Whispers

by Lynn Moon

  After breakfast, needing a change of scenery, I called Auntie Delphie. She picked me up an hour later. The rest of that day, I relaxed, reading in her backyard many miles away from my mini haunted mansion. Spending time with my book was much better than spending it with my ghost.

  ***

  Auntie Delphie dropped me off after dark. As her car rolled out of the driveway, I had a strong longing for her to return. My mother’s room was dark. The only light came from the kitchen. As I entered, Katrina greeted me with her warm smile.

  “I baked cookies,” she said. “Want a few?”

  “Katrina, do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Never seen one,” she said. “Can’t say one way or the other. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I pulled out the milk and almost dropped it when a loud wail soared through the room.

  Katrina jumped from the chair, darting for my mom’s bedroom. She entered first. I followed, still clutching the milk container.

  “Ashlynn Paige?” Katrina ran to my mother’s side. “What’s wrong?”

  “He was here!” my mother yelled.

  “Who was here?” Katrina asked.

  “Nicky was here!”

  “Impossible,” Katrina said, trying to get her to lie back down. My mother was on her knees, pushing against Katrina. “Remember, Ashlynn? There was a funeral. Nicky is gone.”

  “No,” my mother cried out. Tears covered her face. I had never seen her so upset. “Mue, your father was here. I saw him. He touched me. I saw him!”

  I stared at her. What can I say? I, too, could have sworn that I had seen him. I wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry.

  “Calm down, Ashlynn Paige,” Katrina said, now pushing my mother back onto the bed. “I’ll get one of your sedatives. It was probably just a bad dream.”

  “No, I saw him,” she cried out again. “Mue, you must leave this house! He said he’s coming for you. You’ve got to get away.”

  My stomach tightened. Mom hadn’t said more than a couple of words to me since my father’s funeral, and now she is telling me to leave? Has she lost her mind?

  “Call Delphie and ask her to come over,” Katrina said, staring at me.

  I couldn’t move. What if my father’s ghost has really returned?

  “Musetta!” Katrina yelled this time. “Call Delphie!”

  Delphie arrived within the hour. By that time, Katrina had already coached my mother back to sleep. I, however, was a nervous wreck.

  “I brought my things,” Delphie said, after I begged her to take me home with her. “You have school tomorrow. And I don’t feel right leaving Katrina alone with your mom. I’ll sleep in the room across from yours. You’ll be fine.”

  “What if my dad’s ghost comes for me tonight?”

  “Mue, your dad is gone, and he isn’t coming back.”

  That was what everyone was saying. But I wasn’t so sure.

  ***

  That night, when I turned off the lights, I saw nothing but my father’s face. Not able to sleep in the dark, I left on the bathroom light. As I crawled into bed, I wondered, Are ghosts real? I’d seen them on TV and in movies. But never thought much as to whether they were real or not. Just as I was about to close my eyes, a light knock rapped on my door.

  “Yes?”

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  Auntie Delphie slowly opened my door. As her head appeared around it, my nerves relaxed.

  “All tucked in?”

  “Almost.”

  Auntie Delphie sat on my bed. Adjusting the covers, she smiled. “I don’t believe you have a ghost in this house. I do believe, however, that you have a very active imagination.”

  “What about Mom? She saw him too.”

  “I think she’s on too much medication. And she needs to get herself out of that bed more. I’ll call her doctor in the morning.”

  I nodded.

  “Did you set your alarm?”

  “Always do,” I replied.

  “Good. I’m right next door. If you have a bad dream, wake me. Okay?”

  After a quick hug and kiss, I was alone in my room again. Alone with my thoughts about my fist and my dead father. Not wanting to think about him anymore, I drank the last of my water. Sitting the empty glass on my nightstand, I pulled the covers over my shoulders. Before drifting off to sleep, my mind played a movie of ghostly feet walking up and down the hallway, taunting me.

  ***

  A cold breeze trickled down my back. Reaching out, I felt only darkness. As a brush ran through my hair, a hand rubbed between my legs. I was naked. Fear soared through me as I tried to scream. But no sound escaped through my lips. Again I reached out, and again my hands touched nothing. An evil darkness was now on top of me. I screamed. Again, no sound escaped. Opening my eyes, I slowly adjusted to the darkness. My curtains were partly open and slender beams of moonlight reflected against the walls. I could hardly breathe as I stared into the eyes of my dead father. He was breathing heavily. It was Sunday, not Friday. I screamed.

  ***

  As my alarm blared from the nightstand, I almost fell from my bed. The morning sun filled my room. A glance around showed that everything looked as it should. But I didn’t feel so good. Running to my bathroom, I sat on the toilet. After wiping myself, I smelled the bloody paper. Fear jolted through my body. The odor was from him.

  Tears ran down my face. Turning on the shower to the hottest setting, I scrubbed my body. I scrubbed until my skin bled. As I cleaned myself, I screamed. Over and over, I screamed.

  “Musetta?” Auntie Delphie’s voice pounded at me through the steam and running water. “Oh my goodness, Musetta!”

  Auntie Delphie turned off the water and threw a towel over me. Helping me out of the shower she dried me off. She sat me on the bed and stared into my face.

  “May I ask what’s going on in here?”

  Too afraid to answer, I was just as terrified not to.

  “I don’t know,” I said between sobs.

  “Why are you using a scrub brush on yourself?”

  “He was here,” I cried out. “He was here.”

  “Who was here?”

  “Dad!”

  Delphie took two steps back. Tears ran down her deathly white cheeks.

  She knew. She knew right away. I didn’t have to say a word. She slapped her hand over her mouth, only an odd-sounding whisper escaping her lips. “Oh my goodness.”

  I could not stop crying. Pulling the towel closer around my shoulders, I sat on my bed and shivered. As she grabbed both of my arms, she planted her face directly in front of mine.

  “Musetta,” she said. “You answer me truthfully, now.”

  I stared at her.

  “Did your father molest you when he was alive?”

  I nodded as more tears fell.

  Auntie Delphie stood back and screamed, “No!”

  “And his ghost is doing it now,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER 5

  DR. SHAPIRRO SEEMED MORE like a lawyer than a shrink as she scribbled on her notepad. Glancing around the room, I smiled when my eyes landed on her family portraits. Her two young boys were cute; one resembled her and the other looked just like her husband. How old are the photographs? The framed diplomas and degrees looked impressive. She should know what she was doing. But how can she help me against a ghost?

  “Sorry about that,” Dr. Shapirro said, sitting down her pad of paper. “So, tell me about this ghost of yours.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, how clear was it?”

  “I was standing outside and when I looked up at my dad’s window, I saw someone standing there.”

  “Do you think about your deceased father often?” she asked. “Maybe more since the funeral?”

  I nodded. “Once in a while.”

  “Guilt can do some pretty weird stuff to a person,” she said.

  Staring at her, my mind tumbled in all directions. “Guilt?”

  “Y
es,” she said, tapping her pen against her knee. “Guilt even changes a person . . . inside. Can make them do or say things that don’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

  “Oh?” Picking up her paper, she scribbled down a few words.

  Wanting to change the subject, I added, “Another time, I saw the ghost’s feet under a door. In my dad’s study.”

  “I didn’t know ghosts had feet,” she said. As she scribbled, I wondered if ghosts were feetless. Then I remembered the movie Casper the Friendly Ghost. He had feet. He even danced.

  “I saw his face in my room, too,” I said, wishing that I hadn’t said it as soon as it came out.

  “Tell me about that encounter?” Shifting her weight from one hip to the other, she smiled.

  “It was probably just a dream. I thought I saw his face.”

  “And what was your father doing when you saw his face?”

  And what was my father doing? Honestly? This woman wanted me to tell her what my dad did to me at night. I wouldn’t even tell Auntie Delphie everything, although she hounded me relentlessly about what I partially told her. Glancing out the large window, I watched as light rain hit the glass. Why can’t life be as carefree as water? It would feel so wonderful to just flow in any direction that gravity sends me. Not to have a care in the world—now that would be perfect.

  “Musetta?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “Are you okay? Do you need a break?”

  “I’m fine.” Not wanting to be there any longer, I stood. “I believe it’s time for me to go.”

  “Okay, no more today, then,” she said, again tapping her pen. “That’s fine. Since we met today, I will not see you on Thursday. You have a great week, Musetta. And you have my private number if you need me.”

  I shook my head as I darted from her office. Auntie Delphie jumped to her feet as soon as she saw me. Without a word, I ran out of the waiting room and to the parked car. How do I even start to tell anyone what my precious and wonderful father did to me? He took my childhood and turned it into a nightmare. Sometimes at dinner, he’d tell stories about the perverts he sent to prison for doing the exact same thing.

  The car clicked several times as it unlocked. Not waiting for my aunt, I pulled open the door and plopped onto the passenger seat. I kept my eyes locked forward and cringed as she got in.

  The short ride to my school lasted only a few minutes. Neither of us said a word. Just before I shut the door, she yelled out to not forget about my doctor’s appointment next week. I had no idea why she made one. If she had any desire to medicate me like they did my mom, she could forget it. No drugs!

  After checking in at the school’s office, I hurried to my history class. I’d already missed the first two bells. Anxious to get my day back to normal, I laughed. Will my world ever be normal again? Was it ever normal to begin with? After I took my seat near the back, Hunter glanced over and winked. I grinned to let him know I was okay. As soon as the bell rang, he aimed straight for me.

  “What’s up?” he said, taking my backpack from me.

  “Had a bad dream last night so my aunt made me go see my shrink.”

  “Gets you out of class,” he said, shaking his head. “Tell me about the bad dream?”

  “It’s nothing.” I grabbed my pack from him and scurried to my locker.

  The repulsive relationship I shared with my father had to remain private. No way could I allow anyone to know—other than my Aunt Delphie. Our town was just too small.

  Since my dad was a local judge and prominent figure in our community, everyone had known him. My mother still mourned over losing the only man she’d ever loved. No way could I ruin his reputation. Not now. If I did, it would probably kill her. No, this was something I had to deal with on my own—privately.

  I dodged my friends’ questions until after school. But once on the bus, I knew I’d have to talk. As soon as I sat, Charlie plopped down beside me.

  “Hey Musetta, what’s wrong? You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that nothing’s right.”

  “Hunter and Quinton are coming over later. Why don’t you come over, too?”

  Remembering the shadows in my dad’s study, the urge not to stay home overpowered me. I was answering before I realized it. “Sure.”

  “Great, do you need a ride?”

  “I’ll take my bike,” I replied. I hadn’t ridden it in forever.

  Since Quinton and I were the last ones to be dropped off, we always walked home together. Sticking with our custom of not talking, I didn’t feel it necessary to do anything different. As we headed up the small valley road, he kept glancing over at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Something’s bothering you, Musetta. We’ve know each other our whole lives. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I know you just lost your dad and all, but I can tell it’s something more. Something a lot worse. You’re too quiet.”

  “I can’t,” I replied. “Personal. Can’t we just leave it at that? Please?” He nodded, but I knew this question would come up again. To change the subject as we reached my gate, I added, “I’m going to ride my bike to Charlie’s. Wanna ride with me?”

  I knew he wouldn’t say no. When we were younger, we rode all over this town, exploring every road, every dead end.

  “Give me time to pump up my tires, okay?”

  “Be over in fifteen,” I yelled out as I allowed the gate to bang shut behind me.

  I peered up at my father’s study, my heart skipping as the curtains fell back into place. Someone or something had been standing there, staring out those windows . . . at me. But who, or what?

  Instead of entering the house through the kitchen as I always did, I aimed for the backyard. Our pool was still covered, the tarp now filled with dried leaves. Will Mom open it this year now that Dad is gone? Even if she did, I preferred Quinton’s pool to ours. Wearing a bathing suit at my house always gave me the creeps.

  The shadows from the tall trees still covered the back of the house. It was always colder here than out front.

  Glancing through the large patio windows, I sighed. My mother was still curled on top of her blankets. Will she ever be happy again? I turned toward my grandparents’ home. Their old white farmhouse used to give me so much comfort. I tried to remember the last time I visited them, but I couldn’t. Maybe this weekend I could walk over and stay for a while. They lived right behind me and I hardly ever saw them anymore. And they weren’t getting any younger.

  My dad always fought with his father. I always wondered why he built his house so close. When I got married, there was no way I’d even live in the same town with my family. I wanted to be as far away as possible. Even another country would be too close for me.

  As I watched the puffy clouds float over my grandparents’ rooftop, I spotted someone leaving their shed. It was a man, but not an older man like my grandfather. No, this man was much younger. Closer to my father’s age.

  Watching him, my heart pounded. He had the same little limp as my dad. That couldn’t be my father. But who else would be at my grandparents’ house, walking around in their back yard? Studying the man, I could hardly breathe. He opened their back door before going back into the shed. He pulled something along the ground, struggling with it up the stairs. Before he closed the door, he stared straight over at me and waved. Not wanting to pass out or puke, I ran into the kitchen and slammed the door.

  “Whoa there,” Katrina said, drying her hands. “Let’s not break the glass.”

  I leaned against the door, panting. If I pressed hard enough, maybe the monster wouldn’t get me. I dropped my backpack to the floor as tears filled my eyes.

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Katrina said, walking over to me. Placing a hand on my shaking shoulder, she asked, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “I think I just saw my dad’s ghost at my grandparents’.”

  “I was only j
oking about the ghost,” she said. She picked up my backpack and placed it on the bench.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “What would your dad’s ghost be doing over there? Fighting with his father again?”

  “I don’t know. But the thing waved at me.”

  “Things don’t wave,” she said, concentrating on the dirty dishes. “They moan and groan, not wave.”

  “Well, this one did.”

  “Sit down until you catch your wits about yourself. Hungry? I made cookies. Dinner won’t be for a while yet.”

  Shaking my head, I glanced over at my mother’s bedroom door. Still closed. “Has she been up yet?”

  “A little. Delphie took her to a doctor’s appointment earlier. When they got back, your mother had tea on her veranda. It’s a start, Musetta.”

  “Before I leave for Charlie’s house, I’ll sit with her.”

  Katrina nodded and smiled. Opening my mother’s door, I glanced in. With the curtains open, the room was bright and cheery. Seeing my mom like this hurt me inside. I wasn’t used to life without her. I could easily get used to no daddy around, but not to losing my mom.

  “Mom?” I whispered.

  She didn’t move.

  “Mom?” I said a little louder.

  She still didn’t move.

  Sitting on her bed, I pulled her hair from her eyes. She looked peaceful as she slept. Not wanting her to catch a cold, I dragged the quilt over her and kissed her cheek. She felt cold and almost clammy. Again, she didn’t move. I could hear her breathing, so she was still alive. But how alive is living like this? Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I left her alone, to sleep.

  I felt empty inside as I climbed the back stairs. Before Dad died, Mom would meet me at the front gate. She’d be the first person to greet me after school. I’d tell her all about my friends and what I learned that day—which usually wasn’t much. Every morning, she’d help me pick out what to wear and brush my hair. Now, my life seemed so empty without her. I wished I hadn’t punched my dad at his funeral. If I turned my mother into a zombie, how will I ever live with myself?