Dead Drunk

by Alice J Black

  “Tonight would be perfect.”

  “Great.”

  I took the details as she rattled them off, writing on the same sheet of paper beneath Olivia’s neat script before thanking her again and hanging up.

  I grinned at Olivia as I set the pen on top of the notebook. “We have our first case!”

  “Secretary?” She folded her arms once again, holding them tight to her chest as her glare intensified into a scowl.

  I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of this one.

  I gave her my best sheepish grin. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a slip of the tongue.”

  “You know I didn’t halve my hours at the solicitors for a shitty wage and a shitty job title. Come on, Peyton, I thought we were in this together.”

  “We are. I couldn’t do this, any of this,” I paused and flung my arms out, indicating the office, “without you.”

  I meant it in more than a business capacity, too. Without Olivia’s brutal honesty and unwavering support, I might still be in an alcohol-induced oblivion, with no clue how to claw myself out.

  Her brow rose a notch. “You mean that?”

  “You know I do. And we’ll discuss this further at a later time. But right now, we have to figure out the logistics of this case.”

  “Fine.” She dropped her arms. “What do you need?”

  “We need all the normal kit. And I’d like you to come along.”

  “Why do you need me?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Because it’s better to have two heads than one.”

  “I’m not sure I’m an expert in the field.”

  “No, but neither am I. I’m still learning, too. And besides, I couldn’t have done everything I’ve managed so far without your help. So I’d like you to come.”

  “Okay, you sweet-talked me into it. You put the kettle on, and I’ll collect the stuff we’re going to need from the kit room.”

  It wouldn’t take long, as currently my kit was one piece of each device which would need thrown into a bag. Hopefully, one day I’d have my shelves and they’d be lined with equipment.

  Following her orders, I flicked on the small kettle in our office and readied two cups, heaping them high with coffee and adding whitener and sugar. Note to self, get a fridge.

  As I waited for the kettle to boil, I sat back, shoving my feet onto the desk, and picked my sandwich up. I’d lost my appetite, but I knew I needed to keep my strength up. Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

  I made the coffees and sat back down just as Olivia came through the door, lugging the backpack. She dropped it onto the floor, next to the door, with a huge sigh and then panted, hands pressed against her hips.

  “You do realise this is just the first step in the investigation?” I eyed the pack, which was bulging all over the place.

  “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” Olivia shrugged and took her seat, careening forward slightly as it moved. Her smile turned into a scowl. “And just for the record, I think I should have the good chair since I’m the secretary.”

  Ignoring her comment, I handed over her coffee. “Here.”

  “Don’t think I’m going to forget that comment.”

  “Listen,” I started, shaking my head as I realised I was going to have to put an end to this now. “We’re equals in this. The business is in my name, but the only reason for that is if anything goes wrong, your name isn’t dragged through the mud.”

  She raised her brow.

  “And just for clarity, you’re not and never will be a secretary with Soul Seekers. You do the same job as me and decisions are equal. The only difference is that because of my ability, there are some decisions I’ll have to make myself.”

  Her lip twitched. “Good to know.”

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now let’s finish lunch. We’re going to need our strength—and luck—if we’re going to get this case.”

  I stepped out of Thumper and slammed the door shut as I pulled the backpack onto my shoulder. “Jeez, Olivia, did you pack a couple of bricks in there?” Already, the weight on my shoulder was pulling me down.

  “Quit complaining.” Olivia shut the passenger door.

  Stuffing the key in my pocket without bothering to lock the old run-around, we made our way through a hedge-lined garden and up a concrete path. Here and there, weeds poked through where the concrete had split at the edges of the pathway. An old washing line sagged on the left, the rope dirty with age and weather.

  The front of the house hadn’t faired much better. The window ledges were dirty, and it looked like the window cleaner hadn’t been around for some time. The paint was splintering off the wooden door, and the number was hanging upside down on a rusty nail.

  “Do you think the husband did everything?” Olivia asked as we reached the front door.

  “I’m guessing so. She probably can’t manage on her own.”

  As we stood outside, I took a moment to steel my mind. I imagined it enveloped in a shroud, a bubble of safety. Sylvia had taught me how to protect myself, and now that I was doing this in an official capacity, it was time to practice safe ghost hunting.

  I balled my hand into a fist and rapped hard on the door. Then we stood and waited. My stomach was in knots. Our first official case as Soul Seekers professionals. It was strange. I’d done a few now, unofficially of course, but I’d never felt as nervous as I did in that moment. I had the urge to straighten myself up and clear my throat, ready to put on my posh voice, but as the door opened quicker than anticipated, I reverted to my normal self.

  The woman was dressed in jeans and a tank. Her light brown hair hung to the crook of her neck, and she smiled at me. It was a smile of welcomed relief.

  “Hi, it’s Peyton. We spoke on the phone. This is my colleague, Olivia.”

  My best friend smiled politely.

  “I’m Janice. Come on in.” Standing aside, she let us into a small square passage and motioned that we continue through the doorway, to the left.

  I found myself in a living room that fell straight out of the 70s. Heavy patterned carpet adorned the floor, the thread count still thick, despite its age. A pair of heavily lined curtains hung on either side of the window, adding to the darkness of the room. The walls were painted a garish shade of yellow, and in front of me were two reclining chairs, both worn with age. Only one of them was occupied. The other had an indentation that settled into a permanent groove. I supposed that had been the husband’s chair.

  I took a deep breath and released the bubble on my mind just a tiny bit.

  However, the overwhelming décor wasn’t what drew my attention. Instead, it was the dark atmosphere that hung over the place. It was thick like curdled milk and hung in a tight cloud at the centre of the room. Although I’d only lowered my guard a little, the darkness pushed against the remaining shield, straining to get into my mind. I struggled to take a breath and fought the urge to turn around and head out of the house. There was something here all right. And now that I stood in the living room, I was surprised it had taken so long for them to call.

  “This is my mum, Eileen,” Janice introduced us.

  I focused my gaze on Eileen, shaking the unease that settled on my shoulders. The woman sitting in the chair smiled politely but didn’t speak. Her white hair was set in a perm, and the wrinkles on her face told the story unique to that woman. Her right eye was keen blue and hyperaware, roving across me and Olivia, while the left was clouded by a cataract.

  “Nice to meet you, Eileen. I’m Peyton, and this is my partner, Olivia.”

  Eileen’s brow wrinkled. “Lesbians?”

  I stifled a laugh, while beside me, Olivia snorted.

  “No. Olivia is my business partner.”

  “Oh.”

  “Excuse my mother,” Janice apologised, with a grimace. “She still lives in the stone age.”

  “That’s no problem.”

  I unhooked the bag from my shoulder
and placed it on the floor, glad to be rid of the weight. I rolled my shoulders and made a mental note to pack the bag myself in the future.

  “Do you want to tell me a little more about what you’ve been experiencing?” I looked from mother to daughter.

  They looked strikingly similar, between the piercing blue eyes and full cheeks. Janice was a good-looking woman, and her skin was flawless, but I figured Eileen had been a stunner in her time.

  “My husband died two months ago,” Eileen began. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and I could see the skin stretched over her knuckles to the point of translucence. The blue hue of veins were visible as they threaded close to the surface.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I told her.

  The thing about ghost hunting was that, often death was the part that most found it hard to come to terms with, while accepting that there was a spirit haunting them always seemed to come quicker.

  “Eric was a good man, for the most part,” Eileen went on. “He kept the house in good repair. He was a good father and went to church regularly. The only fault I had with him was his drinking.”

  “Oh.” I dropped my head momentarily as a slither of guilt hit me. It wormed through my gut, and suddenly I didn’t feel so hot anymore.

  Alcoholism broke up a lot of families. I knew from the tales told at the AA meetings I attended, and all of us who liked to partake in drink too much were responsible for it.

  It seemed Eileen had held her family together through all the years, despite the difficulty it would have presented.

  “He died of liver failure. It was all his own fault, of course, and we all tried to tell him over the years, but he was a stubborn fool. It didn’t make his leaving us any easier however.”

  I swallowed hard. Liver failure. It was something that could’ve been on my cards if I hadn’t stopped drinking when I did. The liver function test I’d had at the doctor’s a month after I stopped drinking were some of the worst moments of waiting I’d ever faced. Worse than the not-sure-I-used-protection kind of waiting. I got the all-clear then and a stern warning that if I returned to the drink, I probably wouldn’t be as lucky in future.

  “Mum, they probably don’t need his life story,” Janice scolded, with the shake of her head.

  “Actually,” I cut in, “you might not think it’s relevant, but it often helps. It can assist us in figuring out why a spirit is lingering.”

  “See, Janice. You might think I’m just an old woman, but I know what I’m doing.” Eileen nodded curtly. “So as I was saying, he died of liver failure. It took a while for the coroner to determine the cause, but as soon as I said he was an alcoholic, I knew it would come back with something like that. It took a week for the autopsy results to reveal the final cause of death, and then a week to organise the funeral. That whole time, things were as quiet as could be expected. Janice and Ken came by every day to make sure I was okay. Janice helped me plan the funeral. It was a lovely service, wasn’t it, Janice?”

  “As lovely as the circumstances allowed,” she confirmed, with a nod, dropping her head. She was struggling to deal with the grief of losing her father and having to enlist the help of a ghost hunter to get rid of his spirit.

  “When did you notice things started happening?” Olivia asked.

  I could’ve kissed her then. I figured she’d saved us from a play-by-play of the entire funeral.

  “Now let me see,” Eileen started, her head lolling back as she stared at the ceiling for a moment, her left eye remaining fixed. “It was the night I got back from the wake. The whole house was quiet, and although I’d slept on my own since he passed, it was the first time I really felt it, you know.”

  I nodded as if I knew what she meant, but I didn’t.

  Whenever there was a spirit nearby, I knew. I knew it by the dread that punctuated my entire body like I was riddled full of bullet holes. I knew it when the darkness invaded my mind. I knew it when they whispered in my ear, asking for my help to commit their heinous acts. That’s why I’d started drinking.

  “Can you tell us what you experienced that first night, Eileen?” Olivia prompted.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her making notes on a small pad of paper. My stomach somersaulted. I knew there was a reason I wanted her on board. I hadn’t even thought about keeping case notes.

  “Yes.” The woman nodded, the jowls beneath her chin shaking with the movement. “I was in bed—and let me tell you how lonely it is sleeping in a bed alone after all these years— when I heard it. Coughing, just like Eric was still in his chair and smoking his pipe. He always used to cough when he took his first draw.”

  “Could it have been the neighbours?” I asked.

  Eileen shook her head. “Mr. Jenkins next door lives alone, and he sleeps in the back bedroom. Even when Eric was still here, we never heard a peep.”

  “Okay.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to do at first. I thought about pretending it didn’t happen, but then I heard it again. Just like Eric. I was a little comforted by the sound. As if he was still here, as silly as it sounds. The longer it went on, the more I knew I couldn’t just lie in bed, so I got up to take a look. I pulled on my dressing gown and made my way downstairs as quickly as I could, which, with legs like these,” she paused as she patted her thighs, “isn’t very fast. I got down to the living room, and even in the darkness, I saw the smoke rising above his chair like he was still sitting in that very spot.”

  “But nobody was there?” Olivia prompted.

  “No. The chair was empty.” She shook her head. “I put it down to exhaustion and wishful thinking and went back to bed.”

  “Did you tell Janice about it?”

  “Not until it started happening regularly. It started becoming a nightly occurrence. Sometimes I’d hear him cough. Sometimes I’d smell that sweet tobacco of his. And every time I came downstairs to check, it would disappear as if it was all in my head.”

  She tapped her temple, and I felt my lip twitch. An old woman seeing spirits following the death of her husband would certainly raise a brow or two.

  “I told Janice after a week or so. My sleep was so broken, partly because when I heard something, I would wake up immediately, and partly because I was holding on to hope that it was him. Stupid, I know.”

  “It’s not stupid.” I shook my head. I’d lain in bed many times, wishing I would hear my parents. Hoping that just for once, the spirit that might try to talk to me would be my mum or dad.

  “I was starting to lie in bed until noon and my mood was getting worse. When I told her, she didn’t believe me, of course.” Eileen’s hands went across her chest in an act of defiance. “Just about made me feel like I was going mad.”

  “Mum,” Janice pleaded, “don’t be annoyed. I mean, think about how it sounds.”

  “You thought it sounded like your dear old mother was losing the plot. Well, aren’t you wrong?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “After my mum kept mentioning the smoke, I got my husband to come over and check in case it was a fault in some electrical item or something. Nothing came up, of course. Then the next day she told me it had happened again, and I decided I would spend the night to see what I could see. I thought it meant my mum could have a proper sleep, too.”

  “Go on,” Olivia spoke, encouraging Janice to continue. She never lifted her eyes as she continued taking notes.

  “I slept in the spare room and went to bed at the same time as my mum. At first, there was nothing. I actually think I had the best sleep I’d had in years, without having to share.” She laughed.

  I didn’t know much about sharing a bed. My double bed had been mine more nights than I cared to remember, but I reminded myself that was a good thing. When I was drinking, I seemed to have a penchant for taking random guys home and waking up the following morning next to someone I’d rather not have ever set eyes on. It hadn’t happened since the last night I had a drink, and I was thankful for that.

  “I was woken up in t
he early hours of the morning,” Janice went on.

  “It was 2:57,” Eileen interrupted.

  “You noted the time exactly?” Olivia asked, raising her brow.

  Eileen nodded. “Yes. I always wake up to use the bathroom at around 3:15, and I remember looking at the clock and thinking it was early.”

  My eyes darted to Olivia. Is this what I had to look forward to in old age?

  “Okay. So what happened then, Janice?” Olivia nodded towards the daughter, who was all too willing to continue.

  “So as I said, I woke up, and it was because I smelled the smoke. Just like mum said. It wasn’t fire smoke or burning smoke, it was tobacco smoke. It smelled just like him. It was strangely reassuring.” She laughed nervously. “I made my way downstairs and half-expected to see him still sitting there in his chair, with his pipe in hand.” She glanced at the seat beside her mother. “Of course, he wasn’t. But when I got down here, the smell was stronger, and I saw the pipe lying on the chair as if it had just been dropped there, still alight. I put it out and checked out the doors and windows, but everything was locked. And I just knew that nobody would come in, light up a pipe, and then leave.”

  “Things just started getting worse after that night,” Eileen added.

  “Could you tell us about that, Eileen?”

  I was impressed with Olivia’s mannerisms. Professional to the core and vigilant. I was glad to have her on my merry team of two.

  “I thought we were just going to smell his tobacco smoke night after night forevermore, which I could’ve lived with. But then the noises started happening. Footsteps up and down the stairs. The sound of water running. It wasn’t just a drip either. I once went downstairs to find that the sink had been filled with hot water and soap as if someone was going to do the dishes. At four in the morning!”

  “It sounds like you’re exhausted,” I said.

  “Yes. And I haven’t told you the worst part yet.”

  “What’s that?” I took a step forward as the woman’s voice lowered.

  “There are nights when I hear the rattle of the cupboards and the chink of glasses, as if he’s looking for something to drink.”