Gap Year in Ghost Town
Page 19
‘It’s not a case of want to, really, but if it’s the choice between what our cheer squad out there is offering and trying a crackpot experiment, I’ll go with my aunt. In a manner of speaking.’
‘That’s not very reassuring.’
‘Look, Bec has uncovered some of my aunt’s records that have cleared up a few things. I think I know what I did wrong last time, for a start.’ I paced about a little. ‘Last time, I was trying the séance cliché, trying to stretch out and contact the ghost world, and it didn’t work. The notes Bec found suggest that this approach is too active.’
‘That would tend to distress ghosts, repelling them rather than bringing them closer.’
‘Right, Tanja’s theory is that a much more gentle approach is needed. It’s like turning yourself into a lighthouse, but one that isn’t saying “Keep Away! Dangerous Rocks!”, it’s saying “Come here! Come here!” and the metaphor has really fallen apart, hasn’t it?’
‘You’re under strain.’
‘Yeah. Funny, that. Bad guys just about to pulp our brains does put pressure on. And then there’s the possibility that if this scheme goes wrong, ghosts could tear me apart.’
‘That’s what happened to your aunt?’
I shook my head. ‘When Dad broke down the door she was gone. No body left behind, no blood. This coming just a few years after Mum left was another blow. He threw himself into the archives to try to work out what happened and came up with some ideas – that she’d been taken, body and all, into some weird realm by something really nasty, that she’d become so close to ghosts that she became one too – but nothing convinced him. Finally he gave up.’
‘He’s suffered, but doesn’t show it.’
‘Not so that people would notice, maybe.’ I kicked at the carpet. ‘If I try what she tried, something bad could happen to me and I’m not crazy about that possibility. I’m selfish like that.’
‘Understandable, but if you could move things along, it’d be appreciated.’ Rani took up position by the door. ‘I’ll guard your back.’
All right. Clearing the mind. In future, I thought, if this sort of thing became important, I might need to practise mind-clearing to get good at it, because it could be difficult and maybe Bec could help because she did some of that mindfulness or meditation or something like that and that loose thread in my sock was really starting to irritate me and—
Okay, so the mind-clearing was getting off to a rocky start.
This time, for sure.
I took the pendant from around my neck and put it on the floor in front of me. I ran my finger over the metal basketwork, and shivered. When Dad gave it to me I spent hours looking at it, but he didn’t tell me anything except that it had been in the family ‘forever’.
It was metal, silver-grey, but I had no idea if it was steel, nickel, silver or something else. It was about the size of a fifty-cent piece and it looked like a whole bunch of wire that was criss-crossed and woven in on itself, a tight sort of spherical knot, as light as a feather.
I touched it, fingertips of my left hand only. I closed my eyes and sank into myself, concentrating hard, trying to be open to any ghostly presences in the area without actively looking for contact in any way.
Bang. The pendant vibrated and suddenly it was as if the whole world had shifted a millimetre or two to the right, or the left, or up or down. Or like an Instagram filter had been slapped on the whole universe. My awareness of our surroundings uncurled. I could take in, mistily, not just the room we were in, but the building, the neighbourhood and the district in the way that ghosts must perceive the world.
We were in Toorak – thanks for telling me, Gun Boy – a nice old part of the city. Plenty of history, plenty of lives, plenty of time to spawn ghosts. Rich ghosts, probably, for the most part, Toorak being what it is. But I’d already learned that even in the rich areas of Melbourne there are plenty of out-of-the-way locations, back streets and shady alleyways, sites of unhappy and traumatic deaths, home to the insecure and unwanted. I’d be surprised if any big city is different.
I had to welcome all this, passively. I had to let the ghosts see me as they hung on here, the stubborn cast-offs as they hung on here, clinging to a semblance of life.
My pendant was barely stirring. The ghost sensation was horribly fuzzy. I couldn’t make out how far away they were, or even how many – apart from the fact that there was more than one. I could tell, however, that they were dormant and had been for some time.
So, carefully, I tried to shine brighter, in a ghosty sense. I was putting myself up as ghost bait.
Ghosts lack a lot of things. A sense of humour is one notable omission in their make-up, and time sense is another. Don’t make an appointment with a ghost and expect it to be punctual, is what I’m saying. And as for remembering birthdays, forget about it.
Which is a roundabout way of saying that even if I managed to rouse these ghosts and hold myself up as a tasty ghost titbit, they could take forever to turn up.
Or they could arrive quick smart.
That’s when I had a horrible thought. Last time I tried anything like this, Stacey Evans and her Rogue slave homed in and tried to kill Rani and me.
What if they were just waiting for me to pop up on the ghost radar again? What if, really and truly, I was out of my depth here?
I nearly started nervous whistling then, but cut it off sharpish. No time to worry about that. If Stacey and Co turned up, they could run interference for us with the Malefactors. We’d make use of the distraction to escape.
Yeah, that.
A quick intake of breath from Rani and a jerky buzzing from my pendant alerted me that something was happening. The ghostly world receded and I was back in the here and now.
‘They’re here,’ I said, showing a fine appreciation for another early ’80s ghost movie. Yeah, I know, but it’s one of Dad’s faves.
They were showing a classic ghost lack of appreciation for normality in that they were pushing up through the floor, three of them, a man and two women. The man and one of the women were early twentieth century, and well-to-do. She looked as if she was in her fifties, and was wearing a long dress, naturally, and a hat the size of a wagon wheel. He was older and had a top hat, long topcoat and a moustache he must have wrestled off a walrus.
The third ghost was younger – in her thirties, maybe – and more modern. Late 1950s? Early ’60s? It was the spectacles that hinted at that – nicely pointed at the corners, the cats-eye style that hipsters would fight over. Her dress was knee-length, long-sleeved and pretty ordinary. She had the dazed and baffled look of so many Lingerers and Mopers.
She drifted over and huddled in the corner, shaking.
The Edwardian duo – I had no sense that they were a couple – eyed us hungrily. Slowly, they raised their arms, hands like claws, and drifted towards us, waves of fear rolling off them like cheap perfume. No-nonsense types, Thugs. See person, latch onto person, make them feel really bad. Even if they were out of practice, they’d be a nightmare for an ordinary member of the public.
I hurried to my feet. We backed away, Rani steering me until we were in the corner with the door. ‘So far so good,’ I said to her.
‘This is good?’
‘It’s a relative term. It’s still bad but it’s better than it was.’
‘Because?’
‘Because – if I can do this right – we have a distraction.’ I took a deep breath. The whole concentrating and luring thing had been more exhausting than I expected. ‘I’m going to try something fancy, but I can only do one at a time.’
‘I can handle either of them.’
‘Great. I’ll take him, then. On the count of three. One—’
As well as no time sense, ghosts have trouble counting, too. The male lunged at me, shunting the female aside. I may or may not have sworn, but I bounced off the door behind me and that propelled me forward.
Long arms, me. That meant I latched onto him before he latched onto me.
I automatically went into ‘easing’ mode, but I clamped down on it. With my hands deep in the ghost’s chest, I swung it around in an arc and the ghost was taken by surprise. He didn’t weigh anything – ghost, remember – and so he whipped around in a big circle until at the strategic moment I pulled my hands out and he flew backwards through the door.
It was hard to pick the tone of the cries that came from the living room on the other side. Surprise? Delight? Hunger? It didn’t matter, because Rani had seen what I was up to. She turned her calm grappling with the female ghost into a straight-arm shove and then a shoulder charge that sent the ghost spinning my way.
‘Steady her!’ I called as the ghost whirled drunkenly at me.
Rani darted and grabbed one shoulder, enough to jerk the ghost to a stop, but she was more resilient than her buddy. She swung an arm and clubbed Rani aside, then came at my throat with her teeth.
We had no time for this. I tucked my chin to my chest and grabbed for her essence. ‘Be at peace,’ I whispered, and she dissolved in a flood of memories of the beach, violets and the faraway sound of horses’ hooves.
Rani lined up the door with her shoulder. ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I can’t leave her like this.’
The third ghost hadn’t moved. I bounded over to where she was huddled in the corner. She had stopped sobbing, and was sitting under the window, clutching her knees. ‘It’s all right.’ I closed on her, arms spread. ‘I’m here. Don’t worry.’
She looked at me. She looked at me properly, I mean, with something close to focus. It rocked me. In all my, admittedly limited, experience with ghosts, they stared as if they were seeing right through you. This time, though, the sobbing ghost looked at me as I’d look at another human being.
Then she reached out and took my right hand.
I froze, mostly because my hand went numb as the ghost essence sank into mine, but there was more than that.
She’d locked her gaze on mine and was talking to me.
This was unheard of, basically, but I wasn’t thinking that calmly. I was thinking, ‘A ghost is FREAKING TALKING TO ME, GETITOFF, GETITOFF, GETITOFF!’
I wanted to shake her free, but I couldn’t. I wanted to scoot back from my crouch, but I couldn’t. I wanted to bolt out of there and hide under my bed, but I couldn’t.
And when I say ‘talking to me’, it wasn’t really like that. Nothing in any coherent order. Instead, it was a series of impressions, of feelings, of half-formed wishes, stale aromas, lingering tastes, and partial sentences mixed with fragments that could have been songs. It was a barrage, a wave, a flood of chaotic communication, the incomplete record of a life, splintered and poorly put together.
I could tell, though, that the ghost was astonished by what I’d done. The way I’d called and made myself open to them was part of it, but she was also amazed at how I’d eased the way for the female Thug. That wasn’t something she had ever countenanced.
Countenanced. The word came from her, and she wanted me to help her go the same way as the Thug.
She drew back a little. She’d become aware of the nasty situation that Rani and I were in.
Without letting go of my hand, she came upright, her bare feet drifting a few centimetres above the carpet.
She looked at me again. She wanted to save me, so I could then help her.
I struggled to my feet. My right hand, the one the ghost held, was a block of ice. I shook my head. ‘Not without my friend.’
Rani was staring, not afraid but undecided. ‘Hold my hand,’ I croaked.
Rani intertwined her fingers with mine. The ghost approved. She turned slightly and she took us into the ghost world, the silvery, faded realm I’d experienced earlier.
We were no longer in the Toorak mansion. Or, rather, we weren’t in the same Toorak mansion. We were in a building that looked just like it, but all the colour had been washed away. The walls, the floors, everything solid was slightly wavering, as if they were made of smoke. The only thing that was more solid than previously was the ghost. She’d become more substantial while still remaining blanched of colour. Her outline trembled less. She was much more difficult to see through.
We were seeing the world as ghosts saw it.
I looked down and then at a startled and wary Rani. We were the ones who were now translucent. I could see the walls, the window, the bars on the outside, right through her. I should have been excited at the effect – X-ray vision! – but all I could feel was a mild interest.
Colour wasn’t the only thing washed out of this eerie, insubstantial plane.
Our ghost guide was smiling. She tugged on my hand and we drifted right through the barred window, which meant we were now a good four or five metres above the ground. Normally this would have been cartoon character time, where I’d look down and gravity would start working again and I’d panic, but I couldn’t summon up any such strong emotion. With our ghost guide we simply kept walking. Coolly, we ambled along, passing over the portico, the driveway, the fountain, the garden and the fence until we were between the plane trees and the footpath, where we descended as gently as a soap bubble.
Still hand in hand in hand, we came to a halt that traditional few centimetres above the ground. I stole a quick glance at the house. It was a phantom version of the place in which we’d been imprisoned. Near silence surrounded us, a world where the noise of the city had gone and been replaced with a low-level rustling, the sort of sound I’d imagine clouds making when they cruise past each other.
My ghost guide tugged my useless hand until she had my attention. She nodded, dropped it, and we dropped.
The outside world returned and assaulted us. Colour and sound and smell and the whole flood of sensation smashed into me. The drop didn’t help, either, tiny though it was, and I staggered, nearly falling, until Rani caught me.
‘Quickly,’ she said, but her voice was faint and laboured.
‘Quickly what?’ My own voice rasped. If I was tired earlier, I was exhausted now. My legs were trembling not with fear but with flat-out fatigue.
Rani didn’t answer. She nodded instead.
The ghost was still hovering in front of us, translucent once again.
She was smiling, but hesitantly.
I pulled myself together. ‘Thank you.’ Working hard with my numb right hand, I slipped both inside her torso. ‘Go now.’ I wrenched. ‘Seek your rest.’
The sleekness and purring of a favourite cat, the smell of damp socks and the sharp, peppery taste of an unfamiliar tonic. Ants, a father’s love, loss and reunion. The peace that comes at the end of a good day touched me for a moment, and then she vanished like a birthday wish.
Rani and I limped away, arms around each other, looking for a taxi.
CHAPTER 22
‘You walked with a ghost?’ Dad put some real flabber into being flabbergasted.
‘Hand in hand,’ I said. ‘But, believe me, it’s not something I want to repeat soon.’
‘No.’ Dad’s pen was flying as he wrote in his notebook. ‘No you wouldn’t.’
Rani had both hands around her cup of tea. It was her second in the half-hour since we’d staggered back into the bookshop in the early morning and locked the door behind us. Bec had just arrived, and after pinning me with a cracker of a question about the proper name for the dot on top of the letter ‘i’ (it’s a ‘tittle’) made some for herself too.
Me? I was so shaken up that I’d had a cup of not-coffee as well. I surprised myself by enjoying it. Black, strong, with a smoky bite to it. Definitely not coffee, but it was something I could get used to.
Which goes to show that I’m a mess of contradictions, but I’ve learned to live with it.
The ghost encounter had exhausted both of us to the point of passing out. I was worried, too, that it had had other effects – my sight had been blurry for about half an h
our after our ghost guide left – but I’d tabled that for worry later. My right hand was still numb, too, but the iciness was receding.
‘A full report can wait,’ I said to Dad, then I yawned the mother of all yawns. I thought my head was going to crack. I wiped away tears. ‘Gotta sneep. Sleep.’
I shut my eyes for a second, then realised this was a bad idea unless I intended to keep them closed for a good long snooze. I dragged them open again to see that Rani had her head on the table next to where she’d put her cup.
‘She can have the bed in the crash room,’ I said. ‘Bec. Help me get her there. Please. Then ring her folks. Leave a message. Tell them she’s safe and with us. Also please.’
Dad rolled the camp bed out from the wardrobe in the crash room. I found the blankets and pillows and helped him set it up. While Rani mumbled, ‘I’m okay,’ Bec and I made sure she was lying down. Dad covered her with the blanket and we left.
‘What about you, Anton?’ Dad asked. He had his hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and, for a moment I was taken back to when he helped me ride a bike the same way, a long, long time ago.
‘Couch. Archaeology, Music, Poetry room.’
I wouldn’t have got there without Dad and Bec. The last thing I remember before sleep finally won was Bec and Dad looking at each other over and Bec asking, ‘Do you think we should tell him about the barrister?’
Even a teaser like that wasn’t enough to keep me awake. Sleep hit me like a—
I woke from one of those sleeps that was one solid slab of unconsciousness. No half-waking, no dozing, no frustrating tossing and turning, just time out from the universe.
It was just what I needed, even though I woke with gritty eyes and a mouth that felt as if it had been used to road test tyres. ‘Coffee,’ I croaked. ‘For the love of everything that’s holy, I need coffee.’
I stared at my right hand. Then I made a fist. It worked well enough. The dead feeling had gone.
It was dark, inside and out. I studied the window for a while before I accepted that this meant it was night. Okay, so I was a bit sluggish.