Preloved

by Shirley Marr

  I threw myself at Master Wu and grabbed him by one of his sleeves.

  “Please,” I said, “please stop! Mum, help me here.”

  Mum was staring at me with her mouth open. I held onto Master Wu, who still had his hand inside the paper house.

  I needed a diversion. That’s when I thought about Mum’s favourite TV show. Ghost Whisperer.

  “Listen, Mum! The spirit is saying that he can see a light – a white light – in front of him.”

  “He?” repeated Mum. “You said it was an ‘it’. A hideous hungry ghost you picked up at a grave.”

  “Well, I lied,” I said, telling the truth by getting ready to tell another lie. “It’s a ‘he’ and he’s a Western ghost and he’s telling me he can see the light.”

  Mum motioned for Master Wu to stop. Master Wu pulled his hand out. Without the figurine thingy. Phew. I looked at Logan. He swore under his breath as his colour came flooding back and he picked himself off the floor.

  “The white light is over there.” I stabbed my finger towards the door of the dining room, trying to convey to Logan as violently as possible to get the heck out of here. “I’m now guiding the spirit towards the light.”

  Mum watched me with her mouth still open, fascination on her face.

  “I don’t need to be told,” mumbled Logan. He stumbled towards the wall and through it. “Taking a short cut.”

  “Do you feel that?” I asked and then I closed my eyes dramatically, channelling my Jennifer Love Hewitt. “The spirit has now passed through to the other side.”

  I opened my eyes to find Master Wu staring at me in an unimpressed way. It was the same look he gave when he busted little Nancy Pants and little me with his hell money.

  “Okay then,” said Mum, and she laughed nervously. She took the red packet out of her purse. “I’ve had a good think, Master Wu, and decided that the amount isn’t nearly enough so I’m doubling it.”

  “Amy,” Mum said to me in her stern voice when we were safely back in the car. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You know I’m not one of those ‘Tiger Mums’.”

  She knew. I had to brace myself to tell the truth about Logan, who was sitting next to me in the back seat.

  “Who was it that you helped to pass to the other side? What did the white light look like? And when they stepped into the light did it make that special haaahhhhh noise like it does on TV?”

  “He was an old war veteran,” I said and Mum seemed to accept this.

  I could have hit myself on the head. I looked at Logan, who shook his head at me. I swore I would tell the truth once I’d figured out this whole mysterious mess for myself.

  “Your mum is a good person,” said Logan, turning his head towards me. “Too good for you to be mucking around with. But I believe you’re a good person too. Somewhere on the inside.”

  I was happy with that. It was more than I deserved.

  “Mum …”

  “Yes, Lee Ai Mi?”

  I hated it when Mum called me by my Chinese name, ’cos it translates to “pretty plum seed”.

  “Have you ever heard of a case of … a ghost getting trapped inside, um, something?”

  “Well, there is this old Chinese story about two lovers who died in tragic circumstances – the soul of the girl became trapped inside an oil-paper umbrella. When the umbrella was opened twenty years later, she was released in the form of a ghost.” Mum flicked the indicator on and pulled the car out. “Although of course, that was the plot of a fictional TVB series called Time Before Time. It’s not real, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I’m just interested, that’s all,” I said lamely and glanced over at Logan.

  “As you might have noticed, I actually have money!” said Mum. “I sold four pieces of that estate jewellery I was telling you about yesterday to one lovely old lady, so now we are rich.” Mum tapped the steering wheel cheerfully. “For the time being, anyway. What do you say we treat ourselves to takeaway before I splurge the rest on, oh, rent and electricity and essential food items?”

  I sat in silence for the rest of the trip home. I watched Logan as he glowed prettily in the dark, like some sort of night-light.

  And I thought: horror shows teach you nothing about being afraid of ghosts. The experience is much more terrifying in real life.

  Chapter 6

  I was still in shock that Mum and I had managed to make it back home in one piece. Logan too. If you could count him as a piece. Was it callous that I didn’t consider him whole? Or completely real or human? To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to consider Logan.

  “Okay. Wow,” said Mum. “That was an intense experience.”

  She stuck the key in the door, pushed it open and we stumbled in, carefully stepping over the door ledge. I was so relieved when the lights flickered on and the beautiful vintage shop appeared in front of my eyes that I wanted to fall down on my knees and kiss the floor.

  “What a day!” exclaimed Mum as she started plonking plates and cutlery down on our little dining table.

  I couldn’t agree more. Public lunacy, theft, detention and an aborted exorcism all in one day.

  What was next in store for me?

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat in my room,” I said to Mum.

  “Of course,” replied Mum, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes as she looked at the table she had set out for two.

  Logan followed me as I headed upstairs with my plate of dinner.

  “After that, I think I need a smoke,” he said.

  “You smoke?” I asked him, surprised.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “You’re not having a smoke. Anyway you can’t,” I replied. “And later I’m going to have to educate you on the dangers of smoking.”

  I walked into my room and let out a heavy yawn at exactly the same moment as Logan did. We stopped and stared at each other. I think we each held our breath for a little while, afraid to make another mirrored movement. It was weird to know that he was tired. I guess he was an energy field of some sort and he could become depleted too. I closed the door behind us.

  “Okay, so you’ve seen my room. Twice. Out with your opinions then,” I said, as I sat down on my dresser chair.

  “Do you know the show Beyond 2000?”

  “No. I could ask Mum. She’d know. She’s been alive for yonks before 2000.”

  I popped a chip in my mouth. I was so exhausted I could hardly chew.

  “It was a science program and it showed you what technology there would be in the future.” Logan looked at my three papered walls (the remnants of an ancient 1950s civilisation) and my one bare concrete one. “It predicted a lot more than this.”

  I pulled off my school shirt. I was so tired that I was beyond caring. Plus I had a singlet on underneath, an essential shield against the slightly transparent fabric of the polo shirt and the perverted boys at school. I dropped it onto the floor.

  “See that?” I said to Logan. “If I don’t pick it up myself, no robot maid is going to come and do it me.”

  I shook out my hair and wound my fingers around the necklace possessively as if it was the most precious object I owned. I could feel a presence at the back of my neck and when I turned my head, Logan was there. I didn’t jump this time, but I felt myself break out in a billion goosebumps.

  “Amy, I think this is the best part of us being together. It’s an unconventional relationship. I’m the ghost and you’re the freaky little girl who can see ghosts. None of that awkward boy and girl stuff.”

  I stuffed some more chips and a bit of fish into my mouth and then wiped my hands on my skirt.

  “Okay. Since you’re my guest, I ought to be nice to you.”

  I was making a resolution to be super-nice to Logan. I felt bad that I had tried to get rid of him. Deep down somewhere in my jealous, crazy, neurotic heart, I was trying to pull out that good person Logan said existed.

  I spied my MP3 player sitting on my dresser.
<
br />   “Here, why don’t you play with this?” I held it out to him.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s an MP3 player. I’ve got some good Eighties music on it like The Cure and The Smiths. Thought it might make you feel, y’know, at home.”

  I held the player out to him.

  “Right,” said Logan. “Where do I put the cassette in?”

  “You don’t. The music’s already inside. I’ve got a stack of albums in there. Maybe you can even find something modern that you’ll like.”

  I went to press the player to his hand, then I realised that wasn’t going to work.

  I slid over to my desk and flipped open my laptop. I typed “poltergeist” into the search engine.

  “What is that?” asked Logan.

  “A computer.” I scrolled through the search results.

  “Get real. That’s not an Amiga 500.”

  “Check this out. According to this site, poltergeists or ‘noisy spirits’, as opposed to ghosts – which are considered to be the apparitions of dead people that pass by unnoticed – are able to interact with the physical world. Some experts believe that this is through telekinesis.”

  “If you read here,” said Logan, pointing at the screen, “it also says that some experts believe poltergeist activity might be caused by individuals hitting the turbulent teen years and releasing pent up emotions like hostility, anger and sexual tension …”

  “Are we not trying to help you?” I said, shooing his finger away. “Concentrate your mental energy on my MP3 player and see if you can lift it using your mind.”

  “Are you pulling some New Age crap on me? ’Cos I think we can both agree the Seventies is long gone.”

  “Just do it!”

  Logan rolled his eyes. Then he shut up and a serious look came over his face, as if he was really concentrating.

  “Okay, maybe we move onto a Plan B,” I said after a few minutes had passed and nothing happened.

  “Shhh. Look,” said Logan.

  The MP3 player twitched slightly. Then it levitated. I could feel myself shiver. The room seemed to get a bit colder.

  “That’s fantastic, Logan!” I exclaimed, genuinely pleased. “You’re, like, using the force. Like on Star Wars,” I added.

  “Amy, are you calling for me?” Mum’s voice echoed from outside my door.

  “Drop it! Drop it!” I gestured to Logan in a panic.

  The doorknob turned and Mum stuck her head in. The MP3 player clattered back down onto the table just as she turned in my direction.

  “What was that noise?” she said, looking around.

  “There’s no noise,” I said. I hastily closed the web page, with its dancing ghost logo.

  “Strange. I thought I heard something,” said Mum. “Anyway, were you after me? I definitely heard your voice …”

  Mum’s sentence trailed off and she focused on my face. I smiled innocently back at her. Just a girl in front of her computer. Doing research. I didn’t have anything incriminating in my room at all. Like a boy. Sitting on my bed.

  What she couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt her.

  “That ghost has definitely gone, hasn’t it?”

  “Yup! Of course it has.” My voice was taking on that uncontrollable high-pitched tone again. “Why would I willingly want to be haunted?”

  “It’s just that …”

  Oh no. Not that look. Mum’s look of concentration. Mum was clever. Too clever for her own good, my evil ah ma – Dad’s mother – used to say. Then again, she wasn’t all that happy that Dad married someone independent with an education. She probably expected women to stay at home where they belonged, with their feet bound.

  “Amy, I’m not really sure how you found time to visit a cemetery ’cos the closest one is on the other side of the city. But I did remember you showing me that locket you found. And you know I’ve always told you never to pick up–”

  “Found objects, ’cos they might have ghosts stuck to them. Yeah, I know,” I replied. My eyes automatically darted to Logan for a second before they went back to Mum’s. I wonder if she caught it. “I’m tired, so I’m going to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

  “See you in the morning then,” said Mum. She paused at the doorway and wrapped her arms around her body. “Is it just me, or is it unusually cold in your room? I’ll have to get the building manger to look at it some time.” Mum left without a fuss.

  “Oh, dear!” I said under my breath and I rubbed my face. I looked up just in time to see my MP3 player fly past my nose. Logan stretched his hand out and it floated there above his palm. The screen lit up as he scrolled the menu with some invisible force.

  “Looks like Mum’s not the only fast learner,” I said. I walked up to my bed. “Can you please get off?”

  “I’m just vegging out with your dog. It is your dog, isn’t it?”

  “Mister Fozziebum?”

  “That’s a really crook name.”

  “Shut up. I was young when I named him. Where is he?”

  I put my arms in front of me and clumsily felt along the edges of my mattress.

  “Oh,” said Logan, understanding my expression.

  I sat down on the bed opposite Logan. “Oh shit, I’m not sitting on top of him am I?”

  “No, he just jumped off and left the room.”

  I looked towards the door, but I couldn’t see any indication that Mister Fozziebum was ever here.

  “Why can’t I see him? Why can I see you?” I wished I could see my dog. I missed him now more than ever. I wondered how many times he’d come into my room and I hadn’t known.

  “Can I please lie down?”

  Logan got off my bed and went to sit on my study chair. I climbed in, drew my legs up towards my body and hugged my pillow. I was too tired to want to change my clothes.

  “So how does your computer know more about how to be a ghost than I do?” asked Logan, looking at my laptop.

  “It’s the internet. You can find out about anything you want. As long as you don’t search for ‘how to build a bomb’ or ‘how to poison my parents’.”

  “So you can look me up on it?”

  “Yeah. But I’ll need some more information about you first. What’s your last name?”

  “I’m Logan … oh.”

  “Oh,” I prompted. “O’Hagan, O’Malley, Ol’ McDonald had a farm?”

  “I can’t remember my last name.”

  “What?”

  “Actually, I can’t remember a lot of things. Where I live. What type of person I am at school. What I want to be when I grow up. I just have this feeling that none of those things are supposed to matter any more and I’m here for one reason only. Except I can’t remember that reason either.”

  The glow of my computer screen made him seem blue.

  You don’t need to know who you used to be, I wanted to tell him. Just be how you are now. Stay. Stay and bug me. I kinda like it.

  But he looked so unhappy it broke my heart a little. I felt like a selfish little girl who wanted to keep the butterfly I’d found in my jam jar forever.

  “Tomorrow,” I said, and I swallowed, “I’ll think of a plan.”

  “Thank you, Amy.” Logan sighed. He took his hat off and put it on my desk. I thought it was weird that he could do that. What did I expect? That his hat was permanently attached to his head? I smiled to myself. He ran his fingers through his dark, slightly feathered hair. That was also weird. That his hand didn’t go right through his head.

  Hang on – I’ll tell you what’s weird: the fact that I was trying to apply the laws of physics on a ghost.

  I wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep thinking of him, but Logan was staring at me. So I stared back at him.

  “Hey, Logan,.” I said softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you see The Princess Bride when it was at the cinema? It came out in 1987, so that would technically be last year for you.”

  “I did, actually,” Logan replied, and he leaned
back in my chair. “I went with Stacey, because she wanted to see it. But I ended up really liking it.”

  I smiled and snuggled up in my pillow. That sounded romantic. I wished I was Stacey. I guess that was no different from sometimes wishing I was Rebecca.

  I yawned and reached up to turn off the light.

  “Goodnight,” I said, and I drew up my blanket.

  I found I was smiling. I wanted something nice to think about before I fell asleep. On most nights, all I could see before I drifted off was Dad growing smaller and smaller as I looked through the back of the car until I could see him no more.

  I realised I couldn’t sleep because I felt uncomfortable.

  “I should go hang outside,” said Logan.

  “Do you mind? You can have the couch. It’s comfy.” I was cringing a little. “Plus, you glow. Like, really bright.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Matey,” said Logan, getting up. He gave me a friendly smile.

  “Goodnight … Mr Matey,” I said under my breath. But Logan had already passed through my door and I don’t think he heard me.

  I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  In my dream I ran into Dad, and I was angry.

  I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t yell at Mum in front of me.

  I wanted to tell him he lied when he promised us we were going to go to Dreamworld as a family.

  I wanted to tell him how small a man he was for letting us down, for letting me down.

  But I couldn’t.

  In my dream I was eight years old again and all I could do was put my hands up to my face and cry.

  “That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I was sitting with Logan in front of my laptop having breakfast. I had located the infamous “Mr Matey” bubble bath ad.

  “Why would you find it creepy?” asked Logan, giving me a confused look. “It’s a cartoon.”

  Awww, you come from such an innocent time, I wanted to say. I meant it in a good way, but I had promised to be good to him, not patronising or sarcastic.

  “Fair dinkum, I can’t believe you can just dial up anything you want like that. So you’re also telling me that you don’t have to wait all night for a song to come on the radio so you can tape it – you can find it on the line?”