The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly ((Paranromal Western Romance))

by Keta Diablo

  The people were different too. Cowboys walked the same boardwalks as men in tailored suits. A group of Indians sat on blankets in front of one long, low building, with goods for sale on display. But mainly, the number of Mexicans caught her attention. Of course, they had Mexicans in St. Louis too but not in this concentration. They passed a plaza. Mexican men and women in colorful garb were socializing around a gazebo.

  Healy turned to look at her driver. He had similar features to the man who delivered messages to her from the agency. She wondered if they were related. "I’ve never been to this part of the world before."

  No response. He didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Maybe he’s hard of hearing.

  It was hot. Hotter than St. Louis, only not humid. Dry, sucking the moisture out of her.

  A cathedral came into view. It had the shape she expected except made in different, native material with a colonial flavor.

  "WHAT’S THE NAME OF THAT CHURCH?" she shouted.

  Again, the driver didn’t respond or indicate she’d said anything.

  She tapped the driver’s arm. "ARE WE NEAR THE HOTEL?"

  If he noticed her touch, he gave no indication of it.

  Well, Healy could respect that. She wasn’t the most social person herself, but the sights around filled her with questions. She rested her hand below her ear and felt her pulse racing with excitement.

  They passed a Chinaman with a long queue down his back pushing a cart of kindling wood. When they were even with him, the old man turned and looked at her. With horror she realized she couldn’t tell if he had dead or live eyes. Did he hover in a space between the two? Or maybe she’d lost her ability to tell the difference here in this strange place.

  She was musing on this when the carriage stopped. Healy looked up to see they were in front of a four-story hotel. A young man in a livery uniform stepped out to greet them and take the bags. Healy jumped down to the ground before the strange man next to her could help her down.

  "Miss Healy Harrison," said her driver to the bellman.

  Healy turned to him in surprise, but he was already directing the carriage back onto the street. He took one look back over his shoulder and his lips formed into a shape that was less a smile, and more the rictus of a corpse.

  She shook herself and followed behind the cheerful young man carrying her bags into a modestly sized lobby. A heavy wooden grand staircase ran across the back and down one side of the room. The front desk nestled next to the stairs, and across from it dark wood framed a wide doorway leading to the dining room. Ornate light fixtures with globes shaped like giant teardrops hung from a coffered ceiling. The terra cotta floor tiles and Turkish carpet running up the stairs were spotless. Still, something was wrong.

  The minute she crossed the threshold, her heart started thrumming—too strong to call it humming, too constant to call it thumping. It was thrumming like never before. Healy had to stop and take a breath.

  She’d have to take measures. A powerful force lived here.

  Chapter Seven

  "But, you’re not a man."

  Healy looked at the handsome rancher standing before her, his Stetson in his hands. He wore loose wool trousers tucked into his boots and a leather vest. A kerchief hung around his neck.

  The air burnt as hot as a fever out here on the porch. The windmill in the yard creaked and creaked. Tumbleweed rolled past, carried on the same breeze turning the windmill. The porch smelled like hot, old wood.

  Healy pinched the bridge of her nose, dislodging her glasses. Over the layer of perspiration covering her face, a fine coating of gritty dust stuck to her skin. She was so parched; she had to work her lips off her teeth, where they were stuck, to utter a word.

  "Yes, we’ve established that fact, and as I’ve already had this conversation with the ranch hand you sent to fetch me, I’m finding this conversation about my gender rather tedious."

  He studied her with his gray eyes. "You’re a woman."

  "Oh, my...now we’ve ascertained I’m not a man are we going to have to now go through this whole process again, establishing I’m a woman. I suggest we move on from this topic and talk about your problem, Mr. Foster."

  He ran in hand through his sandy brown hair. "I can’t talk to you about this. I thought you’d be a man. This is a delicate matter."

  "Mr. Foster, I assure you I’ve seen everything. There isn’t anything you can tell me I haven’t heard before. What is happening to you has happened to many before you."

  "That’s just it. I’ve heard about it happening to other men, but it’s never happened to me before."

  "Ah, I see. Well, this too is a common reaction. Many don’t believe in ghosts until they experience the phenomenon themselves. You’re not alone."

  "I’m not talking about ghosts."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I can’t talk to a young lady about this."

  "You can! Nothing you say will shock me."

  "Are you a...spinster?"

  Healy huffed. "I don’t see how my marital status is relevant, but yes, I am not a married woman."

  "So you don’t have experience..."

  "Please, I have traveled a long way under the most trying circumstances to help you. You’ve already paid the agency, and here I am! Let’s just start at the place where you encountered the haunting?"

  Abbott sighed. "In the bedroom."

  "You’re lucky in that sense. Some ghosts follow people around and make all kinds of mischief."

  "Naw, you ain’t catching my meaning."

  "Enlighten me."

  "Aw, all right." He took a long pause, studying his boots before he looked up again. "I’m a newlywed...."

  "Congratulations."

  "Yes, but here’s the crux of the matter. The ghost will not allow me to...consummate my marriage."

  Healy felt her face burn red. "Oh, I see. Well, that is a new one on me. Never heard of that one before. How is it that the ghost has power to stop...the act?"

  "Ever since I brought Erline—that’s my bride—home, things don’t work right."

  She laid a hand on his arm. "Are you sure you’re consulting the right expert? Have you talked to your doctor?"

  His face went beet red with frustration. "It’s having a ghost in my bedroom gumming up the works."

  "You have to be more specific. I need details."

  He shuffled his feet in the dust on the boards of the porch. "I think about Erline all day. She’s so pretty. I can’t wait to go to bed. I get in next to her all cocked and ready to fire—and she’s eager too—I can tell, but then when I put...."

  Healy put up her hand. "I don’t mean those kinds of details. Tell me about the ghost."

  "Oh, well, it always starts the same way. First there is this god-awful odor like rotten flowers."

  "Olfactory manifestations. Very rare. Interesting. Go on."

  He looked proud of himself a minute for having a rare haunting. "After I smell the odor a shape appears in the corner. A big, black shadow."

  "Oh, this is bad. Very bad. Black shadows are extremely malevolent."

  "It gets worse."

  "Worse than a black shadow? You’re wise to call in a professional."

  "The shadow moves. It walks, or floats—or whatever those things do—and comes and stands right next to the bed, and the creature points at me! Things shrink up down south at that point, if you know what I mean."

  "And your wife, does she see the ghost?"

  "No, she don’t! I’d think I was going loco but the dog knows the ghost is there too. It ran away and won’t come home. Stays with the neighbor."

  "Interesting. Animals are sensitive. Does your wife believe you?"

  "She does not entirely believe me. At first she did, but now she thinks it’s her. She is beginning to think I don’t desire her."

  "Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out. I have a high success rate. May I come in?"

  "Yes, pardon my bad manners."

  He stepped aside and
opened the door for her. The minute she walked through the threshold, Healy felt cooler—and not just because she was out of the sun.

  "You, Mr. Foster, have a ghost in your house, all right." She ripped off her glasses. "Let’s get to work."

  The rancher’s boots clacked on the hardwood floors behind her as he followed her into the interior of the house. "But, it ain’t in here. We have to go to the bedroom."

  Healy held up her hand to silence him. Her heart hummed like it did in the presence of spirits. "Its presence is all over. May I sit down? I have a few questions for you."

  He indicated a small cane-bottomed maple chair set at a side table. She sat down and he took a seat across from her, wincing with pain as he did so.

  "Are you all right, Mr. Foster?"

  "Got a little indigestion."

  His eyes opened wide. "You look different without your glasses."

  She waved him off. "I need to ask you some questions. How long have you lived here?"

  "Ten years."

  "And no hauntings up until this time?"

  "Not a thing."

  "Has anything changed recently—aside from bringing home a wife? Like have you been..." She tried to remember what Cato had said. "Have you been doing any digging? Possibly in an Indian burial ground? Or mining?"

  His jaw dropped. "I’m a rancher. I’m not digging mineshafts or anything like that. Just move cattle around. That’s all I do."

  "Bear with me, I’m trying to eliminate the obvious. Any recent deaths here?"

  "Not recently, but..." He stood up. "Miss Harrison, my wife, Erline Foster."

  Healy turned in her seat to see a pretty blond in a bright blue satin dress, Healy thought too fancy for daywear at a ranch.

  Erline tilted her head back and looked down her nose at Healy. To put things on a different level, Healy stood up. She had a head over the rancher’s wife, so now Erline had to look up at her. Healy extended her hand, and the other woman gave her the briefest touch. Healy almost recoiled from the chill coming off her fingers.

  "I understand congratulations are in order. Congratulations on your recent nuptials," she said.

  Erline spoke without a hint of warmth. "You’re welcome. I’m a lucky woman."

  "It sounds like you’re not from around here."

  "No, I’m from Ohio."

  "Really? Your accent sounds more southern."

  Erline narrowed her eyes. "I’m from southern Ohio."

  "Of course, that explains it. You do understand why I’m here, don’t you?"

  "I’m not sure I believe in all this, but if Abbott thinks it’s necessary...."

  "It is necessary. Even in this room, I can feel a presence in the house. And now that you’ve joined us, perhaps I can see the bedroom."

  Erline and Abbott exchanged looks before the woman spoke. "If you think that’s necessary."

  "I do think it’s necessary." This woman sure doesn’t want to do anything unnecessarily.

  Healy followed the couple down a long hall. The plaster walls were devoid of decoration, so when Abbott flung open the door to the bedroom, it surprised Healy to find a room looking like a lady’s boudoir.

  "Nice room," she commented.

  "I made a few changes," said Erline.

  Before even stepping into the room, Healy felt a cold, invisible fog surround her. She shivered. A foul scent filled the room. She and Abbott looked at one another other. He raised his eyebrows.

  "Yes, I smell it too," she said.

  "I never smelled it during the day before."

  "Perhaps the ghost doesn’t like you," Erline said looking at Healy.

  "You don’t smell that?" she said to Erline.

  Erline threw her a contemptuous look. "I do not."

  Abbott turned to Healy and alarm showed on his face when he saw her. Healy realized her body had started to shake to the point her teeth chattered. Hostility poured off the walls in this room, and despite the chill in the air, she was bathed in sweat.

  "There is a mean-spirited presence in this room. I may need to...."

  Healy’s knees buckled and her eyes rolled back into her head. The last thing she was aware of was Abbott Foster grabbing her around the waist before she hit the floor.

  * * *

  Something wasn’t right. Something cool and wet pressed her face.

  "Miss Harrison? Kelly? Can you hear me?"

  "Healy, my name is Healy." She opened her eyes to see Abbott hovering over her. He pressed a cold, wet cloth to her face. Erline stood behind him, watching her with her eyes half closed.

  Healy bolted upright, embarrassed. She had been laid out on a couch in the parlor.

  "You fainted," said Abbott.

  "That’s never happened before. I never encountered a spirit filled with so much hatred as the one in that room."

  Abbott nodded with enthusiasm. "That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."

  "I hate to state the obvious, but have you tried changing rooms?"

  "We tried that already. But the problem seems to follow us." Erline glanced at Abbott.

  Healy’s head ached with fatigue. "I think I’m done for today. I can see I’ll need to prepare myself to meet this ghost head-on. I’ll come back tomorrow at the same time."

  Abbott helped her to her feet. "I’ll send Charlie for you again. He’s my nephew."

  They all walked to the door together. "Tomorrow I’d like the three of us to have a séance. In the meantime, I want you to think about what could have brought this on."

  They were back on the porch now saying goodbye. For once Healy was grateful for the heat.

  Abbott stepped off the porch. "I’ll fetch Charlie to take you back to the hotel."

  Healy started to follow him, wanting to be far from this house. She had one foot out, ready to step down the two steps, when two hands shoved her hard. Healy fell sideways, twisting her ankle and landing with a thud on the hard ground.

  Abbott was at her side in a second. When she looked over her shoulder, Erline stood where she last saw her. Not close enough to have pushed her down the stairs. Erline’s lips twisted into a spiteful grin.

  Healy could still feel the cold imprint of two hands on her back.

  Chapter Eight

  The image in the mirror surely belonged to someone else. Healy blinked hard a few times, but still the much-improved Healy in the mirror looked back at her, reflecting her surprise. She was framed by the sumptuous flocked wallpaper in a golden yellow on the wall behind her.

  Whoever had left the dress in her hotel room must have gotten the hint she didn’t care for too much decorative detail on her clothing (the dead bird from the train had been left next to the dress on her bed). The dark red dress had been done simple in design but it hugged her figure in the most flattering way. The low-cut bodice wrapped around her torso. She’d been given a new corset too, one that pushed her bosom upward and out. New, fancy silk petticoats and silk stockings gave her a sense of luxury she hadn’t enjoyed since leaving her family home.

  Below the bodice, the skirt gathered in folds that draped back to a bustle in the back. The dress showed her narrow waist, full bosom and shapely hips to advantage. The only ornamentation was a short gold fringe running around the overskirt.

  Healy turned sideways and admired her profile. Thanks to the new bust-enhancing corset and bustle filling out her backside, her figure took on a gentle S-shape.

  When she got back from the Foster ranch and found the dress laid out on her bed, she wasn’t even surprised—just relieved to get out of her dusty suit, which badly needed an airing. It felt good to wash down her body from the washstand in her room. Now she felt refreshed.

  It was only when she moved that the picture of perfection lost some of its luster. Healy limped from her twisted ankle. Luckily Abbott had lent her a cane before sending her back to town.

  She hobbled toward the door ready to go down to dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. Before opening the door, she replaced her dark glasses. This plac
e had an unsettling effect on her and after her encounter with Abbott’s angry ghost; she didn’t think her nervous system could stand any more shocks.

  With every footfall down the stairs, the thrumming in her heart increased. The halls and lobby were lit by dim gaslights, and her dark glasses further obscured visibility. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  When Healy got to the dining room, the thrumming in her chest spread to other parts of her body. She’d never experienced such a reaction before.

  A waiter showed her to a table, which she moved toward with caution, tapping the ground with her cane, and holding on to the backs of chairs as she passed through the room. She used the white linen tablecloths, glowing like circles of light in the dark room to guide her, navigating between them, she made her way into the room.

  The waiter pulled out a chair and she dropped into it, relieved to have reached her goal. Now she sensed such a strong vibration, she couldn’t think.

  Between one thing and another, Healy couldn’t read the menu, so she asked the waiter to make a recommendation, settled on that, and waved him off. The candelabrum on the table threw off some light but she still had to fumble for her napkin.

  Her scalp tightened and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Healy kept her eyes on the table; somehow knowing if she looked up she’d see something most unsettling. The air buzzed with tension.

  In the end, she was unable to resist the temptation to look. What she saw made her glad she was already sitting down.

  Across the room sat a ghost, giving her the boldest stare yet.

  * * *

  Never had a haunt fixed her with such direct attention. Currents of energy slithered across the room, so strong her chest heaved with fear. Healy wanted to look away but couldn’t move. The dark man across the room held her with his penetrating gaze. She had the impression of blackness. Black hair. Black suit. The lower half of his face shaded black. His face and body were so still, she wondered if he had been carved from stone.

  Then something else took hold of her. Outrage. She was not going to let one more ghost push her around today. She’d had enough of their behavior. I will not let a dead man scare me, sir!