Ghostly Games

by K. E. O'Connor

  “You’re right,” said Helen. “So, you stick to organizing the memorial with Jasmine. What about the ghosts?”

  “I’ll keep trying to find the children,” I said. “They might be able to tell me a bit about what happened to them just before they died.”

  “But they’re so young,” said Helen. “You don’t want to frighten them.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “And I don’t have much experience with children.” I looked down at Flipper, whose head was resting on my feet. “I’m more used to fur babies than real babies.”

  “Go gently with them,” said Helen. “Make it more of a game when you do finally see them. Maybe re-enact things with the toys in their nursery.”

  “If I get caught in there again, Francis will skin me alive,” I said. “She told me not to interfere.”

  “Which could make her a suspect if Michael and Mirabel’s deaths weren’t from their heart defects,” said Helen.

  “And then there’s their parents.” I hated myself for saying my thoughts aloud. “But it’s the first place the police look in suspicious deaths of children. The mother or father are usually to blame.”

  “I can’t imagine either Chris or Jasmine wanting to harm their own children,” said Helen. “They’re both such lovely people.”

  “We need to consider all the possibilities,” I said. “This is only our second day here, so we don’t know either of them well. Whoever harmed the children, if it was anybody, they need to be brought to justice.”

  A knock sounded on the annex door, and I left the table to open it. Chris stood outside, his dinner napkin still tucked in his shirt. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “We were just finishing dinner.”

  “You have a visitor,” said Chris to me.

  I nodded and waited for him to tell me who it was.

  “Are you feeling better?” Chris looked over at Helen. “Jasmine told me you are unwell.”

  “Much better now.” Helen had the decency to blush as she looked at her almost empty plate.

  “That looks good.” Chris’s eyes lit up when he saw the half-finished shepherd’s pie on my own plate.

  “There’s plenty to spare,” said Helen. “Perhaps you’d like to try some?”

  “We’ve had faggots for dinner.” Chris failed to suppress a grimace. “Well, Francis's version of faggots. They tasted very... gritty.”

  “You’re welcome to what’s left here,” said Helen. “And I won’t say a word to Francis.”

  It looked like I’d been forgotten about, as Chris gave a hearty nod, hurried into the room, and sat at the table.

  “Who’s my visitor?” I asked him.

  “Oh, of course, sorry,” said Chris as he accepted a plate full of food from Helen. “It’s Zach. He’s outside.”

  I grinned broadly as I left Helen and Chris at the table and hurried to the main door with Flipper. Zach was waiting in the porch with Jessie at his side.

  “I wasn’t expecting you this evening.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Zach, his stubble grating across my chin as I did so.

  “I wanted to see how things were going.” Zach looked down as the dogs danced around each other in obvious delight.

  “I’ve just finished dinner,” I said. “Shall we go for a walk?”

  “Sounds good.” Zach pulled the door shut behind me, and I took his elbow as we walked along the country lane, passing beautiful thatched cottages set back from the road, their windows letting out a warm amber glow from the lights inside.

  “How have you been enjoying your new role?” I asked.

  “It’s a bit of a mess,” said Zach. “The last gardener looks like he wasn’t doing a good job and deceived the family as to how much work he actually got done. I found a shed full of rusty tools that he didn’t maintain properly. They will be my initial focus. I need to get everything back into working order before I attack the garden. But there’s a lot of work to do there.”

  “I imagine you’ll be in your element, then.” I knew Zach liked a challenge when it came to his gardens.

  “It will keep me busy,” said Zach with a smile. “And it helps to keep my mind off you.”

  “You don’t want to be thinking about me?”

  “That’s the problem,” said Zach. “I think about you too much. I miss not working in the same place as you.”

  I nudged him with my hip as we walked along. “We’re not so far away from each other.”

  “I will bear it as much as I can.” Zach grinned at me. “So, tell me about your job. How are the Bellamys treating you?”

  “They’re both nice people,” I said. “They are a little sad, though.”

  “Why are they sad?”

  “Their children died not so long ago.”

  Zach slowed down and looked at me. “That’s terrible. What happened?”

  “They had a problem with their hearts,” I said. “They were twins, a boy and a girl, Michael and Mirabel. There was nothing the doctors could do, and the poor little things died in their sleep one night. They were only six years old.”

  “That’s a sad story,” said Zach. “But I’m sensing there’s more to it.”

  I tightened my grip on Zach’s elbow. “Don’t be angry, but I think the children’s ghosts are still in the house.”

  Zach sighed. “And you’re going to help them with a problem they have.”

  “It’s not just me who thinks they’re still here,” I said. “Jasmine believes they are here as well.”

  “Your employer sees ghosts?”

  “Not so much sees them,” I said. “But I’m sure she’s heard them, and so have I. And the cook, who used to be the children’s nanny, has definitely seen the ghosts in action.”

  “Go back a step,” said Zach. “There’s a cook who was the children’s nanny?”

  “Yes, the family kept her on after the children died. They don’t want to let her go, but she’s a terrible cook. Helen is distraught that we’re going to be faced with mounds of soggy vegetables and burnt puddings while we’re here.”

  “That is a tragedy for Helen.” Zach grinned at me. “Let me get this right; you think there are two children’s ghosts in the house?”

  “There are four ghosts in the house,” I said.

  “Four ghosts!”

  “I haven’t seen the children yet,” I said, “but I have met a male and female ghost.”

  “Why are they haunting the house?” asked Zach.

  “I'm not sure yet,” I said. “Helen thinks they’re in the house because they’ve been disturbed by the children’s ghosts. Whatever reason they’re here, they like to make a mess, and they're angry about something. But I can’t figure out what it is.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re poking your nose into their business,” said Zach.

  “Don’t say that,” I said. “You sound just like the dodgy cook. I’m not poking my nose into anything. I’m helping those who need it.” Flipper dashed up to me with a large stick in his mouth, and I took it and threw it for him to chase.

  “So why do you think the children's ghosts are still in the house?”

  I took a deep breath, knowing Zach was not going to like this. “I think they’re here because something bad happened to them.”

  “You know for sure that their deaths were suspicious?”

  “Not yet I don’t,” I said. “But I need to find out more about them.”

  Zach stopped walking and turned me towards him. “Don’t go getting yourself into any trouble over this. Your employer may think she believes in ghosts, but if you tell her the truth, she will not be so understanding.”

  “I’ve already thought about that,” I said. “And I’m not going to lose my job over this. But I have to know the truth.”

  Zach pulled me into his embrace and hugged me to him. “I know you do. And if I thought any children had come to harm, I would want to help them too.”

  “I knew you’d understand,” I said.


  “I understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” Zach grasped hold of my shoulders and looked down at me. “Be careful.”

  “I always am,” I said.

  “You never are,” said Zach. “Whenever you’re helping a ghost, you put their needs before your own. Now I’m here, that has to change.”

  “Now you’re here!” I glared up at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You don’t just have yourself to think about anymore,” said Zach. “You need to think about me as well. And Jessie.”

  “I think about you,” I said. “And I think about both of our dogs. You’re not making any sense.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” said Zach. “Jessie and I care about you too much.”

  I punched him gently in the chest. “You’re such an idiot. Why didn’t you just say that? I care about you too. And I’m as careful as I can be. But I can’t change my ways now you’re here. You knew what you were taking on when we started dating. You knew I could see ghosts. They aren’t going to disappear because you’re on the scene.”

  “I wish they would.” Zach sighed. “I worry about you. You never think about your own safety.”

  “I do,” I said. Well, I thought about it after I’d done something stupid. I did have a tendency to rush in all guns blazing when a wrong had occurred, and didn't always consider my own well-being, or how I was going to get out of the mess I’d created.

  “Just look after yourself.” Zach pulled me back into his arms and pressed his lips firmly against mine.

  I snuggled into his embrace. I liked that Zach cared about me enough to be worried for my safety. But I could look after myself. I always had. I wouldn’t stop doing that because Zach was here.

  He kissed me again, and I couldn’t help but smile. This time, I was getting shivers for all the right reasons.

  Chapter 10

  I spent the next morning with Jasmine. She was dressed and downstairs before I’d finished breakfast.

  “I’ve been thinking about the memorial event,” she said as I entered the living room.

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “I want to work on that today,” said Jasmine. “Well, for as long as we need to. I want everything to be perfect.”

  “I’m sure we can make that happen.” I sat in the seat opposite her. “What ideas do you have?”

  “I want a party,” said Jasmine. “The children must know they are still loved, and we want them to be happy.”

  “I’m sure they know that,” I said.

  “But I have to be sure,” said Jasmine. “I want lots of balloons, a cake, presents. Just as it would be if they were still alive.” She glanced over at me. “They are still here, aren’t they?”

  I looked around the room but didn’t spot any ghostly children. “Anything is possible.”

  “Chris loves the idea of a memorial for Michael and Mirabel,” said Jasmine. “He wants me to do it, and said to spare no expense.”

  “You don’t need to spend a lot of money to remember your children.”

  “But I want to,” said Jasmine. “They must know how important they are to me, to both of us.”

  “They will,” I said. “If they know what’s going on, I’m sure they’ll be excited by the idea of a party. But perhaps you’d like to make it discreet. You may feel sad on the day, and too many people at the memorial could be overwhelming.”

  Jasmine sat back in her seat. “I don’t want it to be sad.”

  “I’m not saying it will be,” I said. “There will be happy and sad memories that day. You need to make sure you and your husband can cope with that.”

  Jasmine rubbed her forehead. “I want everybody there, though. Everyone who had a connection with my children.”

  “I think the children would like to be surrounded by people who loved them.” I looked at the long list of names Jasmine had already written on the notepad in front of her.

  Jasmine sighed and looked out of the window. “You think I’m being foolish.”

  “Not for a second,” I said. “But this is a day for you and Chris as well. You don’t want to be so exhausted that you don’t remember what happened. It’s a time for loved ones to come together and remember Michael and Mirabel fondly.”

  “She was the oldest by two minutes.” Jasmine’s gaze was still on the window. “And you could tell. Mirabel was the bossy one, dragging Michael into her games. She used to dress him as a unicorn in a multi-colored cape and a plastic cone shaped hat on his forehead as his horn. They would run around the garden together, with him as her magical unicorn. I think he wanted to play soldiers and get muddy, but that wasn’t allowed when you were a unicorn.”

  “That would be a lovely memory to share at the memorial,” I said. “Do you have any pictures you’d like to show as well?”

  “Hundreds.” Jasmine looked over at me. “Perhaps you’re right. Something more intimate would be appropriate. I can gather close friends and family at the house. But there will be a huge cake for the children.”

  “A party isn’t a party if there’s no cake.”

  “I could ask Francis to make it,” said Jasmine.

  “Helen loves making cakes,” I said swiftly, worried about the monstrous version of a cake Francis would produce. “She’d be happy to help out with that.”

  Jasmine gave me a rueful smile. “That’s an excellent idea. Francis is busy in the kitchen. There’s no point stressing her out too much with a complicated cake request. And we do want to make sure it is edible.”

  That sounded ideal to me. “Shall we think about the guest list?”

  We spent the next two hours gathering details of people to invite and composing an invitation. At the end of that stint of work, Jasmine was yawning loudly and rubbing her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Jasmine as another yawn overtook her. “I’m still so sleepy.”

  “Let’s take a break.” I gathered the papers in front of me. “I’ll compose a draft of the invitation if you want to take a nap.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Jasmine. “Do you have enough information for the invitation?”

  “Yes, this will keep me busy.” I watched as Jasmine made her way slowly out of the living room. I had seen some sparks of life in her during our time together and hoped she was finding my company of use. It was a strange job I’d landed, but I didn’t mind. It felt good to be helping someone so lost.

  I created a template for the invitation on the laptop I was working on, filled in a few details, and then saved a copy. It was time for a cup of tea, but I wanted to check Jasmine was resting before I took a break.

  I slipped up the staircase, leaving Flipper on guard duty at the bottom, and carefully opened Jasmine's bedroom door. The curtains were drawn, and I could see Jasmine on the bed. On the bedside cabinet were several bottles of pills.

  Pushing the door open wider, I tiptoed to the cabinet. There were three different prescriptions; one was an anti-psychotic, and the other two were antidepressants. These were powerful medications. If Jasmine was taking the anti-psychotic drug, she may have a mental health condition I wasn’t aware of. I knew little about her mental stability, but imagined she must have been pushed to the edge with the loss of her children.

  Looking down at Jasmine, I could see she was in a deep sleep, her chest rising and falling regularly. When did her drug use begin? And was she unwell when the children were still alive? If she’d had an episode, and lost control, it was possible she could have been involved in their deaths. I hated that idea. Jasmine couldn’t be responsible for the deaths of Mirabel and Michael, could she?

  I set down the bottle in my hand, just as a bone chilling shudder ran through me. I turned to leave the room, and saw the female ghost I’d tried to talk to standing by the wall, her arms bent as if holding a baby.

  I took a quick glance at Jasmine to make sure she was still asleep and then walked towards the ghost. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  The ghost turned
her back and walked straight through the wall. This wasn’t an unusual thing to see. Houses were altered over the years, so the ghost may think she was walking through what was once a doorway. And it could mean what I was seeing was a residual memory, not an active ghost at all. Residual ghosts kept doing the same actions over and over again, as if their energy was disturbed by something, and they re-created a situation or a scene that was meaningful to them. I’d met plenty of them before, and although they gave me a fright the first time I encountered them, I soon got used to their repetitive behaviors.

  But this ghost had looked at me. I was sure of it. She wanted to make certain I could see what she was doing and where she was going.

  “Lorna, is that you?” said Jasmine groggily.

  I spun around and hurried to her bedside. “I came to check on you. Wanted to see if you fancied a cup of tea. Or perhaps I can read to you if you want some company.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” asked Jasmine.

  “About an hour,” I said.

  “What were you doing over by the wall?”

  “I thought I heard a noise,” I said.

  “Most likely the children,” said Jasmine. “They like to make tapping sounds on that wall in particular. Have you heard them laughing yet?”

  “I don’t think so,” I lied. “Is that something you hear regularly?”

  “Every day,” said Jasmine. “I know Chris hears it too, but he always makes some excuse about what it could be.”

  “I could have heard a pipe rattling in the wall,” I said, not wanting to encourage Jasmine too much, even though I longed to confide in her and help set her mind at rest.

  “No, they are here.”

  I nodded, not sure what else to do. Jasmine was right, her home was full of ghosts.

  “I think I’ll sleep a little longer,” said Jasmine. “But don’t let me stop you. Get yourself some tea, and I’ll join you downstairs later to finish the invitations.” Jasmine’s head was already sinking back onto her pillow. The medication she took was obviously effective.