by Kim Hornsby
I listened and waited.
And waited.
Within minutes, something brushed my legs lightly, and I imagined the ghost lying on the floor touching my pant legs. I leaned over with my outstretched hand and felt the soft fur of an animal I imagined to be the cat. Sliding my hand down its backbone, the tail length and shape confirmed the cat had returned. “Hello, Tabby. How do you get in this house?”
The animal must’ve padded off because I didn’t feel it anymore. “Kitty, kitty,” I said, then made a noise with my mouth I believed cats like. My mother once had a cat she’d named Tallulah, and I remembered the animal coming to that clicking sound.
I sat back in the chair hoping to feel something. “I wish I still had my loco mojo.” I said to the cat, or no one. “All my life, I’ve relied on clairvoyance like another sense. I took it for granted, just like I took my vision for granted. Now, without either, I’m just a part of who I used to be.”
My hand played with the hem of my top, fingering the doubled material below the button. “If anyone is listening and you want to show yourself, I’d be grateful,” I said, “and in debt to you. It seems I can see when you are close by.” I assumed the ghost wasn’t around or I’d see something, but still I continued to talk like he was. “We’re leaving here tomorrow, closing the house for a while, moving on to other investigations. My friends and I help ghosts move on. We investigate houses that are haunted, find the troubled ghosts, and try to determine a solution for their problem. That’s why Belinda McMahon gave me this house. She asked me to help you. But it’s hard to help when I can’t find you and I don’t know what you need.”
The cat brushed against my legs again and I reached down to pet it. Its back was damp, like it had been outside in the rain just now.
“How’d you get outside, Kitty Kat?”
I sat back in the chair muttering for almost an hour about how much I hated my mother, what a challenge it had been to grow up with her, and how my husband thought she was entertaining, not crazy. I rambled on and on about Harry, how he and I had less than two years together before the accident took his life. I even cried a little thinking about my husband and hoping that he died instantly. “If you are near Harry, tell him I love him, I miss him, but I’m going to survive this.”
Finally, I stood, ready to descend to my bedroom without help. I didn’t need to wake Eve to assist me down stairs I’d clearly seen last night. My hands found the banister and I carefully took two stairs to just above where I’d seen the ghost standing. “You don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to appear just because I’m in some self-pitying emotional crisis. But it would be nice.” Ghosts didn’t appear just because you wanted them to. Not usually.
“I understand you’re shy, but I also know you are letting me see you for some reason. Last night you looked almost happy when I said I could see you.”
Nothing.
“We’ll be back in two weeks. A fortnight,” I added in old-timey talk.
Nothing.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and found the wall. With my left hand on the wall, I came to my bedroom door, the second door. I’d left the door open, not liking closed doors, especially in a house with only us three. Rounding the door jamb, I detected lightness behind my eyelids. I stood frozen as the view in front of my feet gradually lightened. This wasn’t imagination. I saw gray and that meant that the ghost was nearby. The cat rubbed against my legs and I looked down to see it was indeed the marmalade tabby cat.
I glanced back to the stairs to see nothing unusual. My limited vision scanned the foyer but still, no one. I saw stairs, the hall, color. As my vision settled in, I turned and scanned my bedroom. First, I saw my bed, unmade from an hour ago when I woke to leave for the third floor with Eve. Then the bedside tables. Eve had left a lamp on and I found that touching for some reason. She didn’t like to think of me living in the dark. The room was bathed in a golden glow from the yellow lampshade. I looked to the left towards the fireplace to see a shadow at the writing desk by the window. The scene lightened immediately, and I jumped to see the ghost so clearly. It was the man in the coat with the long black hair.
“I’ve never been called shy before,” he said in a soft, low voice.
I had never heard a ghost speak so clearly. His slight accent was something I couldn’t place.
“I can see you,” I said. “Who are you?”
He gestured to the armchair by the fireplace. “Please sit down, Mrs. Moody. I’m sure you have many questions.”
His voice was low and throaty, and I wondered if this had been his true voice when he was alive or if being a ghost had changed his voice. I closed the bedroom door and sat. For a paranormal investigator, this moment was not only golden, but also frightening and unbelievable. “I’ve been talking to you for hours on the top floor,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.
The ghost crossed his legs and folded his hands on his lap. He faced me. “I’ve been listening. But, I haven’t been the only one listening.” He cocked his head slightly. “Did you know your friend is listening to you from another room? Like a spy. He set up a device that allows him to hear you two floors down, in the library.”
I was peeved at Carlos and would have to talk to him. Right now, I was in shock that a conversation with a ghost was possible.
The cat made its way to the ghost and jumped on his lap.
“The cat sees you too.”
“He’s my cat. An excellent mouser.” The Pirate stroked the cat fondly, his large hand dwarfing the cat’s head.
I had to pull myself together and start asking some intelligent questions instead of staring at the ghost with my mouth open. He could disappear at any moment. And probably would.
“My name is Bryndle Moody and I investigate haunted houses,” I blurted, studying the man in front of me. His eyes were blue and twinkly, if that’s possible.
“Yes, I heard, and I also heard all about your mother and how she tries to ruin your life, it seems.” His expression darkened. “I’m very sorry about your husband, M’lady.”
I nodded, realizing he’d heard the diatribe about my mother, Harry’s death, and probably had seen my emotional underbelly. If this apparition disappeared any time soon, I needed some quick answers. “Who are you and why can I see you?
He unbuttoned his long coat and sat forward, stroking the cat with long, almost elegant fingers. “My name is Caspian Cortez. You might call me a ghost. I’m dead and have been for some time. I died in this house, I believe, but I’m not sure how. I’m not a pirate, as you say, God forbid. I’m a ship captain and let’s just say, I’m captain of the ghosts in this house.” His smirk made me want to take a photo of him with my phone to show Eve how full of himself this ghost was.
“Caspian Cortez. You’re Spanish?”
“I am. Was, I suppose. I’m dead now.” He spoke like this was a job interview.
“What year did you live in?” I was guessing late eighteenth century.
“I died in the year eighteen fifty-six.”
“It’s two thousand and eighteen now. Have you been here all this time?” I couldn’t imagine how boring it would be to stay in one house for over a hundred and sixty years.
“Sadly, yes. We come and go. It’s not like your existence.” The cat jumped off his lap and crossed back and forth in front of his boots, rubbing against them.
“How many ghosts are there?” I was sure there were at least two.
“Including Moonraker here,” he pointed to the cat, “there are six of us. Some are present more than others. I’m mostly present.” He cocked his head studying me. “Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately?” I asked.
“It seems I’m cursed to remain.” Caspian crossed to the second chair at the fireplace and sat across from me, our knees almost touching. Up close like this, his physical presence was awe-inspiring. He was a large man, gruff looking in a handsome way and he smelled like the ocean. It was a good smell, not like seaweed, but
like an ocean voyage on a clear sunny day. I breathed him in, then noticed him grinning.
“I’m into smelling people since I lost my sight,” I said. “In all my years of contacting ghosts, I’ve never had a conversation with a ghost before. Or smelled one. This is very strange.”
Caspian smiled widely. “I can imagine.” His teeth were perfect for someone who lived before dentists recommended braces and teeth whitening. “For me too, Mrs. Moody. I’m not used to being heard so clearly. Or seen like this. I’m not transparent then?”
I shook my head. Any second I expected him to fade away or for me to wake up in that bed across the room to realize I’d been dreaming. “Could Belinda McMahon see and hear you?”
“Ah, Mrs. McMahon.” He contemplated his answer, his hands steepled, his elbows on the armrests. “Our association was complicated. Not like this.” He gestured between us. “With you, I have to try to not appear. I’ve been ducking around corners and slipping into vacant rooms since you arrived.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure why I’m so present around you, but seeing I am, I’ve been trying to avoid you because not everyone is trustworthy.” He stared a hole through me. “Are you trustworthy?”
“Yes.” I imagined this man as a ship captain his crew feared. “Were you murdered?” I didn’t mean to ask him such a personal question, but it came out of my mouth before I censured it. “I’m sorry, if…” I changed the subject when I realized he wasn’t going to answer. Instead Caspian Cortez focused on what looked like my hair.
“Do you think you can appear before me any time you like?” I asked.
Caspian smiled broadly. “Is it nice to see again?”
“Beyond nice.” I realized this man now had a bargaining chip, something valuable over me. And he knew it. “Do you think if I touched you my hand would go through your arm, or . . .could I try?”
Caspian extended his arm, pulling the edge of his coat sleeve back to reveal he wore a grouping of gold bracelets.
I reached out and lay my hand on the arm of his rough wool coat, not his skin. It was solid. I moved my hand to touch his wrist and fingered the bracelets. His skin was cool but not freezing, like I expected. “Your coat feels damp.”
“I believe I drowned. I’m always damp, I fear. Again, he focused on my hair. “I have a question for you, Mrs. Moody, if you don’t mind.”
I nodded.
“Why do you have such a hairstyle? Did you lose your hair in the accident that took your husband and left your face grotesquely deformed?
Well, that was one way to put it. I had a scar but hadn’t heard I looked grotesque. My plastic surgeon would be very disappointed to hear I’d been called this. It was then I realized I hadn’t seen the scar. “I like this hairstyle,” I said crossing to the dresser with a large mirror. Before I went blind again, I needed to see my face. I’d had two surgeries by a skilled plastic surgeon in the last months. Surgeries that were performed specifically to keep me from looking grotesquely deformed. If I needed to get my money back, I wanted to know.
“It’s unbecoming for a woman,” he answered. “That hair.”
“Says you. A ghost who lived a long time ago,” I mumbled as I stared into the mirror for the first time in months. “Women were very different back when you lived. Styles were different.”
Frankenscar did not make my face look grotesque at all. It looked much better than I thought. Of course, the forty-dollar makeup covered it, but the puckering wasn’t bad at all. Even though the light was dim, I could see that it didn’t change the shape of my cheek or chin. I still looked like me except for a thin line that ran diagonally from mid-cheek to my chin. I might rename it now. Maybe Badass, or something more favorable. And my smoky eye makeup was awesome. Eve had done a great job. “You’re wrong about my face,” I said defiantly. “It’s not bad. Maybe in your day it would be considered grotesque, but in this day, it looks kind of cool.” I spun to face him, fully expecting he might be gone. He wasn’t. I yanked up my low-cut top at the bosom. He wasn’t deserving of seeing those things, not even the hint of them, after what he said.
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought we were having an honest conversation.”
Now I knew this ghost honestly thought my face was grotesque and my hair was unbecoming. Fine. “Women do what they want these days and that includes wearing our hair any way we like.” I looked in the mirror again and ran my fingers through my hair, making it stand up straighter. I didn’t give a rat’s behind what this ghost thought.
“So Belinda tried to tell me. She had short hair as well.” Caspian crossed to stand directly behind me.
In the mirror I saw me and Caspian Cortez.
“And your costume. I’ve never seen garments such as this.” He touched my jacket.
“I’m an actress of sorts and this is my costume. The hair, the makeup, the clothing.”
“Men’s pants,” he said to me in the mirror. “It makes you look masculine.”
The ghost was a full head taller, and I was five nine. “Women are equal to men, now, with equal rights. Mostly.”
“Ah yes, that’s something beyond my way of thinking, I’m afraid. But, never mind, I accept the capabilities of women in this modern society and that’s why I have a favor to ask of you, Mrs. Moody.”
Having a conversation with a man in a mirror added to the strangeness of all this. I turned around to look directly at him. He was too close, and I had to look up or back up sideways. I did both. “What’s the favor?”
“I believe it won’t take a woman of your talent long to help me.”
I was sure I knew what was coming. I waited to hear him voice his request. He looked nervous like a lot was at stake, which I guessed it was. One hundred and sixty-two years of loneliness.
“Unfortunately, I did not have a proper burial. My bones are still somewhere, waiting to be put to rest. That’s why I haven’t been able to leave this world between worlds for one hundred and sixty-two years.”
His face softened, and even though he’d insulted me, I felt badly for the sea captain standing in front of me.
“I believe we both have something each other wants,” I said. Now, I had a bargaining chip.
He studied my expression and I became determined to not give anything away in this negotiation. “You want to see, and I appear to be able to do that for you.” He gestured grandly towards me, almost expecting a thank you.
I knew what was coming.
“I’m prepared to help you if you will help me.” He wasn’t sure how to voice his request, I assumed.
I took a deep breath. “What can I do for you, Captain Cortez?”
“You can find my body and bury my bones, so I can pass on from this wretched modern world.”
Chapter 12
Somewhere around 4:30 a.m., I realized that with my new vision I wanted to see what my house looked like and asked Caspian to leave the bedroom with me. “Can you do that without disappearing?” This arrangement was all so tentative, and I was painfully aware that the ghost sitting in the chair across from me might fade away at any moment and never return. There wasn’t a guarantee to any of this.
“I roam these halls all night by myself and I believe I can accompany you on your tour.” Caspian stood briskly like we were headed to a ball in the grand parlor. He even held out his hand to help me to my feet.
I took his hand and stood firmly. Did he expect us to hold hands all the way to the door? I let go and walked over to grab the doorknob, not having to feel for it in blindness. Like a gentleman, Caspian motioned for me to go ahead of him.
“Let’s check out this house,” I said stepping through the doorway.
“Check out,” he said. “An interesting way to say it. I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you see.”
We left the bedroom like two friends heading off on an adventure. Maybe Caspian was lonely. Maybe the other ghosts in the house weren’t enough. As long as his presence gave me sight, I was this guy’s
new best friend.
I walked the hall without my hand on the wall, found the staircase and together we descended the stairs, side by side to the first floor. Casting my eyes on the grandness of the front foyer once we reached the landing was exciting.
My inherited mansion was awesome. And not as in the surfer/skateboarder kind of awesome, but as in awe-inspiring. No wonder Eve and Carlos liked the place. The only thing that kept the foyer from being something from a movie set was a system of ropes and pulleys and mattresses, all in place to keep one monstrous chandelier from falling and cracking the floor as it exploded into pieces of expensive crystal. Carlos had set up enough ropes tied to high places that if the thing fell, it would not hit the floor but would be stopped somewhere just off the Italian tile at the two-foot mark, I estimated. Carlos was a DIY engineer.
“Your assistant has quite an imagination,” Caspian said, pointing to the system of ropes.
“I see that.” I was so interested in what Carlos was doing, I hadn’t yet smiled at his ingenuity.
“She’s simply amusing herself.”
“Who are you talking about?” I turned to study his face, because I could.
“The woman who cut the chandelier.” He sighed, his eyes turning at the corners sadly.
“Is someone trying to kill us?” I gestured towards the chandelier hanging by one wire.
“Not necessarily kill. Maybe taunt.”
“Why?”
“Boredom. Jealousy. I’m not sure why Jacqueline does the spiteful things she does.” Caspian continued down the stairs and I followed closely. He smelled like the color blue.
“Who is Jacqueline and are you sure she did this to the chandelier?”
“Probably. It’s her style. And, she hates to be invisible and ignored.” Caspian stopped close to the mattresses, just under the chandelier and I was about to warn him to move away when I realized he couldn’t die twice.
I stood far enough back just in case. “Who is Jacqueline?” I asked.
“My wife.”
“You’re married?” I looked to his ring finger which was one of the only fingers on both his hands without a gold ring.
