Ghost House (Soul Mate - Book One)

by Richard Crawford

  I'm scared. The ghosts never think about the practical stuff, what if the neighbours have noticed us? We go inside.

  The ghost moves through the house, touching stuff. We spend time looking at the photographs in the hall. Family pictures, a guy, his wife and two kids. The wife's brunette, smiling as if she doesn't have a care in the world. I don't want to think about it, but can't help wondering what happened. The pictures don't give any clue.

  We head upstairs and the ghost goes through all the bedrooms. This is a family house and we start with the kids' bedrooms. It's getting bad now. The ghost is crying. We smooth the bed covers and my face gets buried in the pillows. I hate this. I breathe in the smell until the ghost puts the pillow back and strokes it neat. The tears tickle down my face, and I feel like I'm drowning. It's hard to keep track of me. We go to another bedroom and nearly trip up. There are toys and stuff all over the floor. The ghost starts to tidy up and then stops. We sit on the bed.

  Tears drip off my chin.

  The other ghost starts to get restless.

  The master suite is at the end of the corridor. The ghost is in a hurry now. We strip and get in the shower. My hands scrub too hard. We shave, clumsily, and dress in another man's clothes. Finished we stand in front of the mirror, and the ghost is pleased. We open a drawer and the ghost slips a twenty in my pocket. Is this a reward for me, or does the ghost want us to buy something. It would be nice if we went and paid Suki the money we owe, but the ghost has other plans. We lock the house and my clothes go in the trash, someone will wonder about that. The key goes back in the tin and we are walking again.

  I wish there was a way to understand what the ghosts are thinking. But the connection is so slight, and the deeper I get buried the more distant everything gets.

  I can guess where we are going before we reach the school. I've found women rarely come back for themselves, for revenge and shit. It's nearly always to see that someone is okay. But I don't like hanging about outside schools. The ghosts usually get it and manage not to creep anyone out, but it's hard for them; they want to get close to the kids. We wait and the ghost forgets to breathe. Then the yard is full of kids and the ghost makes a little sound. It's like a cry, a noise I'd never make. There's a shiver of pain from the ghost, the moment she sees them. We stare at the kids. Suddenly I feel empty. I get that falling sensation and end up sitting on the grass.

  No one notices. The ghost is gone. I start to breathe again.

  ####

  A new ghost is in charge and we are walking away from the school. We walk fast. Everything about this ghost is angry, and I'm guessing it's a guy. It's not good when they're angry; bad shit can happen. After walking a while, out towards the ring road, we come to a car lot and garage. It's a small place. The cars for sale don't look too special. Mechanics are working in the garage out back.

  The ghost watches for a while and then heads for the reception. It's getting so I can usually guess how things might go, but I can't tell with this one and it makes me nervous. The reception has a dirty glass door with an open sign and old advertising stickers for tyres and batteries. We push the door open and step into a waiting area. It's empty, in the far corner a door leads to a small office. We head towards the office.

  We stop in the doorway. The office is tiny and nearly filled by a huge desk. The lady at the desk is not young anymore and not quite old. She wears glasses. Her hair is streaked blond and coarse from too much peroxide. Her make up is done and her clothes are nice but there's something missing, as if she hasn't quite tried hard enough. The desk is piled with papers. She looks tired, and I guess most of them are bills. Something about the way the desk is set up tells me that until recently two people sat here.

  She looks up, pushes her glasses up her nose. Somehow I know she does that a lot.

  We stand and stare at her.

  "Can I help you?" she asks. When we don't answer she turns back to the pile of papers. I can tell she is angry. There are piles and piles of papers, pink and green and yellow. She's never going to get to the bottom of them. I feel bad, or maybe the ghost feels bad. Then we step forward and pick up one of the pieces of paper. We scrabble among the mess on the desk for a pen.

  "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" She sounds a bit scared.

  We write on the paper, a bunch of a numbers that make no sense to me and a few words. We sign the name Les. The words say I love you, please forgive me. I'll make everything right. The paper trembles as we hold it out.

  I hope that's it, we're done and can get out of here before she freaks. But the ghost's still here. He's not done. I can hear the clock ticking.

  She looks up at us, face frozen, uncertain. Her hand starts to reach for the phone, veins and bones sticking out so it looks like a claw. Like a skeleton hand. She takes the paper. Her head moves as she scans the numbers, then the words. Her mouth opens and closes. She looks up, behind her glasses shards of mascara flake as her eyes widen.

  "Who are you?" The words come out in a croak. Her face is doing this strange thing, scrunched up and wobbly, like it's caught between laughter and tears.

  The ghost just stands there. He doesn't have an answer. He can see she is scared, and it gets to him. He wants to touch her but somehow we can't move. Deep down we both know she'll freak. She's not Demi Moore; I'm not Whoopi Goldberg; this isn't Ghost.

  "I know what that bastard Marv did," the ghost says. "I'll make it all right."

  These are not words I want to hear. This isn't going to be good. We just stare at her, and for a while she stares back.

  She shakes her head, as if she doesn't believe what's happening. Before she can say a word the ghost heads for the door. We move fast, as if he can't stand it a moment longer. Somehow they always know they can't stay. We hurry out of the office into the workshop. The mechanics are shouting and joking. We bump a trolley and a wrench hits the floor with a clang.

  We walk fast and we're off the forecourt before anyone can come after us. The ghost is relieved and sad. I don't care, they're always sad, but why is he still here. I'm scared. What is he going to do? Some guy named Marv shafted him and left his old lady in a bad way. What would you do? Think about it, you're in someone else's body and you want revenge. You don't have anything to lose, right?

  Chapter Three

  The evening sun's warm on my face as we start walking. I'm worried. It's not good when the ghosts hang around. The ghost doesn't notice. He's in a hurry. He's got stuff to do, but what does that mean for me? I'm so wrapped up in worrying about it that I don't see trouble coming till it slaps me on the back.

  "Tommy, man, what's up? You gonna ignore me?"

  I know the voice at once and go a little cold inside. Mickey. It'd be nice to stop, high five him, see how his dinner with Max went, whatever, talk the usual silly shit. But the ghost keeps walking.

  Mickey doesn't take the brush off well. His skinny fingers catch my arm. The ghost shakes him off like cigarette ash. But Mickey won't give up easy; he's trotting alongside us now.

  "Shit, Tommy, what's up with you?" He sounds sort of hurt. "I thought you were off the booze."

  The ghost glances sideways and we get a look at Mickey. He looks okay. A bit pinch faced, and his clothes smell of the hostel. The ghost isn't impressed. I wish he'd just spare a moment. I try hard to get him to understand, on the street you need all the friends you can get, but it's no good. We're still walking and Mickey's falling behind.

  "Screw you. Anyone told you booze turns you into a real asshole, Tommy!"

  Yeah, yeah, join the queue.

  This sort of shit happens. Luckily, it doesn't happen too often. But it's not like I had so many friends to start with. It could be worse, like if the ghost went psycho on Mick, or did something I have to live with afterwards. That's scares me, so I don't want to think about it. At least not until I can figure out a way to control this thing.

  There's no time to worry about Mickey; I've got bigger problems. The thought comes into my head that Mickey wil
l be out of it next time we meet up. He won't remember. Me blowing him off isn't going to make the slightest difference to him. No difference at all. That's what I tell myself. Then I wonder where the hell that thought came from. Is it the ghost who doesn’t care or me? Mickey's doing well. I don't want to see him using again. Sometimes things work out, not everything is messed up. He's a good guy; he deserves another chance.

  We've reached a main road. The stink of diesel, a hot breeze as cars and lorries whiz by. The ghost digs into our pocket and finds the twenty. He sticks a hand out for a passing taxi and my heart sinks. The twenty was my chance to make things right, pay my dues at the cafe. A way to see Suki again. My lifeline.

  It's a 'Ride in Style' cab. A guy called Zach owns the firm. He runs bicycle rickshaws too and in the past I've worked for him. He's good to guys like me; if you're dry he'll help you out with a job. Perhaps I should go and see him again now I'm off the booze, try again to make the job thing work. But it's hard to make plans when the ghosts own your life.

  We flop on the plastic seat and the ghost gives directions. The smell of stale vomit bites when we breathe in and the ghost jerks the window down like he's mad at it. The cab driver watches us in the mirror. Taxi drivers have a sense for weird, for danger. This guy, he keeps looking back, trying to pin us down.

  He's never going to work this one out. If I could tell him, he wouldn't believe me. No one ever does. Not that I've actually told anyone.

  How can I explain the ghosts when I don't understand them myself? It just sounds nuts. I remember the first time it happened. It was raining. I took a bottle to the old house. I went there a lot after Danny, like a murderer returning to the crime scene. The house was in my head all the time. That night I drank, fell asleep. Nothing unusual there. But when I wake up the first ghost's in me.

  That's what happened, and now the ghosts keep dragging me back. And I don't know how to make them stop. Sometimes I wonder if it's something I have do to make things right. To make amends for what happened with Danny. Other times the only thing that makes sense is that I'm crazy. If it wasn't for the stuff the ghosts know that I couldn't possibly know, I guess I'd go with the crazy. But it has to be real.

  I've tried to stop.

  First, I just tried not to go back to the house. But when the ghosts call it's impossible to resist, like you're desperate to pee or sleep, like you have to take a drink or hit, that voice in your head nagging on and on, only a hundred times worse. After the first few times I was scared enough to stop drinking. But still I ended up back at the house. In stories werewolves chain themselves up, lock themselves in, but that's not so easy when you're living on the street or in hostels. No one is going to lock you in and if they do, they're not giving you the key back anytime soon. They'll put you in a straightjacket quick enough if you cause too much trouble. That's one mistake I'm not going to repeat.

  The other night I didn't have a problem convincing the cops to lock me up. But I hadn't thought it through and by the time I worked it out it was too late. The cops won't forget me in a hurry. No way I'm trying that again.

  The ghost is saying something and the taxi pulls over. The cabby watches us even closer as he stops at the curb. It catches me off guard when we stop. I've not been paying attention and have no idea where we are. Not that it makes any difference. The ghost pays, and I hate him a bit more as he only slips a ten back into our pocket. The ride wasn't even that long. We could've walked.

  Another street full of big, pretty houses.

  We go along the street a bit and turn up the drive to one of the houses. The ghost straightens our clothes and rings the bell.

  The lady who answers is about the same age as the lady in the garage. I'm guessing this is Marv's wife and praying the ghost is a good guy. Praying he won't hurt her.

  "Mrs Sansom," we smile. "Is Marv home?"

  She looks us up and down, a little anxious. But the sun's out and we know her name. "I'm expecting him any moment," she says.

  "Would it be all right if I wait? I have some business." The ghost's smiling so hard my face hurts. She doesn't seem to notice anything weird. "I wouldn't trouble you but it is important." The ghost really knows how to work it.

  She stares at us, hesitating for a moment. It's lucky the first ghost tidied up. In my old clothes we're not getting through the door, name or no name. The ghost tells her he's a friend of Les and Maggie. The lady takes a step back, waves a hand for us to follow her in.

  The ghost keeps talking as she leads us through to a room with cream sofas, tables with silver framed photos and big picture windows looking out over the back lawn. She tells us to call her Joy and offers us a drink. The ghost says yes to whiskey, and I wish he hadn't. The cut glass tumbler is heavy. The whiskey fumes curl up my nose.

  The first mouthful is sweet. Me and the ghost we both like it. He's nervous, needs the edge taken off so he can get through this, whatever it is. Not so long ago I was always looking to take the edge off, but not nowadays. I don't want him to drink anymore. When this is done, I don't want to remember the taste in my mouth, the warmth in my gut. The loosening in my neck, or remember how good it is when all this slips away.

  I'm saved by the sound of a key in the lock. Joy jumps up and scuttles towards the door. "Back in a mo," she says.

  The tumbler misses the coaster and rattles against the glass table as the ghost sets it down. He's gone all tight and it's making me nervous. He'd better have a plan, a way to make this right without anyone getting hurt.

  Joy comes back. A short guy follows her. He's wearing a suit and tie. He has bulgy eyes and little wedges of black hair above his ears; he's bald and tanned on top. I can see him playing golf. But there's no hiding what he is. The ghost stands up; we're trembling.

  "Ma…" The ghost starts to say Marv and stops. Instead we say, "Mr Sansom."

  As soon as the ghost speaks, Marv stops just inside the door and looks at us with sharp, hustler's eyes. "Who did you say you were?" he asks.

  "Joe Welch," the ghost says. "I'm a friend of Les and Maggie's."

  Marv's gone a bit grey beneath his tan. He doesn't say anything. I've no idea what's going on, but the ghost is winning. The silence stretches until Joy breaks it.

  "Isn't that nice, dear?" She smiles at us and heads towards the drinks tray. She pours for Marv and turns, holding the glass out. He hasn't moved. He's still staring at us and so she stands there, arm outstretched, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

  "Is everything OK, honey?" she asks.

  "Yes," says Marv. He oozes across the carpet to take the whiskey and kiss her cheek. "Just a bit of business." He turns for the door, his voice is a touch harder as he says, "We'll talk in the office."

  The ghost sits down with a heavy wumpf that speaks volumes. "Let's talk here," he says. "I'm sure Joy would like to hear about an old friend."

  Joy nods. The frown is deeper now and she shoots a look at Marv. "I keep saying to Marv, it's a shame we never see Maggie anymore. Is she all right?"

  "Well," says the ghost. "Things have been a bit hard for her since…" He leaves it out there. Marv is still staring at us, the ghost stares right back for a long while. Then the ghost says, "I'm sure when he knows all about it Marv'll be able to help her sort it out." It sounds like a threat and no one's surprised.

  Joy's nodding a bit too hard. She goes to Marv. Perhaps it's the whiskey that changes her voice or it could be anger. "We'll be able to sort it out for her won't we honey?"

  Marv's shoulders sort of droop, he nods his head. I wonder what lies he's told her. And after that it's clear Marv's beaten. It all goes easy. The ghost relaxes once he knows Joy is on his side. He knows her well enough to trust her to keep Marv straight. I don't care that much. I just want the ghost gone. Then Joy insists we stay for dinner and the ghost agrees, and I want to reach for the whiskey.

  It's the best meal I've had in months. But all I can think about is getting out of here, and finding a way to see Suki again.

  Chapter Fou
r

  It's all sorted but the ghost won't go, and it makes me nervous. We sit round the glass dining table, fiddling with napkins, drinking wine, and I'm panicking, waiting to find out what the ghost's going to do. Marv might be a jerk but Joy seems like a nice lady. I don't want the ghost to scare her. But the ghost's quiet and cold, watching them, waiting for something.

  Finally the food's done. The plates are cleared. Joy's saying to give her love to Maggie, tell her to call. She'd love to see her.

  We're leaving. I'm drop dead tired. The ghost's still cold as ice. For some reason I keep thinking about blood, how it will mess up Joy's lovely cream and white house. I wonder if the thoughts of blood are coming from the ghost.

  Marv walks us out. Suddenly the ghost grabs him by the shirt, slams him up against the cream walls, twisting his tie tight. Marv gives a grunt of shock. He's choking already. I'm panicking. Where's Joy, can she see us? Will she call the cops? What the hell's going on here?

  The clatter of dishes tells me Joy's out back washing up. I'm glad, not just because of the cops. I don't want her to see this.

  "You see you make it right for her, Marv," the ghost snarls. "Or I'm coming back. Don't make me come back; you know that visit won't be so nice."

  Marv wriggles against the wall, his face turning puce. I'm big enough to hold a little guy like him easily, big enough to hurt him. Really I'm more shocked than he is. Bloody hell, who are these people? The ghost isn't done. Keeping the tie wrapped tight round one hand, we slam Marv against the wall hard enough the pictures shudder and glass tinkles.

  "I'll finish you, Marv." It's my voice but it gives me the creeps. "Chop you into little pieces. You remember, Marv?"

  Marv gurgles and tries to nod. Sweat pours off his face. "I swear I'll look after her," he rasps.

  "I'll know," the ghost says and we drop him. Marv slides down the wall and sits there, clutching at his throat. Bug eyed and panting, he watches us walk out the door.