The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella]

by Marley Gibson

  “Get over it, Kendall,” I hear.

  I spin around only to find myself alone. The other ladies from the DAR are too spread out in the cemetery for me to hear or see them.

  “Okay, who’s here?” I ask bravely.

  The wind whistles through the bare pecan trees and carries on it the soft sound of the bells from the Methodist church ringing out “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

  “The faithful has come,” I say to no one. “Show yourself or else I can’t help you.”

  “Oh, but Kendall,” the soft voice says. “I’m here to help you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You know who I am.”

  I bite my lip to stave off my growing annoyance… and fear. “Seriously. I don’t have time for games. It’s getting dark, it’s cold, and I need to get home.”

  “To what? Everyone who’s ignoring you?” the voice asks.

  Tears threaten behind my eyes at this mocking spirit, one that knows the downward spiraling direction of my life. “You don’t scare me. Just show yourself and tell me what you want.”

  There. That sounded authoritative.

  Before I know it, a thin mist creeps around my ankles and feet, lowering the temperature in the cemetery to a chilling degree of frost. A swirling vector of blue and white light in front of me makes me take a few steps back. I fist my hands together at my side, as if that will do any good against a malevolent spirit.

  Through the brightness, a soft, warm smile appears, surrounded by the light chocolate skin and sky blue eyes I remember so well.

  Hands on her hip, she says to me with a smirk, “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your old friend, Farah.”

  The same face. The very same.

  I do everything in my power not to pass the hell out.

  STANZA 3: A DIRECTIVE FOR THE NIGHT

  When I find my voice, I say, “Farah, I helped you pass you into the light. What are you doing here?”

  She’s no longer wearing the cheerleader uniform she had on when she was killed in the car accident. The same outfit I saw her in until she walked into the light. The very ensemble her parents donated to the school for them to make into a memorial. In its place, Farah is wearing a flowing white gown, sleeveless, and off the shoulder with sequins on the bodice. If I didn’t know that she’d passed away tragically, I’d say she was practicing for a turn down the catwalk at the next Miss Georgia USA pageant.

  She points to her gown. “It’s really lovely, isn’t it?”

  “You look great,” I say. “But….”

  “The afterlife is good for me,” she tells me. “They really do have choirs of angels in heaven. I had to best this one girl for lead vocals in the upcoming Christmas pageant. She can’t hit a high C like I can.”

  Farah was a budding opera singer before her death. No one in Radisson could hold a candle to that girl’s voice. Apparently, neither can anyone in heaven.

  I frown at her, though, an disbelieving look no doubt crossing my face. “So, if you’re all happy and singing up in heaven, why are you here right now?”

  She spreads her hands. “I’d think that’s pretty obvious.”

  “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  Farah’s booming voice, louder than any freight train of Cat5 hurricane, encompasses me. “Oh honey, you have no idea.”

  I drop the remaining poppies to the ground and cover my ears from the roaring sound of her words. My knees buckle from trembling and I fall forward. The sod is moist with evening dew and I feel it soak into my jeans, yet I can’t move.

  This ghost of my friend, who I crossed into the light, stands before me going against everything I’ve learned in my experiences investigating the paranormal. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at peace. I should be at peace from her.

  The built-up angst and anxiety of the weeks, and the disappointment leading up to this day, climb right up on my shoulders and press down like a cheerleader attempting a stunt. I’m not strong enough to hold up, though. Tears fall from my eyes as I think of my grandparents, Patrick, Celia and Jason, Loreen and Mass, Kaitlin and my parents. Everything. All of it. Who am I? Where do I fit in? Do I even belong?

  “That’s why I’m here, Kendall,” the ghost says.

  Sniffing, I ask, “Why? To show me that I’ve failed?”

  Farah’s right next to me. “Failed how?”

  Looking up at her, I blink hard. “You’re here. I’m not a good ghost huntress if I can’t keep you where you belong.”

  Farah’s laugh is as melodic as her singing voice. “You believe in so many things, Kendall. But do you believe in yourself?”

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, the tears turning to near ice on my skin from the cold wind whipping around. “What’s the point? I’m a throw-away kid with no real family of my own. I’m part of someone else’s household. All I’m good for is talking with the dead that wander the earth, but I can’t even keep them in their place if you’re any indication.”

  “Now it’s my turn to ‘Bah! Humbug!’” Farah says, mockingly. “We spirits are all tasked with certain things. We get to walk around all y’all and check in on those we care about. We still get to live in heaven and do our thing, but if we don’t use our knowledge to help the living, then the living might make the same mistakes we made.”

  I sit up. “You mean, even if you pass into the light, you can still, like, be around your loved ones?” Is my birth mom still with me and I just don’t know it?

  Farah nods. “I watch after my mama all the time. I always will. Just like she watched after me when I was growing up.”

  My heart hurts at the thought of Farah’s grieving mother. Of my own tenderness and pain over discovering Emily and then having her fade away. So much to bear in such a short time. I mean, I think I’ve handled it okay up to now, but there’s something about this Christmas season that really does make me want to jump off a cliff. Not that anyone would even notice with the way things have been going lately. I don’t need to be the center of attention; I just need to be included in the warmth and glow and not merely as someone to do all the dirty work.

  Farah pulls a long, chunky necklace from the inside of her dress. “This is the chain I made while I was alive. Every link and lock in it was made by me – my thoughts, actions, deeds, free will, love, hate, everything. I wear it now and always as a reminder of the things that held me back. What about your own chain, Kendall?”

  I shake my head back and forth as my body trembles in the cold. “This isn’t happening. It’s not happening.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong for you to come down from heaven and haunt me, Farah.”

  She laughs again. “Oh, KM, you’re so cute. Thing is, you are one angst-ridden, full of self-pity, woe-is-me girlfriend. You need to get over yourself before you start building up your own clunky necklace that you’ll have to wear around for all eternity once you get up here to heaven.”

  My eyes pop open. “I’m not ready to die! There are still so many things I want to do. Graduate high school, go to college, have a career, get married, have babies, all of it. Come on, Farah, tell me something good. Something positive.”

  “That’s not really up to me, KM. You’ve got to get out of this holiday funk.”

  Stubbornly, I square up my chin. “It’s too hard.”

  Farah spreads the layers of her dress out, displacing the mist hanging around us. “I know where you’re coming from. Christmas was always a belly-buster for me. Hours and hours of rehearsals. Singing day in and day out, praying I’d have my voice for the major performance. Add on to that my grandmother who lived with us who was always needed help because of her colostomy bag. Then there was working the food pantry at the church and giving out the pies. I don’t remember actually enjoying the last three or four Christmases of my life because of the busy-ness of the season. I rarely looked up into the heavens to search out the star of God’s promise to us. I never really thought about how Mary and Jose
ph were treated like crap by everyone and forced to stay in a barn where their baby was born. I mean, you have problems? Geesh… try being pregnant with a kid no one believes was conceived by God, and homeless, and poor and hungry. We’ve got it made, Kendall.”

  I totally get what she’s saying, but what can I do about something that happened over two thousand years ago when I can’t even get a grip on my own life now?

  Farah shakes a finger at me. “Seriously, KM, you have to listen to me. I have to get going in a minute.”

  I sort of lunge for her; my arms connecting with nothing but air as I swing around. “You can’t leave me. You have to explain everything. You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

  A sigh escapes from Farah. “I’m not here to tell you the answers. I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to carry all of these burdens. That your heart can be light. You don’t have to miss out on the holidays like I did because of how you perceive things to be. Let me help you escape the fate that fell on me.”

  Shocked and out of breath, I manage to ask, “Am I going to die young, too?”

  She shrugs. “All I know is you’ve got to get your act together, Kendall. And you’re going to be visited by other spirits.”

  I snicker unconsciously. “Let me guess, three, right?”

  She flattens her lips. “It’s not a joke. But yes. Three.”

  Maybe she listened too hard in Mr. Rorek’s class about Dickens, as well. “And if I listen to these three visitors, everything will be okay?”

  “Perhaps.” Farah smoothes her hand down the front of her flowing dress. “You can avoid certain fates in life if you just stop to think things through with your heart and not your head.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means your first visitor will see you after midnight tonight. Officially Christmas Eve. Then the second visitor will be right after that, and then the third will follow. Listen to them. Learn from them. You have the chance to alter your present and influence your future.”

  I stand and wipe the dirt and grass off of my clothes. “But every breath we take, every step we make—and I don’t mean that in a Police singing sort of way—can amend the path of our lives.”

  “Exactly,” Farah says. “And it’s all up to you.”

  “Kendall, dear, are you finished over there?” Mayor Shy shouts at me through the mist.

  I turn to seek her out, but see nothing. Then I spin back to where Farah was standing and she, too, is gone.

  “Whattaya know about that?”

  “Kendall?” the mayor calls again from the darkness.

  Any traces of the burnt orange sunset are now gone, replaced by inky blackness. My skin feels clammy and cold around me and I want to go home.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say back. “I-I-I’m all finished.”

  I join the rest of the ladies and hand over the remainder of the now wilted poppies. Then, without saying much more, I excuse myself and run home. I mean, literally. I run the four blocks, not stopping for any reason as if the devil himself is chasing me.

  Once inside, I bypass the kitchen that is a mess thanks to Kaitlin and her friends, ignore the pizza box with a note attached to it—from my mother telling me she’s taking Kaitlin to practice and this is my dinner… I can read it psychically—and head straight upstairs to the bathroom. There, I strip down to my birthday suit and step into the shower. I jerk on the knobs and adjust the shower head until the water is punishing me with hot streams. I let it rain over me, washing away the encounter with Farah, and scrubbing away at the elves of self-doubt that have been my constant companions of late.

  I try to shuck off the warning Farah gave. Not to end up like her. To take the time to appreciate life and enjoy things more. Can I? Is that possible when I have a gift like I do? When I’m visited by spirits like her? And now, I can expect three more spirits over the course of the night.

  WTF? Geez Louise! Who will they be? What will they expect of me? Do I need to get dressed and be ready, sitting on the edge of my bed?

  This is seriously the last thing I want to deal with right now.

  I turn off the nozzles of the shower and reach for a towel. The Downy-soft fabric is comforting against my skin as I wipe away the water. I shake off what happened earlier. The visit from Farah was nothing but an apparition. My mind playing tricks on me. My psychic abilities poking fun at me and making me see things that weren’t even there.

  Back in my room, I change into my flannel Sponge Bob—there will be no judging—pajamas and toe socks with the black cats on the bottom. I spend fifteen minutes upside down as I blow dry my hair, brushing it to smooth out the curls.

  Finally, I lie down on the bed and crawl under the covers. My teeth chatter slightly as I hear the familiar hiss of the heater coming to life. This is certainly no Chicago winter, but I’m still absolutely frozen to the bone. I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking the temperature drop might be due to paranormal activity. Can’t they leave me alone for one night?

  I peel my eyelids open and fortunately there aren’t any visitors in my room. All of the lights are off except for the ones that swirl around the tiny silver and pink Christmas tree I got out of the attic. The mauve hue reflecting off the tinsel warms and relaxes me as I sink deeper into my mattress.

  In the darkness, the shadows of two cat tails reflect on the side wall. Before I know it, Eleanor and Natalie hop up on the bed and end up in one big furry bundle at my feet, washing each other and purring at the same time. See, even my cats are busy multi-tasking.

  A deep sigh escapes from me as I close my eyes. Tomorrow’s a big day. Christmas Eve and all that the day implies. I have to be at the church early for the parishioner’s breakfast, followed by wrapping presents for the kids at the cancer hospital in Atlanta and other duties. Then, the icing of the day: Kaitlin’s big Christmas Eve performance, followed by Loreen and Mass’s wedding.

  My mouth yawns wide, nearly dislocating my jaw. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this tired before. It’s as though someone slipped me a Benadryl or five.

  Fighting the exhaustion won’t do me good anymore. Not when tomorrow is going to be a back breaker for me. I have to be on, on, on.

  Glancing at the clock on my bedside table, I see that it’s a smidgen before eight-thirty. I know it’s early, but I’ll just meditate and unwind. My eyes flutter shut again and I start counting backwards from one hundred to help me relax.

  “One hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. Ninety…”

  Next thing I know, I’m out like a light.

  STANZA 4: THE FIRST VISITING SPIRIT

  I wake up thirsty and needing to pee.

  Rolling over to my right, I try to see my clock, but it’s so damn dark, even the numbers aren’t illuminated. In fact, my entire room is blanketed in utter blackness. Either my pink Christmas tree burned out or someone unplugged it while I was asleep. I can’t make out any shapes, furniture, or windows in my room. It’s as though I’m in some sort of antechamber, locked away from everyone and everything. I squint into the darkness, wishing I had the excellent night vision that my cats possess. No such luck.

  Then I hear the clanging of the chimes from Mom’s grandfather clock. It sounds out, echoing around me almost, as I count along with the dongs. Twelve. It’s midnight already? Damn, I must have been more wiped than I thought if I’ve slept for almost four hours already. But how can I be hearing the grandfather clock so distinctly when it sits in the front hallway downstairs?

  I scramble out of my bed and move to the window seat nearby. I ball my hands up and gently rub my fists into my eye sockets to jostle myself awake. I swear, as I peer out the window, there is frost and snow on the panes. It couldn’t be, though. The forecast didn’t call for any sort of Winter Wonderland for our holiday celebration.

  Something outside doesn’t appear normal, though. The moon is full and shining brightly up above, however it’s not casting a shadow on my lawn. Instead, creepy, swirling tendrils of fog surround
my house, slithering up the sides and beckoning to me with vaporous fingers. I wrap my arms around myself against the chill that crosses my skin. My flannel pjs aren’t doing much to help keep me warm.

  “Then get back under the covers, dumb ass,” I say to myself.

  Following my own lead, I dive back under the comforter and tug it up tightly to my chin, dislodging Eleanor and Natalie who are sound asleep at the foot of my bed. They grunt little cat sounds out at me, but return to their napping.

  Thoughts of a bathroom run or even a sip of water fade away as I try to go back to sleep. I flip onto my side and pull my knees against my chest, nestling under the blankets to try and get warm. Then, the weirdest thing happens.

  The grandfather clock chimes again.

  Bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong.

  Twelve? Again?

  “It’s already rung twelve times.”

  What’s going on? That clock is an antique, but it’s never broken, or messed up the hour like this.

  Then, everything flashes white bright.

  I jerk my arm up to cover my face, bracing for whatever onslaught has hit. My entire room is bathed in a near-blinding spotlight pointed directly into my eyes. Dust particles dance in the air as the intense light beams on me. I swat around with my hands, as if that’s going to do any good.

  It’s not.

  “Give me a break!” I shout, to who or whom, I don’t know.

  Wham! Bam!

  The light disappears and I hear my bedroom door creak open.

  Slowly….

  Slowly….

  Slowly….

  “Who’s there? Mom? Dad? Kaitlin?”

  “It’s none of them.” The voice is indistinguishable as male or female to my ears.

  A peculiar figure enters my room. It’s not a kid, but it’s not an adult either. It’s just this white, floaty, ethereal thing. It’s as though I need a prescription for contacts or glasses; everything around me is blurred and distorted as I try to distinguish who or what this is at the foot of my bed.