A Strange There After

by Missy Fleming

  I was about to give up and move away, but the large black mass darted into my field of vision, right on the other side of the window pane, thirty feet off the ground. I leapt back in terror as a face filled my sight.

  Grey skin, twisted features and the jaw hung to the left as if knocked loose. A dark, tangled mop of hair floated in an invisible breeze. The figure’s nose was missing, as well as most of its teeth. A black hole dominated one of the cheeks, but the eyes stole my breath, my senses. At first, I thought they were inky voids. Until they blinked, revealing amber slits that stared at me, into me.

  Its mouth opened, and fright seized my throat. I tried not to look. Irrational fear told me if I looked, I’d be swallowed. I’d disappear. But I couldn’t move. The hideous being wheezed through the mangled nose, a sound similar to nails on a chalkboard.

  Then a hand as gnarled and disfigured as the rest of it reached out. Bony digits sank through the glass, a high pitched scream emitting from that terrible mouth. I scrambled backward, frantic to escape, and tripped over my feet. Hitting the floor, my last memory was those skeletal fingers coming for me. Everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  I am a ghost. I am a spirit. Remember. I am a ghost. I am a spirit. Remember.

  The mantra played in my head as I scanned my surroundings—the attic, of course. Impossible to escape the dang place. No matter how much comfort the space gave me, I longed for an occasional change of scenery. Plus, how it got to be afternoon stumped me. Luckily, or unluckily depending on a person’s point of view, I didn’t have the same problem I did yesterday. I knew what I was. Time proved to be my new enemy. It kept slipping away.

  Did I actually pass out? Twice in less than twelve hours. How very ‘southern belle’ of me. I rolled my eyes, hating how crazy ghost-life made me.

  The last thing I remembered was trying to scramble away from the hideous thing floating outside my window. Never in my life had I seen such a disturbing sight. It spoke to me. Female, I realized, now that my powers of observation weren’t so preoccupied. The memory of the encounter filled me with trepidation, and I shuddered. The image would stay with me until the day I died, no pun intended. Curiosity burned brighter than the warning sign flashing ‘leave it alone’. I had to find out what it was, why I hadn’t sensed it until last night.

  “Probably what Catherine really looks like,” I muttered gleefully.

  I let the good mood settle in. Today, Abby would show up, I was certain of it. Swinging my legs over the side of the bare mattress, I pushed to my feet and rushed downstairs, determined to get into the backyard for a little more investigating.

  As I rounded the corner at the top of the main staircase, my lips tingled, and I skidded to a halt. I knew the feeling all too well and steeled myself against it. Warmth flooded my body the same instant I caught sight of Jason and Catherine in a lip lock by the front door. I growled. Why were they always kissing?

  My previous mission faded into nonexistence as anger elbowed its way in. He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, causing a tickle to spread across my cheek. My palm shot up, pressing against the skin. I closed my eyes, latching onto the feeling, pretending for a moment he really touched me.

  The moment snapped.

  With a burst of determination, I literally flew down the stairs and stepped through Catherine, back into my body. Well, okay, not in my body, but I occupied the same space as her. It made me nauseous, like being pinched and pulled in a million different directions. I ignored it because I got exactly the reaction I’d planned on.

  Catherine hadn’t expected me, and she jumped with a squeal, leaving me wedged between her and Jason. I smiled in triumph.

  “Quinn, what’s wrong?”

  He took a step forward, and I hopped out of the way. Invading Catherine’s personal space was one thing, doing it to Jason felt intimate and wrong. I so did not want to go there. Not yet. Someday, when I had my body back, maybe. Oh, my God. Heat flushed my cheeks. Was it possible for a ghost to blush?

  I pushed the silly notion to the side and listened for Catherine’s answer. Let’s see her explain this, I thought.

  The surprise in her eyes vanished. She cozied up in his arms again. “Don’t laugh, but I heard a bump upstairs, and for a split second, I forgot Marietta wasn’t here anymore. Panic set in. I didn’t want her to catch us kissing. Old habits, I guess.”

  “Wow,” I interjected. “Lame. You’re losing your touch, Catherine.”

  Some of my light mood deflated when Jason said, “Makes sense. You feared her for such a long time. Good thing your knight in shining armor is here.”

  “You wish.”

  It was my turn to jump, startled. The words came from both Catherine and me—at the same time. The wench was getting too convincing in this role. Apparently, I wasn’t as unique as I thought.

  Jason’s smile turned playful, and he lifted her off her feet, planting another kiss on her lips. I mashed mine together. While I avoided the sensation of their lips meeting by rubbing my mouth, I couldn’t ignore the warmth enveloping my heart, making my veins pound.

  I became lost in the moment, taking a half-second to remember being with him this way, then buried it deep. Rage replaced it, and I let the madness fester a bit. I barely heard the front door click shut. Maybe I should be less concerned with Catherine and concentrate on getting Jason to sense me. Not right now, though.

  I had a ghost to confront.

  I found her upstairs, in the master bedroom once occupied by Marietta. The walls were a soft brown, which I didn’t mind, but the general over-frilliness of everything else bothered me. It screamed ‘old maid’. A lacy bedspread and curtains, fussy doilies and knick knacks—Catherine might have had a lot of positives going for her, but a sense for interior decorating was so not one of them.

  “You think you’re clever?” she asked, standing in the doorway to the walk-in closet. Her hair was lighter, I observed in surprise, highlighted in that sun-kissed way so many of my step-sisters’ friends coveted.

  “Worth a shot.” I lifted a shoulder lazily, feigning disinterest. “You really should redecorate this place. It shows your age.”

  “I’m eighteen.”

  “Yeah, times ten. Careful, Catherine, I hear breaking a hip is hard to recover from.”

  My barbs were less than mediocre, but I couldn’t exactly insult her looks.

  “Jealousy is such an ugly color on you, Quinn. It’s got to kill you, realizing you’re not interesting enough to be missed.”

  Examining my nails, still covered with the black polish I’d had on the night I was evicted, I said, “You should remember enough of Anna and Suzie to realize I grew up with the queens of passive aggressive taunting. Bring it on, sister.”

  She smirked and turned her attention back to shifting through the contents of her wardrobe, much of it still bearing price tags. “Jason’s taking me to the wrap party for his movie in a few days. I get to meet all his fancy Hollywood friends.” Catherine paused, staring off into the distance, a wistful expression on her annoyingly beautiful face. “I’d be a good actress. I’m getting plenty of practice.”

  “Hah. You’re a lunatic.”

  “That’s all you have for me?” A laugh tinkled out of her, light and effortless. “Face it, it’s my turn to be Cinderella.”

  I could have told her to buzz off, but I took the low road.

  “Maybe you’ll be as lucky as me, and your mama, Margaret, will show up to help ya get ready.” Her cheeks paled, and I resisted the urge to pump my fist in victory. She didn’t speak, so I plowed on. “What would she have to say about how you’re acting? You claim to hate her and blame her, but don’t you think a hundred and fifty-some year old grudge is long enough?”

  “You know nothing about it.”

  “She’s your mama. Regardless of anything, that bond will always be there.”

  “She hasn’t tried to contact me.” Her sadness surprised me.

  “Would you have let her?”
>
  My counter question snapped her out of her brief moment of humanity. “You’re better at this than you think. You should realize, though, guilt and harassment isn’t going to give you what you want. You’re dead wrong if you think it will.”

  “Dead. Interesting choice of words. You do realize if I were dead, my body would be decaying. Actually, maybe you’re right,” I sniffed the air daintily, “because I do smell something rotten.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Tell me, Catherine, what happens if my body dies?”

  The idea chilled me, colder than anything I’d felt yet.

  She tapped a manicured finger against the corner of her mouth. “Hmm, I’ll find another one to take. It’s easier than I thought. All I have to do is pick. Let’s see. Anna, the nicer of your stepsisters, has the kind of beauty everyone loves. She’d be interesting.”

  The possibility chilled me, and all my retorts vanished. I wished there was some way to get to her and make it last. I was getting stronger, but it rarely lasted. Unfortunately, she carried all the advantage. Without help, what good would I be against her? I couldn’t even open a door. Turning on my heel, I intended to leave the room, irritated I let her win another round. Heck, she won them all, didn’t she?

  “You’ll find a way,” I reassured myself quietly.

  But I didn’t believe it.

  The doorbell halted my exit, drawing my attention to Catherine. She sailed past, down the stairs and checked to see who it was through the glass at the side of the door. A groan escaped her lips, and she yanked the handle, plastering a fake smile on her lips. The second Catherine stepped to the side, Abby burst into the house, her hair streaming behind her. She flashed an angry glare at Catherine.

  “What the hell is going on, Quinn? I’ve been trying like crazy to reach you.”

  Finally, the cavalry had arrived. She must have heard me last night!

  “Abby, I hope you got my flowers.”

  Abby and I both gaped at Catherine as if she’d lost her mind. First, she ignored Abby yesterday. Now she flipped the switch, acting all concerned. Class act. I held my breath, a worthless endeavor, and waited for Abby to make the connection. The person in the world who knew me best suspected something strange was afoot. Pieces were tumbling into place. Catherine’s unfriendly actions should back up my visit to Abby.

  “Flowers? Did I get your over-priced flowers? Are you kidding me? I broke my arm and got a concussion helping you get rid of the leech living off your stepmother, and you don’t even come to visit me?” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not like you.”

  Wait, Abby got hurt that night? How? I nibbled my lip in guilt. I’d been so caught up in my own drama I never considered there had been other people affected.

  Catherine fussed with the buttons of her short-sleeved blouse, a see-through polka dot shirt she’d paired with knee length shorts, classy and trendy, the opposite of me. “I had some stuff to do. I helped the twins get Marietta set up in a home. She still hasn’t quite recovered. And I’ve been getting used to life on my own. I’m sure you understand.”

  Abby didn’t speak for a while, and I hoped it was because Catherine’s careless attitude had knocked the words out of her.

  “She’s going to figure it out. Abby knows. And she’ll tell everyone,” I goaded.

  I practically heard Catherine grinding her teeth, but on a positive note, her skin paled slightly. Impatient, I watched Abby study this living, breathing shell of her friend and prayed for the truth to kick in, for her to remember what I said. From the widening of her eyes, it must have clicked.

  “Told ya!” I gloated, allowing myself a little victory dance. “It’s about dang time!”

  “I didn’t really believe it until this very moment.” Abby inched closer, really taking in Catherine’s appearance from head-to-toe.

  “Believe what?” Catherine put as much friendliness into her tone as she was probably capable of. “I’ve had a lot of personal things going on. You broke your arm and bumped your head. It’s not as if you were in a coma.”

  My friend flinched and struggled for words. Finally, she said, “Fine, if that’s how you want to play this, go for it.”

  Catherine took a menacing step forward, but Abby held her ground. “Whatever it is you think you know, forget it. You can’t prove a thing. Now, get out.”

  Abby paled and scooted toward the door. Determined to have the last word, she raised her voice. “Quinn, if you’re in there, I’ll be at Moon River tonight. Working. We won’t let her win.”

  Catherine’s laugh continued after she slammed the door behind Abby. She fixed me with an amused stare. “She’s quite entertaining. Too bad she skipped right over the truth. For all intents and purposes, you’re dead, Quinn. Deal with it.”

  She flounced up the stairs and disappeared into the master bedroom. I opened and closed my fists at my sides, wishing I could wrap them around her neck. And why hadn’t Abby used her proof, the recorder? Did it not come across clear enough?

  Instead of cart wheeling backwards into rage, I concentrated on a small victory. Abby knew I wasn’t there, well, not completely. She’d obviously come to the conclusion I was trapped in my body with Catherine, a hostage or something. If she gave it a little more thought she’d understand that couldn’t possibly be. Not when I traveled to her house to speak with her. Once she realized this, I believed wholeheartedly she’d do something about it or find someone else who could.

  An idea bloomed. I’d go to her work tonight. Heck, I’d haunt the girl until she truly understood what was going on.

  Chapter Five

  It took me a while to trek across town to Moon River Brewing Company, the old hotel turned into a bustling restaurant and bar. Well, a couple floors of it had. The rest had never been fully renovated. Over the years, each time one of the owners started remodeling, the ever-present paranormal activity skyrocketed. It was rumored to be the most haunted place in Savannah, a hotspot for investigators like me and Abby. Plus, Abby and her mama worked there, giving us a little more access than most were able to get.

  Keeping the building front and center in my mind, I managed to navigate through the Saturday night crowds and soon found myself standing on the sidewalk in front of it. The building rose four stories, dotted with rows of narrow windows, and made of the creamy yellow brick so common in Savannah. The bottom windows were lit from inside, a warm glow of invitation. The upper rows were silent, blackened, empty of anything but vacant rooms.

  Entering through the front door, into the lobby of the restaurant, my initial goal was to head directly to the kitchens. Instead, I was drawn to the stairway leading up. Pulled by an invisible force, I slowly climbed the first set of stairs, then the second and third.

  It was dark on the fourth floor, an inky blackness illuminated only by outside light. Faint sounds from the businesses below drifted up—clinking glasses and muffled laughter. It wasn’t long until I had company. For some reason, the creaking steps had always been an active spot. Multiple times, I caught the presence of a woman in a white gown and heard her voice. It didn’t surprise me when I found myself in her company. Only tonight, she was solid, same as Jackson or George. Golden waves of hair tumbled over one of her shoulders, framing a kind, heart-shaped face. Her eyes, a soft gray I hadn’t noticed before, widened.

  “Oh, you’re like me now.”

  For a second, I lost my ability to talk. Recovering, I stuttered, “You, you recognize me?”

  She smiled. “It isn’t often the people who come through here can see me. I remember who can.” Her lips fell, changing into a frown. “What happened to you?”

  “Not what you think. I can’t explain it.” I hated not having all the answers, so I changed the subject and asked a question I’d been dying, no pun intended, to know. “Why do you stay?”

  “They brought my son here when he came down with yellow fever. They used the hotel as a hospital. He died in the room there.” She pointed. “I don’t want to leave him.” />
  “He’s here, too?” I didn’t remember ever picking up any children, either in our evidence or from my abilities.

  “He has to be.” Aching need filled her whispered words, and I pitied her. I was about to tell her he probably passed on to someplace better when her expression changed. It grew fearful, and she began to fade. “Someone is coming.”

  She disappeared before I managed to ask her who. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I crept into one of the far rooms. It had to be a team of investigators. No one else would really venture to the upper floors. A figure came into view, darkened by the lack of light. I noted a slim frame, broad shoulders and a video recorder. A ghost hunter, flying solo.

  And as he stepped into the sliver of light from the street below, I groaned.

  Boone Ravenwood. Notorious paranormal investigator. He annoyed the crap out of me with the videos he posted on YouTube. Crazy, never-before-seen footage of him going into abandoned buildings and encountering life beyond the grave. I hated how he showed no fear or respect for the entities who lived among us. His methods were controversial, on the aggressive side, and boy oh boy, did he like to think he knew it all.

  “Jackass,” I muttered.

  He pivoted, pointing his camera in my direction. “Hello?”

  My jaw dropped open. Did he really hear me that easily? I studied his face, which was almost as annoying as his personality. Dark eyes, dark hair shaped into a faux-hawk, chiseled cheekbones, hipster glasses and a frigging dimple. Cocky and good-looking, he’d become a bit of an internet sensation, mostly with thirteen year old girls. Needless to say, I despised him.

  So, I decided to have a little fun.

  Ducking behind the nearest wall, into a room with two doorways, I concentrated as hard as I could, like I did in Abby’s room. When my hand felt strong enough, I raked my nails down the exposed wood, adding in a bang here and there.