Ghosts are People Too

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “That’s what I meant. In order.”

  Heaven help her, she was a character. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

  I said goodbye to Gen and headed out.

  The home and driveway were blocked with crime scene tape. I wondered if I’d need to go inside to get done what I’d come for. Sure, I’d seen both spirits in the house, but that didn’t mean they were bound to it, did it? I really needed to spend more time researching spirits and how best to communicate with them. If I ever had the time.

  I pulled up along the side of the road and off into the ditch a bit to park. As I got out of the car, I realized I could be adding my shoe prints to the scene, and that might be illegal. I didn’t need that threat hanging over my head, but I had to try and talk to those spirits. They could have seen something, something like the murder itself.

  I scanned the area, hoping I could find a cut through in the field next to the property. It was very likely part of the property itself, though I couldn’t recall from the home’s paperwork. That didn’t mean it was part of the investigation though, because it wasn’t blocked off. That struck me as odd. Wouldn’t they have searched it for the weapon? I wasn’t sure how investigations worked, but there wasn’t any tape across the field, so I felt safe walking along its side, the perimeter of the house.

  My heels were just high enough to make the walk through the overgrown field dangerous. I couldn’t see what lie beneath the weeds, but at least the ground was hard enough that my heels didn’t sink. I stared at the old windows, stopping the quick inventory of property issues my job required from running through my brain, and checked for ghosts.

  Not a soul in sight. Go figure.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” Still in the field, I walked further up toward the front of the house and stared at the old, dilapidated building, every ounce of my being focused on the people from the other side. “Anna? Anna Kentworth?”

  Nothing.

  I pushed my red hair behind my ears. “Come on. I know someone’s here. I saw a boy and a girl yesterday. Something bad happened here recently. A murder. I need to know if you saw anything.”

  The torn and tattered curtains in the front window moved slightly. The movement almost completely hidden by a beat up column of the front porch. I stared intensely at that window hoping it wasn't a real person but in fact a real ghost. What was I thinking? When had I become a person more afraid of real life humans than real life ghosts? People were scary, yes, but hadn't ghosts always been scary? I laughed at that thought. The fact was, ghosts were people, too.

  I took two steps closer to the porch and waited, holding my breath just a touch. “Anna? Anna Kentworth? Are you here?”

  The curtains moved again, and a tiny girl's face peeked out from the bottom of the window. She wasn't Anna, but to the best of my knowledge, she was her daughter. If the little girl was there, I had to assume the mother was, too.

  I stepped closer to the porch and then froze. The spirit of the long dead woman suddenly appeared before me just at the top of the steps. She hovered there, her arm stretched out with her finger pointed directly at me. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

  I didn't know what to do. A chill wafted in the air and circled me. I rubbed the sides of my arms to warm them. I shivered, more from fear than cold. I took a deep breath and exhaled hoping to gather enough nerve to speak to the woman.

  She was all sorts of scary with eyes like hollowed out black holes and a mouth much the same. Her clothing was a like the curtains on that window, old, dirty and tattered, but I wrote that off to her era and the lifestyle she was forced to live during the Civil War. My heart went out to her because I knew she was bound to that house for a reason, and I wasn't sure if I could help her. I didn't want to ask for her help without being able to offer something, even if it was just a concentrated effort in return, so I went for it.

  “I'd like to help you,” I said, my voice rough but soft as a whisper. “I don't know what to do, but I'd like to try.”

  The ghost hovered there, her energy humming and buzzing with electricity. She dropped her arm, and her shoulders sank, and then she disappeared.

  “No, no, no.” I held my arms out straight frantically waving my palms, but it was too late. She was gone. “Darn gone it.”

  I stood there for a moment watching the torn curtains once again, begging silently for them to move. When they didn't, feeling defeated and a bit frustrated, I turned to leave, and walked right through the little boy ghost I'd seen before.

  My skin immediately chilled, and a wave of nausea shot through my body. I stood, panicked, the taste of bile charging up my throat and pushing at my Adam’s apple, just begging to rise up and sail out. I swallowed hard and bent over, my hands on my knees, taking several deep breaths trying to push back the feeling. When it finally subsided, I stood, and gave the boy my best smile.

  “Hi,” I said nervously. I wiped the tiny drops of perspiration from my forehead. “I don't want to hurt you. My name is Chantilly Adair. Do you remember seeing me the other day?”

  The little boy stared at me, but he didn’t speak. I smiled at him hoping that would help or maybe get his attention.

  “Bleacher. Bleacher. Bleacher,” he mumbled.

  I crooked my head to the side. “I'm sorry did you say bleacher?”

  “Bleacher. Bleacher. Bleacher,” he mumbled again. His body slightly levitated above ground Indian style.

  “What do you mean by bleacher?”

  A burst of cold air pushed on my back and shoved me forward through the small boy again until I tumbled down to the ground, my body hitting the rocky gravel driveway with a bang. Stunned, I lay there for a moment not sure what to do but afraid to move. Another flash of icy cold air surrounded me like a bubble.

  “Leave us alone.”

  The voice was female, and she was livid.

  I rolled over and slowly pushed myself up into a sitting position, tucking my knees in close to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. “I'm... I'm sorry. I mean no harm. Please,” I begged. “Maybe we can help each other.”

  Anna Kentworth glared at me with her hollowed dark eyes. She opened her mouth again, and when she spoke, her voice a was deep, guttural growl. “Leave. Us. Alone.”

  I jumped from my childlike position and put distance between us. I held my hands out toward her, palms up, and waved them. “Okay, okay. I'm going.” I walked backwards on my toes in short steps as quickly as possible. The ghost kept her hollowed eyes on me the entire time. When I got to the side of the yard where I came in, I turned and bolted faster then I'd run in years.

  Chapter Four

  “Well, if that doesn't sound like the scariest thing ever, I don't know what does.” Dell poured me a cup of coffee and added a splash of brandy from a bottle she kept for special occasions only under the counter.

  “You know I'm not a drinker.”

  She slid the cup across the counter toward me. I gladly picked it up added a dollop of half-and-half and took a sip. The sting of the brandy burned as it slid down my throat.

  I coughed and slid the cup back to her. “I just can't. Brandy and I aren't close friends.”

  Dell laughed. “Brandy is everybody's best friend at one time in their life whether they like it or not.”

  “I guess this isn’t the time for us yet. May I have my regular?”

  She flipped around to pour me another cup, added a touch of French vanilla and a dash of cinnamon, and then gave it to me. “Better?”

  I took a swig and smiled. “Heavenly.”

  “So, I guess things didn't go as planned.”

  I sighed. “Does anything ever?”

  We sat at the corner table in her café, and I filled her in on my attempted conversations with the ghosts.

  “What the heck does bleacher mean?”

  I shrugged. I was hoping you’d know.” I paused and tilted my head to the side. “I honestly have no idea. None of this makes sense. I’ve never sat and had a conversation with someo
ne that's already dead. You may think I'm crazy, but that mama ghost? She’s not one to mess with.”

  Dell considered that with a raised eyebrow and a rubbing of her chin. “Sounds to me like she is just trying to protect her kin. Think about it, she sent her husband off to war, praying I'm sure for his return every day, but he never came back. And she lost her children because of that war. Strangers came to her house, and now even though she's dead and time has moved on, strangers are still coming to her house, and she probably doesn't have a lick of a clue what any of it means.” She leaned back in her chair and stared at me. “Have a walk in her shoes and tell me how you feel.”

  I stared at the plastic lid on my cup, thinking about what she’d just said. I went to that house searching for answers without any clue as to how to help the ghosts. “You're right. I just don't know what to do. My friend is a suspect in a murder investigation, Del. I have to help her. I need those spirits to tell me if they saw anything.”

  “Maybe you're going about it the wrong way. Maybe instead of offering them nothing, or at least nothing as of this moment, you offer them something first and then ask them to help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You work for the historical society,” she flicked her hand at me. “Why don't you research her family and tell her what she needs to hear? Maybe somebody survived, a cousin, an, uncle, a sister. Let her know what happened to her family, what happened to her husband. Help her understand that she's not supposed to be here and should move on.” She sipped her drink again. “If you give her closure, she might be willing to help you before she leaves here.”

  My eyes popped open. “You’re a genius.” I hitched my purse over my shoulder and stood. “I'm going to go and do that research right now.” I hugged my friend. “Thank you, Del. thank you so much.”

  She shrugged. “You would have figured it out eventually. I just gave you a little push.”

  I rushed back to the historical society to finish up my work. Del sent pastries and sweet tea along with me to get Olivia, Thelma, Gen, and I through the rest of the day before dinner.

  When I got to the office and showed the three women the treats, they praised Del and her graciousness, and then they dug into the goodies like they were starving.

  We all sat at the small table in the kitchen while we chatted and ate.

  “How’s the party planning coming along?” I asked.

  Gen dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, sugar, this is going to be the party of the century. We’ve already created a video, of course it needs editing, of the current locations and their descriptions. So, when everyone is at the town square enjoying the cocktails and the hors d'oeuvres, and all the fuss of the beautiful decorations because you know I’ll have decorations everywhere, we’ll show them the video and introduce them to your next great historical society program.”

  Olivia raised her hand. “Excuse me, we are a small town, and we don't really need all of the fancy hors d'oeuvres and such, but it sure sounds mighty fun, and I can't wait.” She opened her mouth wide and stuck a piece of bread slathered in pimento cheese into it. She pressed her hand to her mouth as she chewed and mumbled, “I'm just so excited.”

  Thelma laughed. “Y'all are giddy over a little party, yet a man is dead. When my Charlie passed on, I didn’t leave the house for a week after we buried him. I cried and cried as I cleaned out his drawers.” She patted her knee. “I did giggle when I found the twenty dollars and those necked women magazines he’d left in his sock drawer, but other than that, I cried.”

  I leaned into Thelma, pushing my shoulder against hers. “This is how we deal with it, we deflect.” I laid my head on her shoulder. “Sometimes it's easier to move forward in the midst of tragedy rather than dwell in it.”

  Gen sighed. “Jeffrey is dead, and I'm torn up inside, and not because I might be a suspect in his murder, but because my husband is gone. The thing is, if I stop and think about it, I'm going to fall apart. And if I fall apart, how am I going to save myself from prosecution?” She crumpled her napkin into a ball, stood, walked over to the garbage can, and tossed it inside. “If I can figure out, or if Chantilly and I can figure out what happened to my husband, maybe it will help me find peace with his death.”

  We all nodded.

  “Why doesn't Chantilly here just ask him?” Olivia asked.

  I glared at her.

  Gen flipped around and laughed. “Whatever do you think she can do, talk to ghosts?” She laughed again. “That's the craziest thing I've ever heard.”

  I glanced at Olivia and carefully shook my head hoping she got the message. “Wouldn't that be amazing. I would have conversations with my parents all day long if that were the case.”

  Olivia and Thelma giggled nervously.

  Thelma said, “I talk to my husband every day, he just don't talk back.”

  “Since talking to ghosts isn't on the table,” I said as I took the last bite of Gen's little sandwich and then chewed it down before continuing. “We have to think of another way to find out what happened to Jeffrey.”

  OLIVIA FINISHED UP her tour, and I sent her home early. She’d slept some, but the puffy dark circles under her eyes were a big hint that she still needed rest, and the mother in me took over.

  “Go home,” I’d said. “Have some hot tea, chamomile if you have it, and get some rest. You need it.” I pointed to her right hand and the cell phone that seemed permanently attached to her palm. “And turn that thing off.”

  She hugged me. “Oh, thank you so much. I am give out. It’s been a day and a half, hasn’t it?”

  It had, and in more ways than she knew.

  Gen continued her party planning, but after finishing the rest of my filing, Thelma popped a squat in the chair in front of the desk and was sound asleep in minutes. Her head bobbed and rolled from one side and to the other.

  I coughed, and when she didn’t wake up, I coughed again.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and when she saw me, she shook her head as if she needed to clear a cloud surrounding her. “What’s the double jeopardy?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Her eye focused on me. “Oh, it’s you. I thought I was—” she glanced around the room. “I’m not in my parlor?”

  I giggled “No, ma’am, you’re in my office.”

  She adjusted her wig, a Dolly Parton curly, below the shoulders down ‘do I’d seen her wear once or twice before. “Goodness, I must be give out like Olivia.” She smacked her lips together. “And something must have crawled into my mouth and left a dumplin’ because my breath is plum awful.”

  I swallowed back a giggle. “Happens to the best of us. Why don’t you go on home now? I’m just researching a few things, and Gen’s tucked away in her little temporary office doing some party planning, so we’re good.”

  “You sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Well, then, I guess I might could head on out. I got to get me some groceries at the Dollar General anyway. Might as well go ahead and get them on the way home.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I walked her down the stairs and to the front door. As I opened it for her, a man rushed through, pushing me aside and nearly sending Thelma tumbling to the ground.

  “Hey,” I grabbed a hold of his suit jacket. “Hold up there, big guy.”

  I pulled on the smooth material and yanked him back. It took some effort, but I think the surprise factor of my strength played in my favor because he didn’t shake me off. “You almost knocked over an old lady.”

  The man turned around, and my stomach flipped. “Harvey? What’re you doing here?”

  “Where's Jeffrey?”

  My jaw hung open. “Jeffrey's... Jeffrey’s... Harvey, haven't you heard?” I rubbed the back of my neck as I struggled to find the right way to tell him the news. “Jeffrey's gone. He was murdered,” I blurted out. Better to just say it then try to sugar coat it.

  He furrowed his brows, but his eyes didn’t seem as shock
ed as I’d hoped. “He's what? No. Son of a—” He spun in a circle, staring at the stairs. He placed his hand on the top of his head, rotating his head back and forth underneath it. When he turned around, his skin was ashen. “Where’s the money? I need that money.”

  Thelma scooted toward the corner of the room. “I’ll just be over here, out of the way. Don’t mind me none.”

  I’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, Thelma, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Sweetie, I'm right as rain.” She pointed to Harvey, who didn’t appear okay at all. “Looks like you got your hands full now.”

  “I need that money,” Harvey said again. He spun in another circle, as if examining the foyer and stairway would make the dead man magically appear. “Where’s the money? What did he do with the money?”

  I moved in front of him and grasped onto his shoulders, steadying him by making strong eye contact. “Harvey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to calm down.” I did know what he was talking about, but I sure wasn’t going to say that.

  “No, you’re lying.” Sweat pooled on his forehead and dripped down the sides of his face. “This is bad. This is really bad.” He ran his hand through his hair and wiped the sweat from the sides of his face. “Where’s Gen? She’s here. I know she came to Castleberry, and I know Jeffrey came looking for her. Where is she?”

  I prayed Gen wouldn’t come prancing down the stairs, and because I knew her well enough to know she might, I reached back and opened the door behind me then gently guided Harvey Barrington out and onto the front porch. “I’m not lying. There’s an investigation and everything. Jeffrey’s dead.”

  His glossed over eyes settled on mine, and instead of anger, I saw panic. He opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped himself. “I...I’ve got to go. Tell Gen to watch herself. If she’s got the money, she’ll end up dead, too.”

  Was that a threat or a warning?

  He glanced at his phone, tapped his finger on the screen several times, and then grunted. He jerked away from me, darted down the porch stairs, and sped off in his black Mercedes convertible.