by Fiona Law
“Wheeeeeeee…click…click….click…pop!” and a quieter, “Grrrrrr…tukatukatukatuk…” resounded through the room and was followed by another moment of astonished silence.
“Oh, all right!” Beryl snapped. “I’ll just move it back to it’s old space, then! There’s no need to get all hysterical about it! It was only a suggestion that it live here. I had to make that decision to move it. Besides, no one protested at the time.”
She pushed through the scientists, huddled in a frenzy of examination, and yanked the clock unceremoniously from the table, stomping off to the dining room with it.
“That girl!” Griswold muttered, rubbing his forehead distractedly as they listened to angry crunching of shoes on glass.
“Look at this!” Gary muttered and Westworth and Oswin nodded, conferred with him, discussing temperature fluctuations and the static.
Gemma shrugged and smiled awkwardly at Patricia.
“Come, Gemma,” Patricia said. “Why don’t you come around with me while I do a bit of spiritual cleansing for your house. I don’t mind you helping me. Then perhaps, afterwards, we can all have a cup of tea.”
When they were out of earshot of the others she said, “Gemma, I’ve been able to pick up some information from the housewife ghost you told me about. She’s not just your imagination, but she’s not threatening, like the hamadryads. Her name was Vera and she lived here all her married life. I know because I have made contact with her through my spirit guide, and urged her to go over. It’s very sad, her son went missing in action during the war. She always hoped he’d return, knitting jumper after jumper for him, listening for the knock on the door.”
“I’ve often seen her!”
Patricia nodded. “Even long after D Day, she could never accept that he would not come home. She was always waiting for him. You were able to see her because you have a gift. Like me, you’re psychic—able to see spirits. Yes, you are, although you’d no idea, I assume, of the existence and power of Spirit. If you are interested, it’s a talent which you can develop. But that’s up to you. As for Vera, she says she is sorry to have frightened you, Gemma.”
Gemma ducked her head briefly. “So, her name’s Vera? I didn’t mean to be such a baby. I suppose I should have felt that she wasn’t unfriendly.”
“But you did, really, didn’t you? I think as you become used to your gift, you’ll be more comfortable with it.” Patricia smiled as Gemma helped her pack away her crystal and cleansing water. Gemma especially liked the crystal. It was cool and strong and deep.
“Will I get a guide, like you?” she asked, holding the crystal in the palms of her hands and letting the smooth surface cool her skin.
“Yes, I’m sure of it, but only if you let him or her in. Spirit will never force itself on you. Like I said, it’s up to you, if you want to explore your psychic abilities.”
“Did Vera say why she was here, haunting this house?” Gemma asked, at last handing the stone back.
“It’s just that she was happy here. She loved her home so dearly that she wants to stay on,” explained Patricia, zipping her bag shut. Then she leaned forward and tweaked Gemma’s chin. “She also thinks she should stick around to keep you safe from those hamadryads. She says she knows them from when she was alive here and they can be nasty. She says she won’t cross over until they’ve gone.”
Chapter Twenty One
Meanwhile, Mister Westworth and Gary spoke with Oswin as they wound down their investigation. Although they took an interest in his inventions, it was not all good news.
“It’s splendid that we got a chance to see your Ghost-O-Meter in action, and you saw how ours works,” said Gary. “Ours is more bulky, as it prints out the recordings. And,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, “it’s not so imaginative.”
Oswin grinned. “The Ghost-O-Meter used to look more like a remote control. But it burnt out. When I built it up, stronger, I also disguised it as a toy gun, so that Beryl and Griswold would leave it alone.”
Westworth smiled dryly. “Yes, I can understand that.”
“You have a good theory,” Gary remarked, “and it should be developed. Many scientists, myself included, are thinking down those lines.”
“About the equipment,” asked Mister Westworth, “did you make it unaided?”
“Yeah, but I need a bit of help with the cameras,” Oswin replied, pulling out his notes. “They all shorted out. What could I do to prevent that happening so easily?”
Mister Westworth glanced at them, but explained that he didn’t think it was worth the effort to bother too much with cameras at this stage. “You see,” he said, handing them back to Oswin, “the thing is that camera footage wouldn’t be taken seriously, even if you did get them up and running again.”
“Little white misty blobs on camera look highly suspicious to the sceptical eye,” Gary explained, placing his lap top in its case. “Especially as there are countless hoax films and photos of so-called ghosts. I can run thorough tests to prove to myself and some others that they are genuine recordings of ghostly activity, Oswin, but you might just as well be Christopher Columbus trying to prove his ‘Earth is round’ theory. Sure, the media would love this sort of thing, but for all the wrong reasons.”
“And your being so young won’t help people take you seriously,” Mister Westworth added, picking his brief case up. He suggested that Oswin keep on amassing evidence, and experimenting with detecting devices. “But until you have a qualification, a degree, in science—as I am sure you will in the future—you are unlikely to convince anyone but a few like-minded ghost hunters,” he finished.
“Like Columbus,” Gary added. “One day the world will be convinced and you’ll be believed. But that day is yet to come. Until then, the more serious you are about the existence of ghosts, and that sort of dimension, the less seriously you’ll be taken. You’ll be a nutter in the eyes of the public and the world of science. They’ll continually try to catch you out and expose you as a fool or a fraud.”
“But I’m not!” Oswin cried. “This is all genuine equipment, and disciplined recordings.”
“Yes,” Mister Westworth said. “But they’ll be implying that you’ve let yourself be duped, that you’re an eccentric anorak case. It’s tough out there, Oswin, we’ve been through it ourselves. And look at the household you live in. Imagine that bunch on camera. It’ll be a pantomime!”
“Gemma’s alright,” Oswin said folding his arms. “So she’s a little quirky, but that’s all part of her charm.”
“I know, but the media and science are harsh critics. Gemma is definitely clairvoyant, but sadly, that’s a minus point as far as the media goes. And as she’s a little quirky in her manner, they’ll make fun of her.”
“If you go public with this equipment and evidence now, the media will rip your story to shreds,” Mister Westworth put in.
“Ghosts do exist!” Oswin declared. He ran his fingers through his hair and clenched the straight strands so tightly it pulled.
“Yes,” Gary agreed, “and the world is round. But you’ll have to wait for everybody else to catch up with you, yeah?”
Oswin frowned for a moment then folded his arms, unfolded them and adjusted his specs. “Yeah,” he sighed with a shrug. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’ve got years ahead of you to study and develop your theories,” Mister Westworth said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “and your detecting gadgets. Keep ghost hunting, Oswin. Develop new ways of detecting and analyzing ghosts. It may become a new science in your lifetime but it’s not recognized yet.” His car keys jangled in his hand as he waved goodbye to Oswin.
And that, as Oswin said later, was about it. Gemma still saw Vera, the ghost, but she was no longer frightened by her. In fact, she began to find it comforting to see Vera knitting away at that dull brown yarn, or plodding through the
hall with an indoor watering can in her hand. Not that she made a friend out of the ghost; Vera wasn’t the friendly sort, really. And as for the hamadryads, apart from the occasional trick on Beryl, they were far less trouble now that their clock had been returned to the dining room. Although Griswold blamed them every time something went missing.
“I hope my project gets a reasonable mark,” Oswin said to Gemma, as he packed it up, ready for school. “I wish I had time to re-build the Ghost-O-Meter. My teacher won’t understand why I made it look like a toy gun.”
Gemma eyed him as she used the edge of his desk as a bar while she practised her ballet positions. “I never knew brain boxes like you panicked when handing in homework,” she remarked.
“Huh! Well, I am now! I forgot about marks when I started this. Whatever was I thinking?”
“You were thinking,” Gemma reminded him, “of clearing my name, of making Beryl and Dad agree that the house is haunted and that I am not mad. Which,” she continued with her thigh against her ear, “you have achieved, and I thank you for that.” Their eyes met for an instant.
“Sorry! I forgot,” muttered Oswin, adjusting his glasses.
“I’m not so frightened anymore,” Gemma smiled, moving to a new position. “I can see a ghost without running down the passage screaming.”
Oswin grinned. “Right! Do you think you’ll ever become a clairvoyant like Patricia?”
“I shall sooner dance on point until I bleed!”
“Ugh!”
“That happens you know,” Gemma explained. “Sometimes dancing on point can make you bleed. I think that’s why ballet stars dislike jazz and tap dancers. They have the joy of dancing without the pain and distortion. Ballet is an old art and I’ve been thinking I may give it up when I’ve done my next exam and have more fun.”
“Yeah!” Oswin leaned back on his chair. “You know, I had an amazing time with this project. I did what I wanted to do.”
“Do you think you’ll become a ghost hunter like Mister Westworth?”
“Nah! I mean it’s a fascinating hobby and all that but I don’t think there’s that many ghosts about anyway.”
However, two weeks later, the marks for Oswin’s project came back. He poured over it as Gemma mouthed the tune to some jazz steps she was practising in his doorway.
‘This is a science project. Next time try and keep to proven scientific facts…’ the teacher wrote.
“Yeah, so you don’t have to stretch your brain!” Oswin muttered, and read on.
“What a cheek!” he cried out moments later. “Gemma, listen to this: ‘…You’ve achieved higher marks than this for previous projects, Oswin. However I’ve awarded extra points for effort and presentation, and for the recording of sightings, which was methodical and ordered.’ Well done there, Gemma! Now listen to this: ‘The Ghost-O-Meter was an imaginative touch, but does it really work? There is something odd in the school utility room. Could you bring you equipment and clairvoyant cousin to investigate?’ ”
About the Author:
Fiona lives just outside London with her husband and three children. She loves ancient history, mythology, folklore and especially all things Celtic. Her compassionate interest in people, her fascination with Britain’s rich and colorful heritage, and her endearment to its picturesque land are reflected in her delightful storytelling.
Fiona mostly writes fantasy and historical woman’s fiction but also some children’s fiction. When she’s not penning stories in a nook beneath the stairs, you may find her cooking up a storm in the kitchen, reading tarot cards, or just doing household chores.
Visit her online at:
http://www.fionalaw.webs.com
More great books by Fiona Law:
Saint Alba’s Jawbone
The Hand of Glory
Also by Fiona Law:
The Hand of Glory
by Fiona Law
eBook ISBN: 9781615722921
Print ISBN: 9781615722938
Fantasy Romance
Novella of 26,875 words
When two strangers request a hand of glory from the witch Briony, she is coerced into accompanying them to perform a sinister spell used by tricksters and thieves. Full of suspicion and prejudice, Briony takes with her a Vila imp for her protection.
To her consternation, Briony finds herself struggling against her attraction to the younger man, Gareth. She cannot possibly allow herself to fall in love with a thief, especially one who has the audacity to revile her lifestyle. Yet their mutual desire is too strong to be denied…
Until, too late, Briony discovers she has made a dreadful mistake. Can she undo the harm she has caused? Even if Gareth survives, could he welcome her into his arms once more?
Also from Eternal Press:
The Morning Afterlife
by Sonnet O’Dell
eBook ISBN: 9781615725687
Print ISBN: 9781615725694
Young Adult Paranormal
Long Short Story of 16,786 words
If remembering could bring about the end of everything, would you still try?
Karrin wakes up on the side of the road with selective memory loss; she knows her name and age but nothing more about herself. She walks the highway back to a town to find all but a few people have disappeared and that there are strange but beautiful beings hunting them down. It seems to her that some great apocalyptic event happened but she just doesn’t remember it.
Karrin however is in more danger than she realizes as someone in her new group of friends is more deadly to her than those hunting them down. When she finds one of them, a young man roughly her own age named Gabe injured, she goes against all she’s been told and helps him. Gabe in return wants to help her, help her to remember. Karrin’s memories, however, could put her in even more danger and bring an end to everything she now holds dear.