by N. M. Howell
“No, nothing. Just a missing persons announcement. They haven't found the bodies yet, I guess.”
I looked up at the two ghosts with sympathy. Their poor families must be worried sick. At least now, hopefully, we could give them closure. I would have to get in touch with the sheriff in the morning to let him know. He'd know what to do and who to call.
“Don't worry, we'll figure it out,” Bailey smiled up at them. “River has a knack for solving crimes, apparently.” She winked at me.
I rolled my eyes. So much for living the quiet life of a journalist in a small town. Murder and crime seemed to cling to me since moving to Brimstone Bay. Maybe I should try my luck in a new city.
Rory came to sit next to me and squeezed my hand. “Don't look so depressed. You've helped a lot of people since moving here. Let's see what we can do to help these guys, too, okay?”
I nodded. Of course, I'd try to help them. I was keen on helping myself first, though. There's not much you could do to a ghost, but there was plenty someone could do to me. Especially being the target of a potential murderer.
“We need to get more information. Have there been any other missing persons reports around here? Anything else you can find at all?” I watched Jane as she scrunched her face while she worked. Her fingers were flying on the keyboard, and after a few short minutes, she beamed back up at me.
“Yep. Two more. This time in Bangor.”
“Bangor? That's really not far from here,” Rory said.
Bailey smiled. “That's where Stephen King lives!”
I rolled my eyes. That girl had a strange obsession with his books. She had a poster of the murderous car Christine on her walls. I didn't quite understand the obsession.
“I've been there. It's spooky. I get why he writes the books he does,” Jane shuddered.
“Okay, guys, back to the matter at hand,” I said. I was more concerned with finding out how these guys were killed so we could make sure I didn't succumb to the same fate. Stephen King could wait. Although, secretly, I really wanted to go check out his house. But that could wait until later. Perhaps when I wasn't at risk of being murdered. Or, you know, summer time.
I shook my head to bring myself back to the task at hand. “Who are the missing people in Bangor?”
Jane scrolled down the website she was on until she found more information. “Jared Whitney and Sue McGowan.”
I scratched my chin thoughtfully. “Another couple?”
Jane nodded.
“I wonder if there's any relation,” I said.
Jane turned the laptop towards the spirits, and the woman bent down to look at the screen. Mrs. Pots moved to take some of the trays of cookies off the table to make more room for us all to see.
Sarah shook her head and scoffed. “Hardly. Look at them.”
“Don't be rude, dear,” Mrs. Pots said off-handedly as she busied herself with the trays.
I gaped at her, and the other girls looked back and forth at each other in mild surprise.
Did she just speak to the ghost? Mrs. Pots had insisted for ages that she could speak to spirits, despite not being magic herself. We always blew her off, considering her to be delusional, but maybe she wasn’t lying this whole time, after all.
I raised my eyebrows as she stacked the trays on the counter. She didn't even seem to take notice.
Maybe she could speak to spirits after all.
“Huh.” I was amused.
“There are more,” Jane said.
My attention shot back to Jane after she spoke. She flipped through websites like nobody’s business.
“Couples,” she continued. “So many couples have gone missing along the East Coast. All around the same age range. None of them married.”
She slid the laptop toward me when I reached out for it. She had tabbed the articles about the missing people, and I cycled through them. “You would make a great investigative journalist.”
Jane laughed. “Sounds terribly boring.”
I smiled. “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”
I cycled through the websites again, taking note of each couple's faces. They all looked so young and happy, and they all looked so in love. What could possibly have happened to make them all disappear?
“None are from Brimstone Bay or the surrounding towns. Bangor is closest, but that's still about two hours away.
“How many couples are there?” Bailey asked.
I counted the open tabs on the screen. “At least twelve that Jane found.”
“Yikes,” Rory said. “That's awful.”
I rubbed my eyes. I was tired, confused, and had absolutely no idea how any of this could possibly have anything to do with me.
I looked pleadingly up to the couple who were standing together near the table, watching us. They continued to look worried but hadn't spoken in a while. Maybe all we needed was to trigger their memories. I flipped back through the tabs to find the article that mentioned them.
“Sarah, Peter. Can you remember anything else about who you are? Where you're from, maybe? How you met?”
They both shook their heads.
“I remember we had to warn you. We know you're next,” Sarah began. Her lip quivered, and her eyes looked sad. If she weren't a ghost, I would bet that her eyes would be welling up with tears as well. “We had to tell you.”
“I know this is hard,” I said. “But if your warning is going to be of any help to me, we're going to need more to go on.”
“We're so sorry,” Peter said. “I'm sorry we don't remember more.”
We all sat around the table in silence for a moment, thinking. The fire crackled from the living room, and I could hear Momma Cat's thunderous purring from where I sat.
“What a sweet little cat,” Sarah finally said. She walked - or floated, rather - over towards Momma and her new kitten. I wasn't too sure what to call it, the way spirits moved. They looked and moved like their human counterparts, and their legs walked when they went from one place to the next. But they sort of hovered over the floor like they weren't quite connected to the ground.
I watched as she bent down and looked closely at the cats.
Soot sauntered over to see what the fuss was about, clearly not wanting to get left out when any sort of attention was being paid to the other cats. Cats really were remarkable creatures, and they evidently had more of an affinity for spirits than Mrs. Pots did.
Well, at least up until earlier.
Soot sat down next to Sarah and pawed at a low-hanging ornament on Mrs. Brody's Christmas tree.
We all watched her watch the cat. She smiled, and Soot's shenanigans seemed to calm her. He pawed at the ornament and the surrounding tinsel until his claw caught the edge of the bow, and he managed to rip the ornament right off the branch. I laughed quietly to myself as he pounced on it and pawed it around on the floor.
“My cat used to do the same thing,” she said quietly.
“That’s nice.” I blinked. “Oh. Wait, what?”
I turned to look at Rory beside me who stared back with wide eyes.
“You remember?” I asked.
I pushed myself up from the dining chair and walked over to her and the cats.
Sarah blinked up at me and frowned. “Sorry?
I smiled at her. “You remembered. You just said your cat did the same thing. Soot jogged your memory.”
She looked back down at the cat and tilted her head to one side. “Oh. I guess you're right.”
Mrs. Brody beamed as she made her way into the living room with a large glass of eggnog. I got a strong whiff of rum as the glass passed me.
“Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of normalcy to bring back memories,” she said softly. She placed her drink on the mantle and bent over to snatch the ornament back from Soot. The cat was none too impressed and stalked off grumpily when she managed to retrieve the red glittery ball from him. She hung it back up on the tree, higher this time.
Mrs. Brody turned to Sarah and crossed her arms. “Look
s like all it might take to bring back your memories are a little bit of routine.”
I sighed. “Yeah, but we have no idea what their routine is. How are we supposed to manage that without them remembering anything about who they are?”
Mrs. Brody motioned towards Sarah's necklace, which had a tiny cross hanging from it. “Well, it seems to me that these folks would likely celebrate Christmas, given the necklace she's wearing.”
Sarah lifted her hand toward her collarbone where the necklace hung. She had a blank look in her eyes as if she were trying to remember something that wasn't quite there.
Bailey practically skipped into the room. She seemed ecstatic.
“What's going on?” I asked. “What am I missing?”
“Well, it just happens to be a certain time of year,” Bailey said.
Mrs. Brody retrieved her eggnog from the mantle and cozied up next to the fire near Momma Cat and the new kitten. She gazed into the fire and let Bailey explain her epiphany to me.
“If normalcy will trigger their memory, then all we have to do is have a nice, traditional Christmas together. Chances are, if we do all the major holiday traditions, some of it is bound to bring back their memories.”
Jane and Rory were both beaming wildly. Bailey clapped her hand in glee. I simply stared at them all, my eyebrows crinkled together and my arms crossed.
“So, you're saying...”
“We're locking ourselves in for the next few days to have the merriest of Christmases anyone has ever had.”
I swallowed. “Oh, sure. Fun.”
Christmas was never my favorite time of year. It wasn't even my tenth favorite time of year. Sure, I liked the lights and some of the music wasn't even too intolerable, but the idea of being locked in the house with a bunch of Christmas fanatics, a landlady who favored eggnog over water, a baker who insisted on fattening us up, and two lost ghosts seemed just enough to extinguish any hope I had of having a quiet and restful holiday.
“Well,” I said. “Merry Christmas to us.”
4
I sat on the floor with my back pressed against the far corner of the living room wall. Agnes sat on my lap and purred against my stomach as I stroked her fur.
The poor kitten was none too impressed that her mom gave her a new little brother. She was sitting in the corner with me, brooding, eager for the attention that Momma Cat was neglecting to give her.
Bailey, Jane, and Rory sat together at the kitchen table, compiling a list of every single Christmas tradition they could think of. From what I could tell from my little corner of the living room, the list had grown to be at least five pages long.
“You know, maybe we should just play some Christmas music. That might be enough to trigger their memories,” I suggested.
The girls laughed at me and continued with their list-making.
I sighed and continued to pet little Agnes. I had a feeling it was going to be an eventful few days, so I figured I may as well conserve my energy while I could.
I heard talk of carol singing, baking, gift exchanges, among many other things being uttered from their lips. I had no idea how they expected to manage everything given the fact that we were locked up in Mrs. Brody's basement apartment for the next few days. She wasn't going to let us out due to the unknown danger that was looming over my head, so they wouldn't be able to go out shopping for anything new.
I doubted that would stop them, though. Not only were they crafty, but they were witches. If they couldn't find what they needed in the house, I bet they would find some way to magic it up. Bailey was a particularly clever witch, and I knew better than to underestimate her. All of them, actually.
I eyed Mrs. Brody who was busy rummaging through a box in the far corner of the kitchen. I knew not to underestimate that one the most. As small as she was, that woman packed a punch. I knew better than to get in her way when she had her mind set on something, and by the way her face was screwed up in concentration, I had a feeling she had made up her mind. Living in her house for six months had taught me not to get nosy.
So, I sat and watched. Sarah and Peter stood by and watched, as well. Every now and then they'd glance at me or toward the windows. I could tell they were waiting for something bad to happen, but they unfortunately just couldn't remember what it was.
I just wished this whole Christmas extravaganza thing would trigger their memories sooner than later. I didn't mind cozying up inside for the holidays, but somehow the knowledge that I wasn't allowed out made it harder to bear. I was trapped inside this warm, glittery, sugar cookie-smelling and Christmas music-filled apartment.
Life could be worse, I supposed.
My legs began cramping up, and I finally joined the girls in the kitchen. Their list had grown to about fifteen pages, and they didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon.
“Thorough,” I mused. I pulled a few of the sheets towards me to take a look. I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. They had even listed out every Christmas song they knew.
The clock above the mantle chimed, and I looked up to see that it was four o'clock.
“Okay, seriously,” I said. “Can't you guys pick this up in the morning? I'm so tired.”
Bailey barely looked up at me before returning to her task of jotting down Christmas ideas. “Go to sleep, then.”
I rolled my eyes and looked around the room. Mrs. Brody was still sorting through that box, and Mrs. Pots was snoozing near the fire. That left the cats and the ghosts. I decided to try and talk to the ghosts. Maybe I could get them to remember something without all this Christmas nonsense.
Peter looked at me with a curious expression on his face as I approached. Sarah was too preoccupied with the goings on in the room to even notice.
“How are you two holding up?” I asked as I took a seat on the arm of the couch near where they stood.
Peter shrugged. “Can't really say. Apart from you, I don't really know why we're here. I don't really know how I'm supposed to be feeling right now.”
Sarah turned her attention to her partner. “Feel? Can we even feel anymore?”
Peter shrugged.
I still had a lot to learn about ghosts, and it seemed they did as well. It would really help move things along if they could remember more about themselves.
“Any new memories?” I asked. “Now that you've had a chance to settle in a bit, is there anything else that you can remember? Last place you guys were, perhaps?”
They both shook their heads and frowned.
I sighed and rubbed my temples. “Let's hope we can change that soon.”
It was strange to me that they didn't remember anything. I knew that ghosts sometimes took a while to recall the events of their death and even memories of where they came from, but it seemed so strange that these two had absolutely nothing to go off on.
I remembered back to Jessica in October, a ghost I had found in a local haunted house. It took her some time, but she eventually did remember everything. She knew her name right away, as well. Then there were Mrs. And Mr. Littleton, and they seemed to have most of their memories. And Trey... Well, we couldn't find his ghost, so that was beside the point.
I sighed audibly. Something didn't seem quite right.
“Hey, Mrs. Brody,” I called across the room.
The blue-haired woman looked up from behind the box and raised her eyebrows at me. “Yes, dear?”
“Isn't it strange that Sarah and Peter have absolutely no memories. Like, none at all? Does that suggest anything to you?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it is quite unusual. It could be due to some sort of magical influence, or extreme trauma?”
I looked the ghosts up and down. They didn't seem battered or bruised. They were even dressed quite nicely. In fact, they looked completely healthy. Apart from their semi-translucent nature and odd way of floating just above the ground, of course.
Thinking back to the other ghosts I had met, they all carried their li
ving scars with them as spirits. These two showed no sign of struggle or anything. I shuddered at the memory of young Jessica's back scars.
“You don't look like you suffered.” I hoped that would at least bring comfort to them.
Sarah smiled. “Well, that's a relief. Wouldn't want to be stuck here as a spirit with no head or something.”
I smiled back. At least she was trying to see the bright side of it all.
“Do you really think this will help us remember?” Peter was watching my housemates flip through their pages of notes. They were giggling, obviously excited to bring their plan to life.
I shrugged. “It won't hurt to try. The worst thing that will happen is we'll get some cheesy Christmas songs stuck in our heads.”
“Well, that works for me. I love Christmas music. I think.”
Peter smiled at Sarah and stepped closer to her. The way they looked at each other made me think they were new love. They seemed giddy together, and that tended to fade into a different kind of love the longer a couple was together.
“How long have you two been together?” I might as well give it a shot.
“Not long,” Sarah giggled.
Peter blinked and I grinned. “There we go, another memory.”
Both spirits looked at each other and beamed. I was happy that they at least had each other through this.
“Why did you come to warn me?” Worth another shot.
They both turned to look at me. Peter shrugged. “Not sure, sorry.”
“Oh, well,” I sighed. “Couldn't hurt to try.”
“We'll get there,” Mrs. Brody came to join us in the living room. She was carrying a small heavy-looking ornamental box in her hands, her fingers carefully wrapped around its edges protectively.
She pulled the small side table from beside the couch into the middle of the room and placed the box on the table.
“What's that?” I asked.
Mrs. Brody stared down at the box lovingly. Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled at it as if were her own child.
I cleared my throat when she didn't answer.
“You'll see,” is all she said.
I narrowed my eyes as I thought I caught a glimpse of something move around the box.