“No? How’d you get your notebook and pencil?”
I follow her gaze to the evidence lying a few feet away. “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“And what about your clothes? You’re dead. Why do you need clothes? And the soap and bucket? The sink? Seems to me you have everything your little spirit self thinks it needs. Can’t you think you need a guitar?”
I let out a breath, ready to argue. Right? Because come on. That’s not… wait. I don’t have a pencil sharpener so why is my pencil always sharp? I’ve been scribbling in the same notebook for ages, and there’s always a fresh page when I turn it. My clothes… why do we have clothes?
Well, fuck me.
Somehow I manage to hold in the insane laugh that’s bubbling in my chest. “I don’t know. I mean… how do you think it works? I just imagine it and it appears?”
A crease forms in her forehead as she contemplates the weirdest mystery of the universe ever. “No, it has to be more complicated than that. I’m sure you’ve wanted plenty of things you didn’t get. It must be something deeper. It must be intrinsic. In here.” She places her palm over my pounding heart.
I capture it to my chest and start wishing (praying?) for a guitar.
“Dude! Check out this basement.”
I bolt up at the voices and subsequent pounding down the stairs. Human feet sound different than spirit feet. They’re also a hundred times more annoying. Did these intruders really have to pick now to invade my space?
“Not again. You have to be kidding me,” I mutter, throwing back my corner of the blanket. Sleep be damned, apparently. Rachel hasn’t stirred, so I try to be quiet as I get out of bed. Since she’s physically in her room, she probably can’t see the humans in mine. Lucky woman.
“Dude, over here!”
I lean against the door frame, squinting toward the action. As far as I can tell Dude Dude is in charge and currently enamored with the sump pump cover.
“It’s probably for hiding the bodies and shit!” It’s not.
“Really?” His friend’s wide eyes reflect the glint of the flashlight as he squats down to examine the drain-slash-death-pit.
Dude Dude continues searching and suddenly slows near a water stain on the wall. It’s actually one of the few flashes of beauty in this place. When it rains, I get my own private fountain from the cascade that leaks out of a large crack in the foundation. It creates a great ambience for drawing.
“Dude! This has to be where Old Trudy Hollister was murdered. See the blood stain?”
Huh?
Usually, I try to stay out of it when we get these visits, but now I’m intrigued. I join the boys as they ooh and ahh over water on a wall. I crouch down for a better look, and yeah, definitely water. Also, who the hell is Trudy Hollister?
“Look over here. See the skeleton? This must be where that witch did her rituals!”
Nope, pretty sure that’s a dead mouse.
“We totally need to livestream this,” Sidekick says.
Oh god, now they’ll never leave. I roll my eyes and return to my place against the wall, inches from them and their quest to find a ghost.
“Dude, no. Not here. Take my pic with the blood, though.”
Dude Dude full-on rocker poses with the water stain while Sidekick tries to figure out how to take a photo in the dark.
“Hurry up, man! We’re gonna get caught.”
At least Sidekick’s angle is perfect for my good side, so I add a complementary pose when he finally snaps a shot. You’re welcome, boys. Will I be one of those orbs or disembodied faces? Just as long as they don’t think I’m Trudy the Witch.
I sigh when Rachel approaches, sleepy and confused.
“What are you doing?” she asks. “Why are you awake?”
“I have guests,” I say.
Her forehead creases as she scans the space. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Yeah, they’re human. Like, actual human bodies, so you probably can’t see them just like I can’t see the humans in your room.”
I point her toward the visitors who are now going all paparazzi over a pile of leaves and cockroach carcasses. “They think they’ve stumbled upon the ghastly remains of a black magic secret order. Or a witch coven. I’m not sure.”
She raises a brow. “Witch coven?”
“Yeah, they’re looking for Trudy Hollister.”
“Who’s that?”
“No idea.” I point toward the sump pit. “She dumped the bodies there.”
“Ew. What bodies?”
“Don’t know.”
“Are there skeletons or something?”
“No.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Clothing or shoes or personal items?”
“No.”
“What is there?”
I bend over to inspect the sump pit. “Um, I think I see a tool, maybe. Wait, no. It’s just a stick.” I straighten again. “So, a stick.”
She shakes her head. “They can’t see us then?”
“I guess not. We’re standing right next to them. Do others see you in your room?”
Her face scrunches into a cute display of concentration as she shakes her head. “Does this happen a lot?”
“Not really. At least not in the basement. The last time, it was just a girl who ran down on a dare, I think. She basically touched the floor with the tip of her shoe then ran back up.”
“Annoying. What are they doing now?”
I study the intruders again. “Well, it appears they’re putting items from the shelves into the old boiler.”
Yep, that’s definitely what they’re doing. I shrug at her confused look.
Rachel nods through a yawn, and yeah, I’ve had enough too.
“Come on. Let’s go back to bed,” I say, guiding her to our room.
“What about them?”
“Eh, if they’re looking for Trudy, they’ll be here a while.”
Chapter Nineteen:
Arms of a Sinner
There’s no magic guitar waiting for us the next day, but we do get the pleasure of more unwelcome footsteps crashing down the stairs. At least the incompetent ghost hunters are gone. Wonder if they ever found Trudy?
“Shit, it’s Roy. Has to be,” I whisper to Rachel as I jump up from the blankets and pull on my ghost jeans. Still having trouble wrapping my head around some of this. I’m just in time too, because he’s already mid-invasion, almost to the chest, when I exit my room to meet him.
“What do you want?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“What’s this?” He kicks the trunk like it’s the intruder, not him.
“Same chest as the last time you were down here.”
He lifts a brow and bends close to inspect it. Oh how easy it would be to shove his head into the solid surface. That cracking-skull sound would be glorious, but somehow I think bloodying the thing won’t win me God points. Why is Roy here again?
“What’s in it?” he asks, shooting a look over at me.
“For you, nothing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “Open it.”
He turns to the box and handles it with more care than I’ve ever seen from him. It’s like we’re wired to treat this thing like a royal artifact. Slowly he lifts the lid, and I swear he’s holding his breath. It’s hilarious to watch actually, and I imagine a smaller, bucktoothed version of him peeking in his stocking on Christmas.
Sure enough, I get another look back—confused this time.
“Empty, huh?” I say, kind of asshole-y, I guess.
“How did it get here?”
“Don’t know. Just showed up one day. This is how Lena left.”
“Right,” he scoffs.
“It’s true. When she opened it, there was all this light and shit. She saw some stuff inside that made her happy and then she was gone.” I wave my hand in a poof motion to illustrate for the less cerebral amon
g us.
He grunts and slams the lid shut. Maybe not as reverent anymore, I suppose. “No fucking way.”
I shrug again. “Believe me or don’t. I have zero interest in debating it with you.”
“Why her then? Why not us?”
Okay so maybe he really is that stupid. “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
Clearly not by the way his brows scrunch together.
I sigh and lean against the post by the stairs. “Obviously, she was ready to move on and we’re not.”
“Move on? Where?”
Dude, what’s with this guy? “To whatever comes after this.”
“After what?”
“This!” I wave my hand around our shitty basement. “We fucked up our lives, and now we’re stuck here until we atone. I’m going to guess you’re way more on my end of the spectrum than Lena’s.”
His face is deathly white as he stares me down. Is he angry or scared? Or… wait.
“Roy?”
He looks ten years younger staring at me with that blank, frightened look. “What are you saying? You know why I’m here?”
“Yeah… don’t you?” Because I’m pretty sure this dude is no dying human angel.
“I mean, I didn’t really think about it. I had that heart attack and everyone was panicking, and then I woke up here.”
His eyes are huge as they stare me down. It’s like he’s demanding… well, I’m not particularly clear on that.
I swallow my hatred and adopt my best patient voice. “Uh, Roy?” Fuck. Do I really have to be the one to do this? Certainly he’d take it better from someone—anyone—other than me. Empty basement. Zero volunteers. “You know you’re dead, right? You’re stuck in this creepy haunted house because you’re dead?”
Nope.
He didn’t.
And what do they say about killing the messenger?
Roy stops on his own this time, sparing Rachel another Grave Lady appearance. Good thing because where is she anyway? As the newly prepped ghost stalks his way back upstairs, still muttering to himself, I cough out more blood from long-dead lungs. Not sure I like this new role of high school bully-victim, but here I go again, stumbling to the sink to clean up.
It’s getting easier not fighting back at least. My lack of resistance is also proving to be an entertaining game to play with Roy; it’s no fun beating up a guy who’s not interested. It only took a few blows this time for him to realize his anger wasn’t impressing anyone. Still hurts like a mother though.
A rustle drifts over from the boiler, and I glance back to find her there.
“Oh my gosh!” Rachel cries, rushing toward me.
“Where’d you go?” I splash another handful of cold water on my face to soothe the burn.
“You sent me away!”
She shoves me, then apologizes profusely when I buckle against the basin. Catching myself on the edge, I shoo her and her fawning away.
“I’m fine. Ghost body, remember? It’s just my soul getting battered.”
I get an eye-roll for that, but the tender hand on my face is worth it.
“He did this? What happened?”
“You didn’t hear?”
She shakes her head. “Like I said, you sent me away. I just saw you talking to someone then groaning on the floor.”
“Can you not describe it like that?” I grunt, turning back to the water.
“Like what?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want me to fight back, so maybe make me sound like more of a badass when you tell the story?”
Another eye-roll, but this one comes with a sly smile. “Fine. You were talking to someone, and then valiantly took the role of martyr in doing the right thing and bravely suffering in the name of peace.”
Oh my god. My ribs hurt too much to laugh. She needs to stop. “Whatever. Anyway, get this. The dude didn’t know he was dead.”
“What?”
I shrug and dry my face with my shirt. “It’s true. That’s why he was pissed. I got the lucky task of informing him.”
She lets out her breath. “Wow. That’s really something. How could you not know?”
“No idea. I guess not everyone’s death story is as decisive as mine. Makes me wonder how many other poor souls are out there lost and confused.”
“That’s awful. No wonder he’s filled with so much rage.”
I cast her a look, clenching my sore jaw shut. Of course she’d choose sympathy over blame. FYI: Poor ignorant Roy still beats the shit out of your boyfriend for no reason.
Stop it.
We exchange a grin, and maybe it’s all okay when she’s in my arms again.
“Seriously, I sent you away?”
“You must have,” she murmurs against my chest. “One minute I was with you and seeing everything, and the next I was alone watching my ghostly rocker boy.”
“I still don’t understand most of this.”
“Neither do I. But I’m proud of you for doing the right thing.”
I pull back to look in her eyes. “What right thing?”
“Helping someone you hate. You didn’t have to tell him the truth, especially with the risk of a violent outcome.”
Hmm…
She lets go of me and squints toward the boiler. “What’s that?”
I follow her gaze but see nothing. “Where?”
“There. By my bed.”
She starts moving, and I don’t like anything about this.
“Rachel, wait.” I grab her arm and force her to stop. “What is it you see?”
“A container of some kind.”
I look again, and maybe she’s right. Shit.
“Stay here,” I say, approaching the boiler/princess bed. Sure enough, there’s a new shadow tucked behind it where I initially found the chest. My pulse pounds, chills spreading down my spine. It can’t be another one, can it? Please no. Already? For her or for me? She’s not even dead yet. Or… fuck!
“What is it, Milo?” she calls over. That sweet voice. That melody I’m starting to need beyond all reason. No, no. Please, no!
“I don’t know,” I force out. And I don’t want to.
Why?
Never mind.
My limbs shake as I squat down. It’s hard to reach for something with your hands balled into fists. What if we leave it? What if we pretend we never saw it and… you’d do that, you bastard? You’d refuse her her paradise?
Emotion burns in my throat. I’d do anything for her. Any blessed thing to see her happy.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you reach it?”
God, she has no idea, does she? “I’m…” My voice cracks, and I cover it with a cough.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. Almost have it.”
I close my eyes and shove my hand forward before I lose my nerve. If you love her… If you love her… If you love her…
My fingers close around a handle and I pull.
Well, holy shit.
Rachel shrieks when I hold up the guitar case. I’ve never seen the girl run so fast. Before I can even process what’s happened, the instrument is out of my hands being abducted back to my room where the single bulb in the ceiling provides some light.
“It’s a guitar! Ahh! I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”
“Yeah, and it’s going to be broken if you keep swinging it around like that,” I say, catching up with her and rescuing the precious object from her giddiness. Still, it’s pretty freaking cute. I can’t wipe the grin from my face no matter how much I want to play the brooding rocker. This girl has ruined me.
Her mood settles into reverence when I place the case on the blankets and start working at the latches. A quick glance back rewards me with the image of my angel, hands clasped against her chest, eyes giant crystal orbs: love at first sight. Yep, I’ll be drawing that later.
I focus back on the case, my own heartrate picking up when I grip the lid. What kind of guitar transcends spiritual planes? Wait, what if it isn’t a guitar
after all? I look back again, my chest clenching at the thought of seeing disappointment on her face. Please be a guitar. Please…
I pull open the lid and gasp.
Rachel rushes forward, releasing a deafening squeal at the sight.
“Oh my gosh. It’s so beautiful!” She claps her hands and crouches beside me.
I grab the neck, fighting emotion as I pull it from the case. “No, actually, it’s a piece of shit but…” I blink away the tears, my fingers already curving around the familiar wood.
“Milo?”
I clear my throat and adjust so I can rest it on my legs. “It was my first real guitar,” I say quietly. From the time I fell in love with music.
So that’s why it’s so beautiful to me.
I force a quivering smile and look away before I start doing something stupid like all-out cry. Instead, I study the strings, still as worn as I remember, but perfect for a lonely boy from Dump Town who just wanted something to hold onto. After a quick strum, I let out a chuckle.
“It’s flat. Geez. Even ghost guitars won’t stay in tune.”
I start working on the E string and look up in amusement when Rachel’s face appears inches from the frets.
“What are you doing?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Tuning.”
She nods, full of wonder, and I worry she won’t be able to handle an actual song at this rate.
“So you turn those little knobby things?”
I laugh. “Yeah. See, each string should be tuned to a certain tone. Turning the knob adjusts the tension on the string. If it’s flat, I have to tighten it to make it sharper. If it’s sharp, I turn this way to make it flatter until it hits the right spot.”
“And how do you know when you hit it?”
“Usually you’d have a tuner.”
“And now?”
I shrug. “We’ll wing it. The tuning may be slightly off, but as long as the strings are off together, it will work just fine for us.”
Her head nods in grave acceptance, and I’m this close to laughing again. This girl is killing me. So freaking adorable.
“Can I touch it?” Her fingers are already reaching, and I hold the guitar out to her. “Really?” she asks, eyes enormous.
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 13