Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Are you thinking this side of the river, or over to the land of maple syrup and hockey honeys?”

  “Someone hasn’t gotten any in a while,” Trish teased.

  “Eons. But I’d never own up to that in front of my mom.”

  “Fiona is offering her usual unsolicited advice, as usual, I gather?”

  I nodded vigorously.

  Trish chuckled. She knew my mother’s tendency to overshare all too well. “Well, there’s any number of guys who’d be willing to help you out there. You can always find someone who wants to know if the carpet matches the drapes. Or you can just walk into a room and say ‘I’m horny.’ Men aren’t subtle, in general, and they tend to be in little need of wooing.”

  “Unfortunately I do tend to want a bit of the woo.”

  “And there’s the rub,” she laughed. “I think I’d rather stay on our side of the stream, though. That’ll give us more time for mayhem.”

  “Works for me. We can navigate the BAR-muda Triangle and see if we can bring on bar-mageddon.”

  “Hopefully not capped off with some barfing.”

  I heard a male voice calling my name from up the street. I turned to follow the sound and saw Wyatt and Roger headed in our direction.

  I smiled and waved back.

  Both brothers approached and paused in front of the pub with us.

  “You coming in tonight?” Trish asked. “We’ve got those half-pound burgers on special. I know the both of you like them.”

  Wyatt nodded. Roger stood and looked down to the ground, occasionally raising his face toward mine to make eye contact with me. Wyatt glanced around, peering into Murphy’s before turning back to me. “Is Vanessa around?”

  “Who’s Vanessa?” Roger asked.

  “She’s that smoking hot chick who works for Poppy and her mother.”

  Roger’s expression was blank. “I’m not sure I’ve seen her.”

  “You did. You saw her when you were in my shop,” I said. “She came in to get some aspirin for my mom.”

  Recognition dawned on Roger’s features. “Oh, yeah. I guess I remember her.”

  “So?” Wyatt asked. “Isn’t she hot?”

  Roger shrugged. “She’s pretty, yeah.”

  “Well, good,” Wyatt said, checking his reflection and smoothing his hair in Murphy’s window. “If you weren’t impressed – and I seriously think you need to have your eyes checked – then there’s more babe for me. I think I wowed her pretty good when I was at the Thing-a – whatever the shop’s name is.

  While Wyatt was talking about Vanessa I shot Trish a quick head shake, as to say, like hell he impressed the pretty shop girl. Roger’s lip curled up in a smirk when he caught the message I was sending to Trish.

  “I won’t get in your way, then,” he said, slapping his brother on the shoulder. “Let’s get our burgers and let these ladies get back to their conversation.”

  They went in and I waved them goodbye, my eyes on Roger as he followed his younger brother into the bar.

  Once they were inside Trish asked: “Do you know the Montgomerys?”

  “I just met them the other day. First Wyatt came in, then Roger came by looking for him. I met their mother a few days ago, too.”

  “I went to high school with them both. They were a couple years behind me. So did my sister, who was in Roger’s year.”

  “And?” I waited for more explanation.

  “My sister dated Roger for about a year after graduating.”

  “Was that after that accident where their sister died?”

  “Yeah. That was awful. I was wondering if they wanted a reading or something. Maybe to reach their sister, considering your talents?”

  “No. Mainly Wyatt wanted to go to Thingamabobs.”

  Trish paused, confused. “Did your mom change the name of the shop again?”

  “No, it’s still Thingamajigs, formally, but hardly anyone seems to get it right, so I’m having fun with it.”

  “Noted. So, was Wyatt thing-a-ma-shopping for your mom’s antiquities, or a certain voluptuous Vanessa?”

  “Neither. He wanted to sell her something, but Thing-a-ma-doodles hadn’t opened yet, so he checked out my shop first. When he saw Vanessa, though …”

  “He turned into a panting cartoon wolf and slobbered drool all over your floors?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I could see he’s still thinking of the lovely Miss Morgan.”

  I nodded. “Vanessa was very cool toward him. She also told me he’s broke, and how he tried to pawn a necklace at Thingamajigs.”

  “She knows too much town gossip to be wowed by him,” Trish said. “Plus she’s too devoted to her beloved Ethan. What about Roger?”

  “Well, you saw he barely remembered Vanessa. Or he’s got an amazing poker face.”

  “I meant, why was he in your store?”

  “Oh. He came there looking for Wyatt. You know, when she came by the shop for a second while he was there, he politely acknowledged her, but his jaw remained firmly in place.”

  “You’re enjoying that,” Trish teased.

  “Well, it’s nice that even Vanessa can’t attract every man on earth.”

  “Of course not. The gay ones stay pretty tight within their teams. But I mean you’re enjoying that Roger didn’t go gaga for Vanessa.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I was just pleased because it gives brunettes and redheads a chance.”

  “Uh-huh. One redhead in particular, I think.”

  “I’m a bit bitter, yes,” I knew what she was getting at, “but not so much about her – she’s too nice and too funny to hate – but about men in general sometimes. They’re so predictable.

  “Plus, business was great today. A group of lesbians came into the store and thought we were a couple. Vanessa didn’t correct them, and they bought big time.”

  “She’s a keeper, clearly,” Trish said. “Your mom was smart to hire her, and not just for the two obvious reasons. I’m surprised she did, though, with Tom loitering around. He’s a sweet guy, but there’s never been a V-neck his eyes haven’t lingered over or tried to peer down.”

  “You got that right. But I think he’s happy just looking at her put things on shelves or pick things up off the floor. For all I know it adds something to their love life. My mom is the type who would hire a stripper after all, if it meant it would get her guy worked up. Arousal or embarrassment, it doesn’t matter, just so long as it gets his blood gets flowing.”

  “I’m still trying to erase the memory of those boudoir photos she had taken,” Trish said. “And had to show us.”

  I started laughing. “My mom is convinced the reason we ran off so quickly is because we had to rush out and get our own satin teddies and garter belts.”

  “It wouldn’t have been so bad if that one photo hadn’t made it obvious she was wearing a thong,” Trish shuddered. “I still regret turning the last page of that album. Your mom does have a good body, though.”

  I decided the shift the subject. I didn’t want to conjure any more of that particular memory – I’m not bothered by most nudity, but I never wanted to learn what my mom did to spice up her and Tom’s love life – but also because I was curious about something.

  “So, getting back to your sister and Roger dating,” I segued. “Was there a bad breakup?”

  “Kind of. My sister ultimately ended it. Deep down I think Roger’s a sweet guy. Well, both the Montgomery boys are nice, but Wyatt is too much the life of the party, and Roger just seemed to be too broken up about his sister.”

  “How long after she died did he date Penny?”

  “A couple years. It was going okay for a while. He’d get morose and depressed a lot, saying things like ‘Ivy should be here to experience this’ … things like that. Penny tried to be understanding about it. Then he had a major freak-out when he found out she was driving while buzzed to and from a party at some cabin out in the sticks. He had a meltdown. And I
mean a huge meltdown. Shouting. Punching walls. She broke it off after that.”

  Now that Trish mentioned it, I did remember her sister going through a bad breakup. I never had talked much to Penny, but had heard her going on about how some guy she’d been seeing had a major freakout, and how she’d never wanted to see him again.

  “Definitely not a good reaction,” I agreed. “Still, it sounds like it was fueled by grief.”

  “Ah, and there it is,” Trish said, stubbing out her cigarette and putting it in the trash.

  “What?”

  “You think he’s cute.”

  “Really?” I rolled my eyes. “You’re going there?”

  “You direct the conversation back to him. Then you hear that he bellowed and punched a wall, and you excuse it as grief. You also lit up for a second when you saw him. And you have continuously been darting your eyes in the direction of Murphy’s interior. I know you’re not curious about how business is faring, but where he is sitting, and if he’s noticing you. I know you…”

  “I just can’t stop thinking about Tony,” I started, “wondering where he could be, who he is with, what is he thinking, is he thinking of me, and whether he’ll …”

  Trish snickered and slapped at my shoulder to shut me up. “Don’t go all Kids in the Hall on me!”

  I furrowed my brow in response, deciding on what to say. “Okay. Fine. He’s easy on the eyes. The vibe I got from him in my shop was that he’s haunted by something, but he’s a nice guy. And hot,” I added in a quiet voice.

  “I can’t argue with you there, and I haven’t heard of any incidents after that freak-out. Maybe he’s gotten a bit more in control of his emotions as he’s gotten older. I remember that crash, though. It was a bad one. I’m amazed Wyatt isn’t more haunted by it. But he tends to be drunk or half buzzed a lot of the time.”

  “Comfortably numb, I guess. But I can understand your sister breaking it off with him after he punches a hole in the wall. That’s the smart thing to do.”

  “Holes, honey. He was mad with rage. Grief. Anguish. Pain. Whatever you want to call it. But he went to town on that wall. And with that, I better go inside and get my things and let you return home. We’ll talk later and hash out the details for a night out this week.”

  She gave me a hug and returned to Murphy’s. I gave a quick wave and made the trek back to mom and Tom’s.

  9

  I went home that night and pored through some magic books, thinking about Roger, Wyatt and Ivy.

  Well, mostly I was thinking about Roger, if I had to be honest.

  Despite Trish’s story about his outburst, I didn’t think he was a bad person. It was extreme, but if he was terrified he’d lose someone else that he loved in a way similar to the way he lost his sister, an intense emotional reaction wasn’t exactly unexpected. Of course, punching a wall and shouting like a madman weren’t good responses, but I was at least a little inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Okay, more than a little.

  I wanted to stare into those cool eyes and get to know him better. He sparked a fine combination of lust and longing deep down inside of me.

  As for the ghostly matters, I had questions, and was hoping for answers from the other side.

  “Dad?” I called out. “Are you around?”

  I lit a yellow candle, crushed a few marigold petals between my fingers and rang a bell around it three times, calling out to him once again.

  A moment later, he appeared in front of me.

  “Hello, Poppy. Is something wrong? You usually never call me, and this is twice within a week.” He looked around my living room. “Usually I just stop in at your store so I don’t disturb you at home.”

  “Hi, Dad. The respect for privacy is appreciated, too. Nothing’s really wrong. I just had more questions regarding that ghostly matter we discussed earlier and was hoping you could help me.”

  I told him the story of Roger, Wyatt and Ivy, explained Ivy’s request, and their connection to Marie. When I finished, he paused and stroked his chin for a few moments.

  “That’s unusual,” he said. “I know of hauntings where there’s unfinished business. But it’s usually a crime that hasn’t been resolved, or where a ghost refuses to go. But I’ve never heard of a ghost being asked to, well, be given up.”

  “Neither have I. I was thinking you probably had a better grasp on how life – or, existence? – works in your realm.”

  “What was your impression of Roger?” my father asked.

  “Somewhat haunted, for starters. Grief hangs over him like cheap perfume.”

  “Do you think he feels guilty? He wasn’t the one driving, right?”

  “No, it was Wyatt behind the wheel. It sounds like Roger just feels like he should have been the responsible one, since he was the oldest, and he somehow could have stopped it from happening. That’s based on my impression, on hearsay, and what Ivy says. She’s super tired of him hanging on to her, so to speak.”

  “Did she seem angry or impatient?”

  “Not really, I don’t think. She just had that teenage energy, I guess. You know, kind of giddy and excitable. Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve heard of the link between teenagers and poltergeists, right?”

  I nodded, waiting for him to continue.

  “A lot of theories, in the land of the breathing anyways, tie poltergeists to living teenagers. Their energy somehow creates some kind of disturbance that manifests itself in the physical world, with things being scattered about, and so on.”

  I didn’t have a huge amount of knowledge on poltergeists, and I had never dealt with one either. “I always thought the recipe demanded angry teenage hormones and a pulse.”

  “Yes, that’s what the literature says, but there’s more to it than that. It’s always been associated with living teenagers because there are more of them – in particular in this day and time – than ones who’ve died.”

  “Are you telling me that if Ivy gets frustrated she could manifest poltergeist powers?”

  My father nodded.

  “I thought ghosts turning angry and manifesting poltergeist traits was just something Hollywood created, like the hype around Ouija boards after The Exorcist movie came out.”

  “It’s kind of like the tabloids,” my father continued. “You know, that grain of truth in the center.”

  “How likely is it? That Ivy could turn poltergeist?”

  “It depends. She’s established contact with you, so she sees you as a doorway to other possibilities. Plus, you have some unusual psychic gifts – some witching abilities, and being able to see and speak with ghosts. She may feed off your energy a bit and consciously or unconsciously use it to act out her frustrations.”

  I cringed at the thought. “Are you describing some kind of psychic vampirism?”

  “Yes and no. The real danger isn’t that you’ll feel drained – you’re pretty strong – but how she’ll use that energy. If she grows unhappy or impatient, you could see small items fly off shelves or cabinet doors rattling. If it builds, though, who knows what could happen.”

  “Whenever I’ve experienced items being knocked off my countertops or the rattling of cabinet doors in my house,” I said, “I always thought the cats were typically to blame.”

  Dad chuckled. “A good part of the time, they probably are.”

  “Should I be burning some sage? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That wouldn’t hurt, especially if you’re starting to feel … odd,” my father suggested.

  “Odd? How so?”

  “Are you feeling off? Not quite like yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I see a new tic forming. You’ve been pulling at your ear lobe now and then while we’ve been talking. You’ve never done that before.”

  I stopped. “I didn’t realize I was doing that. As for feeling off, I’m not sure. The other day I felt her with Roger, and later summoned her to my shop. Afterwards, I did feel st
rangely energized. Almost a bit manic or a bit drunk.”

  My father raised his eyebrows in concern. “Try some sage. It won’t solve anything, but it may settle things somewhat. But the best thing, obviously, would be to resolve the matter. To get her brother to let his grief go. He’s creating a prison of sorts for the girl, and she may be seeing you as a great big key to unlock that door. Problem is, she sees the tools in front of her, but she doesn’t know how to use them, so she might send candle holders or something flying through the air or through windows.”

  I sighed. This couldn’t be good. “I guess I’d best try to help him move on and let her go.” Something occurred to me. “What if he resists and she doesn’t like it?”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case.” I knew he had more to say on the matter, but for now, he wouldn’t. “It would be a good idea for him to move on. Not just for the girl, but for him, too. It’s just not healthy to grieve for that long.”

  I pressed him for advice.

  “I’m not sure if I can get you any solid answers, beyond what I’ve already told you. It’s not a common situation. Plus, over on this side, it’s a bit more chaotic. There’s one hundred billion people who have died in the history of earth, for starters, and we’re not too organized.”

  I paused for a moment to think on what my father said. “Is it crowded … there?”

  “No, not really. It can be, but there are many planes of existence. The best way to describe it might be like an Escher drawing. There’s a lot going on. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, but I think you can at least make some sense of it with that description.”

  I tried to imagine it. “I can see why you prefer to hang around earth. That sounds both fascinating and frightening,” I replied.

  “It’s a bit of both. There is help here, though, when you’re new.”

  I pictured a scene from Beetlejuice and imagined my father waiting for an appointment with Juno, his caseworker, clutching a copy of The Handbook for the Recently Deceased. “And how long is one new?”

  “I’ve been dead for fifteen years and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  Maybe that’s why he lingered on this mortal plane. The thought of him being lonely or confused in the afterlife caused my stomach to clench. “Are you unhappy there?”