Red Heather

by Aly Noble

  My grimy, blackened laptop stared back at me when I rounded the corner to the living room, and I wondered dismally if there was a store within twenty miles that could fix it. Or, more realistically, a store within twenty miles that sold computers.

  • • •

  Jonah the Ghost didn’t show up again that night and it was just as well. I got caught up on my illustrations and had a night undisturbed for the first time since what might have been my first week in Grendling. In this uninterrupted solitude, I missed Ed and wondered if I could bring him back now that the haunting incident that had been weeks in the works seemed to be over.

  I curled up in bed at midnight, temporarily pushing away thoughts of my resident ghost, the fourth camcorder, and all my other unanswered questions so I could catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  Chapter 13

  As it would happen, sleep didn’t seem to need me.

  I never dreamt after taking a sleeping pill. I hardly dreamt without them, too. However, I supposed whatever suppressed stress I’d been internalizing over the past few weeks decided to manifest in my unconscious mind that night. Something like REM rebound, I guessed.

  It was difficult to say that the dream I’d had was a nightmare. I’d been in the backyard, amidst the dead overgrowth within the fence and retracing the steps of a not-so-distant memory. I’d found my way to the bush in the corner of the browned garden and had parted the twigs of decay yet again. The little, white bell-like flowers had still been inside, but I’d picked them this time and cradled them in my hands. As I studied the delicate bulbs of petals, they’d begun to bleed red where they grew from the stem. The sanguinary transformation had saturated the flowers and made them into a sticky, grotesque pulp in my hands.

  I’d awakened just after. In fact, I’d barely turned over to contemplate what I’d just dreamt, maybe even type it into my phone for later consideration, when I’d instead come face-to-face with my spectral douchebag of a roommate.

  I shouted and windmilled my way out of bed.

  Jonah laughed.

  “You are so lucky,” I grumbled as I picked myself up off the floor, untwisting my nightshirt, “that you’re already dead!”

  Jonah remained stretched out on one side on my bed, his head propped up on a fist like a cover model as he observed me innocently enough. “You keep saying that and I have to disagree.”

  “No? Because in case it wasn’t clear, I’d kill you.”

  He cracked a smirk. “Worth a shot.”

  “Get out of my room!”

  “All right, all right,” he sighed, making the slowest exit I’d ever seen—particularly after seeing him disappear into thin air on more than a few occasions. At a loss for words, I rubbed the back of my head and went to shower, on high alert for any more sudden, unwarranted appearances although none came.

  Now that I had some privacy, I thought back to my dream, scrambling to remember it for a few moments before the visual of the bloody flowers popped back into my mind. While the shower water warmed, I typed “white bell-shaped flowers” into a search engine app on my phone, scrolling through a few results until I saw a picture of the flowers I’d seen in the dream and in my actual backyard a few weeks ago.

  I blinked at the description, a crease forming between my brows. They were heather blossoms. White heather blossoms that had been bathed red by my dreams. For a moment, I remembered asking Trevor why the house and the street had been named “Red Heather” and while I still didn’t have an answer to that question, I wondered if I was subconsciously attributing meaning to the name in place of real, helpful answers or if the dream had some sort of tie-in to the house.

  When I made it downstairs, he was loitering in the kitchen, looking sullen as the coffeepot percolated. I figured that was his version of an apology. Jonah glanced at me when I entered, and the tense configuration of the muscles around his mouth confirmed that he was trying desperately not to smirk again. “Shut up,” I warned him, but I yawned through it and that severed the warning from whatever tone of threat I could muster.

  “I said nothing,” he said with a brief shrug, shooting a look over his shoulder when the kitchen window cover inflated with the wind. I passed him to walk outside, carefully stepping barefoot through the dead garden and feeling a touch of deja vu that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. I went to the bush and pushed the brambles aside once more—the blossoms were still there, hardy and alive. I touched one experimentally, and it trembled at the contact but stayed pristine.

  Perplexed, I let go of the brush and went back into the house. As I shut the back door, Jonah had the nerve to ask with a nod toward the window over the sink, “When are you fixing these?”

  “When I’m not broke, maybe,” I grumbled. “You know, you can always just leave.”

  “Not really,” he murmured, glancing at the coffeepot when it stopped gurgling.

  Instead of doing what I had been and assuming he was just being aggravating and stubborn, I thought back to Bethaline explaining that he couldn't move past the river. I asked, “Why not?”

  His eyes flickered to me, his features smooth and dark eyes suspicious. I narrowed my gaze in turn. “Why do you ask?” he countered.

  “Because you’re in my house and clearly there’s a reason you can’t—or won’t—leave.”

  “I was here long before you,” Jonah pointed out.

  “Is your name on the lease? Are you making payments?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why not?”

  Jonah grimaced. “Why does it matter?”

  “Oh, my god, because you’re clearly not going to leave. What’s the harm in telling me why?” I half-groaned. I knew he was trying to make me regret asking and tell him to forget it, so that’s exactly what I wasn’t going to do. No matter how painful this turned out to be.

  “Do you—”

  “Stop,” I finally said. “Stop right there.” A brief glimmer of triumph hit his eyes just before I said, “Make the next thing you say an answer. If that’s not an option, then don’t say anything. I’m not playing games with you. Got it?”

  He leveled his stare just over my head and kept it there, no words passing his lips.

  I rolled my eyes and went to get a mug from the cupboard, filling it with hot coffee, cream, and sugar and heading to the kitchen table. I sat down and flipped open the Patch manuscript and my sketchbook to work as I let the coffee steam. The silence remained until I was halfway through my first sketch, at which time he murmured, “It’s easiest for me to keep my form when I'm inside.”

  “Do you know why?” I asked curiously while sipping my coffee, which I’d let cool just a touch too long.

  Jonah shrugged. “I have some idea, but it's nothing I've been able to fix.”

  “Well, what's the idea?” I asked, leaning forward and forgetting about my sketch for the moment.

  He eyed me warily. “Why do you want to know?”

  I scoffed. “Yes, why would I—a living human being with no firsthand knowledge of the supernatural, much less the actual afterlife—want to know what you go through to stay so…,” I paused and contemplated my sarcastic word choice, “…corporeal?”

  Jonah sized me up before shrugging his shoulders and seeming to relax significantly. “You have a point.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  A smirk crossed his lips. “I’m lacking a power source. I fade out if I run out of energy. There’s enough residual energy here that I run like a circuit while I’m inside the house. If I try to cross property lines, my form rejects it.”

  “When were you born?”

  “Long before you.”

  “How long? And if that’s the case, how do you know—”

  “What a circuit is?” he guessed. “I may have been born a while back, Miri, but I have existed since that time. If you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty observant.”

  I worked my teeth along the inside of my lip, thinking of the blue highlight on the map. “Okay… S
o this place is like a battery for you. Is there some line of concentrated power that goes through this house?”

  “What, like a ley line?”

  “Sure.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s just the grounds. The area.”

  “Hmph.” Theory debunked, I glanced at my phone for the time and rose, closing my books to gather up my stuff. As I walked, I continued talking, “So, you’re stuck here essentially?”

  Jonah was silent for a beat. “Yes.”

  I nodded to myself, beginning to zip up the camera bag and then hesitating. Despite the implications of keeping the final memory card from my attempt at ghost hunting gone horrifically right, I popped the card out of the machine and found a case for it in the pocket. Only after setting it aside did I zip up the bag. Jonah watched me do this wordlessly, and I wondered again how many of my horrors he’d watched and done nothing about.

  I couldn’t bite the words back this time. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

  His curious gaze dipped up to me from beneath his eyelashes. “Do anything?” he repeated.

  “When I was being terrorized in my own house,” I filled in. “Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t you help me?

  Jonah looked perplexed. “What reason would I have had for doing that?”

  “So I could’ve done something about it! I didn’t even know what I was dealing with!”

  “I did tell you.”

  “Yeah, when everything was already going to shit. Thanks for that.”

  He grimaced. “That’s pretty ungrateful of you.”

  I grimaced right back. “Did you have a front-row seat? Was it just fun to watch?”

  “I thought we might actually be getting somewhere and, here you are, attacking me again,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Oh, don’t even play the victim.”

  There was an extended silence before he admitted, “I don’t know why I didn’t help you. I just didn't.”

  “Do you see how shady that makes you look to me?” I asked him and, when he nodded, I felt only half-satisfied. “Different version of the same question…”

  “All right.”

  “I saw you a couple of times, too,” I murmured, which seemed to surprise him. He had to know though, from my reactions if anything. “Why not tell me you weren’t the one doing the scary things around the house?”

  One dark brow arched against his pale flesh. “Would you have believed me?”

  I knew the answer and so did he. “No.”

  A single nod. “A reasonable response.”

  “But you could have tr—”

  “You’ll be late for work if you keep this up.”

  I shot an indignant look his way. “I’m not going in to work today. I’m just taking the camera back.”

  He shrugged. “Late for whatever it is that you’re planning to do today then. Dressed like that.”

  I looked down at my running clothes. “You just thought I was going to work.”

  “Your ethic is none of my business.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I mumbled, pulling my full water bottle off the counter and slinging the bag over my shoulder. After sliding my phone in my pocket, I mumbled, “Be less annoying by the time I get back.”

  “You wound me, O Great Fashionista.”

  I shook my head at his sardonic response as I pulled the door shut behind me and locked up. “Try me.”

  • • •

  I took the last camcorder back to Willow Press and snuck it into storage without consequence. Catherine was on a conference call in her office that sounded more personal than business and I assumed Carla, Steven, and Estelle were either at their desks or not in that day, so it was easy to maneuver the camcorder back to where it belonged. I also blessedly found my first paycheck in my mail cubby, which was celebrated despite knowing it would go straight into a fund for new windows.

  I realized after stepping out of my workplace that I’d neglected to eat that morning and I was starving as a result. I started down to Jill’s at a brisk walk and, halfway there, called Rose to see if she wanted to grab the burger we’d discussed having at some point. She met me in the parking lot with Bethaline and Axil in tow.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed happily as she got out of the car and went to free Bethaline from her car seat. “We passed you back there, but I wasn’t sure it was you or I would’ve stopped.”

  I found that a little hard to believe since mine was the most vivid hair in town, but I didn’t question it. “No worries, I’m out for some exercise today,” I replied, smiling when Bethaline hopped out of the crossover. “Hey, Bethaline.”

  Her glittering gray eyes practically beamed. “Hi, Miri!”

  “How are you today?”

  “Good! Your hair is purple now—I love it!” she squealed as Rose took Axil from his seat. I snagged the diaper bag from the floor, and she threw me a grateful look. “I’ll get the door!”

  When she bolted for the entrance, I glanced at Rose and asked, “Is she going to start kindergarten next year?”

  Rose nodded as we walked up. “I didn’t really feel like she was ready this year, so we’re waiting a bit. Next fall though, yeah. Hard to believe…”

  “I bet,” I murmured, smiling as Bethaline hauled the door open with all her might. “Look at you! Thanks!”

  “Welcome,” she said. Once Rose went through, I took the door and nodded for Bethaline to follow her mom. She darted between me and the door and joined Rose at one of the tables, climbing into a chair as her mom settled Axil’s carrier into a seat.

  “How’s your head?” Rose asked as we settled in.

  “It’s fine. I still have a bald spot I’d rather not have, but that’s the worst of it.”

  She nodded knowingly. “I get that. Crazy what a headrest can do.”

  Called it. “Yeah. Right.”

  “I want a cheeseburger,” Bethaline interjected relevantly, obscured by her menu apart from her tiny hands propping it up.

  “We’re on the same page, Bethy,” Rose agreed, not needing to look at the menu to know what she wanted. She instead made silly faces at Axil when he began to fuss.

  “No bacon?” I wondered aloud.

  “Oh, definitely bacon,” Rose enforced, as if suggesting otherwise was sacrilege.

  “I don’t want bacon,” Bethaline said vehemently. “I don’t like it.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re not getting it, huh?” I replied with a smirk.

  “Miri, will you do my hair like yours?”

  “Ask your mom.”

  Bethaline turned up the charm before she looked to her mother. “Mama, can she?”

  Rose gave it some thought before glancing at me. “What do you use?”

  “Semi-permanent, but I’d find temporary if I did hers.”

  “Please?” she added hopefully.

  Rose smiled. “Not your whole head. Maybe like one strip. Sound fair?”

  “Yay!” Bethaline cheered, her baby teeth glimmering in the amber light of the dining room.

  Jill appeared at the table with her pad in hand, smiling at the kids. “Good to see you, Rose and family. It’s been a long time.”

  “You’re telling me, Jill,” Rose agreed. “How’ve you been? How’s business?”

  “We’ve been great and business has been even better.” Jill smirked my way. “Especially since this one moved to town.”

  “You’re not supposed to out me, Jill,” I laughed. “We had a deal.”

  “I should add that it’s good to see you, too, Miri. Hasn’t been as long though,” Jill teased me with a wink. “Pint of the home-brew for you?”

  “Sounds perfect. And the bacon burger with a side salad, please.”

  “How about for you, Rose?”

  “I’ll just take a water with lemon and the same burger, same side.”

  Jill nodded with a smile. “Both pink in the middle, if I remember right?”

  Rose a
nd I nodded back in unison.

  “And what would you like, Bethaline?” Jill asked.

  “I want a cheeseburger, but no bacon,” she said seriously, a beat passing before she added, “please.”

  “The kids’ cheeseburger?”

  A sort of fire lit in her eyes at that, and she said, “No, the big one!” just as her mother answered for her, “Definitely the kids’ size.”

  Bethaline looked aghast at such an opportunity ripped from her grasp so quickly. “But Mama!”

  “You get fries or mac and cheese with the kids’ size and that’s enough food,” Rose said sternly despite the withheld laughter dancing in her eyes.

  “Okay…,” Bethaline relented, her lips puckering as she stared at her brother. She looked up at Jill and asked, “Can I have macaroni, too, please?”

  Jill looked more than a little amused as she said, “You certainly can. I’ll get your order in.”

  After she left, Rose turned her attention back to me. “By the way… What are you doing on Friday?”

  “Um…” I paused a beat to think. “Nothing really.”

  Rose was pleased with that answer and leaned closer after making sure Bethaline was occupied. “Would you mind babysitting? Bethy will be ecstatic and Steve and I literally haven’t had a date night in years—”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said as Jill returned with our drinks.

  “—and he got us a reservation at a really nice restaurant—”

  “Rose, I said okay!” I laughed, sipping my beer.

  She blushed a little, but it was a high school blush. A stomachful of butterflies type of blush. I remembered feeling like that. It was nice to see that someone could look that way and have it work out in the end. “It’ll probably be an overnight…”

  “Where’s the restaurant?” I asked curiously.