by Darcy Coates
Chapter Three
They took Bree’s car, a tiny pink thing with ads for her floristry plastered across the doors. Bree’s phone rang not long after they left the suburbs.
“Should we answer that?” Jenine asked the second time it played the Kpop ringtone.
“Nope.” Bree’s face could have been made out of granite.
“Is… is it Travis?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” Jenine stared at the ringing phone as it flashed inside Bree’s bag.
Bree and Travis had argued before, sometimes having huge screaming matches, but they’d always made up quickly. Travis would come around with a bunch of flowers he’d stolen from the neighbour’s garden or bring tickets for an indie band, and Bree would keep up the pretence of anger for two minutes, tops. Their most recent spat was different, though. Bree was really, truly mad at him in a way Jenine had never seen before.
“Have you spoken to him since yesterday?”
“Yep. Don’t ask.” Bree turned the radio on and grinned. “Oh man, I love this song.”
That put a stop to the conversation for the rest of the hour drive.
They arrived at a house with a garden choked with weeds, an empty, crooked birdbath, and peeling paint. Piles of dead, rotting vegetation sat in the corner of the yard.
“This is it?” Jenine asked.
“Looks like it.” Bree was in high spirits as she bounded out of the car and up the driveway.
The transaction took less than a minute. An aged, balding man answeredF the door, and he seemed genuinely happy to see Bree. He handed over an envelope in exchange for a handful of cash then waved them off.
They sat in the car while Jenine opened the packet and fit the ten Polaroids into the camera.
“We’d better test it,” Bree suggested. “Take a photo of the house. It looks ancient, and I’ll bet there’s a pile of spirits hanging around.”
Jenine aimed the camera and clicked the button. Bree took the Polaroid that it spat out and tucked it into the glove box before the light could damage it. “Want to stop somewhere on the way home?” she asked as she put the car into gear.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. The beach. A park. Disneyland.”
“Disneyland?” Jenine laughed. “As if I could afford the ticket. We can’t all be rich like you.”
Bree scoffed, but her face was serious. “It’s cool. I’ll shout you.”
“What? Absolutely not.”
Bree pursed her lips but didn’t push it.
Jenine stared out the window at the houses speeding by. The fresh, hot day had just enough breeze to stop it from being unbearably warm. The weather was too nice to spend the day indoors, but Jenine suspected that wasn’t why Bree had suggested they stop somewhere.
“You really don’t want to talk to Travis, do you?”
Bree considered her answer carefully. “No. I think we might be over this time.”
“Because of the prank?”
“No.” Bree shook her head, and even though she was smiling, tears gathered in her eyes. “No, no, this was just a… a culmination, I guess.”
Jenine waited, letting the silence stretch out as a gentle encouragement to continue.
Bree wiped her eyes, smudging her makeup. “He called me this morning, before you woke up. I… said some stuff I shouldn’t have. He blew up. Started dragging up all these things I’d thought we were over. Old stuff. I got mad. He called me crazy. Said I’m a psycho. That I’m ruining his life.” She fell silent, dragging in thick gulps of air. Her mascara was smearing, and her fingers twitched on the wheel from agitation.
Jenine tried to say something helpful, but her mind was blank. She managed to mumble, “I don’t think you’re a psycho.”
Bree laughed and rubbed at her eyes. “You’re alright, babe. You know that? You’re alright. Let’s go somewhere. You pick.”
They ended up taking a detour to a seaside park. Bree stopped the car under a tree and stretched, rotating her shoulders to loosen them. “You’re lucky I bring an emergency picnic kit in the back of my car.”
“Seriously?” Jenine squirmed to look behind her. “Where do you even keep it?”
“Where the spare tire should be. Hey, did you want to check the photo before we get out?”
Jenine opened the glove box and pulled out the square card. One part of her expected to see ghosts milling about the building as they had been at her home. The other part expected the photo to be empty, just a boring, aged house in a boring, aged suburb.
What was actually in the picture made her shudder. A woman, all pale greys and blacks, was pressed up against the car window. Her hands were splayed against the glass, ending not in fingernails, but in yellowed claws. Thin hair floated about her wrinkled face, and her white, sightless eyes stared intently. Her mouth was open wide in a silent scream, much wider than it ever could have opened in life, and the blackness inside seemed to go on forever.
Bree grimaced. “Euch. Lovely. I guess at least the camera works.”
“Right,” she replied automatically, staring at the woman’s dress, which looked incredibly familiar. Her mind turned back to the very first photo she’d taken with the camera. A woman with a shock of white hair had been standing beside the cake table, wearing a dress with a very similar floral print. She couldn’t possibly be the same woman, could she?
Bree got out of the car and stalked to the boot. “Give me a hand, won’t you?” she yelled, wrestling her picnic basket out.
Jenine shoved the photo back into the glove box then turned to open the door. She froze. Two hand prints had been left on the glass. Surely it couldn’t be…?
Bree called her again, and Jenine scooted out of the car as quickly as her feet could move her.
Bree had been surprisingly resourceful when setting up her emergency picnic basket, which was stocked with canned soup, packet biscuits and long-life fruit juice. Jenine couldn’t help but imagine it was intended to double as supplies for an apocalypse.
The large park was shady, and one side overlooked the ocean. They found a tree in a relatively empty corner and unpacked the basket. Bree had brought every type of cutlery imaginable except for a can opener, so they ate the biscuits and drank the juice while watching a group of children play tag at the other side of the park.
“This is nice,” Jenine said to break the silence. “We haven’t done this for ages.”
“I know. You’re always too busy with the law books.”
Jenine choked on her biscuit. “What? When have I ever turned down a chance to hang out? You’re the one who spends all day in your store.”
“You hardly ever visit me, either.” Bree sighed, throwing herself backwards onto the grass. “You think you’re too good for me now that you’re getting your big ol’ lawyer degree.”
Jenine took a second to realise her friend was teasing. She laughed. “Solicitor. And you know I love you.”
“You skipped my last birthday party!”
“Left early,” she corrected. “I stayed as long as I could. You know I hate crowds.”
“You didn’t notice when I got my hair cut.”
“I did, too!”
“Nearly two weeks after the event, babe.” Bree laughed and poked Jenine’s thigh. “I swear, you’re worse than Travis.”
Jenine couldn’t stop herself from pouting. “Fine. You got me. I’m a terrible human being and you’re the reincarnation of Buddha.”
Bree grinned as she rolled onto her stomach. “Don’t sulk. I can’t help it if I’m perfect in every single way.”
“And very humble, to boot.”
“You know it.”
Jenine gazed at the families who were slowly filling up the park for lunchtime. She found herself thinking about their futures, wondering how many of the couples would still be together in twenty years, which of them would die prematurely, and how many would still be talking to each other in a decade. Half, maybe?
; “We’re good friends, aren’t we?” she asked Bree.
“The best.”
“I wish we could keep doing this forever.”
“Who says we can’t?” Bree sat up and wrapped an arm around Jenine’s shoulder. “It’s not like I’d let something silly like mortality get in the way of our friendship.”
“I was being serious.”
“Okay.” Bree kicked her feet out in front of herself. “Maybe we won’t always be together. Maybe you’ll get that cool job in the big city. Maybe I’ll start a new floristry in Antarctica. But I’d like to think that we’re the kind of friends who could meet up one day when we’re eighty and talk like we’d just seen each other yesterday.”
Jenine rested her head on Bree’s shoulder and smiled. Bree seemed to have a knack for verbalising exactly what Jenine needed to hear. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind whipping through the branches above them and the shrieking children in the play area. She felt comfortable. Safe.
An ice-cold finger grazed Jenine’s neck. She jerked forward and clamped her hand over where she’d been touched.
“What’s up?” Bree asked.
Jenine swivelled around, but there was nothing behind her except the tree. “I thought - I thought I felt something.”
“Insect, probably.”
Jenine kept her hand clamped over the back of her neck. Her skin tingled as though she’d been zapped with a low-voltage electric current. “Do you want to stay much longer?”
“Nah,” Bree said. “It’s about time we got going. You mind if I stay with you again tonight?”
“That would be nice.” She helped Bree pack her picnic basket and shove it into the boot. The sun was hot and the air smelled of summer, but she couldn’t stop shivering, even after she got into the overheated car.
Bree got into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over. Jenine reached out a hand to stop her. “Hang on. I want to try something.”
She pulled the camera out of the glove box, aimed it at the tree they’d been sitting under, and took a photo.
“Ready to go?”
Jenine tucked the undeveloped Polaroid into her pocket. “Sure.”
“I’ll pick up some clothes from my place on the way home,” Bree said as she exited the freeway. “Your stuff doesn’t fit me properly, anyway.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault you’re a bean-pole,” Bree teased. “I’ll grab my order forms while I’m there. I can use this weekend to make a list of everything I’m running low on.”
“You don’t need to be in the store for that?”
“Huh? No. I’ve got it memorised.”
Jenine sucked her teeth ruefully. She needed a to-do list if she had more than three tasks on her plate.
Bree’s apartment sat above the floristry. The street was quiet for a Saturday afternoon; a handful of parked cars were scattered down the curb, but most stores were already closed. Bree drove past two free spots in front of the floristry without slowing down.
“Aren’t we stopping?”
“Changed my mind,” Bree said. Her tone was abrupt and her mouth had set into a thin line.
Jenine swivelled in her seat to watch the floristry disappear behind them. “Hey, isn’t that Travis’s car?”
Bree didn’t reply, and Jenine felt acutely uncomfortable. “Oh.”
She wondered how long he’d been waiting there for Bree to come back. Bree hadn’t answered her phone all day. He had to be worried, and it wasn’t like Bree to ignore him for so long.
“I might have to borrow your clothes again, babe,” Bree said. Her voice had softened, but a frown had set in above her eyes.
“Yeah, sure. Are you—I mean—”
“I’ll talk to him eventually,” Bree said. “Just not right now.”
“And… and you didn’t need the order forms?”
“I’ll do them Monday.”
They got back to Jenine’s place late in the afternoon. The air was still hot, but the humidity had dropped to a more comfortable level. Bree turned the kettle on while Jenine put the camera on top of the fridge. The three cats wove themselves about her legs, mewling and bumping against her.
“Okay, okay, slow down,” Jenine whispered as she got their food out of the fridge.
The mattresses and blankets were where they’d left them that morning. Jenine didn’t see any point in putting them away if they were just going to come out again in six hours, so she kicked them into alignment and picked up the empty chip bags and glasses from the coffee table.
“What do you want to do first?” Bree asked. “Take some time to study or look up a ghost hunting expert?”
Jenine rubbed a hand over the still-chilled part of her neck. “Let’s find the expert first. They probably won’t be able to come out for a few days, anyway.”
“Laptop?”
“In my bedroom.”
Jenine got out two mugs and poured the boiling water into them while Bree fetched the computer. She made tea for herself and coffee—extra strong, no sugar and lots of milk—for Bree. Her friend had set up the laptop on the kitchen table and was opening Google by the time she brought the mugs over.
“Is there a technical name for someone who investigates ghosts?” Bree asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.
“If there is, I haven’t heard of it.”
“We’ll start with ‘ghost researcher,’ then.”
Surprisingly, the search brought up quite a few results. Bree opened the top link, which led to the blog of a researcher named Richard Holt, who lived about an hour away.
“Ghosts… damned or desperate?” Bree read, scrolling down the page. “The truth about the Mallory Haunting. Haunted Items vs. haunted locations. Hey, this could be good.”
“Does he have a contact number?”
“Yeah.” Bree opened the Contact Us page. “Looks like he charges an hourly fee, though.”
“Okay, sure.” Jenine felt silly for expecting someone to help them for free. Her funds were tight, but she could probably get a loan from the bank or sell the TV she didn’t use.
Bree had her mobile out and was dialling the number. “We’ll split it.”
“What? Hey, no. You don’t have to—” Jenine withered under Bree’s glare.
“We’ll split this thing fifty-fifty. That means any profits from interviews or book deals or whatever, too. Sound fair?”
“Oh, sure, okay.” She doubted they were likely to make a profit off the camera, but the idea was tempting. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that Bree was doing her a favour, though.
“Yes, hello?” Bree said into the phone. “Okay, great. Sorry for calling on a weekend. My friend and I have a ghost problem we’d like to talk with you about.”
Bree put the phone on the table and pressed the speaker button just in time for Jenine to hear: “Well, that’s my specialty. Haunted item or haunted location?” Richard’s smooth voice reminded Jenine of the relationship advisor who had a segment on evening radio.
“Item,” Bree said.
“Good. They’re normally easier to deal with. Would you like me to make a house call, or would you prefer to visit my office?”
They exchanged a glance. “House call would be easier, if you’re travelling by us. We’re in West Harob.”
“I have a few clients down that way. That shouldn’t be a problem. I have Tuesday afternoon free, if that suits you?”
Jenine whispered, “What about the floristry?”
Bree waved her away. “Tuesday’s great.”
“Excellent. I’ll take a few details, if you don’t mind. What’s the item, and how long has it been a problem?”
“It’s an old Polaroid camera my friend found two days ago. The pictures all have ghost… spirit… things in them.”
The line was silent. Jenine and Bree exchanged a glance.
“Uh… hello? Still there?”
“I won’t be able to help you,” the man said. The mellow tone had disappeared from his
voice, which had become curt and vaguely defensive. “I recommend you destroy the camera.”
“Wait, what? So you can’t get here on Tuesday? We can reschedule—”
“I won’t be able to help you,” he repeated, his tone lower, colder. “The best thing you can do is break and burn the camera. Goodbye.”
The line went dead. Jenine sat back in her chair and rubbed at her arms, feeling prickles trail up her neck.
“What the hell?” Bree snapped, tossing her phone onto the table. It bounced but didn’t break. “What a jerk.”
“Maybe we should try someone else.”
“Yeah, we’re going to do that. We’re going to find someone who isn’t a total jerk to prospective customers.”
Jenine cringed. “Hey, maybe cameras are out of his area. Maybe he only does cursed dolls or whatever.”
“Yeah, uh-huh.” Bree was mad. Jenine had seen her similarly angry a few times, mostly because of Travis, and she knew it was best to stay quiet while her friend worked through it.
That day, Bree’s method of working through it seemed to involve finding an alternative ghost expert as quickly as possible.
“Here,” she said, pulling up the second result. “Irene Sumner. Looks like… okay, so she specialises in haunted houses, but she should be able to handle a little camera, right?”
Irene answered quickly, and Bree put the phone on speaker. “Hey,” she said, unaware she was letting anger seep into her voice. “We have a camera that takes pictures of ghosts. Could you look into it for us?”
“Oh, oh,” Irene said. She sounded like an older woman, and her voice was so soft that Bree had to increase the phone’s volume. “I’m sorry, darling, I really only handle haunted buildings. I haven’t had all that much success with haunted objects, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, thanks anyway.” Bree spoke through gritted teeth but managed to put a bit of cheer in her voice. “Have a lovely evening.”
“I could recommend someone, though.”
Bree’s jaw unclenched, and she leaned forward. “Yeah? That would be great.”
“There’s a gentleman who specialises in this area. He’s done a lot of work, published some great theories, and he lectures at one of the local colleges. He’s got a website you can look through, too. His name is Richard Holt.”