The Ghost Who Ate Grits

by Amy Boyles

  Another nod.

  Listen, broad, I really need you to talk if our relationship is ever going to go somewhere.

  I cringed, hoping she hadn’t heard that. “The police want to know more about you. Who you are and how they can help. I want to help you. Can you tell me your name? I need a name. Something to help them figure out who you were and find whoever buried you in the cellar.”

  “Molly.”

  My eyes flared. “Molly what?” My fingers twitched. I felt like I was on the cusp of breaking open a pumpkin full of information. Okay, maybe a pumpkin wasn’t the best analogy. But I was on the precipice of something here.

  “Molly what?” I repeated.

  “Molly Menzel.”

  She still watched me, but Molly hugged her arms. There was something here I wasn’t getting.

  “Molly, who killed you? How did it happen?”

  Molly opened her mouth to speak as her gaze cut to the left. A look of absolute horror filled her face. At the same time an oppressive feeling of bleakness crept into my stomach as if it were filling my soul. The smell of dog poop returned, and I started to think that maybe Alice and Ruth had actually been on to something when they had said the place smelled evil.

  For now I felt evil creeping into my skin. Hopelessness invaded my every thought. It felt like a cloud of deep-seated anger was trying to wrap me up in a warm and fuzzy hug.

  Little did this anger know I had no problem kicking it in the gonads.

  Molly whimpered a sad, “Help me,” before vanishing into a twisting plume of smoke.

  “Wait.” I reached for her, but all I grasped was air.

  Now I was ticked off. Whoever this big bad was, they were seriously ruining my morning. I whirled around, ready to face whoever thought it was okay to frighten other spirits.

  What met me sent a bolt of fear shooting straight into my heart.

  An inky black blot plastered the wall. It looked like goo and ooze. I was pretty sure if I stuck my hand in the stuff, I would be sucked into another dimension from where there would be no return.

  I tucked my fear down into a deep dark spot and steeled myself. “Who are you?”

  The black goo shimmered and crept along the wall, using points of black blobby stuff like feet.

  “I am your end,” the black goo said.

  I frowned. “Really? Because it doesn’t look like anyone’s ending here anytime soon.” I folded my arms. “Do you know what I see? A big bully keeping spirits here because you’re afraid to be alone. I get it. Somebody bullied you when you were young. You led a life that was less than angelic—probably committed a few murders along the way. Hopefully you didn’t sell your soul to Satan, because I don’t think there’s any going back from that.”

  I brushed my hands together. “So now you’re here in this house, and because you’re afraid of loneliness, you won’t let the others pass on.”

  The whole time I was talking, the blobby thing moved like a huge gelatinous spider, slowly winding its way around me.

  “But that’s okay. Because I’m here to help. I don’t think I can do much if, you know, the whole Satan thing, but I will help you cross over. I can show you the light. There’s still time to go and have peace. Enjoy peace.” I pushed my shoulders back. “You deserve it.”

  The thing did something that sounded like a laugh. “You think I want peace? No. I want total corruption. These spirits are mine. She is mine. You cannot free her. The man is mine. And this family—they’re mine too.”

  His words hit my heart like a frozen arrow. Cold pierced every cell on my skin, chilling me to the bone. That family had a little girl. A young child that I would go to hell and back to keep from this a-hole.

  No, I don’t like to cuss. In case you didn’t know, I have a mason jar that’s full of change. Every time I cuss, I put money in. For the most part I make up bad words, but sorry, a-hole just has to stay a-hole.

  Sometimes there isn’t a good substitution for a word you can really bite into.

  “You can’t have that family,” I said. “There’s no way. First of all, you’re too chicken to even show yourself. Also, you will have that family over my dead body.” I peeled my lips into a sneer. “My. Dead. Body.”

  The blob vibrated as if laughing. “Then I’ll have you instead. You’re what I want, Blissful Breneaux. The master wants you, and if the master wants you and if I can kill you, then I’ll be greatly rewarded.”

  “Wait. What? What did I miss? The master? Who’s the master? Aren’t you the master? Heck, you can’t even show your real face. You make yourself look like a stupid blob of stuff from a horror movie because obviously your real face isn’t scary enough.”

  “Enough!”

  The walls rattled.

  Kency Blount shouted my name from below.

  The blob extended forward. The sound of sinews stretching to cracking filled the air.

  “You should probably get something done about that. That does not sound healthy.”

  “Before our time is finished, you will be one of the spirits captive here, Blissful. Mark my words.”

  Footsteps started up the stairs. I didn’t want Kency to see this guy. I didn’t know if she could, but his evilness would scare her to death.

  I sneered. “Well if that’s the case, then come and get me.”

  The blob reared back to strike. My fingers twitched. I had to plan this just right.

  It lashed forward, and I sprinted to the side.

  The thing struck the wall and disappeared right as Kency’s head popped into view at the top of the stairs.

  “Blissful, what’re you doing on the floor?”

  I brushed off my clothes and staggered to my feet. “Investigating. Isn’t this how you do it? Listen for clues in the wood?”

  “Very funny.” She folded her arms and rocked back on her heels. “But seriously, you okay?”

  “No,” I lied. “But I have a name. Molly Menzel.”

  Kency’s brow furrowed. “Thanks. I’ll see what we can find out. You need help?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m right behind you.”

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the guy who liked grits was sitting there waiting. Yes, he had a bowl in his lap. I mean, could he even taste the grits? Seemed like a waste of energy to me.

  The spirit smiled. “See, I told you he’d come. He always does.”

  I pointed at him. “Buster, we need to talk.”

  SEVEN

  I cornered the spirit in a back room off the kitchen. Kency had her guys in the basement searching for either more bodies or more evidence, so this room was empty.

  The ghost hovered with his back to the wall.

  I wagged a finger at him. “Okay. What’s this all about?”

  “What’re you asking me for? I’m just a guy who likes to eat grits.”

  “Amusing,” I said flatly. “I’m asking you because you’re the only being around here who seems to have any answers.”

  He scratched his scalp with the spoon handle. “What sort of answers you looking for?”

  “Who is that spirit? Why does it want me? Why is it keeping you and Molly here? Why can’t you leave? Why did it turn into a black blob?”

  “Whoa, lady, that’s a lot of questions.”

  I glared at him. “That’s only the beginning. I need answers and I need them now.”

  The ghost scratched his jaw as he studied me. “That guy really got to you, huh?”

  “Yeah, he really got to me.” I kicked the air, wishing it were a rock instead of simply nothing. “What’s your name?”

  “Artie.”

  “Artie who?”

  “Artie’s all you need to know.”

  I folded my arms. “Okay, who’s the big bad?”

  He shrugged. “No clue. I mean, you met the guy. It’s not like he’s into late-night chats over hot cocoa.”

  “Funny. You’re funny.”

  Artie shrugged. “I’m only telling you what I know.”
r />   “Which is?”

  Artie scowled. Real human emotion swept across his features. Anguish, agony and frustration bloomed. My heart lurched. Whoever this spirit was, he’d tortured the other souls in this house.

  That wasn’t cool. Not at all.

  “Alls I can say is ever since I died, I’ve been trapped here. I’m not allowed to leave.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  He shot me a dark look. “Of course I tried. Did it once. Won’t do it again.”

  “Why not? What happened?”

  Artie shook his head. “Never mind yourself with my business. All I’m saying is this guy, the one here, he can’t be beat. Don’t even attempt it.”

  I leaned on one hip. “Why not?”

  “Because that guy there doesn’t make threats.”

  “Oh?”

  “No.” Artie’s mouth clamped to a thin line. “He don’t. He makes promises.”

  I tipped my head to one side. “Okay. What about you? How’d you end up here? How’d you die?”

  The ghost faded. “I can’t stay. I’ve said too much.” He glanced at the ceiling. “I’m already in trouble for telling you what I have.”

  “Artie, wait!”

  But he vanished before I could utter another word. I punched my fist into my hand. “Dang it!”

  I was no farther into understanding why I was this ghoul’s target. What did it want from me? And why? It wasn’t like I was going around tromping on its territory. This guy sought me out, lured me to this home and then threatened to hurt the family living here if I didn’t rise to its challenge.

  Which was? That the spirit would make me one of the ghosts haunting this place.

  Right. Like that was going to happen.

  No way. Not in my lifetime.

  Which made me think. This wasn’t going to be a simple case of showing this guy the light and watching as he walked blissfully into heaven.

  This situation called for much bigger guns than that. Much bigger. Good thing I had some equipment on my side. Equipment that I hadn’t even taken out of the box that Anita Tucker sent.

  I had just stepped outside the house when I spotted one of the Jarvis’s next-door neighbors. She was an old woman, probably in her seventies, and wore a flowered kitchen frock. It was one of those that you zip up the front, sort of like the female version of those Dickie’s jumpers that old men wore.

  Anyway, she stood in her front yard, pinning the wash to a line.

  I was impressed she hung her laundry, especially since it was still winter and she was hanging it in the front yard as opposed to the back.

  I crossed the lawn. “Good morning.”

  She turned to me. Her face was so lined it almost looked like it was caving in.

  Maybe that was just because she’d lost all her teeth.

  Yes, I think that was it.

  “Morning,” she said.

  “Can I help you with that?”

  She shot me a peculiar look. Her beady eyes washed up and down my length. I almost commented that it felt like she was strip searching me with her eyes, but seeing as how I didn’t know exactly the way she would take the comment, I kept my trap shut.

  After a few seconds she stepped aside so I could reach the basket. “If you like. I could always use a hand. Makes my arthritis flare. But you wouldn’t know anything about that—young as you are.”

  “Oh, I’m not young.”

  Her gaze drilled into me.

  “Relatively speaking, I mean. It’s not like I’m sixteen or anything.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” She grabbed a blouse from the basket and gently folded one shoulder over the line before pinning it. “Kids these days look younger and younger. Ten-year-olds look like five-year-olds. Twenty-year-olds look like they’re ten.” She watched me from the corner of her eye. “But I guess that’s how it is when you live to be as old as me.”

  I pulled a pillowcase from the basket and pinned it the way she’d done the shirt. The last thing I wanted was to screw up this woman’s laundry.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Oh, I think we moved in when I was thirty or so. Raised a family in it. Played with my grandchildren in it.”

  My gaze drifted down the block. Many of the homes showed signs of wear. Paint peeled in ribbons off the sides. The colors had faded over the years and the trim had become dingy.

  The gift of restoration had been bestowed on some homes. Probably younger couples bought because the housing was cheap and then spent cash fixing up the place. This woman’s house was definitely on the first side of that spectrum.

  “Heard they found a body in there.” She nodded to the Jarvis place.

  I blanched. I hadn’t expected her to gossip, seeing as she didn’t know me, but hey, I would take whatever I could get.

  “They did. Her name was Molly Menzel. Did you know her?”

  “No, I didn’t know a Molly, but who could keep up? There were so many folks coming and going from that place when it was an inn.”

  Of course! She would’ve lived here then.

  “Did you know the owners?” The basket was empty. I picked it up for her. “I’ll bring it inside.”

  She eyed me coolly. “If I give you information, is that it?”

  “I was sort of thinking that, yes.” I mean, why lie?

  She laughed. “You’re honest. I like that. I’m Fannie Sullivan.”

  “Blissful Breneaux.”

  “Pretty name.”

  “Thank you.”

  She made sure a pair of pants was secure on the line and then turned to me. “Come on. I’ll tell you everything I can remember.”

  I followed Fannie into the house. The first thing I noticed was that the place was stifling hot. The next thing I noticed was the dead animals everywhere.

  I stopped.

  Fannie glanced back at me. “Don’t let my pets scare you off, girl. They won’t bite. Well, not anymore.” She cackled at her own joke. “I couldn’t bear to separate from my precious loves, so I stuffed them.”

  “Your precious loves?”

  I was staring at a sea of stuffed cats, taxidermy style. Cats. It was horrible. A gray cat lay stretched out on the rug. A red tabby sat in a window. A black cat sat in a corner.

  It blinked.

  I almost shrieked.

  “Some of them are alive? How can you tell the difference?”

  She laughed again. “Blissful, I like you. Want a drink?”

  “Sure, water is fine.”

  Fannie brought me a water. A cat hair floated on top, so I laid it on a table. She poured herself a finger of scotch from a bottle on a TV stand.

  Oh, that’s the kind of drink she meant. Heck, if I lived in a colony of stuffed cats, I’d drink too.

  “So you knew the neighbors who ran the inn?”

  “The Hudsons,” Fannie said. “Nice people.” She leaned forward to tell me a secret. “But they didn’t like cats.”

  “I’m surprised you were even friends with them.”

  “Me, too.” She knocked back the scotch. “They were nice enough, though. What can I tell you about them?”

  “Anything you can. Am I to understand the inn was in full swing in the seventies?”

  “That’s right. You said it. People traipsed in and out of that place every day. I never liked it. I told my husband you couldn’t trust all these outsiders. Some of them were Yankees, you know. Coming to see the town and the Southern ghosts we had.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “No one wanted a bunch of Yankees, but who was going to say anything? The ghosts bring revenue, and what mayor is going to complain about a strong economy? None. Want another drink?”

  I hadn’t touched my water. “No thanks.”

  “I think I’ll have one.” She poured herself another finger and swirled it as if trying to see how long she could wait before chugging it down.

  “Was there ever anything strange about the Hudsons or the house through the years?”


  “I’ll say.” She snorted. “Screams. When the Hudsons lived there, you’d hear all kinds of screaming. It was terrible. Horrible.”

  I blanched. “Did you call the police?”

  “Of course I called the police. Either I would or my husband. You can’t raise children in that sort of environment. So the cops would come down, knock on the door and get the whole thing sorted out.”

  Fannie stared into her cup.

  “Well, what was it? What caused the screams?”

  She clicked her tongue. “You know, I never knew. We never found out, but Mrs. Hudson, Deborah, she would swear it wasn’t her. That she wasn’t the cause of the screams.”

  “So it wasn’t any sort of domestic violence?”

  “Huh?” Fannie stared at me, perplexed.

  “Her husband hadn’t been hitting her,” I clarified.

  “Oh no.” She wagged her finger. “But who would believe that? You hear screams, the police are called and the woman said her husband wasn’t hitting her? There’s something rotten there.”

  I agreed. If the husband wasn’t hitting her, could the screams have come from a guest? From Molly Menzel? I shivered just thinking about it.

  “Is there anything else you can remember about the Hudsons?”

  “No, I can’t say that I do.” She pointed in the direction of the house. “I like that new family, though. They’ve got that sweet daughter. Sometimes I let her play with one of my cats.”

  Horror must’ve lit my face like a brilliant star, because Fannie cackled.

  “She doesn’t play with the dead ones, silly. The living cats. She plays with the ones who have beating hearts.”

  My stomach tightened as nausea overcame me. I think it was this house—all the dead cats. Creepy.

  I rose. “Thank you for your time, Fannie.”

  She tapped her armrests. “Thank you for the help.”

  I reached the door and pulled it open. Another thought occurred to me. I glanced back. “One thing I’m wondering.”

  She tossed the scotch into her mouth. “What’s that, dear?”

  “What happened to the Hudsons? Where are they now?”

  She moved her jaw side to side. Her bright eyes studied me. “Didn’t you know?”

  “Know what?”