What a Ghoul Wants

by Victoria Laurie

  I rubbed my eyes wearily. The jet lag and all the events of that morning were really taking their toll on me. “It was all a crazy chain of events, buddy.”

  “So start from the beginning.”

  By the time I’d finished telling Gopher exactly what’d happened from when I’d awakened that morning to the sounds of a woman crying outside my door all the way to how I’d ended up here, the nurse had come back in to check the thermometer and pronounced me warm enough to be released. As soon as I ate a bit of breakfast, that is.

  I looked pleadingly at my producer to say something to the nurse so that I could go see Heath, but he seemed to be absorbed in thought, processing what I’d told him. It wasn’t that Gopher didn’t believe me; it’s that he’d witnessed enough freaky stuff to really know the danger we’d just landed ourselves in. Trouble is, when it comes to facing down murderous spooks for a good bit of footage, Gopher is the first to volunteer us for duty.

  “So you’re saying this ghost actually tried to drown Heath?” Gopher asked the minute the nurse was out of hearing range again.

  I hugged the large bag of hot saline she’d left me with and wondered if I’d ever feel really warm again. “Yes,” I said. “She pulled him into the water and by the time I got to them, she’d already dragged him about ten feet under the surface.”

  Gopher turned a bit pale. “She’s that strong?”

  I knew what he meant. Heath was six feet of solid lean muscle. He was young and powerful in his own right, and a great swimmer, as we’d both watched him do lap after lap to get some exercise in the pool at the hotel we’d stayed in during our recent trip to Dunkirk. “She is,” I told him. And then something else quite troubling came to mind.

  “What?” Gopher asked, reading my expression.

  I bit my lip. “I don’t think Heath was her first victim of the morning.”

  Gopher cocked his head. “Meaning?”

  “You heard about the clerk who’d checked us in, right? Merrick Brown was found drowned this morning, his body floating in the moat.”

  “Yeah. . . that was tough to hear. I mean, he seemed like such a nice guy.”

  “Well, I saw him.”

  “You saw him. . . where?”

  “I saw him chained to that hag on the bridge inside the castle wall overhanging the moat. Merrick had this metal collar around his neck, and he was attached to that awful spook that tried to drown Heath.”

  Gopher squinted his eyes at me. “Come again?”

  I sighed and was about to explain when the curtain was pulled aside again and a hospital worker entered the area with a tray of food. “Here we are,” she said merrily, setting the tray down on one of those sliding bedside tables that scoot over the gurney and allow you to eat.

  Gopher got out of her way as she slid the table into place near my waist. “You’ll want to eat all that up, miss. Your body burned a few extra calories this morning and this will help set you back to rights.”

  With that, she gave us both a bright smile and exited. I lifted the plastic dome covering the dish and discovered a steaming bowl of oatmeal with a side of toast. Next to that was a dish of fruit and rounding out the meal was a fresh cup of tea.

  Quite suddenly, I was famished. Diving in, I explained to Gopher what I thought I’d seen. “I think she drowned Merrick,” I said after taking a large bite of the oatmeal, which was slightly overcooked, but laced with enough cinnamon to make up for it.

  “After she let go of Heath?”

  I shook my head. “No, buddy. Before. I’m positive it was his ghost on the bridge with her.”

  Gopher’s mouth fell open. “No way,” he said, and I could see the gears working as he thought that through. “We’ve got to get some film of him!”

  I leveled my gaze at my producer. “We’re not doing that.”

  Gopher looked affronted. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s unseemly, Gopher! I mean, the man just died and you want to go shoot his ghost like it’s some sort of circus act? Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

  “M. J.,” Gopher said, in that way that suggested I was about to get a lecture, “getting footage of ghosts is what we do, remember? And if we don’t get something really good to show the network brass soon, then neither you nor I will be doing much of anything for a while.”

  “What about his family?” I protested. God, could Gopher really be that insensitive?

  “No one said they had to watch the show, M. J.”

  I shook my head in disgust. Apparently he could. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  “Oh, well, excuse me for trying to keep us all employed,” he shot back testily. He then got up from his chair and moved to the curtain. I’d struck a nerve. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” he said tersely. “Have the nurse call me when you’re ready to head back to the castle.”

  He left in short order and I let out a sigh. I knew that Gopher received a daily phone call from one of the network execs wanting to know how our shoots were coming along. Gopher had fought like hell to get our first two episodes released from the original network that’d hired us, but so far, they were holding on to the rights pretty tightly, which meant that we’d been filming for a few months now and had only a precious few good episodes under our belts, certainly not enough to keep our ratings above the cancellation bar for the whole season.

  Without him saying as much, I could tell that Gopher thought this could be our last ghostbust if we didn’t shoot something pretty spectacular here in Wales.

  I also knew even without asking that there’d be no way that the network brass would let us come off this location and go find another. In fact, if they learned what’d happened to Heath that morning, they might pull the plug anyway for insurance purposes.

  No, it was either continue with our plans to investigate the ghosts of Kidwellah Castle or go home and file for unemployment. I could always return to doing readings for clients and trying to eke out a little extra cash conducting local ghostbusts from my home base in Boston, but that would mean saying good-bye to Heath, who’d most certainly head back to his home in New Mexico.

  “Dammit,” I swore as I swirled the rest of my oatmeal. I hated being caught between a murderous ghost and a hard place. I lifted my chin and eyed the curtain moodily. I didn’t want to make this decision alone, and quite possibly it wasn’t even mine to make.

  After slurping down the rest of my breakfast as fast as I could, I rang for the nurse. She came and pronounced me fit to discharge. She then helped me get dressed, and I was gratefully surprised to discover that my clothes had been thoughtfully dried by the hospital staff, and even though my jeans and undershirt smelled a little musty, I was glad to put on something warm.

  Once dressed I felt close to normal, but still chilled through, and the nurse advised me that was likely to persist for another few hours. “Find a nice cozy fire and sit near it for the rest of the day, Miss Holliday. You’ll be back to feeling yourself by morning.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been really kind and I appreciate it,” I told her, pulling on my boots. “Can you please tell me where I might find the other patient from Kidwellah? The young man with the name Heath Whitefeather.”

  “Come with me,” she said with a wink. “I’ll show you the way.”

  I followed behind her anxiously. Until I saw my sweetheart with my own two eyes, I wasn’t going to be satisfied that he was okay.

  We made our way out of the curtained area and down a long corridor before we turned left and stopped at an elevator. “He’s been moved up to the second floor,” she said, pressing the button.

  As we went in and the door shut, I asked, “How long will he have to stay here?”

  “Oh, that I don’t know, miss. You’ll have to ask his nurse on two.”

/>   I tapped my foot until the doors opened again and we headed down the corridor, where my nurse stopped at room 221 and knocked gently on the door. “Em?” I heard from inside.

  That brought me up short. Somehow he knew it was me. Were we a good match or what?

  The nurse opened the door and I poked my head in. Heath lay there covered with the same bags of warm saline and extra blankets that had covered me downstairs.

  “How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

  He looked at me dully and blinked in a slow sluggish way. “Gramps,” he said, pointing to a corner of the room. My eyes flickered there and I saw a small circle of what looked like vapor expanding and contracting. “He told me you were on your way up.”

  The nurse giggled and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “He was a few degrees colder than you when he came to hospital, Miss Holliday. He’s still a wee bit daffy, I’m afraid, but as he warms up, he’ll come round, so not to worry.”

  I smiled. If only she knew that Heath wasn’t nearly as out of it as he seemed. I thanked the nurse for all her kindness again before stepping into the room to close the door behind me. “Hi, sweetie,” I said shyly, feeling my eyes mist. I wasn’t normally this sentimental, but seeing him alive and well and breathing was such a relief that I was overcome.

  In return Heath offered me a weak smile and with effort he lifted his arms and said, “Get over here, woman.”

  I moved swiftly to his bed and threw my arms around him. For a moment we just held each other. “You gave me a hell of a scare,” I told him.

  “Look at it from my side.”

  I squeezed tighter. “You remember what happened?”

  “Yeah.” For a minute he was quiet and then he added, “They don’t tell you how much it hurts.”

  I lifted my chin to look at him. I hadn’t known he was in pain. “You’re hurting? Tell me where, honey, and I’ll ring for the nurse.”

  He shook his head, and I knew that I’d misunderstood. “Drowning. It hurts like a mother.”

  I swallowed hard. Jesus. Heath had actually drowned.

  Behind me I could feel the presence of his grandfather come closer and then his voice filled my mind. Thank you, he said.

  Don’t mention it.

  “Hey, Gramps,” Heath said weakly.

  I turned my attention back to him, and he seemed to be looking at something right over my shoulder. “You can see him?”

  He nodded. “He’s been hanging out with me ever since he pushed me back down.”

  I let go of Heath and moved to sit on the bed next to him. Taking his hand, which was ice-cold, I said, “He pushed you down?”

  Heath nodded. “Yeah. I crossed over, Em. It was so cool.”

  I felt a terrible chill run down my spine. “You. . . crossed over?”

  “Gramps was there,” Heath continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. His eyes were far away and there was the most peaceful smile on his face. “And my uncle Milt and aunt Bev. Oh, and my stepdad, Frank, and my real dad! I saw both of them.”

  I squeezed Heath’s hand tightly. He was far too excited about having nearly died for my taste.

  My sweetie closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. “I know we hear from spirits about how beautiful it is over there, but you know what? They don’t tell you the half of it. It’s like. . . amazing, Em.”

  I glanced nervously over my shoulder and saw the small circle of vapor hovering right next to us. I don’t like this, I said in my mind.

  He almost wouldn’t go back, Sam Whitefeather replied. It took both me and his two dads to get him back into his body.

  I had to swallow again. That meant that Heath had come really, really close to a true death, and that frightened me to the core.

  Thank you, I told him, realizing I should have been the grateful one from the start.

  It was a team effort, Sam replied, and I could hear his gentle chuckle along with it.

  I eyed the temperature gauge next to Heath’s bed. It read 30.8 degrees. They hadn’t let me out of bed until my temp had been 35, and according to Gopher that was about 95 degrees Fahrenheit, which meant that Heath had been cold when they’d brought him in.

  He shivered slightly while I sat next to him, and I let go of his hand and tucked it back under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin. He gave me a grateful smile and closed his eyes. “Man, I’m tired,” he mumbled, and a moment later he was asleep.

  I sat there for a long time, just watching him and letting a few tears fall too.

  Sam Whitefeather hovered just behind me the whole time, and I knew that he understood what had me so undone. I was in love with his grandson and I’d nearly lost him to that bitch in the moat.

  The longer I sat there, the more my emotions turned from fear and worry to anger and determination. At last I leaned down and kissed Heath’s cheek, then headed out to get some answers.

  Chapter 4

  The first place I went looking was at the nurses’ station. I found Heath’s nurse, identified myself as his emergency contact, and she let me know that they were going to keep Heath there overnight. “There is the rare chance of an infection to the lungs,” she explained. “He did take in quite a bit of water, Miss Holliday, and we want to make sure he doesn’t develop a fever or pneumonia.”

  “Please keep him as long as you need to make sure he’s okay,” I told her, taking up a nearby pen and scrap of paper to jot down my phone number. “That’s my cell number. Please call me with any new developments, and I’ll be back later to check on Heath.”

  I then headed back downstairs and found my own nurse ready with my release papers. Gopher was watching a soccer match in the waiting room when I tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that we should go.

  We didn’t speak on the way outside and he waved down a taxi for us. For the first few miles in the back of the cab we ignored each other, but then I finally turned to him and said, “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, we’ll shoot this bust on one condition.”

  Gopher raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “If you capture any footage of the poor clerk who drowned, you’ll have to promise to scrap it.” Gopher opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a finger and added, “I mean it. We are not shooting any footage of the ghost of any recently drowned victim. And I don’t care if his family won’t see the show or not. We’ve got to have some standard of decency!”

  Gopher’s eyes dropped to his lap. “M. J.,” he said, “you just don’t understand what kind of pressure—”

  “Oh, I get it,” I interrupted. “Trust me. I know the brass has been all over you about getting something scary on film, but you have to remember how dangerous this work is, buddy. We’ve all had our lives on the line a time or two, and this bust doesn’t look like it’s going to be any different. Which is why I’m putting my foot down. If you’re going to ask me to risk my ass again, then we need to come to an understanding about what footage gets passed on to the network.”

  Gopher slouched in his seat and stared sullenly out the window. He didn’t talk to me for several minutes and I had to work very hard to wait him out, but finally he turned to me and said, “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Okay what?” I wasn’t trying to be difficult; I just wanted him to understand I wasn’t going to sacrifice my ethics for ratings. Ever.

  He glared at me. “I won’t put anything you don’t agree with on film.”

  My brow rose. “Really?”

  Gopher rolled his eyes. “Yeah, really. But you guys better help me get something good to send to the network, M. J., or we can kiss this whole gig good-bye.”

  “Trust me,” I assured him, “if I know this hag—which, by now, I kinda think I do—she won’t be camera shy.”<
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  The taxi stopped in front of the drawbridge and the driver said he didn’t want to go across it. He was a local and had probably heard the stories of the ghost haunting the moat. We didn’t argue with him, but I couldn’t suppress a shiver or two about the thought of crossing on foot.

  Gopher paid the cabbie and we got out of the car. He stuck close to me and we walked in the center of the wooden planks. My eyes darted about as I searched for any sign of the ghostly hag, but the day was bright and sunny and there was no sign of her anywhere. Not even my sixth sense picked her up, and I was relieved about that at least.

  Gopher and I entered the large front door and found Arthur Crunn sweeping the main hall. He was so engaged in his work that he must not have heard us, because he jumped when I called to him. “Miss Holliday!” he said, setting aside the broom to hurry to my side. “Are you quite all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Thank you, Arthur. And how are you?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “As you know, I had a terrible fright this morning, but the doctor has seen me fit for duty.” The kindly old man then looked past me as if searching for someone else. “How is Mr. Whitefeather?”

  “He’s still in the hospital, but he’s recovering nicely.”

  Arthur shook his head from side to side. “I’m so sorry you’ve had such a run of awful luck on your first night with us. I’ve already spoken to the owner, and she has granted me permission to take care of any charges to your room for the duration of your stay.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’s very nice of you,” I said.

  “Least we can do,” he said with a cluck of his tongue.

  After I thanked him again, he said, “May I have the kitchen prepare you something to eat? I expect you’ll want to retire to your room and I can have a tray sent up straightaway, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, no thank you, Arthur. I ate only a little while ago. But, about my room. . .”