“Well…” began Lily, “I’d like you to contact him. Um… I’d like to be able to speak with him. He died soon after we had an argument and I never got the chance to say I was sorry.”
Lily’s story made me want to cry. I felt for her. I know how much of a wreck I would be if Greg and I had an argument and he died before we had a chance to make up. I decided that the least I could do was try to contact her brother; and I had Rachel here to help me.
“I can’t make any promises,” I said. Some spirits don’t mind mingling with the living—”
Rachel giggled at that statement.
“—and some prefer to be left alone.”
Both Lily and Jillian, who seemed to be watching me with apt attention, nodded.
“We should hold hands.” I had seen enough T.V. to know that in many séances people held hands as a way of communing with the spirits. We each took one another’s hands and I looked at Rachel, hoping that she would read my unspoken question: where is this Doug? Lucky for me, Rachel was a mind reader as well as a ghost. She disappeared.
“I wish to speak with the spirit named Doug who is the sister of this woman,” I said, doing my best to make my voice sound authoritative, yet mystical at the same time. “Doug? Can you hear me, Doug?”
Nothing. I hoped Rachel would return soon.
“Do you have anything of his?” I asked Lily.
She shook her head.
“I am trying to contact the spirit known as Doug,” I tried again, but had a feeling that I wasn’t going to have much luck.
“Hey!” said Rachel as she popped into the room beside me, making me jump a little. “So, I searched and searched, but there is no spirit named Doug. At least, not one who is related to her.” She pointed at Lily.
“What are you saying?” I whispered to her.
“Is he here?” asked Lily. She must have heard me.
“I’m saying that either she has no brother, or he isn’t dead,” replied Rachel.
“What?” I said, louder than I had planned. My heart sank as I realized that something wasn’t right. “Can you do something?”
“Leave it to me,” said Rachel.
“Are you getting anything,” said Jillian, “because I do have other things to do.”
Rachel motioned for me to say something. “There is a spirit here,” I said, “but it’s not Doug. Her name is… Rachel.”
“But I wanted to speak with Doug,” said Lily.
“Well he ain’t here!” shouted Rachel and, judging by the surprised looks on their faces, I knew that both Lily and Jillian had heard her. Rachel motioned at me to say something again.
“She is very angry,” I said. “She says that Doug is not dead, but alive. Living in…”
“West Virginia,” Rachel finished for me.
Lily’s face paled. Her ruse had been found out and she didn’t like it.
“I think…” began Jillian, starting to stand up, but Rachel forced her back into her chair.
“And you,” Rachel said so all could hear her, “you don’t believe in ghosts, huh? Well, I am here. I’ve always been here you skeptical…”
“Rachel,” I interrupted her, “do you have something you would like to tell us all?”
“Ghosts are real,” said Rachel.
Jillian’s face pinched in disbelief.
“Oh, so you don’t believe me?” snapped Rachel. She jumped on the table and kicked the crystal ball off it, while at the same time the lights brightened and dimmed on their own. “Lights on! Lights off!” she kept saying each time the lamps flickered on and off. “OOOO—This is so much fun!”
Before I knew it, Rachel started dancing on the table, causing it to wobble back and forth. Lily screamed while Jillian’s eyes turned wide, though they looked all around as though she still didn’t believe what she saw and heard.
“Rachel,” I said as she continued to do a jig on the table, scuffing its varnish. “Rachel!”
Rachel stopped and hunched her shoulders, giving me a pouty face.
“I think they get it,” I said to her.
“Fine.” She jumped off the table, making certain to give it a good shake as she did so. “I’ll go.” Rachel started for the door and paused, facing both Lily and Jillian, and materializing before them, while staying somewhat transparent for their benefit.
“I do exist!”
She vanished.
I released their hands. “I think that is enough for now.”
“What was that?” demanded Jillian.
“An angry ghost,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted a séance,” I reminded Jillian. “I told you that I don’t do these sorts of things, but you got what you wanted.”
“I didn’t expect…” began Jillian.
“Doug isn’t dead, is he?” I demanded.
“No,” replied Lily in a soft whisper, her face guilt-ridden. “I… I think you should go.”
I agreed with her, wondering what all of this had been about and snatched my coat and purse.
“Mel!” yelled Lily, chasing after me with Jillian right behind her as I hurried out the door, while struggling to get into my coat. The moment I stepped through, a glob of snow sailed through the air, striking Jillian in the face.
“Ha-ha! Got ya!” shouted Rachel with glee. “That’ll teach you, you skeptic!”
I just stared at Rachel in disbelief. Jillian looked livid and Lily was in the same state of shock I was. Before either had a chance to say anything, I ran down the walk, skidding on a tiny patch of ice, and to my car. I got in, started the engine, and sped off, wishing that I hadn’t let Rachel talk me into the séance and hoping that there wouldn’t be any repercussions.
Chapter 4
“Mel?”
I ignored the distant voice that spoke my name. All I wanted to do was sleep.
“Mel?”
I opened one eye. Jackie’s picture perfect, and worried, face filled it. Though still groggy, I lifted my head and opened my other eye. “What time is it?” I asked through a yawn.
“Seven in the morning,” replied Jackie. “You have a class in two hours.”
I sat up and my mind focused as I looked around. I was not in my room. When I got home last night, I must have sat on the couch and fallen asleep.
“Are you okay?” asked Jackie. “You look worried.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Rachel talked me into conducting a séance for someone who didn’t believe in ghosts.”
“What?” Jackie looked at me dumbfounded.
“Yeah… well… it didn’t go well.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, though? I mean, after finding the store robbed and all.”
“I’ll be fine. It didn’t look like anything was taken.” I glanced at my watch and realized that if I was going to make my class on time, I needed to shower and change, especially since I had slept in my clothes from the day before.
“Mel!” Greg walked in and gave me a giant hug. “Are you sure you’re all right after yesterday?”
“You know, you’re the second person to ask her that,” said Rachel, materializing before all of us.
Greg and Jackie no longer jumped when she appeared, having gotten used to her presence over the last couple of years.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, giving Greg a kiss. “Let me shower really quick and you can take me to my first class.”
“Agreed,” said Greg.
“You know what you can do, in the meantime,” Rachel said to Greg, while I entered the bathroom, “make her some breakfast. Mel will take two eggs, over easy, some waffles with maple syrup, and a bowl of fruit. Chop! Chop! Get to it. She doesn’t have all morning!”
I smiled at Rachel’s antics. I admired Greg for tolerating her ordering him around, not that anyone could force her to stop. She was a free spirit, in more ways than one, and did as she pleased.
I hurried through the shower, threw on some fresh clothes, including a button up blouse that Jackie had
made me purchase last week, and ran into the kitchen where, to my surprise, was a bountiful breakfast, made by Greg. He stood next to the table, wearing Jackie’s floral apron and I knew Rachel had made him put it on, with a plate full of waffles (the cook in the toaster kind), eggs (over easy), a small bowl of fresh cut fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee.
“Your breakfast awaits,” said Greg, pulling out a chair for me to sit in.
“You didn’t have to,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure I did,” said Greg.
Rachel appeared in the kitchen. “You got yourself a keeper there. That man can cook. Well… sort of.” She glanced at the empty box of frozen waffles.
“And for your waffles.” Greg handed me a container of warm syrup.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Come on, eat up. We don’t have all day.”
I glared at Rachel.
“What? Sorry.”
I dug into my waffles and eggs, saving the fruit for last. Once done, we cleaned up the dishes, and Jackie shooed Greg and me out the door. “I’ll meet you at work later,” she said. “Mr. Stilton wants us to come in and help clean up.”
I nodded that I had heard her. As I rushed down the hall with Greg. We got in his car and were at the college in about ten minutes.
“Greg,” I said, before getting out of the car. “Do you think Jack can find Rachel’s old boyfriend?”
Greg eyed me, confused as to why I would ask such a thing.
“During our little surprise engagement party, Rachel seemed down and I think it was because she was remembering Tom. Remember, she had been engaged when she was murdered.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Greg replied.
When I had first moved to Vermont with Jackie, we found ourselves a nice little apartment that was already furnished for very little rent. We didn’t know it at the time, but that apartment had been Rachel’s before she died and she never left. Soon after, I found myself wound up in an unsolved murder case, hers in fact, and that was the start of my career as a sleuth, not that I ever got paid for it.
“I think we should try to find him for her, so that she can have some closure,” I said.
“What was his name.”
“All I have is a first name: Tom.”
“I’ll call Jack and have him dig into it. I can’t make any promises, though. Now, you better get going, or you’ll be late.”
“I’ll see you later,” I said to Greg as I kissed him and jumped out of the car.
I watched him leave to head for work. He only had to attend class one day a week, as most of his courses were online this semester. I started to think that perhaps I should look into doing that, but not all of my courses were offered online. Checking my watch, I realized that I had about fifteen minutes until my class started, so I headed to the Student Union to get something to drink from their cafeteria.
As I hiked across the campus, I noticed a few people staring at me. I watched them as they pointed and talked in hushed whispers, their feeble attempt to disguise the fact that they were talking about me. Ignoring them, I picked up my pace to a brisk walk, welcoming the warmth of the Student Union as I stepped inside. Again, people stared at me, giving me odd and accusatory glances. What was their problem? Did I know them? Had I done something to offend them? I didn’t remember ever seeing them before, except maybe in passing. I brushed off their stares and hurried to the cafeteria. The aroma of cooking pancakes, sausage, hash browns, and brewed coffee filled my nostrils the moment I entered the bustling area and its sounds of dinnerware and clinking forks.
I spotted the hot beverage section and went over there, picking up a small Styrofoam cup. Coffee or hot chocolate? I settled on hot chocolate, since I had already had at least one cup of coffee. Besides, I have a weakness for chocolate. As I filled my cup, I knocked over one that was half-filled, which someone had abandoned on the counter, spilling its contents all over the table with some of it dripping onto the scuffed floor. The brown liquid sloshed over the edge of the counter, covering a newspaper that someone had left on a tiny stand. I snatched a wad of napkins and tried to clean up the spilt drink, but stopped when I noticed that my face was plastered on the front page of the local newspaper. I picked it up, doing my best not to tear the soaked page.
Mediums: Fraud or Genuine?
Jillian Modsen
The world has its fair share of those claiming to be psychics or mediums. You know the story: someone claiming to be able to speak with the spirit of those who have died, and people so desperate to believe it and reconnect with loved ones, that they fall for it. It appears that psychics are everywhere. We even have our very own.
Her name is Mellow Summers, or Mel, as she is known to her friends. She claims that she not only can speak to ghosts, but sees them as well. She refuses to go into any detail about how this all started, but it is rumored that she has used her abilities to assist the local police in solving certain cases, including the case of a murdered college student that went unsolved for an entire year.
Being a natural skeptic myself, I decided to invite Miss Summers over for a séance, so that I could see the action for myself. I must admit that she did not disappoint in giving my friend and I a show; and I am curious as to how she managed to make it look like an actual spirit had appeared. Amidst the rapping table, flickering lights, and disembodied voice—ventriloquism must be one of Miss Summers’ many talents as there is no other way she could have pulled it off—we were quite entertained. Though my friend is somewhat convinced about her otherworld abilities, I am not.
We had decided to see if our self-proclaimed psychic could contact my friend’s deceased brother. Mellow wasted no time in informing us that we were putting her on. Fair enough. But as I explained to my friend, she could have easily spotted the birthday card that had arrived in the mail that day and was on the front table as she walked in.
But the question remains: if Mellow Summers is a true psychic, then why is it she failed to foresee that the Candle Shoppe, the very place where she is employed, would be robbed. Yesterday morning, reports say that the police were there investigating a break-in discovered by—you guessed it—Miss Summers herself.
Some of you might say that such a gift doesn’t work that way. Perhaps. But since Miss Summers has been essential in assisting the local police with several murder investigations over the last three years, I believe that the people have the right to know if her psychic ability is genuine, especially since it has been instrumental in sending certain individuals to the state penitentiary. For now, this juror is still out on her verdict.
Why that little… All sorts of curses and colorful words filled my mind as I thought about how she had used me and how I had fallen for it. I couldn’t believe that I had been so dumb. I thought I had been comforting someone who was shaken up about the break-in and helping another find some sort of peace. I felt used and I did not like being taken advantage of. I smacked the paper on the counter, finished filling my cup of hot chocolate, took it to the cashier, and paid for it. She gave me a double take as though she had seen me before, which meant that she had probably seen my picture in the paper, but remembered herself.
“$2.99,” she said.
I gave her three ones and told her to keep the penny. I shoved my way past a group of younger students, who all laughed and giggled when they recognized me, and rushed out the door, jogging to my class. As luck would have it, everyone seemed to have read the local paper that morning; their eyes followed me wherever I went.
I ran into the classroom and found a seat in the back, hoping that once the professor started speaking, the other students would quit passing glances in my direction.
“Hey, look. It’s the psychic,” said one.
I glowered at him. Were we back in high school all of the sudden. I thought we were supposed to be adults, but I guess some people never grow up.
“So, psychic,” continued the same person, “what do you predict my future will be?”
“Leave me al
one,” I told him.
“What? You don’t like all of the attention?”
I saw Rachel appear beside him with an irate expression on her face. “If you’re not careful,” I said, “you’ll end up on the floor.”
The person laughed as he sat on the edge of his seat, but at that moment, Rachel slammed her fist into him and knocked him to the floor. He landed on his back and looked around in shock, not comprehending what had happened.
“That’s for making fun of my friend!” yelled Rachel.
“You pushed me somehow!” accused the man.
“How?” I asked. “I’m sitting over here.”
The others in the room watched our exchange, just as confused as he was about his sudden face to face meeting with the carpet.
“I don’t know, but you had…”
Rachel’s eyes flared. “It was me!” She shoved him again. “I’m the one who pushed you. And I’ll keep shoving you around until you leave Mel alone!”
I looked at Rachel, pleading with her to stop. Disappointed, she left the poor man alone—who remained standing, trying to figure out what had happened—and sat in a desk next to mine.
“I knew that lady was up to no good,” she said, “especially after she said that she didn’t believe in ghosts. No self-respecting person denies the existence of spirits.” She folded her arms and slumped on the desk.
At that moment, the professor marched into the room and placed his armful of books on the front desk. He said nothing as he picked up a dry erase marker and wrote a set of instructions on the board. The others in the room quieted down, pulling out their tablets.
“See you later,” said Rachel as she vanished.
This particular professor was a no-nonsense kind of man, who liked getting down to business. Every class period, he would walk into the classroom, write an assignment on the board, and we were to complete it before class had ended. Today’s assignment consisted of downloading an audio file, which he had posted on his website, and manipulating it, using a piece of audio software that we had to purchase, to create something fresh and new, thus showcasing our creativity and ingenuity.
Double, Double, Nothing But Trouble (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 10) Page 3