Bound Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  The coffee pot was only half full. Making a mental note for about the umpteen millionth time to buy herself a Keurig, she moved the carafe and finagled the mug under the stream of fresh coffee, tilting it so that it still caught every drop spewed out of the filter while pouring in the contents of what was already in the carafe. She did this expertly, filling her mug and replacing the carafe without spilling a drop. She brought her mug back to the table, sat down, and took a careful sip before telling Ron, “Proceed.”

  “So anyway, as you know, a poltergeist is a mischievous, sometimes violent spirit. One thing that sets them apart from regular hauntings is that they tend to become attached to a person instead of a place. Hence why I thought of them.”

  “Right. But aren’t they usually drawn to teenage girls? Why would a poltergeist be drawn to Marsha?”

  “My understanding is that it’s the heightened emotional energy of girls going through puberty that tends to draw them. According to one theory, that energy can actually create a poltergeist, especially if the girl in question has some kind of psychic ability.”

  Chris screwed up her face. “Man, I’m glad I didn’t draw one of those things to me when I was a kid. I had enough to deal with as it was. Do you think maybe the normal human spirits hanging around me helped keep them away?”

  “I think that you were a pretty laid-back teenager and poltergeists probably thought you were boring. Also that only you would describe human spirits haunting you as normal.”

  “I guess dealing with the problems of the dead gave me a sense of perspective most teenagers don’t have.”

  “That, and you’re an old soul.” Ron looked at her. “You were always very mature for your age.”

  “Thanks.” She sipped her coffee before asking, “So, any theories about how one of these things came to be haunting a thirty-five-year-old bride-to-be?”

  “Well, the theory about psychic puberty hormones creating poltergeists is undercut by the fact that these spirits don’t exclusively haunt young girls. I mean, that theory pretty much started with the Bell Witch haunting. But there was a famous case in England in the late nineties that centered around a fourteen-year-old boy. And before that, there was that famous Warren case up in Rhode Island. The one they made that movie about? In that one, the haunting focused primarily on the mother, who was around the same age as Marsha.”

  Chris made a noncommittal noise and sipped some more coffee. “We’re still talking about kids in their early teens, though. I mean, in that Conjuring case, didn’t that lady have like half a dozen kids in their teens and tweens?”

  “Five kids. All girls.”

  “So it still doesn’t really compute that this type of entity would be after Marsha.”

  Ron seemed to mull this over. “She’s so excited about her wedding. Maybe her Bridezilla vibe is what attracted this thing.”

  “Maybe. But that seems like a stretch.”

  “But here’s the really interesting part.” Ron tapped on the keyboard and pulled up a web page. It was an old Angelfire page, found via the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine. It featured white text on a black background. Animated ghost gifs, circa 1998, danced across the top of the screen.

  “Looks professional.”

  “Don’t judge the information by the outdated web design. Listen to this. ‘Another theory is that poltergeists are the spirits of infants and very young children, unable to understand their predicament and caught in an eternal temper tantrum.’ So if the white lady fits the La Llorona profile, maybe what’s after Marsha is the child she killed?”

  Chris looked thoughtfully at her mug, at the big ghost and little ghost, seeing them for the first time as mother and child. Suddenly, the little ghost struck her as incredibly sad instead of cute. “Makes sense. But that still doesn’t explain why it’s targeting Marsha.”

  “No. Maybe she reminded it of its mother?”

  “Could be. It’s a good working theory, but we shouldn’t assume the two hauntings are related until we have more to go on.”

  “You’re right.”

  Chris blinked and looked at Ron. She wasn’t used to hearing those words come so easily from her sister.

  Ron went on like it was no big deal. “I think Joe and I should go back there tonight and see if we can get the white lady to talk.”

  “I think that’s a spectacularly bad idea.”

  Now Ron looked surprised. “Why?”

  “You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember how her crying made you feel? It’s too dangerous.”

  “Which is precisely why it should be Joe and me to try and interview her. So what if she’ll make us sad. It’s not like she can make us suicidal. Or like we can do anything about it if she does.”

  “No.” At the defiant look on Ron’s face, Chris added, “Please? Let’s wait until we can talk to Marsha’s grandma and find out what she has to say.” When Ron didn’t agree right away, Chris pressed. “Ron? Please promise me you won’t go over there until we all agree it’s the only thing left to do.”

  Ron slumped a little but said, “Fine. I promise.”

  “Thank you. Was that so hard?”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you anyway. I’ll be even more proud if you actually keep your promise.”

  Ron pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Chris decided to let it drop for the time being. Besides, she knew Joe wouldn’t be on board with this insanity. She sipped her coffee quietly, savoring the silence that had settled between them. Despite their argument, there wasn’t any tension in it. Ron went back to her research, leaving Chris to finish her coffee in peace. She contemplated the mug in her hands, tracing the outline of the larger ghost, the one she’d come to think of as the mother.

  Beside her, the keyboard tapping stopped. “You okay?”

  Chris shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You look sad.”

  Chris considered this, then glanced at her sister as she admitted, “Part of me was hoping Marsha was right about it being Mom.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Ron reached over and touched her arm. “It’s not Mom.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Ron sighed and closed the laptop. Then she shifted to face Chris better. “I’ve never told you this, but I went looking for her.”

  “You did? When?”

  “After the business with Sarah, when the house was being renovated. I kept thinking about the decision I’d made to stay, and how it meant I wouldn’t see Mom. But then I thought, maybe she hadn’t crossed over. Maybe she’d stayed, too, to watch over us. So I went back to our old house. Where she died.”

  “Oh, Ron.”

  “She wasn’t there. Or at her grave, or her childhood home, or Aunt Judy’s, or anywhere else I could think she might be. So she’s either avoiding me—which, you know, could be the case—”

  “Why would she avoid you?”

  She let out a sad little laugh. “Because maybe Dad’s not the only one who blames me for her death.”

  “Okay, stop. Nobody blames you.”

  Again, she laughed.

  “Dad knows it was an accident. He doesn’t blame you.”

  “No, he merely wishes I’d never been born.”

  “It could as easily have been one of my toys that tripped her.”

  “But it wasn’t. Anyway, my point is that she’s gone. I’m sorry, honey. I miss her, too.”

  “I know you do.” Chris took a moment before asking, “What do you remember about her?” At Ron’s surprised look, she added, “We were both pretty young when she died, but you had four more years with her than I had.”

  Ron’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Well, she was pretty. And funny. She had an incredible sense of humor.”

  “Could she… I mean, was there ever any sign, do you think, that maybe she was like me?”

  “No, sweetie. She was blonde, not ginger.”

  “You know what I mean. Do you think she could see the de
ad?”

  Ron seemed surprised by the question. “I don’t think so. If she could, she kept it to herself. Why?”

  Chris shrugged. “I’ve been wondering. I mean, my ability had to come from somewhere, right?”

  “I guess. Maybe.”

  “That night, at Aunt Judy’s. I always felt like she came in our room to say goodbye. But it was right after that that I saw that British soldier’s ghost. I guess I was wondering if she, like, passed it on to me or something.”

  “If she did, she must not have thought of it as a bad thing.”

  “Why me, though? If that’s what happened. Why me and not you?” Before Ron could answer, Chris said, “And don’t you dare say it’s because you killed her.”

  Ron appeared to give it some thought. “I don’t know, then. If that’s what happened—and I’m not saying it is—then maybe—probably—she knew your personality was more cut out for it than mine. Like I said, you were a mature kid. Kind of spookily reserved, even before you started seeing the dead.”

  She fell silent and seemed to grow thoughtful, her expression slightly troubled.

  “What is it?”

  Ron gave a little shrug. “Nothing, really. Only that, when we’re together like this, talking, it’s easy to forget I’m dead. If not for your ability, we wouldn’t be able to do this.”

  “That’s why I’m so thankful for it.”

  “I am, too.”

  Chris sensed there was something more on her mind. “But?”

  “No buts. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking lately. I think the reason I’m always throwing myself into these projects… the reason why I meddle so much is so that I don’t have to face the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That my life is over.”

  Chris didn’t know what to say. Nothing she could say would change the fact that, as easy as it was sometimes to pretend otherwise, her sister was dead. “Ron, I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged and waved away her sympathy. “It’s fine. This afterlife isn’t so bad. I’ve got Joe, and we’ve got this.” She pointed back and forth between them. “And I can still be useful. I mean, things could be worse, right? I could be a poltergeist, or a crazy crying apparition.”

  “Right. Things could definitely be worse.”

  “So it’s better to focus on that and not on all the things I’m going to miss out on.” Nodding resolutely, she opened the laptop and waited for the screen to come back on. While she waited, she looked at Chris. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

  Chris arched an eyebrow at her. “Which time?”

  Ron rolled her eyes. “The time that got me killed. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. I’m sorry.”

  It was times like this that Chris ached to be able to hug her big sister. All she could do instead was nod and smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry, too.” Sorry that they would never be bridesmaids at each others’ weddings. Sorry that their kids would never play together, that they’d never have backyard family barbecues, that their relationship could never be that of normal sisters. Chris knew that Ron shared all those regrets. She didn’t have to spell them out. “But we still have each other. That’s what matters, right?”

  Ron smiled. “Right,” she said, and went back to her work.

  Chapter Nine

  Chris woke to the smell of something wonderful. She and Ron had eventually moved out to the living room, and despite having drunk half a pot of coffee while they talked, she must have fallen asleep on the couch at some point. Ron was nowhere to be seen. The light filling the room suggested it was late morning.

  She got up and stretched and then followed her nose to the kitchen, where she found Derek filling his mug from a fresh pot of coffee. “Morning, sunshine.” He handed her the mug and retrieved another from the cupboard.

  “A hot guy in my kitchen handing me coffee when I walk in. I think I could get used to this.” She leaned in and met him halfway for a lingering kiss.

  “And I could definitely get used to a little sugar with my morning coffee,” he said with a wink once they broke apart.

  “What’s that smell?” She thought she smelled blueberries but didn’t see any evidence of pancake making. As if to answer her question, the timer on the oven beeped. Without a word, Derek grabbed a pot holder off the hook next to the stove and opened the oven door, intensifying the heavenly smell. He pulled out a muffin tin and set it on the stove with a flourish.

  Chris actually clasped her hands in front of her heart with joy. “You made blueberry muffins!”

  “Don’t be too impressed. I scrounged through your cabinets and found a mix. It was more than a year past its best-by date.” He eyed the golden muffin tops. “Looks like they turned out okay.”

  Chris fetched two plates from the cupboard and held one out eagerly as Derek pried a muffin out for her with a fork. She carefully plucked a piping hot piece from the side and nibbled on it. “Mmmm. See, this is why I think best-by dates are only suggestions.”

  “That may be, but sometimes when you ignore those ‘suggestions,’ you’re taking your life in your hands.” He bit into a muffin and seemed to consider it. “Not bad, I’ll admit. But I think I should clean out your pantry while I’m here. From what I saw, at least half your stuff is out of date.”

  “If that means more baking mixes get made, then I’m all for that plan.”

  He grinned. “That could probably be arranged.”

  He started to lean in for another kiss but straightened back up at an exclamation of “Ooh, muffins!” from the kitchen entryway. Marsha, already dressed in her version of casual that involved designer jeans and a sequined tee-shirt, came over and reached between them to pluck a muffin out of the tin. Chris handed her the plate that Derek hadn’t bothered to use. “Thanks,” she said with a cheerful grin and looked around the kitchen. “Oh, there’s coffee, too. Thank God.”

  “Help yourself,” Chris said around another bite of her muffin. She pointed. “The mugs are in that cabinet.”

  “Great! Is there cream?”

  “There’s one percent milk in the fridge.”

  “Okay. And I don’t suppose you keep any stevia?”

  “No, but there’s sugar in that little canister next to the coffee maker. Spoons are there in the drawer.”

  She grinned brightly, undaunted by the lack of her preferred coffee fixings. Clearly, the non-perky Marsha whom Chris had witnessed the night before had been put back in her box. Too bad. Chris was kind of getting to like that version. She seemed much more real.

  “How did you sleep?” Derek asked while she made her coffee.

  “Oh, you know. Nothing woke me up to terrorize me, so that was an improvement.”

  “You look like you’re feeling better,” said Chris.

  “Much.” She came back over to them, stirring her coffee. “Thank you again for letting me stay here. You’re such a lifesaver.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I think you should plan to stay here until we get this thing figured out. Speaking of which, we really need to get in touch with your grandmother today.”

  “I already left her a message. Several, actually. But if she’s on the road, who knows when she’ll get them.”

  “There’s no one else you could call who might know anything? An aunt or uncle?”

  She shook her head and sipped her coffee. She failed to hide the little grimace at not having it exactly how she liked it, but she covered it quickly. “My father and grandmother were both only children. I already called my dad. He said he never saw the white lady for himself, only heard stories growing up.”

  “Well, the sooner we can find out who she is, the sooner we can find the key to helping her move on.”

  “You think she’s the one doing all of this?”

  “No, I don’t think she’s the one who’s terrorizing you. But if you want to get married there, we’ll need to deal with her, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s say it wouldn’t be good if
she decided to manifest during the wedding.”

  “Oh. Okay. Whatever you think is best.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “Speaking of the wedding, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  Here it comes, thought Chris. So much for dodging that bullet.

  Marsha glanced at Derek, who seemed to take the hint. “I should get going. I need to run home and grab a few things. Anyone need anything while I’m out?”

  “Oh! If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind picking me up a box of stevia packets and some half-and-half?” Marsha glanced guiltily at Chris, as though worried she’d be offended.

  “No trouble at all,” he told her. “While I’m at it I’ll pick up some fresh groceries.” He winked at Chris, then leaned over to peck her on the cheek before grabbing another muffin to eat on the go. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

  “Don’t think that’s gonna happen,” she said.

  Once he was gone, Marsha set down her coffee. Chris braced herself for the question she knew was coming.

  “I know you don’t like me,” said Marsha.

  Chris opened her mouth to say yes and then blinked as Marsha’s actual words sunk in. “What?”

  “I know I come across as a ditz sometimes, but I’m not stupid.”

  Chris struggled for something to say but found herself speechless. Marsha pressed on.

  “I know I’m a lot younger than your father. Too young to be any kind of mother figure to you. And I know that you and your dad are close. I promise, Christine, you have no reason to be threatened by me. I have no intentions of coming between you and your father.”

  “Marsha, I’m not—”

  “And I know that my personality can come on a little strong—”

  “It didn’t last night.”

  It was her turn to blink and ask, “What?”