owners, and I was convinced it was because of the hauntings. I hated the thought of innocent animals getting punished when their owners were really the ones acting weird and they were just trying to protect their families.
‘What’s up?’ said Josh as we walked down the hill to the town centre.
‘Just thinking of the poor pets that’ve gotten into trouble for growling at – or attacking – their owners. I hope none of them get put down.’
