Medium in Paradise: A Humorous Paradise Romance

by Moray, Tabby

  “I understand.” Her words were clipped and cold. “I’ll talk to you when you get back in town. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

  “Dina--,”

  She gently hung up the phone, swallowed her hurt and got back to packing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next several days were a flurry of packing and moving things bit by bit into the house. Eleven days after she’d received the keys, she was completely moved in. Boxes covered every surface. The brand new azure blue sectional she’d purchased was one of the few areas free of clutter.

  Shoving an overstuffed, striped pillow aside, she flopped down, surveying the organized chaos with happiness. She loved the old house even more now than she had when she’d first laid eyes on it. Filled with character and good vibes, it was the tiny details that stole her heart. Lead-paned windows that rolled up with the help of double hung sash cords, the stained glass lovingly placed into both the front and rear doors, the hand-carved beams with the roof peak carved into the shape of a butterfly. She’d known it was ‘The One’ as surely as a person that first lays eyes on the love of their life.

  She’d even found another little bonus as she’d climbed up a ladder to place clothing on a shelf in the closet. Her fingers had closed around a beautiful, sterling silver necklace with links so delicate they were like cobweb. Shaking bits of dust off, she found herself looking at a finely crafted little butterfly whose body was inlaid with glistening moonstone. Tarnished from disuse, she’d carefully placed it in a bowl of silver cleaner on the bathroom counter. A few hours later, she’d rinsed it off and clasped it around her neck, the lovely necklace completing her ownership of the house.

  Getting up with a sigh, she spent the next few hours putting plates, silverware, pots and pans into kitchen cabinets and drawers. Gradually, she made her way into the living room, arranging sculptures, vases and other doodads she’d collected onto shelves. The brand new sixty inch flat screen television had already been installed in the den a few days earlier. By nine o’clock that night she was pooped out.

  Walking into the en-suite bathroom, she turned the water in the deep, multi-jetted tub on full blast. She poured some bath gel and oil under the stream of steaming hot water, looking forward to the moment when she was neck deep in the silky bubbles. She walked into her bedroom, once again feeling the thrill of new homeownership as she retrieved a nightgown and a pair of panties out of a box marked ‘nightclothes’. Pulling her clothing off and dropping them in the laundry room tucked between the kitchen and the sunroom, she walked naked to the bathroom.

  She was hanging her towel up and preparing to drape her nightclothes across the back of the door, when the hair on the back of her neck and arms prickled with awareness.

  “Man, what I wouldn’t have given to have a bod like that before I was killed.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After more than eight months of having no direct face to face contact with any stray spirits, Dina was ashamed to admit she did what no self-respecting Medium would do under the same circumstances: she screamed.

  The ghost, a gorgeous brunette with long, wavy hair, golden skin and deep-set grey eyes, was lounging negligently against the wall in the hallway. She was staring directly at her boobs, her gaze frank and appraising.

  “You could definitely use a bit of a trim on the hedges.” The woman gave Dina’s lower half a significant raised eyebrow look, and she grabbed a towel, wrapping it hastily around her body.

  “What—who the hell—what the hell are you doing in my house?” she finally managed to say in a strangled voice. Why did this ghost look vaguely familiar? The answer tugged at the edges of her memory, then darted away like mist beneath a hot sun.

  “I’m haunting it, silly. I thought that would be obvious.” A joint appeared in her hand out of nowhere and she began toking like there was no tomorrow. The smell of the pungent weed floated on the air, assaulting Dina’s nostrils and irritating the bejesus out of her.

  “Can you put that out please?”

  “Why? You got something against smokers?” She continued to smoke, blowing a stream of vapor out of her nostrils and creating a snazzy figure eight in the air.

  “I do, actually. So put that damned thing out,” she snapped. “I did a protection ritual before I even moved into this house to guard against unwanted spirits. So again, I ask you: just how the hell you got into my house?”

  “I simply walked in the door,” she responded in an annoyingly matter-of-fact tone. The joint in her hand disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, the strong smell of marijuana still lingering in its wake.

  “You know what, lady?” Dina said, shutting the water off and turning around to peer at the bothersome woman with displeasure. “I think it’s time I got rid of you.”

  “Oh really?” she said, looking mildly entertained.

  “Yeah, really,” Dina said, thinking this had to be the most annoying spirit she’d ever come across.

  Firmly wrapping the towel toga-style around her body, she trooped resolutely down the hall, eyes searching for the box that contained her herbal accruements. A strong, fruity odor assailed her nostrils, floating on the wisps of air flowing in through the cracked living room windows. Frowning, she turned, discovering the source of the odor was a hookah the woman had now somehow conjured. She was floating in the air in the lotus position, eyes closed, looking every bit the Cheshire Cat. An outrageous seventies style outfit replete with headscarf and round, purple lensed glasses, had replaced her tight jeans and tank top. She was blowing vapor out of her mouth in the perfect shape of a winking emoticon.

  What a showoff!

  Her ability to manipulate the energy around her was very skilled which told Dina this was an experienced sprit. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the woman how she was doing it, but she didn’t want to do or ask anything that might escalate the spirits ridiculous behavior.

  “Didn’t I just tell you I don’t like smoking?”

  “Look, I need something. Besides, in case you can’t tell, I’m already dead.” The ghost glided over and settled on the arm of the couch, continuing to puff maddeningly at the hookah. “Gone. Finito. Where I am smoke can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “What made you think I was worried about your health?” She began riffling through boxes, searching for a sage stick or a bag of protective herbs.

  “Oh, it’s just phantom smoke. It can’t hurt anyone on the living plane,” she said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture.

  “Are you sure of that? I can smell it and see it, so that means it can harm me.” She wasn’t sure how true that statement was, but it seemed to make sense in her rattled state. Dina studiously searched through a box containing bags of herbs, just not the ghost banishing kind.

  “Pretty sure. Hey—you lookin’ for this?” The gallon sized plastic baggie filled with the implements needed to get rid of this ghost once and for all, floated over to her.

  “Glad to see you’re so helpful in getting rid of yourself.”

  “I figure it was the least I could do seeing as I’m causing you so much trouble,” she said, magnanimously.

  Dina reached for the plastic baggie and it floated just out of her reach. She reached for it again, and again it floated out of reach. The third time this happened, she glared at the ghost who was now giggling, a bag of popcorn in her hands.

  “Ok, just stop before I get more aggravated than I already am.” Dina crossed her arms, tapping her foot and throwing the ghost a venomous scowl.

  “Oh, alright. Just say ‘Mother May I’ and it’s all yours.” The ghost tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth, staring at her expectantly.

  “I will not.” Dina glowered, dropping her arms to her side and balling her fists up against her hips.

  “I guess that means you won’t be getting rid of me then.”

  Dina closed her eyes, the desire to scream in frustration one she almost made a reality. Why? Why after all the hard work, scrimping and saving did she have to move into
a house with a ghost with a bad sense of humor?

  “Okay, then, ‘Mother may I?’” she mumbled through gritted teeth.

  “Mother may I what?” She sat down on the couch, primly crossing her legs.

  “Mother may I have my bag?” When this woman was alive she must’ve been seriously short on people that desired her company.

  “Louder, I can’t hearrrr youuuuu,” she sing-songed.

  “Mother, may I have my bag of herbs!” she yelled, furious.

  “Now that’s the spirit!”

  The bag came sailing towards her. She tried to get out of the way, but it still smacked her chest dead center. Picking the bag up off the floor, she quickly grabbed the matches and stalked back out, lighting the sage stick on the way, lighting the sage stick on the way.

  “Good riddance, lady,” she said with a savage grin of satisfaction.

  She uttered a prayer as she waved the fragrant, smoking bundle of sage in the direction of the woman. The ghost looked frightened, then began screaming, shaking as the power of the burning sage, combined with her prayer, began to work its way into her ephemeral presence. Continuing to utter the words of the prayer she’d learned when she was a child, she got as close to the ghost as she dared, knowing that when ridding ones home of a spirit, anything could happen.

  The ghost began spinning, slow at first, then faster and faster. The joint, alongside the hookah and the popcorn she’d been eating, floated above her head in a sort of inverted tornado. She continued to scream, her hands going up and clutching the sides of her head. Gosh, this was working even better than she thought it would. With a final yelp the woman disappeared with a pop, a tendril of smoke and the smell of burning popcorn all that was left of her presence. Sheesh, with the way she’d reacted, maybe she’d been a demonic spirit instead of a ghost. No, she would’ve known that right away if that were the case. Unlike popular belief, demons don’t play games.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she blew the sage out, leaving it smoking inside a vase. Maybe now she could take that bath she so desperately needed.

  Moments later she slid into the tub with a delighted groan, reveling in the feel of the jet streams massaging her tense body. Blinking her eyes tiredly, she closed her eyes, on the cusp of a cozy nap.

  “Whew! That was a doozey!” The floating head of the ghost she thought she’d gotten rid of materialized, hair smoking, face burned and with the leathery appearance of beef jerky. “So, I figure we can talk about the real reason I came tomorrow morning. Goodnight!”

  Eyes snapping open, she sat bolt upright and screamed for the second time that night, this time in frustration.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following morning Dina was sitting out on the porch, soaking in the late morning sunshine and enjoying a much needed moment of solitude, when her mother pulled into the driveway and parked behind her car.

  “This place is perfect! I’m so happy for you, honey!”

  It had been a long, sleepless night and she really wasn’t prepared for company, especially not now that her little guest had exposed herself. But there had been no way she could say no to her mother’s request—no, demand—to see the house today.

  So, Dina put on a happy face and forced a smile as her mother, followed by Taavi--her husband and partner in all things spiritual--strode up the walkway, a pair of oversized designer sunglasses covering her eyes, a smile lighting up her face. Long hair frizzed out in a thick halo around strong, attractive features. Wedged heels and a flowing strapless sundress complemented her voluptuous figure, giving her the appearance of a woman fifteen years younger than her forty-nine years. Beautiful as she was, it was no wonder her husband was ten and three quarter years younger than she was. The age difference had never been a problem for Dina, though plenty of tongues had flapped around town when her mother had not so subtly introduced him around.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” her mother asked, pushing her sunglasses up and gazing intently into her eyes. “I can feel your worry. It’s like a dense fog in your mind.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired. Hi Taavi. Mom’s not driving you too crazy, is she?” She stood up, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.

  “She is, but like my mother always says, as a husband, it is my job to suffer,” Taavi murmured in his charming Nicaraguan accent. He bought her mother’s fingers to his lips, giving them a small kiss. His smile creased the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and his smooth, dark skin seemed to shimmer in the bright morning sunlight. “As you know we were very busy assisting with a cleansing ritual this past weekend. Nasty poltergeist. But we managed to get rid of it.”

  “You guys make such a great team,” she said, not without a little envy as she watched their hands affectionately entwine. The two of them shared a sickeningly adoring look to which Dina sighed inwardly.

  It was disconcerting to know that her mother and Taavi had begun dating years after she’d started seeing Anthony and were already married. She forcefully tucked the treacherous thought into the back of her mind and focused on more pleasant matters.

  “So what are you waiting for? Bring us on a tour of the place.” Her mother eagerly stepped up to the door, foot poised on the threshold as she grabbed ahold of the doorknob.

  “I have something I need to tell you first--,” Dina warned.

  “Oh my goodness!” Her mother jerked her hand back from the doorknob as though it were hot to the touch, her eyes vaguely accusatory. “You have a spirit in the house.”

  “Yes, I can feel it too.” Taavi closed his eyes, concentrating. “It’s female…and very lively. Why didn’t you do a cleansing ritual?”

  “I did, but it didn’t quite work the way it was supposed to.”

  “I told you that you have to use your abilities in order to keep them in tip top shape. It’s not like blowing dust off an old book and taking up where you left off, sweetie.” She would have prattled on had Taavi not given her a quick look out of the side of his eye. Her mother’s voice had taken on the same disapproving, chastising tone she’d used when Dina had first told her she didn’t want to be a practicing Medium.

  “I know, Mom. I just--,” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because the door was suddenly flung open.

  Dina cautiously peeked around the door. What the hell was she playing at now?

  “I think we’re being invited in,” Taavi murmured, the look he threw the two of them one of amusement. They all walked inside. Dina peered warily around the living room that was still mired in boxed chaos. “This spirit is very, very lively indeed,” he said, again.

  “Too damned lively.”

  The smell of fresh brewed coffee reached their noses. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Dina marched into the kitchen, unsure of what she might see.

  The ghost was standing at the counter, humming a jaunty tune and floating coffee cups down from the cabinets above the sink. Silver teaspoons, a carton of light cream and a bag of sugar floated in the air, each of them landing neatly on the counter beside the coffee cups. The ghost’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail and thank the Gods she was actually attired in the tank top and jeans she’d first appeared in instead of wearing some foolish costume she’d dreamed up.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Dina demanded, furiously.

  “Gosh, you certainly like to ask obvious questions,” the ghost replied without turning around. “I figured I’d make a little something for you all to drink while we chatted.”

  “While we chat?” her mother repeated, incredulously. “Why on earth would we chat with you? You don’t even belong in this world. And how is it that I can see you so easily? Normally spirits only show themselves to Taavi, or Dina if she chooses to see them.” Her mother’s empathic abilities allowed her to sense strong emotions or energy in a particular space, but to not necessarily see whom and what they were originating from.

  “I’m special. That’s why we’re going to chat, Edith.”

  “Humph! I don’t chat
with ghosts. I get rid of them. And how on earth do you know my name?”

  “Because I just know.”

  “Smartass,” her mother growled. “You sure she’s not a demon?”

  “I don’t think so. But who knows? She’s certainly irritating enough to be one.” Dina crossed her arms, crossly watching as the ghost moved around the kitchen as if it were her own.

  “She’s no demon,” Taavi chuckled. “This is incredible. Are you a poltergeist?” They watched the ghost as she floated each of them coffee cups over her head. Dina took an experimental sip. It was perfect. A healthy dash of cream out of her fridge and just a hint of her sugar. For some reason this irritated her and she clattered the coffee cup to the granite countertop.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She finally turned around. Taavi’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he got a good look at the ghost’s huge new rack. “I have learned a bunch of neat tricks since I died. Got nothing but time on my hands now.”

  “Looks like you’ve made a few changes since last I saw you,” Dina drawled, eyes widening, then narrowing as she stared at the ghost’s three or four cup size upgrade.

  “Yeah--,” the ghost said, jiggling her rather impressive bosom. They gave a jellylike ripple and the ghost smiled hugely. Dina and her mother grimaced in unison. “I figured I’d give myself an upgrade after what you put me through last night.”

  “After what I put you through? I’m afraid you have this mixed up. You do realize this is my house?”

  “Your house. My house. Our house. Aren’t they all just pointless titles?” She waved her hand expansively, cocking her head to the side.

  “No, they’re very real titles and that’s why I’m going to help you enter the light.” After glowering at the ghost’s new Dolly Pardon worthy chest, Dina’s mother put her now empty coffee cup aside, rummaging in her purse and setting several items on the counter.