Me and My Ghoulfriends

by Rose Pressey

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  Lyrical Press, Inc.

  www.lyricalpress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Rose Pressey

  First published in 2008, 2008

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Me and My Ghoulfriends

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About Rose Pressey

  Coming in 2009 from Rose Pressey

  Also Available from Lyrical Press

  Lyrical Press

  * * * *

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Me and My Ghoulfriends

  Copyright © 2008 Rose Pressey

  Edited by Colleen Simpson

  Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: August, 2008

  First Lyrical Press, Inc print publication: October, 2008

  Me and My Ghoulfriends

  by Rose Pressey

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  This is to you, and you know who you are.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I would like to thank my family—Clinton, Bill, Mom and Dad—your support means everything to me. My four fabulous brothers: Terry, Tim, Derek and Craig—you guys are the greatest. Thanks to Steve McAllister for always looking for my books.

  Thanks also go to Colleen Simpson, Emma Wayne Porter, and Renee Rocco.

  Meira Pentermann, thank you for reading everything I send your way.

  And last-but not least—thank you to The Pink Ladies.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  Dead people won't leave me alone.

  Allow me to explain. To put it simply, I talk to the dead. As if that fact alone isn't bad enough, a famous ghost has latched onto me. A dreadfully persistent ghost, to say the least, and somewhat of a pain in the ass. His name was ... Are you ready for this? No ... You wouldn't believe me if I told you. All right, here goes ... Abraham Lincoln. Yes, as in the sixteenth President of the United States.

  I know. I know.

  I told you you wouldn't believe me. One day, last month, I made the mistake of visiting the historic site of Lincoln's birthplace, and guess who was hanging around? You got it, Abe Lincoln. He spotted me eyeing him right away, and he knew in an instant I could see him. The next thing I knew, he was sitting in the back seat of my car, impatiently waiting for a ride. It took me forever to convince him to scoot over in the seat. I had to explain it was either scoot over, or lose the hat. I couldn't see out the rear view mirror.

  So welcome to my world! I'm Larue Donavan, psychic medium and ghostbuster.

  I was standing in the middle of a haunted mansion on my latest investigation, a place comparable to Disneyworld's Haunted Mansion. The distinct feeling of someone's hand on my upper arm had been undeniable. Icy fingers had coiled around my shoulder. My heart thumped, and if I'd looked close I was sure I could have seen my shirt moving with every thud. You'd think I'd be used to this sort of thing by now. Like I said, I'd been seeing dead people ever since I could remember.

  Adrenalin rushed through me like a gushing river as I slowly placed my foot on the step in front of me and forced the other one to do the same. The stairs made a creaking noise with every step I took, just like in the horror movies we've all watched, wide-eyed and terrified, at three a.m..

  Heavy clomps from what I recognized as boots were following dangerously close to me. However, they weren't mystery footsteps; I knew—without a doubt—whose boots were clipping at my heels. Honest Abe had followed me on yet another exploration of the unknown. It was pretty sad when a ghost hunter brought spirits with them on an investigation. Good thing the clients didn't know.

  "You're reaching your late twenties soon, dear. All the good ones will be taken."

  I tried to tune him out, but it never worked. No matter how much I tried to ignore his mid-eighteen-hundreds dating-savvy comments it was nearly impossible. How could I concentrate on the task at hand with comments like those in my ear?

  "I can help you find a husband if you'd like?"

  "Thanks, but I'm good."

  That Abe, he sure did like to remind me I didn't have a husband yet. I'd told him again and again it was hard to find a husband without ever having a date. Being dateless was the price I had to pay for living in such a small town. Nonetheless, my social calendar was booked—So what if it was with non-romantic dates from the spirit world?

  Ever since I'd been a child I'd always had someone around, and by someone I mean a ghost. Most of the time it was just a poor lost soul who didn't realize they'd died, but sometimes, perhaps, they just had unfinished business. Some took longer than others to cross over and it was always a struggle to help them. Abe was one of the hard ones.

  On a whim, three years ago, I'd become a ghost hunter. Helping terrified people overcome their fears and ridding them of unwelcome spiritual visitors had become my fate. I figured what the hell, if dead people were talking to me anyway, I might as well lend a hand to a few frightened folks. Of course, it wasn't my day job; by day I worked in my bookstore. However, when darkness fell—or the witching hour, as I referred to it—arrived, I liked to pursue the unknown. I had dealt with my share of demons over the years, and this was my little way of helping all humankind.

  I gazed up at the dark form I'd been trailing ever since I'd felt that icy grip. It crossed the top of
the stairs, as if taunting me, ready for a chase. It didn't know what was in store for it, teasing me like that. I may be small, five foot two to be exact, but I packed a powerful punch. At least I envisioned that I did.

  All right, who was I kidding? I was no Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I tried. I had my share of tricks up my sleeve to rid a building of unwanted visitors. Slowly I made my way up each step, hoping some unseen force wouldn't push me to the bottom. I was positive Abe wouldn't be much help in that situation. I could see the whole scene in my mind. President Lincoln would be reminding me that I was husbandless as I lay stretched out across the floor, bloody and bruised.

  "Would you stop making that awful noise in my ear?” I snapped at Abe.

  For heaven's sake, did he have to walk so darn close? I got the sneaking impression he was afraid of ghosts.

  As I reached the top of the old stairs, a frigid breeze zipped past, almost knocking the wind out of me. A bitter chill rippled down my spine. I prayed the spirit wouldn't attach itself to me. I did not need another busy-body right now.

  "You'll never meet anyone hanging around scary places such as this one. What about that handsome fellow who came into your shop the other day?"

  "Shush! You need to go and wait for me in the car. I'll be finished soon. Now skedaddle.” I waved my hand in his direction and flashed him a stern glare. He sulked back to the front door, crestfallen.

  Bless his heart. I felt guilty for snapping at him like that, but enough was enough from him. I knew all too well my dating life sucked; I didn't need him to reaffirm that for me.

  Quickly, I darted to my immediate right and aimed my gun to get a reading. (Don't worry, it's not a gun with bullets or anything, it just reads the temperature.) If cold air was present, I knew a ghost was near. Forty-five degrees and dropping. I let out a mouthful of air, and mist escaped my lips, wildly whipping around the space in front of me. Something supernatural was definitely going on in the house.

  As I stood there with the cold circling around me, I heard a faint whisper from the bedroom directly in front of me. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the icy chill disappeared.

  I thrust the gun up again, pointed it in the same direction and pulled the trigger. The temperature had risen back to a steady sixty-two degrees. I knew the spirit had been there and was trying to show himself to me, but he wasn't having an easy time of it. Another one of the difficult ones.

  What would I tell the homeowners if I couldn't do away with the apparition? They'd been so desperate to get rid of the pesky spirit. Was I supposed to tell them they'd just have to deal with it? That was easier said than done.

  I moved forward, entering the room where I'd heard the whispers, and where I suspected the shadowy form had vanished. Suddenly, I had an eerie feeling I was dealing with more than one entity, and that neither one of them wanted me around.

  Great. A mob of ghosts ganging up on me. Little by little, I approached the door, and then grasped the antique doorknob. It rattled slightly as I twisted. Slowly, I leaned my head into the room, grabbed the camera dangling from my neck and snapped half a dozen pictures.

  In an instant, he appeared beside the iron bed in the corner of the room. At first, he was just a misty silhouette. Then, he took on a human appearance right before my eyes. After all these years that still spooked me. What can I say? I'm still a scaredy-cat sometimes.

  Within seconds, his features were very clear. Although he was still transparent, I could make out his expressive eyes, small nose and thin lips. The ghost wore a uniform. Yes, now I recognized it, a uniform I'd seen before, gray with golden tassels. He was a Confederate soldier.

  What would he do if I went to the car and came back with President Lincoln? That would almost be worth the dating comments I had to endure. I decided against it—it may backfire on me. The spirit stared at me at first with a stern look in his dark eyes, making my heart beat just a little faster with anticipation. But then they softened the minute I spoke to him.

  "I'm Larue, and I'm here to help you,” I said softly.

  Of course, he didn't actually speak like you and I do, instead it was a telepathic message sent directly to me. I heard my ghost hunting partners downstairs making a little noise. It wasn't loud, but I prayed they wouldn't scare the apparition away.

  I know, scare a ghost away, how does that happen? Remember, they were once people just like us, and their souls are the same as they always were. They get scared too. Thankfully, my ghostly soldier still stood there, unfazed by the noise. It's as if I'd put him in a trance. I had a feeling he was grateful to have someone communicate with him.

  "I need to get back to my men, they need me. I'm lost here and I don't know what to do,” he said.

  His voice was powerful and I was sure he'd commanded attention with it everywhere he went, in his day. But oh dear, he thought the war was still being fought.

  "You have to move on. The war is long over. All of your loved ones are waiting for you,” I offered.

  I could sense the hesitancy in his features.

  He tensed up. Clearly, he was confused and didn't know if he should believe me. If I were him, I wouldn't believe me.

  After a long pause I asked, “Do you remember anything? How long you have been here?"

  I frowned, unable to hold back my sad emotions. Gloom was hanging in the air, emanating from the dead solider. I felt so bad for him I wanted to offer him a big hug.

  "I remember being shot and coming to this house. I believe it was in use as a hospital. I've been here ever since,” he said as he lowered his head, staring at his boots.

  What must it be like to be so confused and stuck in one place for so long? Heck, that would drive me batty. It was my job to help him and convince him to move on, but I sensed he didn't truly understand the full breadth of the situation yet.

  "You do want to see your relatives right? Perhaps you had a wife, children or parents?"

  "I have a wife and four children. I miss them terribly.” He didn't lift his head to look at me as he answered.

  "You have to realize there is nothing left for you here. Your wife is waiting for you in the light. Have you seen the bright light before?"

  "Yes, I've seen it. I don't want to go to it. It appears every once in a while, but I have to stay here.” He raised his voice, and it boomed loudly in my head. His voice was austere.

  "Your wife is in the light. I promise you. You will see her again if you go into the light,” I pleaded.

  He looked intently at me, contemplating what I'd just said.

  "I don't understand why I can't see her here.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper.

  How was I going to put it to him delicately? “Sir, you're dead.” Okay, so that wasn't very delicate. I never said I was perfect at my job. “You died many years ago. You can't stay here any longer. You have to leave."

  "I'm dead?"

  I nodded. “Yes, dead.” As in no longer available. A goner.

  He shook his head no, and I continued to nod yes for several seconds as we silently argued the fact. It was getting me nowhere.

  Finally, I said, “If you picture the light in your mind, it will appear. Can you do that for me? Remember you'll see your wife and children again, I promise."

  I watched him anxiously, waiting to see what he would do next. Would he disappear through the wall without listening to me? Could I get that lucky? I had promised the homeowners I'd do everything I could do to get rid of the haunting.

  Unfortunately, I didn't have a big magic gun like Dan Aykroyd in Ghostbusters so I could suck up a spirit. Instead, I had to rely on my personality to talk a ghost over. Kind of like you'd talk someone suicidal down off of a ledge. It was inevitable some ghosts just wouldn't like me and wouldn't listen to a thing I said. There was nothing I could do about that, although I'd quickly gotten a name for being able to talk to ghosts easily, so I prayed this time would uphold my reputation.

  I watched the soldier closely. His expression changed slightly and I
held my breath, waiting for him to summon the light. After a minute passed, I once again encouraged him to go into the light.

  "Walk toward the light. Go to your family,” I pressed. I wanted to grab him and shove him into it, but I knew that wouldn't work. Waiting for ghosts to move on always had made me a nervous wreck. I could feel my palms turning clammy with each passing second. It was all I could do not to bite my nails off with the worry.

  He turned, his back facing me, and walked toward the window. I held my breath. Within seconds he went from full apparition to misty form and then, poof, he was gone. I let out a sigh of relief; he'd moved on surprisingly easily. I could count on one hand how many times it had been that easy to help someone cross over to the light. It usually took several tries.

  The homeowners would be happy with the news.

  People often ask me what got me started in this line of work and, besides the fact dead people wouldn't leave me alone (that was the big reason), there was always a fascination with the unknown for me. I'd always been interested in the paranormal even without the daily visits from the dearly departed.

  Late at night when I was young, I would lie awake, staring at the glow of my nightlight and ask myself questions like, Could I really be turned into a werewolf? I didn't know which was more likely: aliens or Bigfoot. As terrified as I might have been, I never avoided scary movies, although Dracula frightened the heebie-jeebies out of me. And do not get me started on zombies—I wouldn't even discuss them. I often searched the sky for UFOs; I have never seen one, although that was probably a good thing.

  It was getting late and I was exhausted, but I could have sworn there were two spirits in the home. There was no sign of another spirit hanging around now, so I must have been wrong. Like I said, I'm not perfect at my job.

  Warning the homeowners to keep their eyes out for anything else strange that may happen was at the top of my ‘to do’ list. Spinning around, my shoes clicking loudly on the old floor, I walked to the door. I tilted my head for one final glance back to where the spirit had been; it sure felt good to help someone. My job here was done.