The Haunting of a Ghost

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The Haunting of a Ghost Page 5

by L. C. Mortimer


  “And then what happens?”

  And then he won’t be stuck in a fucking music box for all eternity.

  Then he won’t be trapped like a pet to be kept.

  Then he won’t be forced to live in secrecy and pain forever.

  Then he’ll have some freedom.

  “He can stay. He doesn’t have to go,” I tell her. “He doesn’t have to go anywhere. He can stay with us.”

  Suddenly, a shriek fills the air and the lights flash on and off several times. The house seems to lift right off the ground, and then it falls back down with a loud boom.

  And then it’s over.

  Then it’s done.

  Then the music stops and the white glittery figure appears from the music box.

  “Frank?”

  “Thank you,” the ghost says. “You have finally freed me from the box. Now, please, destroy it before I can be locked away in it again.”

  “How can you be locked away?” Candice asks. “You’re out. You’re free.”

  “If the song plays again,” I tell her. “He can be locked up inside of it. That’s how his parents trapped him. Isn’t it?”

  The ghost nods.

  Then Hector appears in the doorway.

  “You missed the party,” I tell him. “This is Frank.”

  “I have eyes,” Hector says, glaring at the new ghost.

  “He’s no longer bound to the music box,” Candice says helpfully, but it’s obviously the wrong thing to say because Hector narrows his eyes at her, and I know what he’s thinking. I need to talk to him, though, before anything else happens. There are a couple of things that Hector and I need to deal with, to communicate about, and this is our shot.

  “I can see that,” is all Hector says. He turns his attention to Frank, but doesn’t speak again. He just watches him. The two ghosts watch each other.

  “Hector, I found out what happened to you.”

  That gets his attention.

  “What?”

  “I know.”

  “What?” He’s quiet this time, and a look of sadness flashes on his face.

  “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I get up now. Frank is silent and Candice just looks confused, but I ignore them as I go to my ghost, to my friend.

  “I know, Hector.” I won’t repeat the story. No one else needs to know. This is Hector’s story, Hector’s pain. No one needs to know his story unless he wants to tell them. “And I’m here for you.”

  “You want to free me,” he says sadly.

  “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I don’t want to be trapped.”

  “What if I could free you from the house, but not from me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found a way, Hector. You can be free from the house, but you can still be my ghost.”

  “Excuse me,” he raises an eyebrow. “But I believe you are my human. Let’s not get all out of control here.”

  I chuckle. Hector and I have had some good times together, some great times. We’ve had some incredible times and he’s been an incredible friend, but every good friendship has to grow at some point. Every good friendship has to change, and the time for Hector and me to move forward has come.

  “Things will be different,” I tell him. “You won’t have to stay around.”

  “I want to.”

  “You’re welcome to,” I say. “But maybe you’ll want to go to a party with some other ghosts, or go on a date, or just explore. You won’t be confined to four walls.”

  “It has been a long time,” he admits.

  “A hundred years is a long time to be trapped.”

  “It’s been an eternity.”

  “Well, eternity is coming to an end.” I point to the gasoline sitting by the front door. “Are you ready, old friend?”

  Hector smiles when he sees the orange containers.

  “Ready.”

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  “You forgot the fries.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “You did.”

  “Did not.”

  “Boys, boys,” Candice says, walking by Hector and Frank. “Let’s all just calm down, all right? Dane got the fries.”

  “Is that so?” Jenna floats by and reaches for one. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Anything for you guys,” I drop the food on the table and the rest of the group starts to dig in. Candice’s house is small, but somehow, we all manage to live here pretty comfortably for the most part.

  “How was work today?” Hector asks after we’ve all stuffed our faces. He reaches for a Sprite and sips it.

  “Ever since Eric got fired for harassing Alice, things have been a lot smoother,” Candice says. “Everything went well today. No complaints. What about you, Dane?”

  “Same,” I tell him. “It was a good, productive day all around. And I’ve got some exciting news.”

  “Oh really?” Candice looks surprised. We carpool to work these days, but I didn’t tell her my news. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from her, but we’ve become some sort of a weird, comfortable family, and I wanted to tell everyone at once.

  Ever since we burned my house down and freed Hector, things have been different. Candice and I have started dating, officially. I’m not sure if we ever would have gotten together without the assistance of our ghosts. There’s just something about the paranormal that brings people together. I’m not sure.

  Now, Hector and Frank go exploring regularly. The two of them will take a day and just go into the mountains or the woods or anywhere they like. They’re usually back before sunset and always come back with incredible stories. Once we figured out how to free Jenna from her quilt, she started going on adventures with the boys, as well. Sometimes she and Frank still struggle to maintain their solid forms, but they’re getting better every day.

  “I was offered the assistant manager position,” I tell everyone, and they all start talking at once.

  “Wow, you got Eric’s old job!”

  “You’re way better than him, anyway.”

  “That’s amazing!”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Will you get a raise?”

  “When do you start?”

  “Will your hours change?”

  “Are you excited?”

  “Woah, woah, woah.” I hold up my hands and everyone finally calms down. Good. I don’t know how much more excitement one guy can take. “It was an easy choice, I guess. Upper management basically saw how much I work, saw how many extra projects I take on, and reviewed all of my monthly assessments. The ones Eric wrote are all garbage, but my direct supervisor speaks really highly of me and I guess that’s what the big wigs took into consideration.”

  “That’s amazing,” Hector says proudly, and he comes over to give me a hug. It’s cold, as all ghost hugs are, but I don’t mind.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, buddy.”

  Hector and I hug longer than is socially acceptable, but that doesn’t matter. None of that stuff matters anymore. All that matters now is that I’ve found a place I belong, a place where I am happy, and a place where I am loved.

  So I live with my girlfriend and three ghosts.

  So what?

  Most people are a lot weirder than that, and besides, life has never been happier.

  I’ve never been more content.

  And for the first time ever, I’m not trying to push anyone toward something better.

  This is the “better” we’ve been searching for.

  This is the life we’ve been hoping for.

  And we’ve all got a lot of living left to do.

  THE END

  About the Author

  L.C. Mortimer writes stories about zombies, ghosts, and dragons. When she’s not busy writing, she’s exploring Asia with her husband and two little boys. You can connect with L.C. on Facebook at: facebook.com
/authorlcmortimer

  More from L.C.

  Want more L.C.?

  Check her out on Facebook at facebook.com/authorlcmortimer.

  You can also find more of her books on Amazon or join her mailing list.

  Lost in the Apocalypse

  Are you a zombie fan? Please enjoy the first few chapters of Lost in the Apocalypse by L.C. Mortimer.

  Prologue

  Staff Sergeant Neil Swift stared at the stopwatch in his hand and frowned. He hated running PT. Hated it. Physical training was an important part of military service, but he hated it just the same. Thompson had finished running and was standing off to the side, drinking water. Baker and Allen were still making their way slowly – too slowly – around the track.

  “Pick up the pace,” he called out. “Let’s go.” He frowned. He was supposed to be the one pushing them to do better. If they failed their tests, they’d be the one to suffer the consequences, but he’d still get his ass handed to him.

  This was already a makeup test. None of them had made it to their originally scheduled test the week prior. Now Neil was stuck, sitting around, counting pushups for people who could barely meet the minimum requirements for staying in the Air Force.

  Airman Allen slowly made his way around the track. Allen, who was at least 15 pounds overweight, but somehow still managed to pass his waist measurement every time. Neil glared at the pudgy airman. Allen was nice enough, but he was slow and lazy.

  Neil just wanted to go home, shower, and have a cup of coffee before he went to the office. Oh, he’d spend his day doing paperwork, but it was better than being out in the blistering heat timing runs and counting pushups.

  “Sorry we’re late.” Neil turned at the sound of voices. Two airmen ran up to him: one male, one female. They were both in PT gear, complete with their reflective belts, so he wouldn’t bitch too much, but they were at least half an hour late.

  “Where were you?” He asked, giving them weary looks. He knew them both, but only barely. The male, Airman Peterson, was a strong runner and a hard worker. The female, Airman Albert, had her hair pulled back in a half-assed ponytail. Her makeup wasn’t within regs, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to go home: not complain about her heavy eyeliner.

  “Medical,” Peterson said, slapping the tiny bandage on his shoulder. “Had to get my vaccine this morning.”

  “I had to drive him,” Albert added helpfully. The look they exchanged told Neil that she didn’t have to drive him, but rather, he had slept over the night prior and didn’t have his car with him.

  It was a bit early for their yearly required flu shot, but there was a new recommended vaccine out that everyone was getting: Artovax. It was supposed to be a two-in-one AIDS and flu shot vaccine.

  Neil was skeptical, but rolled his eyes. He was scheduled to get his after lunch. He glanced at his watch again. It was already 0900. He was supposed to be at the office in ten minutes. Apparently, that paperwork was going to have to wait.

  Baker and Allen both made it back and picked up their water bottles while Albert and Peterson took off around the track. It was a tiny track overall, but a few laps got the job done. With military budget cuts every year, the base couldn’t afford something nicer. They didn’t need it, though. The track worked well enough.

  Neil squinted against the rising sun as he watched his airmen run. The only sounds were the chugging of water and the slapping of rubber against pavement.

  Run. Run. Run.

  The airmen maintained the same pace during their first lap but broke off during the second. Peterson began to fall behind, much to Neil’s surprise. He was usually ahead of the others. Neil watched as Peterson began to slow, then stopped altogether on the opposite side of the track.

  Albert slowed and looked over her shoulder, but didn’t stop. She ran another lap. When she reached Peterson, she stopped and said something to him, then glanced over at Neil.

  “What’s the problem?” He shouted across the track. Suddenly Peterson lay down on his stomach. Was he seriously getting sick from the run? He had barely even started to run. Maybe he was coming down with something. Fuck. Maybe he was a diabetic.

  “Somebody’s hung over,” Thompson said in a sing-song voice. He finished his water and headed to his car. “I’m out,” he said over his shoulder, and drove away.

  “What’s wrong?” Neil yelled again. Peterson still wasn’t up.

  Albert looked at him and shrugged, but the casual look on her face quickly turned to horror. Peterson suddenly jumped up and grabbed her, then pushed her to the ground. She cried out and tried to push him away, but Peterson covered her with his body.

  “What the fuck?” Neil dropped the stopwatch and ran across the track. He knew Baker and Allen were right alongside him. Neil made it halfway to the couple before he saw what was happening and stopped.

  Baker and Allen did not.

  Peterson was kneeling over Airman Albert, but she wasn’t screaming. Not anymore. He looked up at the approaching airman, a look of disgusting pleasure on his face. Baker and Allen kept running, but Neil stopped.

  Blood.

  There was blood all over Peterson’s face.

  He had bitten Albert in the neck, bitten a hole right in her body, and her blood was pouring out onto the pavement.

  And it was all over Peterson’s face.

  “Stop!” Neil shouted, but the warning came too late. Peterson grabbed Baker’s ankle and bit him – hard – and reached for Allen.

  Fat, pudgy Allen tried to turn, but he was tired and too slow. Peterson grabbed his leg and tripped him, then jumped on him. Baker was sitting on the ground, holding his ankle.

  He looked to Neil, as if to ask for help, but Neil just shook his silently and backed away. He had seen one too many horror movies for this to feel real, one too many films where the hero dies trying to figure out what’s going on, one too many videos on Friday nights with his older brothers.

  His feet moved slowly, backing away from the scene unfolding before him. Suddenly Airman Albert was sitting up again, her once-beautiful face now distorted and ugly. Blood matted her neck and the bottom of her long ponytail. Peterson chewed on Allen: the poor airman’s screams filled the field, but Neil stood still, blankly staring at them.

  This couldn’t be real.

  He told himself this couldn’t be real.

  Then his training kicked in. Peterson looked up at him just as Neil turned to run. He ran to his car, fumbling for his keys, and climbed in. The beat-up Pontiac had never failed him, not since he marched down to the dealership the day of his first paycheck. He had been proud when he bought it, and excited, but now a growing sense of dread filled him. He stared at the four airmen on the track, watching them stand one at a time.

  Even Baker stood, his bloody ankle seemingly forgotten. They turned, as one, toward him. They didn’t run or scream or growl. They just stared, blood and pus pouring from their mouths and noses.

  He couldn’t allow the word to form in his mind, couldn’t let himself think, even for a second, that it was real.

  Zombies.

  His mind screamed the word and he pushed it away. No, there was no such thing. This was either a dream or there was a logical fucking explanation. Only, as he sat in the car, doors locked, staring at the group, he knew it was not a dream.

  Sirens sounded on the main road and an announcement came over the loudspeakers situated throughout the base. While the speakers were usually used to play Reveille, they were sometimes used for storm warnings.

  Only this was no storm.

  He heard screaming from the building next to the track and looked out of his car window in time to see a woman in heels running down the steps. She didn’t stand a chance. The person chasing her jumped and grabbed her. They tumbled in a heap the rest of the way down the stairs until they collided in a pile of blood.

  The chaser bit her, looking up, and his eyes met Neil’s.

  Run.

  There was no saving to be done. Every insti
nct in his body was screaming at him to save her, to do something, to think quickly. He was a problem-solver. It was why he made a good supervisor. It was why he was a good airman.

  Not now, though. Not anymore.

  There was nothing to be saved, and Neil suddenly realized that he was no hero. He started the engine. Turning back to the field in front of him, he realized the airmen he had been timing during the PT test were almost in front of the car. Their faces were dark: their eyes glazed over, as if in a daze.

  He pulled out of the parking lot and started driving down the road. He managed to make out the voice of the announcer. The base was in full lockdown. No one was allowed on or off base. He knew that meant the gates would be closed. Everyone would be scrambling for the CDC to pick up their children or trying to get off base, anyway. There weren’t enough roads to avoid traffic jams at this point.

  What the hell was happening?

  He turned down a side road, noting the line of cars already waiting to leave base. It didn’t take more than five or ten minutes to create a full-on jam of the roads. Every 4th of July was a nightmare when Forrest Air Force Base did its annual “open-to-the-public fireworks display.” He didn’t even want to think about what happened when someone lost their unruly child at the commissary. The entire base would shutdown, complete with circling helicopters.

  The Air Force didn’t mess around with safety.

  Only today, he felt staying in a locked-down base full of raging humans was probably not the best idea for anyone.

  There would be no way to get out the main or back gates, and if even a quarter of the airmen who had gotten their vaccines that morning were going to turn crazy did so at the same time, there would be no hope.

 

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