The Reckless Afterlife of Harriet Stoker

by Lauren James

  Rima shook her head. She was trying very hard not to gape at Harriet. “No.” Her voice came out shrill. “We don’t heal, if we’re injured.”

  Harriet hummed. She didn’t sound particularly disappointed.

  Rima cleared her throat. “Actually, you can’t bruise yourself on a door. You’d walk straight through it. Only another ghost can hurt a ghost.”

  Harriet shrugged. “I had a little disagreement with the Tricksters. Rufus has a strange intimidation style. He apparently decided that keeping hold of my eyelid would be a good souvenir.”

  Felix blanched. She should probably try and get that skin back, at some point. There was a lot that could be done with part of a ghost’s body, especially by someone like Rufus. What had she been fighting with them about? Had Greg been involved? Is that why he’d left the building?

  There was an excruciating silence. Rima looked desperately at Felix for support. He shrugged helplessly. He couldn’t help – he created awkward silences just by breathing.

  Kasper was twisting his hands back and forth, back and forth, bending his interlinked fingers at impossible, violent angles. Carefully, Felix pressed his shoulder against his.

  “So,” Harriet said, sounding unaffected. She looked out of the window. She was facing away from them. “What happens next, in these votes of yours? Does the defendant have a chance to speak before or after they are banished for eternity?”

  “We wouldn’t have…” Rima said, horrified.

  Harriet blew out a breath through her nose. “Don’t worry, Rima, I understand. You have to do what’s best for the hall. If I’m a danger, you need to get rid of me.” She paused, and ran one carefully manicured finger along her bottom lip. Rima was frozen, watching her unblinkingly. “It’s interesting, you see, because I wasn’t aware that you four were in charge of making decisions for the entire building.”

  “We aren’t,” Felix said, when it seemed like no one else was going to. “If we think that you should be punished, then we’ll call a general meeting. The whole building will vote.”

  “Very democratic.” Harriet’s expression turned disinterested, but there was something that contradicted her sudden boredom. “Surely what I did doesn’t deserve that, though? I made a mistake. I won’t do it again.”

  “What happened to you?” Rima’s lip trembled. “The Tricksters did something to you, didn’t they? That’s why your hair has turned white! This isn’t really you.”

  Harriet’s fingers pressed lightly against the white strands like she’d forgotten about it. “The Tricksters did nothing to me except actually answer my questions.”

  Rima swallowed. “But – I thought you were like us. We got on, didn’t we? We had fun.”

  There was a vulnerable expression on Harriet’s face for a moment, and then it disappeared and hardened into something new. “Let’s break this down into digestible chunks. Just because we have the same sense of humour doesn’t mean we have the same morals. It doesn’t mean I’m anything like you. I didn’t…” She faltered for a moment, almost imperceptibly. “I was using you, obviously.”

  Rima turned away, choking off a sob.

  “You’re making a mistake here, kid,” Leah said. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “What’s new there?” Harriet spat back. “I regret everything that’s happened since I came to Mulcture Hall.”

  “What did you do to Greg, Harriet?” Felix asked. “The Shells might have been a mistake, if you got misled by the Tricksters. But what happened to Greg?”

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “Should he be allowed to discuss this?” she said to Rima, gesturing at Felix derisively. “We all know he hates me because he’s obsessed with—”

  Felix made a noise of panic, but before he could cut her off, Kasper got there first.

  “Harriet!” he shouted, furious.

  Felix jerked his head around, shocked. Rima shouted at people out of love. Leah, to make them leave her alone. Kasper, though. Kasper only told people off when he was very, very angry. And it took a lot to rile Kasper.

  “Just stop, OK! Stop it.” He let out a furious gust of breath. “You can’t talk your way out of this. You made a mistake. You have to deal with the consequences.”

  Harriet tilted her head to one side. She touched his elbow. “Kasper, babe, don’t be like that.”

  He jerked his arm away. “I think you should leave. Please. Until we’ve all had a chance to calm down.”

  She looked surprised. “But…” She touched his elbow again, frowning hard like she was concentrating.

  Kasper shrugged her off. “What are you – are you trying to make me…? Never mind. It’s not going to work. Yeah, I liked you. No, that’s not going to change anything. Not now, not ever.”

  Harriet squared her jaw. Her fists were clenched, braced like she was about to start shouting. Then she visibly backed down. She nodded her head, twice in quick succession.

  After she left the room, it took a long time for anyone to speak to fill the vacuum she left behind.

  HARRIET

  It hadn’t worked. It had worked on Greg. Greg had scurried off to do everything Harriet wanted with a little push of love and desperation. He’d been so desperate to please her that he’d literally walked out of the building, after he realized there were no humans inside. He’d let himself disintegrate for her.

  When she’d used the same power on Kasper, he’d shrugged it off. He’d acted like the love she’d made him feel for her was nothing. He had felt the emotion she’d pushed into him – he’d even commented on it – but it hadn’t changed his actions. He must be so used to ignoring his emotions that it didn’t affect him.

  How was she going to convince him to help her leave this place now? Her plan had failed completely.

  Seething, Harriet marched up the stairs, pushing her way past a crowd of idling ghosts. She’d thought this power was useful, but if people could ignore what she made them feel, then what was the point? She’d have been better off with Felix’s power of hypnotism. At least then people couldn’t use their common sense to ignore the compulsion.

  Once again, she’d been left with a useless power. And lost Greg, who might have been stupid, but knew more about the ins and outs of Mulcture Hall than she did. He had been valuable, in his own way.

  At least she’d acted sensibly when talking to the others this time. That was the only positive outcome from the last few hours. Harriet had been absolutely furious, listening to them discuss sending her to the basement. It had taken all her self-control not to reveal herself and immediately start shouting.

  But instead of yelling, she had purposefully kept her cool, trying to copy the quiet control Rufus always had. That was the way her gran spoke to people too – keeping her distance and intimidating them with long pauses. She would sometimes knit whole rows between sentences, eyeing Harriet over the top of the wool in disappointment.

  Harriet had embarrassed herself during the argument after Kasper’s possession. She’d attacked Rima and Felix like a toddler having a tantrum. The energy overdose had burnt the surface off the inside of all her nerves, taking her common sense with it.

  She was going to have to wait for a human to appear on their own. Surely someone would come soon – maybe a caretaker, unable to resist nosing around the crime scene. When they did, she would get Kasper and try this again. This time, she wouldn’t fail.

  RIMA

  Rima felt cheated. Harriet really had been using them from the very beginning. Surely deep down, below the panic and desperation that her death had created, Harriet must be a good person. Or was Rima just delusional, like the others said?

  Harriet’s energy glowed brightly inside her, so strong that it must be hard for her to keep it under control. What if her erratic behaviour was because that extra energy was influencing her? Rima’s mind kept returning to the vicious way Harriet had spoken to Qi, hours after her death, because she’d been given one little rat. If only there was a way they could bleed some of the ene
rgy out of her. Then she might calm down.

  Rima was at a loss for what they should do next. There were too many missing pieces to the puzzle. Had Harriet knowingly killed the Shells? Was she connected to Greg’s disintegration? Why had she been fighting with Rufus?

  She was acting so randomly that it would be hard to stop her. They needed more information. It was time to ask Leah for help, even if the thought alone made Rima hate herself.

  “Look, I didn’t want to do this,” Rima said. “But, Leah, I think we need to know what happens next. Don’t you?”

  Leah dropped her head, hair falling in front of her face so that Rima couldn’t see her expression. Rima rubbed her nose once, twice, three times, trying to hide her desperation. Leah’s power let her see the past and future, but using it drained her. It was a big risk. But they had to stop Harriet, before she could hurt anyone else.

  “Please, Leah? We can’t do anything unless we know what Harriet is planning to do.” Felix and Kasper were quiet, leaving this to Rima.

  Leah ran her finger down the side of Claudia’s cheek as she thought about using her power. The baby watched her, blinking leisurely. She opened her lips and made a small, soft burble.

  Finally, when Rima was about to take back the request out of sheer awkwardness, Leah nodded. “OK. I’ll look for you, Rima. But you should know that I’m very low on energy. And Claudia may – overreact.”

  Rima swallowed. Leah looked … scared. It was a new expression on her face.

  Rima suddenly regretted asking at all. “What does that mean?”

  “The last time I used my power, I didn’t wake up immediately afterwards. My energy was too low. Claudia thought I was going to disintegrate, and she panicked.” Leah looked up at the ceiling. “She took energy from someone nearby and pushed it all into me.”

  “What?” Kasper looked horrified.

  Rima looked aghast at Claudia. Could a baby do something like that? Surely Leah was mistaken. It wasn’t possible. She was only a few months old.

  Leah explained, “When I woke up, the person had disintegrated. It was … unfortunate. I’ve explained to Claudia many times that she shouldn’t do that again. When it’s my time to disintegrate, she can’t stop it. She seems to have accepted that now, but you should keep your distance. Just in case.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Rima said, trying to keep her horror off her face. Leah made it sound like Claudia was … developed. Perceptive. Communicative. That couldn’t possibly be right.

  “I have to try,” Leah said. “If Harriet is putting the whole building in danger … I can’t let her hurt any of you.”

  Rima looked between her and Claudia, still unsure. Finally, she turned to Felix. “What do you think?”

  He was staring at Claudia, too, and doing a much worse job of hiding his horror than Rima had.

  “Felix?”

  He jerked his gaze away from the baby, turning to her. “Sorry?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Do you really, genuinely think that Harriet is a murderer? Do you believe that enough to put Leah and Claudia at risk?”

  Felix swallowed. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pressing his chin into the crook of his elbow. “I – I don’t—” A pained look crossed his face. “Yes. I’m sorry, Leah, I’m really sorry, but – yes. I really do think that she’s dangerous. And I think we’re going to need all the information we can get.”

  Kasper nodded his head, too, slowly at first, then more quickly. “She’s going after the weakest people here. We can’t allow that, not while we’ve got the strength to stop her.”

  A feeling of pure terror washed over Rima. How could things have escalated this quickly?

  “OK.” Leah carefully laid Claudia down in her lap and adjusted the material around her face. She leant down to press a kiss to her forehead, and whispered, “Please be good. You know it’s time.”

  The baby wriggled in her blanket, letting out a feeble cry.

  Rima looked away, uncomfortable.

  Leah said, “It will only take a second. Please don’t touch us. At any point.”

  “Good luck.” Rima slid back on the floor until she found Felix, blindly squeezing his hand.

  Leah took a deep breath and tipped her head forwards. She was completely still at first. Then her fingertips started trembling. The shudders spread up her limbs and across her body. In her lap, Claudia started wailing, an endless, terrible noise that pierced Rima’s eardrums.

  Kasper wrapped his arm around Rima’s shoulder. She was crying, and pressed her cheek into his bicep, unable to watch but unable to look away.

  Leah’s light was dimming. She hadn’t been very bright before, but now her colour began fading rapidly. After only a few minutes she was so dull that she was almost black and white. She was staring at something inside her mind, something the others couldn’t see.

  Leah swung her head back around, eyes wide. Looking right at Felix, she said, petrified, “We have to stop her!”

  Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she tipped over to one side, unconscious.

  Claudia let out an agonized screech, legs kicking in her unresponsive mother’s lap. None of them touched her.

  Leah had become a Shell.

  You know, ghosts have myths. They’re passed down from generation to generation – ancient, millennia-old ghosts passing on stories they heard when they were newly dead, from other ancient ghosts on the brink of disintegration.

  The stories stretch back all the way to Neolithic times, before stories were told in words. Back then, language was crude and essential, nothing more than a way to help humans work together to hunt and eat and sleep.

  Those stories don’t make much sense now. They don’t follow the forms of tales we know. They are short and to the point: the man saw a deer on the eastern slopes and cornered the deer in a small cluster of trees. It tasted good. The hide was strong.

  Those early humans weren’t interested in entertainment. It hadn’t been invented yet. There were no happy endings or romances, or heroes. The stories nearly always ended in death. A hunt, a defeat, a victory, a bad case of food poisoning.

  But those stories – if you can call them stories – all have one thing in common, as far as I can see. They might not have plot, or characters, or beautiful writing. But there is always one thing: a lesson. A moral. A new piece of information, worthy of remembering and passing on.

  I haven’t decided what the moral of my story is yet. The lesson that needs sharing. What here is worth remembering a millennium from now, if we survive that long? Worth passing on to the generations of ghosts that come after us?

  I think the message might be that it’s never over. Even when you think someone is gone for ever, they can return. Whether you’re desperate to speak to them one last time, or terrified to see their face. Life always finds a way.

  Chapter 16

  FELIX

  Felix and Kasper sat together in the laundry room. Leah was in Felix’s bedroom, but he couldn’t sit there and stare at her like Rima could. Instead, they were sprawled in here, opposite a line of the few remaining washing machines that hadn’t been scavenged.

  Kasper was lying with his head in Felix’s lap, eyes closed. They didn’t speak about the important things – that the whole ecosystem of Mulcture Hall had been destroyed since Harriet’s arrival; that none of them had any idea what they were supposed to do about it; that Leah still hadn’t woken up and Claudia wouldn’t stop crying, curled up alone next to her mother because they were all too scared to go near her. Most of all, they didn’t speak about the way Leah had looked at Felix after she’d seen the future. She’d looked right at him, like – like he was…

  Felix was going to disintegrate. Leah had seen it happen and looked at him afterwards with horror. They all knew it. It was only a matter of time.

  “I’d give anything to hear Leah play Don’t Get Me Started right now,” Felix said.

  Kasper coughed a laugh, looking up at Felix from the corner of his
eye. “Maybe we should talk really loudly about the Tooth Fairy next to her,” he suggested, toying with Felix’s sleeve, folding the fabric into concertinas and then smoothing it flat. His thumb pressed against the smooth skin of Felix’s wrist. Felix shivered.

  Felix’s smile disappeared, laughter dying in his throat. “I always knew she was older than the rest of us,” Felix said. “But I never thought that meant she might leave us one day.”

  “I can’t imagine a Mulcture Hall without her,” Kasper agreed. “It feels like she’s always been here.”

  “Do you know how old she is?”

  Kasper closed his eyes and said, “No, do you?”

  Felix shook his head. “I’ve always been too scared to ask. Rima asked her once, and I thought she was literally going to bite her head off.”

  Kasper smiled. His thumb was still rubbing against Felix’s wrist, dipping down to press into his palm. “That does sound like Leah.”

  They’d tried to feed rats to Leah, to wake her again. But there just wasn’t enough energy there to recover from being a Shell. They just had to wait and see if she woke up on her own.

  There was a bird’s nest inside one of the rusting tumble driers, layers of intricate sticks and moss padding the steel barrel. Felix would have to come back in the spring and see the chicks, if they weren’t all Shells by then.

  Oscar had loved birds. Even as a kid, he’d been obsessed with owls and eagles and herons. Felix had always teased him about being a twitcher, which Oscar had hated. He’d thought he was too cool for that sort of thing.

  Felix had been right, of course. Sometimes, on his visits, Oscar would stand at the window and pull out a pair of binoculars. Based on the things he said when he was here, it seemed Oscar was divorced now, and constantly embarrassed his grown-up children with bad jokes. Felix supposed there weren’t many things nowadays that his brother was too cool for.

  “Whatever Leah saw, I’m absolutely certain it wasn’t what you think,” Kasper said, apropos of nothing. “Even if she saw you, that doesn’t mean that it was something … bad.”