Call Me Dreamer

by Ryan Maitland

  “Huh!” she smiled, maybe trying to picture it. “You said something about how believing in ghosts makes them more powerful…” she started slowly, picking up speed as the thought grew clearer. “Why is that?”

  “Think of it like this,” I explain, thinking back to how I answered Sarah during a similar conversation. “Ghosts exist at the very edges of reality. By believing that there’s a ghost there, you make it more real. And then you have spookies…”

  “Spookies…” she echoed. “Earl said you were a spooky…”

  “Right,” I confirm. “It just means I can sense ghosts. Most spookies can only see or hear them, but I can do both, don’t ask me why. Earl says spookies are pretty common and sometimes manifests after a near-death experience.”

  “So spookies aren’t born, they come into the ability?” she asked, sounding like she was struggling with it.

  “According to Earl,” I start, in more uncertain waters, “most become spookies. I, however, as near as I can tell, was born able to see and hear ghosts…”

  “Why is that?” she asked, giving me a strange look.

  “Probably because I’ve always been close to death…” I mutter, not sure if she can hear me or not. “I have a rare kind of anemia,” I clarify after seeing her baffled lood. “Basically, it’s hard for my body to make my kind of blood, so I’m always a pint or two short…”

  “Okay, so you were saying something about spookies and ghosts becoming more real…” she mentioned, trying to get us back on track.

  “Right,” I say by way of apology. “With spookies, it’s not so much about belief as it is about knowledge. See, I don’t believe in ghosts; I know there are ghosts, since I can see and hear them. This, in turn, makes the ghosts stronger. Then, if I talk to them, or have a whole conversation with them, they become stronger still.”

  “How strong are we talking about?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Strong enough to swat rocks out of the air,” I shrug, trying to make it sound like no big deal.

  “That sounds… oddly specific…” the sheriff challenged.

  “This morning some kids were throwing rocks at the house,” I sighed, looking at my empty mug and wishing it was full again. “Peter and Wendy kept any of the rocks from hitting the house.”

  “Jane!” Wendy called, looking slightly frantic. “There’s somebody outside!”

  “There’s somebody outside,” I echoed, turning to the sheriff.

  “How do you know?” she asked, getting up.

  “Let’s just say I heard them, okay?” I told her from over my shoulder as I went to the front door.

  When I got outside, I saw a man in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt holding a can of some sort. He seemed to be aiming it at the house!

  I heard Peter chuckle as he did something with the top of the can. The man seemed to push something on the can, spraying red paint all over his hand and face! His round glasses were now ruined!

  “Richard Bartholomew Astard!” called the sheriff in a stern voice that would have made any child stop whatever they were doing and run for the hills.

  “Sheriff!” the man called back, moving his glasses around to see her better. “Are you here to arrest her?”

  “What’s going on here?” I asked, utterly bewildered by what I was seeing.

  “Jane, meet Richard Astard,” the sheriff introduced. “He’s the one making accusations against you and demanding your arrest. And now he appears to be trespassing and attempting to vandalize your home.”

  I turned to the man, growing angry. So this was the man that was ruining my life. This was the man that spread those awful rumors about me. This was the man that was trying to turn this town against me. I could pin all my current troubles on this man! I could feel my fists clenching on their own and I felt tears threatening as thoughts that I might have to move because of this man and his inexplicable obsession with me!

  “I’m just trying to get you to do your job!” the man sneered.

  “If you really want that,” the sheriff grinned, looking like a feral cat that has just spotted a mouse, “then you’ll turn yourself in to spend some time in jail!”

  “You’re going to arrest me when you’re standing right next to a murderer?” the man screamed in righteous fury.

  “Miss Doe did not kill Mister Boday,” the sheriff answered with cold certainty.

  Her cold assertion made me turn to her, seeing hope that this situation could be resolved without me abandoning the life I had built here.

  “So that’s how it is then!” the man scoffed. “You arrested her before, then let her off and now you refuse to arrest her! How much did she pay you, sheriff?”

  “What?” I gasped, appalled at his accusation. Peter and Wendy looked ready to do something horrible to the man. I was about ready to let them!

  Have I mentioned that they’re protective of me? Well, they are… I’m pretty sure Peter was about to push the nozzle on the spray can again, but the sheriff brought him up short. Honestly, if he had done that, I probably wouldn’t have scolded him. I’m not sure I would praise him, either, but I definitely wouldn’t have scolded him for it.

  “When I arrested her before,” the sheriff growled, sounding like she was grinding her teeth, “it was a mistake. I have apologized for the mistake. I will not make that same mistake again!”

  “So she has something on you, then?” the man sneered. “She’s blackmailing you?”

  “Nobody is blackmailing me,” the sheriff asserted with a note of warning that only the densest person could have missed.

  “Well of course she is!” the man declared jubilantly, like he had finally found the missing piece of the puzzle. “If she wasn’t, you’d be arresting her right now!”

  Instead of rebuking him, the sheriff turned to me and asked, “Miss Doe, would you like to press charges against this man?”

  I confess I sort of gaped at her for a moment as it took some time to realize just what it was she was asking of me.

  “Charges?” I asked, dumfounded.

  “Trespassing and attempted vandalizing,” she explained in a cold tone. “For starters. I’m a witness. Plus, it’s not every day you get to catch someone literally red-handed!”

  I looked at the man’s hand again, seeing it covered in red paint and I smiled. I could hear Peter’s malicious chuckle as he eyed the spray can again.

  “Don’t,” I commanded for both the sheriff and Peter’s sake. “Don’t press charges. I’m willing to let him go as long as he leaves now and doesn’t come back.”

  I’d tell you what the man started screaming, but there might be kids reading this memoir… The sheriff was not amused, to say the least…

  “SHUT UP!” I screamed at the man, finally losing my top. Peter and Wendy picked up on this and I could feel the temperature drop a few degrees, edging close to freezing, as the kids soaked up the heat in preparation for some more poltergeist activity.

  “Mr. Astard!” I called to the man. “Leave. Now! Don’t come back! If you come back, I’ll call the police and have them arrest you for trespassing. If I see any kind of spray-paint on my house, or see any broken windows, I’ll make sure to tell everyone what you did here, today!”

  The man started spluttering and swearing some more, but the sheriff cut him off with, “Sir, I suggest you leave while the lady is feeling generous.”

  “Generous?!” the man screamed. “You call that generous?”

  “I do,” the sheriff declared. “If it were me, you’d already be in a jail cell.”

  It was then that I noticed Peter and Wendy picking up some of the loose gravel, readying it for use as ammunition against this trespasser. I think the only thing that kept them from peppering the man in loose rock was that they might hit the house. Otherwise, I would not like his chances…

  “This isn’t over!” the man declared as he marched away angrily.

  Once he was safely away from the house, several bits of gravel flew at him, hitting him in his he
ad and back!

  “There! You see!” the man declared, sounding triumphant. “She threw rocks at me!”

  “Sir,” the sheriff told him, her voice going icy-cold again. “I’ve been standing next to her the whole time. I did not see her so much as touch any of the gravel. I think it must have been the wind.”

  The sheriff didn’t even so much as glance at me as she told this bald-faced lie. Honestly? I’m kind of proud that she was willing to lie like that to keep my secret. I’m sure she knew what was really going on, but I had asked her to keep my secret and so she was!

  I could hear Peter and Wendy giggling as they picked up more gravel and threw it at the man as he watched!

  “That girl is doing some kind of witchcraft…” the man muttered as he walked away, the wind carrying his voice to us.

  Once he was outside the brick wall surrounding the house, the iron gate slammed shut, startling the man badly enough that he nearly fell into the street!

  I sat heavily on the porch steps, panting from the adrenaline I was still feeling from all the anger I had felt. Hell and blast! Getting so pissed off should count as aerobic exercise!

  “Are you okay?” the sheriff asked after a little time had passed and I was still sitting on the porch steps, though I was breathing more easily by now.

  “I just get winded when I get too angry,” I confessed, standing up and motioning her back inside. “I’ll get you some more coffee.”

  “No, thanks,” the sheriff waved off the offer politely. “It’s too late in the day for me. If I drink it now, I’ll never get to sleep.”

  “Well, it’s not too late for me,” I shrugged, grabbing my mug and taking it to the kitchen for a refill. “I’ve got some hot cocoa if you want some!”

  “No, thanks,” the sheriff called from the dining room. When I came back, she was back in the seat she had been in before while I held my warming mug in my hands to take the chill off my fingers.

  “So…” she started, looking unsure where to go from here. “The gravel… and the gate… that was… them?”

  “Peter and Wendy, yes,” I confirmed, sitting back in my seat, watching her reaction. “And also the paint can and the early warning,” I shrugged.

  “That’s…” she sighed, not finishing her sentence.

  “A lot to take in?” I finished for her.

  “Yeah…” she sighed, looking at the still-full mug in front of her that I now realized would go to waste. Oh well…

  “Jane!” Wendy pouted, making me look to her.

  “What’s wrong Wendy?” I asked, growing concerned.

  “You said you’d play with us if we behaved during the party!” she whined.

  Oh, right! I had forgotten about that…

  “I did, didn’t I?” I confessed, feeling too tired to play tag or hide-and-seek.

  “You did what?” the sheriff asked, looking confused.

  “I promised to play with the kids if they behaved during the party,” I confessed to her. “With all that’s been going on, I haven’t really had the chance…”

  “Wait a minute!” I brightened as an idea occurred to me. “Wendy, didn’t you and Peter have fun swatting those rocks out of the air this morning?”

  “Uh-huh…” Wendy nodded, clearly not sure where I was going with this.

  “And didn’t you two have fun with that man outside, just now? With the paint and throwing rocks at him?”

  “Yep!” Peter declared, still looking proud.

  “And how about when you made those goofy faces during the séance?” I continued.

  To this, the two of them made even goofier faces before snickering at me.

  “How about I trade you the fun you had this morning,” I started, gearing up for a deal I really hoped they would take. “Plus the fun you had just now, for the game of tag and hide-and-seek? I’ll even throw in an extra story tonight! Each of you can pick a story for me to read! How about it?”

  The kids seemed to consider this, then flew off to the receiving room where I could hear them whispering. Finally, Peter came back and, in an official voice, told me, “It’s a deal, but only if you read to us tonight!”

  “Okay,” I smiled, gratified that they took the deal. “I’ll be up in a bit, then.”

  “Kay!” the kids shouted in unison before flying through the ceiling to the upper floor.

  “Whew!” I breathed with a sigh of relief.

  “Well, that was odd…” the sheriff observed wryly.

  “I got off easy!” I confided to her. “Ever try playing tag or hide-and-seek with people that can fly through walls and never sleep? It’s exhausting!”

  “I can’t even imagine…” the sheriff chuckled as she got back up having, apparently, decided she had gotten all she needed from me.

  The sheriff left shortly after that and I went upstairs to read to the kids in the antique rocking chair that used to belong to their mom, feeling the love she felt for them in every fiber of the wood.

  Okay, so maybe this day didn’t totally suck…

  Chapter 10

  Confrontation

  The next day was Sunday, which meant that I had the day off, which I largely spent doing a few chores around the house, such as doing some light dusting, laundry and dishes. Once those were done, it was a lazy Sunday and I spent it reading from a charming used book imbued with peaceful tranquility.

  I had hoped that the problems from Saturday were behind me…

  The next day, a Monday, it was time to go back to work. I biked my way to the shop under an overcast morning. Nothing unusual had happened on my way in, no odd looks from strangers, no finger-pointing, and no whispered conversations, which I took to be a good sign. I parked my bike in back and locked it up before entering the store.

  “Morning Anne,” I called as I came in the back way. Anne was sitting at the cash register counting the money we would use should anyone need change.

  “Morning Jane,” she answered somewhat distractedly. “I got a new shipment of goods I need to go through, so you’ll be on the register today.”

  “Okay,” I smiled. I confess that I prefer to work the register over stocking shelves. It means I get to sit and only marginally pay attention as I keep an eye out for anyone trying to steal from the store, which isn’t often, since there really isn’t that much in the store worth stealing. The most expensive items are way too large to sneak out, since they’re dressers, tables, and wardrobes and the like. Most everything else is small knickknacks priced so low that nobody would bother.

  Once Anne was done preparing the register, she handed it over to me and opened the store. I dutifully sat down and pulled out my book, preparing for a long, but quiet, day. I glanced up, saw that the large black spider I had rescued earlier had made a home in the rafters, sitting in the middle of a new web, and was comforted that George was on the job of keeping this area pest-free.

  All was quiet, with only a few sales, most of which I pegged as tourists and one man that seemed to be doing some last-minute Halloween decoration, since he bought quite a few candle holders and assorted metalworks that he said he had plans to make ‘extra-creepy.’ Even Mr. Roadkill was a no-show! Either he moved on or somebody had bought whatever he was anchored to. I didn’t know, nor did I really care, which!

  It was early afternoon that the trouble began…

  I was still on register duty as Anne did her rounds of the store, checking on the merchandise and chatting with customers when a man I had hoped I would never see again walked in with two boys that I recognized as the miscreants that had thrown rocks at my house!

  “Aha!” the man yelled, pointing a finger at me, “I knew I’d find you here!”

  “Mr. Astard,” I acknowledged coldly. “Are these boys yours?” I asked, adding heat to my voice.

  “What of it?” he challenged.

  “They threw rocks at my house,” I answered as matter-of-factly as I could, but I confess it probably came off with a cold menace. “If they didn’t have such weak
throwing arms, I’d be demanding you pay for damages.”

  “You’re a witch!” one of the boys cried, his ego badly wounded.

  “Yeah! You hexed us!” the other added, his pride just as wounded.

  “What’s going on here?” Anne asked from the stairs, eyeing the man and the kids. One or two other customers had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold. After all, who doesn’t like free entertainment?

  “This girl is a murderer!” Astard declared self-righteously.

  Anne looked at him like he had just grown an arm out of the center of his forehead before rolling her eyes and declaring, “Jane wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

  Anne was wrong about that, since I hated flies, but I didn’t want to correct her. You know how it is…

  “You killed my best friend, Mr. Boday, in the graveyard with a satanic ritual!” the man cried, his face turning red. “Just because you have the sheriff in your pocket doesn’t mean you’ll get away with it!”

  The man actually stepped closer to me, practically shoving his finger up my nose!

  I grabbed his hand, wanting to swat it away, but with the touch of our hands, I peered into his mind before I could stop it. What I saw was a memory of a large man with a thick black beard towering over me. The man looked absolutely terrified!

  I recognized him as Mr. Boday, the victim…

  “I tell you, there’s something about that girl!” the hulking bearded man cried. “She’s got some kind of… power or something! Ever since I bumped into her, I’ve been hearing… voices! I keep hearing Harriett! It’s like she’s haunting me from beyond the grave!”

  I finished swatting Mr. Astard’s hand away, returning to the present with a new realization. This man wasn’t going to leave me alone because his best friend had accused me of doing some kind of… witchcraft or something… that made him start hearing the voice of his dead wife!

  I could think of a few reasons this might be… Either Mr. Boday had just become a spooky, enabling him to hear Harriett for the first time, or it was simple guilt over what he had done to his wife. It’s also possible that as Halloween approached, and if Mr. Boday believed in ghosts enough, that he might develop a temporary sensitivity to ghosts… I’m not sure how likely any of these scenarios are, but in none of these cases is it my fault that the man started hearing voices!