Ghost Mortem

by ReGina Welling

  When my mother gets flustered, she fiddles with her hair. I could picture her doing that now.

  “I just thought you ought to know what’s being said.”

  "Because her Fruit Loops don't float and now she has people believing her?"

  “One or two, maybe.”

  I really didn’t know what to do with that information, though. Take out an ad in the paper saying I hadn’t killed anyone? Had people forgotten they ever knew me in the short time I’d been gone? I’d grown up with a good reputation in this town. I had been the homecoming queen, for crying out loud. How did I go from that to being some sort of murdering Jezebel?

  "I'll be careful. Don't worry about me. You'll see me tomorrow, and then you'll know I'm really okay."

  Mollified, she let me off the phone, so I could settle in with my thoughts and try to sort out the yo-yo effect my life had taken lately.

  “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say about my mother. Come on, Ev, give a guy a break.”

  When Hudson’s voice came out of the empty space two feet behind me, several things happened all at once. My knee slammed against the underside of the table when I nearly jumped out of my own skin, my heart tried to crawl up my throat while my stomach headed south, and I couldn’t decide if I needed to scream or pee.

  Hey, if you've never seen or heard a ghost, don't judge my response. And if you have, then you already know what I was feeling. I don't remember moving, but I ended up with my back against the door, staring at the nothing where I thought I'd heard him speak. My brain told my fingers to turn the knob and open the door, but the message didn't get through.

  Have you ever had one of those dreams where you know the boogieman is right behind you, baring his jagged, ugly teeth, but you can't move? Every cell of your body is screaming run, and you are paralyzed.

  Yeah, that can happen in real life, too.

  “Okay. Everly, you’re okay.” My voice sounded louder than it should, and I didn’t even feel weird that I was talking to myself. “It was just your imagination. Breathe.” Which is good advice if you’re not so steeped in adrenaline breathing goes from a basic bodily function to a chore. It was humiliating to realize I probably wasn’t ever going to be the best person to have around in a crisis.

  “Yeah, go ahead and breathe. That’ll help.”

  This time I did shriek. Just a little. Because this time, I could see the faint, hazy outline of Hudson, like I was looking at him through a shower door.

  “You can’t be here.” The paralysis lifted enough for me to point a shaking finger at him. “You’re dead.”

  “No kidding. I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for stating the obvious.”

  With a nauseating waver, my vision of him began to clear. Oddly enough, the look on his face—equal parts frustration and fear—calmed me down.

  “I don’t … I can’t … this is …”

  He shot me a grin. "Do that for another hour, and you might catch up to me."

  The burning question of the day popped out. “Why me?” Okay, the burning question of the week, or the new theme of my life. I hoped not, because seeing ghosts on top of everything else? Not cool. “Why?”

  “You’re the only one who can see me.”

  Of course, I was. Why wouldn't I be? Because wasn't that just the toy surprise at the bottom of the box? A flare of hot fury burned off the rest of the adrenaline, and I advanced on him as if getting all up in his face would do any good.

  “Get out of my room. In fact, get out of my life.” I don’t know why I thought it would work, but I aimed forked fingers at him.

  Hudson only laughed. “Come on, Ev. I’m not the devil.”

  Next, I tried waving my grandmother’s cross necklace in his face.

  “Or a vampire. Geez, Everly. What is your damage?”

  As a last ditch effort, I grabbed the last of the salt packets Jacy had thoughtfully included with my meal, ripped off the top, and with a flourish, sprinkled it in his general direction.

  He tossed me a raised eyebrow, which, when I think back, was an indication of how far off the rails I’d gone.

  “Are you done?” Hudson sort of hovered himself into a prone position on my bed and crossed his arms behind his head. “I’m not leaving until you agree to help me, so you might as well calm down.”

  Never, in the history of ever, has telling someone to calm down resulted in the desired effect. This time was no exception. Sending a glowering look his way, I picked up my phone and typed in: what gets rid of ghosts? Just my luck, the first thing on the list was smudging the area with sage.

  “It won’t work. You can try it, but I’m not leaving. I’ll just wait outside and follow you everywhere.” He’d left the bed to look over my shoulder. As threats went, his was fairly effective because I couldn’t stop him without surrounding myself in a perpetual haze of sage fog, and I wasn’t doing that.

  “Please, Ev. I need your help.”

  Sighing, I gave in to the inevitable. A new pattern in my life. “If I help you, you’ll go away afterward? I mean, you’ll like … I don’t know … move on or rest in peace or whatever?”

  “I hope so, but if you help me figure out who killed me, I’ll leave you alone even if I'm stuck like this forever. Deal?" He held out a hand, and like an idiot, I reached out to seal the bargain. Instead of warm flesh, I thrust my fingers into shivery cold.

  I shuddered. “Deal, but don’t touch me again. Or it’s off. You hear me?” Bargaining with the ghost of my dead high school boyfriend. Yeah, that’s totally normal—if the word has lost all meaning.

  “If we’re doing this, let’s get it done fast. Tell me who killed you and I’ll pass the news along to Ernie Polk.”

  Hudson ran ghostly fingers through ghostly hair. "If it was that easy, don't you think I'd have opened with that information? The last thing I remember is you giving me the brush off, and then everything went fuzzy. Next thing I know, there's a bunch of people wearing disposable jumpsuits swarming all over my room, and talking about how I was dead, and examining the evidence. None of them could see me. A little while later, you came home, and there was something about you," he squinted at my forehead. "That made me think you would be the person who could help. The rest you know."

  I considered his explanation, but none of the information cleared anything up. By then, my heart rate was heading back toward normal, and the only thing left from the adrenaline rush was a nasty case of dry mouth.

  A ghost. Could I really be talking to a ghost, or as my mind insisted, a figment of my imagination? I settled back in my chair and contemplated my half-eaten dinner until the silence pressed down so hard I had to speak.

  “If you can’t remember who killed you, then you must at least have some idea why. Who had a motive for wanting you dead?”

  He took longer to answer than I thought he should have. I mean, how could he not know who his enemies were?

  "I can't." Panic settled over his face. "Something's blocking my memory." He opened his mouth and tried again to get the words out, and when he couldn't, panic turned to anger. Face red, eyes squinched tight, Hudson's soul or essence or ghostly form—I'm not sure of the correct term—began to vibrate so fast I had trouble focusing on him.

  Tension built in the room until my ears popped with it and it felt like my eyes might as well. The comforter and pillows flew off the bed to land in a heap across the room, and the pressure that had built suddenly collapsed.

  Like lousy reception on a cell phone, Hudson faded in and out, become less substantial with each passing moment until he went transparent and then was gone.

  Great. Now I’d spend the rest of the night wondering when or if he would show back up. When he did, if he did, we were going to have to talk about establishing some rules.

  When my alarm went off at eight the next morning, I dragged myself out of bed after a mostly sleepless night. I’d have given much to have been awakened in the night by Hudson banging on the headboard rather than imagining him hovering over my
bed. And here I’d been worried about buying a haunted house.

  “Hudson! Are you here? I’m going to take a shower. No peeking. I’m warning you.” I justified talking to what might or might not be an empty room, because I needed the shower without him skulking around. Or idiocy had set in.

  It was the fastest shower on record, mostly spent craning my neck around to make sure I was utterly alone. Yeah, we were going to have that talk when he showed up. Boundaries. I needed boundaries.

  When I pulled back the curtains and looked out, the parking lot appeared empty of police cars or news vans, but I grabbed my purse, phone, and car keys and made a mad dash just in case. I wanted to leave myself plenty of time to settle up with Mabel for the takeout from the night before, grab a cup of coffee, call Spencer to accept the job, and get to the town office right when they opened.

  This was shaping up to be another busy day.

  Even though it was Friday, I hoped I could convince the power company to come out and turn on the lights. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do much until Monday, and since I'd be starting work then, I'd have only the evening to unpack and return the moving van.

  On the plus side, Mrs. Tipton had said the house came with everything in it so I might be able to put a bedroom together. Or maybe that would turn out to be on the minus side. Who knew? With the way my luck was going, I wasn’t sure if I should be excited or apprehensive, so I allowed for a little bit of both.

  CHAPTER 13

  Still bleary-eyed, I missed seeing the news van parked in the side lot at Mabel’s, which was why I was shocked when Jacy intercepted me at the door and dragged me around the corner and out of sight.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “Where’d you park?” Her head swiveled as she searched the lot, and her eyes were wide and frantic.

  I pointed a thumb over my right shoulder. “Over by the back entrance to the power and water office. Why?”

  “Okay, good.” She blew the stray hairs off her forehead. “The news team is just finishing up their breakfast in the diner, and they’ve been asking practically everyone about you. I knew you were coming in this morning, so I’ve been watching for you. I’ve got to go back in, but Mabel said to tell you to go around to the kitchen entrance. She’ll let you in through the back.” I finally got a grin from her. “If her rep wasn’t on the line, I think she’d have spit in their eggs.”

  Half tempted to go in and confront the news team just to get it over with, I thought of the house key and Mrs. Tipton, and decided skulking around wasn’t a sign of weakness—just the prudent thing to do at the moment.

  “No worries. First, I’ll go see if I can sweet talk the good folks at power and water into sending out that handsome husband of yours to turn the water on today. They’re open now, right?”

  Technically, Jacy’s husband Brian only worked for the water district, but since the power company maintained a local presence in the same office, I figured he might be able to wield some influence there, too. With power and water, I could borrow dad’s tent and camp out in the backyard of my new place if necessary.

  "Yeah, it's after eight." Satisfied she'd saved me from being featured on the five o'clock news, Jacy headed back inside but tossed a suggestion over her shoulder. "You ought to make a detour into Foss's for a floppy hat and sunglasses."

  It took all of five minutes to do the paperwork. Having Mrs. Tipton call the power company office to verify the transfer of ownership was only a formality since everyone in town knew I'd bought the house. The next five minutes I spent listening to speculation about recent events and securing Brian's promise to hook me up first thing. He was on the phone pulling in a favor when I left.

  The news van was gone by the time I crossed the street and pushed my way through the diner’s front door.

  “You know I love you, but girl, you look like something left over from a cat fight.” Mabel ran my debit card through the reader, and at my request, added a breakfast sandwich and coffee to the total from the night before.

  “Thanks, it’s good to know my outsides are running on par with my insides.”

  “You want that to go?” Jacy asked, then followed up with, “You could have called me if you were having a rough night. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

  No one would believe the true story, so it was easier to let her think my pride kept me from taking her up on the offer of a place to stay.

  Still, Jacy took offense. “Being stubborn is not one of your finer traits.”

  "But I'm so good at it. I've elevated it to an art form." Lame comeback, but I'd had a rough night.

  With swift, annoyed movements, Jacy poured coffee into a to-go cup and slid the sandwich into a bag. “Yeah, you’re the Picasso of pigheadedness, all right.”

  “Don’t be mad, Jace. It wasn’t for the reason you’re thinking.” She wouldn’t believe me if I told her why I’d spent a sleepless night, so I distracted her with other news. “In a surprising twist of fate, I got the job at the mortgage place. Oh, and I’m picking up the keys to the new house today. I don’t suppose you’d want to come help me make it habitable.”

  Her mildly annoyed expression smoothed out to something more cheerful. “Okay, I’m off shift at eleven, and I can do laundry anytime. I’ll be over as soon as I clock out. I can’t believe I’m finally going to get a look inside Spooky Manor.”

  "What do you say we stop using that name for it now that I'll be living there alone?" Not that I was scared of the place anymore. It's funny how personally being haunted changes your perspective on the concept, but if it were all the same to Jacy, I'd rather my house not get a reputation for being ghost central. At least not any more than it already did.

  To soften the critical blow, I shot her a smile that I hoped hid my nerves. It was too late to turn back now. All I could do was hope I’d made the right choice. “Wish me luck.”

  Stuffed with bacon and eggs on the lightest, fluffiest biscuit I’d ever tasted, the sandwich gave my stomach something else to do besides being the runway for a flight of butterflies. By the time I pulled in at the town office, the clock said 9:07, and I felt halfway human again.

  “Everly,” Mrs. Tipton greeted me warmly. “I have your paperwork right here. This is your deed, and this is the bill of sale. You’ll see where I’ve indicated the back taxes are paid and you’ve put a deposit on the taxes for the upcoming year. I’ll send you a letter come the first of September to let you know the actual amount. There might be a balance owing or maybe even a credit due. I won’t have the numbers until the final assessment.”

  Fifteen rent-free months would free up money to make a few updates. It seemed as if home ownership should come with more pomp and circumstance than a slim sheaf of papers in a folder. The whole process seemed a bit anti-climactic. Maybe it would all feel more official when I turned the key in the lock.

  “I saw the power truck turning down Lilac on my way here, and I already spoke to Brian Dean, so you should be all set to go.”

  That she didn’t bring up Hudson’s untimely death took me by surprise. Probably hooked into the grapevine at the root level, and didn’t need to pump me for details, I figured.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Tipton. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  I couldn’t tell if she wasn’t on the receiving end of thank you often enough, but I caught a fleeting expression on Mrs. Tipton’s face that struck me as out of place, but I took the proffered folder and the wad of keys she dangled in the other hand. The bundle weighed heavy. How many rooms did this place have, anyway? At a glance, I saw six or seven skeleton keys and at least that many newer, flat ones.

  “It’s a good house.”

  “So my mother says.” I shot Mrs. Tipton a grin. “She’s going to meet me there. Thanks again.”

  My luck was turning around. Finally.

  CHAPTER 14

  I was so excited I barely remember the drive between the town office and my new home. My mind raced with wondering how many rooms, a
nd what did the kitchen look like? What possessions had poor Mrs. Willowby left behind? Most importantly, would I be able to move out of the motel right away?

  Somewhere under all the more immediate issues, there was the thought that Hudson’s ghost—if it was even real, and at this point, I was still trying to talk myself into thinking it wasn’t—might stay tethered to the area around where he’d died. Moving out of the motel might get him off my back altogether. One more check in the plus column.

  My mom rose from sitting on the top step when I eased past the electric truck at the end of the driveway. From the look on her face, I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling with experiencing moments of pure happiness in the face of tragedy.

  She pulled me into her arms when I came around the corner of the van. “I’m so sorry you have had such a rough time of it these past few days, but I’m happy you’re home.” Her arms tightened, and I held on, too.

  “This is a new start for me, even if it’s been a rocky launch.” I kept an arm around her waist as we stepped up onto the porch. “I’m scared to open the door.”

  “Then it’s best to do it fast, like ripping off a bandage.”

  Good advice, though impossible to take because I had to sort through a handful of keys to find the right one.

  “It will be the last one you try,” Mom said.

  “Always is.” A running joke in our family.

  After five tries, I found the one that fit. With my heart in my mouth, I twisted it in the lock just as the lights flared inside. The timing of the power coming on was either perfect or creepy.

  The first thing I saw was a set of stairs leading up. Dark. Oak or maybe walnut, I couldn't tell for certain under a year's worth of dust, but the balusters were well and ornately turned. Cleaned and polished, I thought the warm tones of the wood would gleam. Striped wallpaper in muted rose tones against a yellowed background made the entrance a little darker than my preference but was in good enough shape that I wouldn't have to do anything with it right away.