by Ron Ripley
After the last, a glimmer of anger could be seen in Ivan Denisovich’s eyes.
“Listen to me now, Park,” her father growled, “if you like remaining on this plane of existence, I would suggest you come out and speak to me.”
A moment later, the ghost stood off to one side, near the iron door, but not quite touching it.
Ariana examined him with curiosity. She had never seen one of her father’s ghosts before, and this man was exceptional.
None of the others had ever disobeyed, at least not that she knew of.
Thurman Park glared at them both, his fingers opening and closing with frightening rapidity as if they longed to hold the handle of a knife.
He was an average looking man, his face neither remarkable nor memorable. His hair was a sandy brown, and he wore a gray suit.
Ariana didn’t think he was very special at all.
“How did you do it?” Thurman demanded, his voice a low, dull monotone.
“Never mind how,” her father replied, “remember only that I did it. I will not do it again.”
“No?” Thurman asked, glancing from Ivan Denisovich to Ariana.
“No,” her father reiterated. “I’ll shatter the watch and scatter what remains.”
The dead man stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re a fool then if you believe the lies you speak,” her father snapped.
In a tone that seethed with anger, Thurman asked, “Why did you call me out?!”
“I wanted my daughter to see a dangerous ghost,” her father replied. “And I want information.”
Thurman frowned. “What information?”
“Your nephew, he was a collector of antiques, yes?” Ariana’s father asked.
Thurman shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Ariana,” Ivan Denisovich said, “I need you to get the hammer off the workbench for me.”
“No!” Thurman shouted. “No. Yeah, you’re right. The kid had a ton of antiques in his place. What about them?”
“Were there any others that were possessed?” her father asked.
Ariana watched as the dead man hesitated, and she got up out of her seat.
Thurman winced as if he had been struck and answered hastily, “Listen. There were one or two. He didn’t know it, but he kept them separated anyway.”
“In his home?” her father asked.
Thurman nodded.
“Where?” Ivan Denisovich asked.
“He had a shelf in the basement, next to a bunch of his golf trophies,” Thurman answered.
“Excellent,” her father said, standing up. “Ariana, are you hungry?”
She nodded and walked to the door, the ghost moving away nervously.
“What about me?” Thurman asked when her father reached the door.
“You?” Ivan said, smiling. “You are my guest now. You will stay here, amongst others of your kind. We will have more discussions, but my little girl needs her lunch.”
“Are you going to give me back to my nephew?” Thurman asked as they left the room.
“I don’t see how,” her father replied. “My daughter killed him.”
The ghost’s howl of rage penetrated the iron door and followed them up the stairs where Ivan Denisovich Korzh made his daughter a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With the crusts cut off.
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: The House
The home of Alden Park was a blue and white ranch, the yard small and well-kept. There were no vehicles in the driveway, and the mail had not been brought in.
Ariana knew it wouldn’t be.
Alden Park was dead on a bench.
She and her father walked around to the back of the house and stopped at the nearest basement window. It was small, the frame made of old wood, and the caulking around the panes was missing in large chunks. Ariana stood aside as her father put on a pair of gloves and used a small pry bar to remove the window from its frame. When he had set it aside, he handed her a pair of leather gloves.
“These are lined with cotton,” he told her. “They may become warm, but you must keep them on. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” she answered, sliding the gloves on.
“Good. Now, if Thurman spoke the truth about his nephew, then you will find the objects we seek amongst the trophies.” Her father hesitated and then asked, “Do you know what golf is?”
“A stupid game,” she answered. “They hit little white balls with clubs.”
Her father chuckled as he nodded. “Yes. Very good. So, whatever you see that is not a golf trophy, you must take and put in this bag.”
He handed her a canvas bag that felt heavier than it looked.
“Are you certain you can do this, Ariana?” he asked, concerned.
“I’m small,” she replied. It was what she had told him over lunch. She wanted to help her father, and Ariana knew she could retrieve what he wanted.
“Yes,” he replied, “you are small. And you are my daughter. Call me, Ariana, and I will come. Do you understand?”
She nodded, and without another word between them, he lowered her down into the basement.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the poor light, and when they did, she was surprised to find that the basement was clean and orderly. She had seen other people’s basements, and they had all been a mess.
Once she could see, Ariana moved forward, looking around. She saw a television and a couch. Boxes labeled Taxes, others that said Family Records. Ariana passed them, turning left at the bottom of the stairs and entering a long, narrow room. Rows of trophies lined the walls and light filtered in through the window set high in the wall.
Then, in the center of the trophies, she saw a smaller shelf, and on it were three items. A broken piece of a statue, an old, black rotary phone, and a silver ring.
She walked to them, realized she couldn’t reach the shelf and found a chair to drag over. When she had it in place, Ariana climbed up onto the seat, stood up on her tiptoes, and took down the piece of the statue, placing it in her bag. Next, she reached for the phone, and it rang.
It was a loud, piercing sound that caused her to wince.
Frowning, Ariana looked at it, wondering if the phone should be ringing.
After the second ring, she shrugged and answered it.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Who’s this?” a woman asked sweetly.
Ariana felt uncomfortable, butterflies slipping into her stomach. There was something wrong about the woman’s voice.
“Who are you?” Ariana asked in return.
The question seemed to catch the unknown caller off-guard. She cleared her throat and stated, “I asked you first.”
“You called me,” Ariana said, picking up the ring and dropping it into the bag.
“No,” the woman argued, “you called me.”
“You’re a liar,” Ariana stated. “Liars aren’t nice. You’re going to be in trouble.”
“Who are you?” a voice demanded from behind her, and Ariana turned to face the speaker.
It was a short, thick woman wearing a battered and faded housecoat that might have been yellow. Her black hair was in pink rollers, and her short, stubby feet were clad in matching pink slippers.
The woman’s voice, Ariana realized, had been the one she had heard on the other end of the phone. The air had become cold, and she knew that the woman before her was dead.
Hanging up the receiver, Ariana held onto the phone and sat down in the chair. She looked at the woman and said, “I already told you, you called me.”
The woman’s face darkened in the dim light, and she scowled, saying, “Listen to me, you little brat, you better tell me your name or your parents are going to hear about this.”
Ariana tapped her fingers on the phone and said, “My parents already know about this. What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you my god-damned name!” the woman screamed.
In the distance, Ariana heard her father call her name, and before she
could answer her father, the woman slammed into her. Ariana was knocked back, the chair crashing to the floor. The phone went skidding into a shadowed corner, but she kept her grip on the bag with the other two items. Her head slammed against the floor and stars exploded in front of her eyes as the dead woman rushed towards her.
Ariana rolled away and got to her hands and knees.
Even as she did so, Ariana felt the woman grab hold of one of her pigtails, jerking her backward, her neck exploding with pain. The dead woman lifted Ariana up off the floor, holding her at eye level. Waves of cold slammed into her, and the ghost snarled as she examined her.
“You little brat,” the woman hissed. “You answer me when I talk to you. I didn’t take this kind of lip from my own kids, you think I’m going to take it from some little punk?”
The dead woman shook her and snapped, “Answer me!”
Ariana didn’t want to, and she didn’t have to.
Her father was there.
His huge fist crashed into the dead woman even as he took hold of Ariana with his other hand.
“Which was it, child?” her father asked, his voice shaking with rage.
“The phone,” she answered.
The woman appeared a moment later, glaring at Ariana and her father.
“Are you her father?” the woman spat. “Maybe you ought to teach your kid some manners, huh?”
Ivan Denisovich ignored her, asking Ariana, “Where is it?”
She motioned to the corner where the phone had slid into, the action causing her neck to spasm with pain.
“Did you hear me?” the dead woman howled. “No wonder she’s a punk!”
Ariana held onto her father as he strode over to the corner, bent down and picked the phone up, the receiver dangling at the end of its coiled cord.
The ghost stiffened. “What are you doing?”
Ivan Denisovich didn’t answer.
Not with words.
He hurled the phone to the floor as the dead woman screamed for him to stop. Sharp pieces of broken plastic from the phone’s casing shot into the air, one of them grazing Ariana’s forehead. The ghost let out a terrified shriek.
“No! No, I’m not ready!” the dead woman begged.
Ariana’s father’s response was simple and eloquent.
He lifted a booted foot, and he brought it smashing down onto the phone until the ghost was cast into darkness.
Bonus Scene Chapter 4: At Home and With Her Father
Ariana had a small Band-Aid on her forehead and a heating pad on her neck. Her father had explained to her mother that Ariana had fallen at the playground. Neither of them felt the woman should know about the important lessons he taught Ariana.
Her mother was a kind, sweet woman, and she wouldn’t understand about the important work Ariana’s father wanted her to do.
Ariana snuggled against her father, the man’s large arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. He had finished reading the tale of Baba Yaga, and he was yawning as they sat in her bed.
“Ariana,” he said after a moment.
“Yes, Father?” she asked, closing her eyes.
“How are you feeling, daughter?” he asked.
“Tired,” she said, fighting to stay awake. She had heard her father tell her mother that he would have to leave again in the morning. He would be back soon, by the end of the month, but he still had to go.
“I am very proud of you,” her father said after a moment. “You are a strong, smart girl. I am blessed to have you as my child.”
“Thank you,” she said happily, pressing herself against him. The beat of his heart was loud and comforting in her ear.
“There will be a time,” he said hesitantly, “that I may not be able to come and see you anymore.”
Ariana sat up, real fear springing into her heart.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
Her father smiled. “What I mean, my dear one is that all men and women die. Death is our familiar friend, someone to welcome when the time comes. If it is my time, then I will go willingly. And only then will I not be able to see you. Only then will you need to wait until old age has claimed you for you to see me again.”
“Oh,” Ariana said in a hushed voice.
Her father pulled her close to him again, nestling her head against his chest. He rubbed her head, his large hands gentle.
“There is something else I must say,” he said, his voice becoming firm. “If I am robbed of my life. If I am taken before I feel it is my time, then you will see me again, and long before you pass on.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, closing her eyes.
“I promise,” he said, his voice rumbling within his chest. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” Ariana whispered.
“You are most welcome, my daughter,” her father replied, and he began to hum.
Sleep pulled at her, and she fought it for as long as she could.
Ariana Leckie loved her father more than anything or anyone in the world, and when he left her, she wept for days.
Bonus Scene Chapter 5: A Package Arrives
Five days after her father’s last visit, Ariana sat at the dining table. Her mother was on the phone with Aunt Suzy, and Ariana was focused on the new spelling words her second-grade teacher Mrs. Kime had assigned.
There was a knock at the front door, and she glanced at her mother.
Her mother nodded, smiled, and continued on with the conversation.
Ariana got up, left the room, and answered the door. Larry, the mailman, stood on the front step. He was old as if carrying the mail for so long had changed the way he stood.
“Hello, Ariana,” Larry said, grinning at her.
She smiled back as she said, “Hello.”
“I have a package for you here, and some letters,” he said, fishing them out of his large, dark blue mailbag. He handed her the letters first, and then a small box wrapped in brown paper.
“Now that’s for you,” Larry said.
“Thanks,” Ariana replied, getting ready to close the door.
Larry grinned, saying, “Ariana, the package is for you. Not your mom. You.”
Surprised, she looked down at it and saw her name and address.
And it was all written in her father’s handwriting.
“Oh, boy!” Ariana shouted. “Thanks!”
“You’re welcome,” Larry said, and he waved as he climbed down the stairs.
Ariana hurriedly closed the door, locked it, and ran into the kitchen with the mail. She dropped the letters on the counter, and when her mom saw the package, she raised an eyebrow.
Ariana mouthed the word, Dad, and her mother brightened. She nodded and continued on with the conversation, which had something to do with a problem at Aunt Suzy’s job.
Ignoring her homework and her mother, Ariana sat down and tore open the package. Inside was a small, beautiful compact mirror. It was silver, with a deer head carved into it. There was also a letter.
Ariana unfolded the paper, her hands trembling with excitement, and she read the neat, block-letter words of her father.
My Dearest Ariana,
I trust you are well, and that you have recuperated from the unfortunate fall in the playground. I have sent you a small compact, designed and crafted for you in mind, it would seem. I want you to understand that this is not a toy and that it is important, much like the items I collect. And, in fact, it comes from my own collection.
One day you will understand the significance of this piece of finery, and you will be able to use it if such a need exists. I hope that I am not speaking in circles, and I am trusting that my smart little girl knows what I speak of.
I hope that you will never need it for anything, but should it happen that you do, remember what I told you; call me, Ariana, and I will come. Do you understand?
I trust that you do.
You have all of my love, and I ask that you share it with your mother. I will be back home, with you, in seventeen days.
Mark them on the calendar, and save all of your school work for me. I will save some of my own work, and we will go to the range again and perhaps move up to a heavier weapon, yes?
Your loving Father
Ariana read the letter several times before she tucked it into the pocket of her dress. Then she picked up the compact and examined it, the metal cool as she turned it over in her hands.
Her mother continued to talk with Aunt Suzy, so Ariana set the compact down on the table, picked up her pencil, and worked on her homework again.
She needed a good grade so her father would be proud.
It was only another seventeen days until he would be home.
Humming, Ariana worked on her spelling and tried not to think of going to the range to learn how to use a new weapon.
* * *
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