Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  Ivy reached for his hand and he yanked it away as her fingers went through his.

  “What was that? Something ice cold went through my fingers.”

  “It’s your sister. She’s here now.”

  Roger shook his head, clearly not interested in believing me. I couldn’t blame him, really. I may as well have told him that I was an alien from outer space.

  “I know you don’t believe me. Or you aren’t ready to. And I’m sure you’re angry and hurt, but think about it. You’ve been holding onto this for so many years. You need to grieve and let go, for your sake as much as hers.”

  “Please, Roger,” Ivy said, ghostly tears streaming down her cheeks. “Let me go.” She reached out to his shoulder. He jerked away in shock as he felt the cold, and made his way to the enclosed porch.

  I heard a yelp of surprise and dashed to the front, hoping he maybe had some revelation, but I didn’t see Ivy any longer. Instead, Scott was there. He and Roger stood face to face, the silence awkward. When Scott saw me, he grinned. “Hey Poppy. I was surprised to see Roger here stepping out. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you have going on tonight.”

  “You weren’t interrupting anything,” Roger said brusquely. “I was just leaving.”

  “So soon?” Scott asked, looking between Roger and myself. I could tell he was wondering what had taken place.

  “She’s all yours,” Roger said. The scent of Love’s Baby Soft and funeral flowers disappeared and a sour stink took its place, like milk gone off.

  Some letters and bills I had ready to mail on a side table by the door suddenly flew off the surface, one winging up and hitting Roger in the face. The motion appeared deliberate, as if it were meant to somehow chastise him. The door wasn’t open and neither were any windows, so Roger wasn’t sure what set them flying. The acrid scent intensified and then vanished as I bent down to pick up the mail.

  Roger made his way down the front steps and got into his truck. All I could smell now was Scott’s aftershave and a hint of cigarette smoke.

  “Is there something going on between the two of you?” Scott asked, as he and I watched Roger pull out of my driveway and speed off.

  “Not what you’d think,” I muttered, crossing my hands across my chest.

  “Well, then, how would you like to party? I hadn’t seen you in a while and you look good. We used to have a lot of fun back in the day,” he said, raising his eyebrows in question.

  “We did have a lot of fun,” I agreed, “but I’m not in the mood to go down memory lane.”

  “What about on me?” Scott asked, winking at me.

  I smiled, but shook my head. I did find Scott’s junior high-level jokes amusing from time to time, but I felt exhausted. “No, Scott. What’s in the past is in the past.”

  “How about just a drink then?”

  I knew he meant more than a drink. He’d sit next to me on the couch and either start running his hand up my leg or he’d try nuzzling on my neck, hoping I’d cave. We’d had fun in the past, so I was tempted for a hot minute, but decided against it. I didn’t want to tread that path again.

  I shook my head. “We’re out of sequels, and I’m tired. Good night. I’ll see you around,” I said as I turned to go back inside.

  “Don’t let him bother you, Poppy.”

  I turned, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell that you like him, and I think you’d rather be alone thinking of him than hanging around with me. That’s cool. He’s a good guy. You’d be good for him, too, but he’s got a wall up around himself. That’ll take time. Don’t wind yourself up over him, though. He’ll come around.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, smiling. “When you come back to earth from your THC cloud, you usually have something good to say.”

  “You sure I can’t talk you into letting me stay? I’m hungry and would love some pancakes. If you’ve got the ingredients, I’ll whip them up.”

  I paused. Now that he mentioned it, pancakes did sound good, and pancakes were one of about three things Scott could cook really well. “I also have some bacon,” I said.

  “Let’s eat,” Scott said, rubbing his hands as he stepped inside.

  15

  Early the next morning I awoke, curled up on my loveseat. I had fallen asleep on it fairly quickly after polishing off a huge stack of pancakes and several slices of bacon. The scent of maple syrup and cured meat still hung in the air. Puck was pressed tightly next to me, contorted in a position only a cat would find comfortable, his belly exposed and his legs extended in the air.

  Fido was over by Scott, who was snoring on the couch. The cat kept prairie-dogging up and down, up and down, cautiously tapping Scott on the nose. Scott would snort and shift slightly, Fido would pause in his ministrations for a moment, only to continue the process again.

  I laid still and stared at the ceiling as I enjoyed Fido’s antics out of the corner of my eye as well as Puck’s warmth. Soon Fido noticed I was awake and crept up by my head and sat down, looking at me with his typical catlike intensity.

  “Let me guess. You’re hungry, and the food in your dish isn’t good enough,” I groused.

  He blinked his amber-green eyes at me. Puck heard me speak and rose, stretching and arching his back. I absentmindedly scratched at his head. Fido tapped my other shoulder so I rubbed him behind his ears as I thought of last night’s events. It turned out to be a good thing that Scott had stayed over. We’d eaten pancakes and bacon, simply reminiscing and chattering into the wee hours of the night. He’d done a lot to distract me from thoughts of Ivy and Roger, and for that I was grateful.

  A moment later Scott was up, stretching.

  “How are you doing? Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “I did. I think your pancakes helped.” I thought for a moment, and then wondered, “Did you add some special ingredient?”

  Scott laughed and shook his head. “No. That would take extra time and add a few steps. At home I could do it, but you’re not set up for cannabis cookery. It’s good that you slept well,” he said as he made his way to the bathroom.

  “Can you turn on the coffee maker as you make your way past?” I asked. I stood up and stretched. I went into the kitchen to feed the cats. As I looked over to the table I saw the poppies seemed brighter, fresher than they were hours before. That was a good sign.

  A couple minutes later Scott came out and poured me a cup of coffee. He went and found himself a Coke in the fridge and took a long pull of that.

  “Still on the fizzy sugar-and-caffeine kick for the a.m., huh?” I asked.

  Scott nodded. He always had been a big sugar junkie. It was a wonder he managed to stay slim, I’d thought. Though as much pot as he smoked, I wondered if he probably forgot to eat half the time.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. I was surprised, since I usually didn’t have visitors so early in the day.

  Scott and I looked at one another. “I bet it’s my mom,” I said.

  “Would Fiona even bother to knock?”

  He had a point.

  I made my way to the front, surprised to see Roger on the top step. I opened the door and he made his way in.

  “Hi,” I muttered. “I didn’t expect to see you – at least not so soon – after last night.”

  “Well, I got to thinking,” Roger started. “I didn’t want to be …” he trailed off when Scott walked into the living room. A sharp acrid smell, like something burning, suddenly surrounded him, just for a second, and then quickly dissipated.

  “Hey Rog,” he smiled. “Want a cup of coffee? Or a Coke? Oh, we still have some pancake batter. I can make more if you’re hungry.”

  Roger’s mouth hung open. “I’m sorry. I guess I came at a bad time,” he said as his eyes darted between Scott and myself. “I … I’ll leave you two alone,” he said as he made his way out the door and went to his truck.

  “But wait!” I called to him. “Why did you come back?”
r />   My words fell on deaf ears as he climbed in his truck and began backing out the driveway.

  “That was weird,” I murmured. “Why’d he leave so fast?” I turned to Scott, hoping for explanation.

  “I think he thought I spent the night.”

  “You did, though.”

  “No. I think he thinks I spent the night,” he repeated, “or we did some activities that left us spent.”

  Realization dawned on me. “But we didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s probably not what he thinks. Sorry, Poppy,” Scott said, patting my shoulder in consolation.

  “Well, crap.”

  “If it’s any consolation, in the past you’ve said my pancakes are as good as sex,” Scott said. “Should I fire up the griddle again?”

  “Why not?”

  “If you’re hungry for something else,” Scott winked, “I’m always willing to help, for old time’s sake.”

  “Just make the damn pancakes,” I muttered.

  After Scott left, my thoughts were a tangled mess.

  I knew Ivy wanted my help in getting Roger to let her go, and Roger was clearly curious about what I said.

  My revelations, however, had unsettled him.

  Last night I had felt an unexpected urge to confront Roger. I wasn’t even sure if it was all my doing, or if Ivy was influencing my emotions.

  I was upset that Roger was angry with me and that he thought Scott had done more than eat pancakes and zonk out on the couch.

  I knew where he lived, or had an idea, so I could walk or drive up Hawthorne and look for his truck. That made me sound like I was a stalker, however. That’s never good. I chided myself for feeling like a stupid teenage girl about him.

  The poppies on my kitchen table looked droopier, drained of their vitality. They still had life in them, but it was as if their flowery faith had been sorely tested. That was not good.

  I looked around and decided my best bet would be to keep busy. I made myself more coffee and tidied my kitchen – not only was Scott good at making pancakes, but he was even better at making a mess – and then headed to my store. Work would be a welcome distraction. I’d be bringing my car in to Roger’s shop soon anyways, so if he wanted to speak to me, he could. Otherwise I supposed I’d be dealing with Adam or someone else who worked there.

  As I was cleaning the kitchen I paused and pulled down a candle. I sat at my table and lit it, gazing at the flame. I wanted to know what I was dealing with, so I cleared my mind and let it roam. I knew if I focused something would present itself to me. It might not be an answer – it rarely was clear-cut – but usually I could read the signs and get some direction from them.

  Soon I felt myself drifting, almost like I was floating up and away.

  Then I jolted. Something yanked me back and I felt myself plummeting down, feeling out of control, like I’d started to fall asleep and was jerked awake for a moment, after stumbling in a dream.

  I was slammed backwards into something hard, like a stone or brick wall. It felt cold and clammy, and I felt chills race up and down my spine. I reached out to make sense of my surroundings. The stones in the wall were pockmarked with age, damp with moss.

  Something started rustling up my legs, twisting around my waist and torso, then snaking its way up my arms. I fought to move, and in response I was held more tightly in place.

  I peered down to see vines growing, multiplying, erasing my body. Where breasts, hips, arms and legs were just moments ago, all was now just green leaves sprouting and spreading. I kept trying to wriggle free, and couldn’t move. I was paralyzed in place. I started hyperventilating, panicked, and saw the climbers grow thicker and seemingly more alive. The vegetation was so damp and thick it left me cold, the chill from the wall leaching into my body, taking root there.

  I felt the wall shifting, something writhing behind me, and a pair of arms reached out from behind my shoulders. They were pale gray and icy, laced with dark blue-green veins. One hand clamped over my eyes, covering my eyes with angry, urgent fingers, holding my head fast to the wall. The other hand clawed at my mouth, trying to pry my lips open. I bit and spat at the hand, but it was persistent and slapped at my face hard to silence me. My head felt like it would pop from the pressure and the cold of the invading hands. It then wrested my mouth open and jammed its fingers into my mouth, almost like it was trying to find a way inside. I choked and gagged as I tasted dirt and moss.

  I screamed a strangled cry and found myself back in my kitchen. I could taste something rotten lingering in my mouth. I bolted up, dashed to the garbage can, and vomited. Tears streamed down my face as I coughed and wretched.

  I felt feverish and clammy all at once. As my stomach settled, I turned back to where I was sitting and saw Fido and Puck on the table, backs fully arched, tails fully bushed in alarm. Both hissed and growled.

  I hacked a few times and inhaled deeply to collect myself. I went to the sink and pulled a glass from the dishrack, filling it with tap water and swishing it around my mouth before spitting it out.

  I was still a bit unnerved, so I went to the freezer and rooted around inside. When I found the vodka at the back, I unscrewed the bottle and took a deep pull.

  I sat down at the table again and collected my thoughts.

  The cats, once they saw I was recovered, returned to a state of cat-like calm. Puck came to me and gave my face a sniff and head-butted me, almost like he was checking if it was really me. Fido gave me a moment’s inspection before licking my cheek.

  I muttered to myself, “Okay, on the surface he looks alright, but he can’t live with one foot in someone else’s grave.” Then, I’m not sure I want this, whatever this is.

  Puck thumped his tail once on the kitchen table.

  “You’re no help to me at all today, are you?” I asked, walking over to him and scratching him behind his ear.

  Two more vigorous tail thumps.

  “You’re right. It’s time to get ready for work. I need to make money to feed your impish self. And your hog of a roommate.”

  He thumped his tail once again on the table.

  “Once means yes, and two means no, I presume.”

  I stood up and blew out the candle and got ready to head to my shop.

  16

  Business was good through early afternoon.

  Chalk that up to good weather. If it’s cold and rainy, people will hunt for warm food or sugary treats and buy sweatshirt after sweatshirt, but if it’s sunny they’ll leisurely make their way from store to store, happily buying souvenirs and other goodies.

  Today was one of the latter, a fortunate turn for my bottom line.

  I had brought one of the poppy flowers from home and slipped it into a slender vase. It looked more vigorous than it had some hours earlier, growing brighter as the day went on. That gave me comfort, since it meant the one I had given away the night before had not been discarded, which was a very good sign.

  I was sorting some receipts when the bell jingled over the front door. I looked up, surprised when I saw Roger. That was quick, I thought to myself. Part of me had feared he’d avoid me like the plague. Another part of me had hoped he would, considering this morning’s scare. I wasn’t sure if he had somehow fueled that nightmarish vision of me being strangled in a tangle of ivy, but I knew it was connected to him or his sister, and it made me wary.

  I greeted him politely, but neutrally, asking if he’d slept alright.

  He nervously glanced around the store, his hands jammed deep in his blue jean pockets. “Did you have a late night, after I left,” he asked, as he made eye contact.

  I shook my head.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything this morning,” he added.

  “You should have hung around. The pancakes were really good. Almost as good as the sex.”

  Roger looked annoyed by my snark.

  “I’m just kidding,” I said. “About the sex anyways. We did nothing of the sort. We did eat a ton of pancakes, though,” I added
, as I patted my stomach.

  He seemed to relax a bit when he learned it was a joke.

  I felt a flicker of irrational anger, partially at Roger, but also at myself. I could smell Baby Soft and rosemary around him, and a hint of something sharp. I wasn’t sure if it came from Ivy’s frustration or my own. Or maybe, it slowly dawned on me, it was even his.

  Maybe his grief, his clinging to the memory of his sister, was driving him crazy, too.

  I was as jealous as if I had seen him walking hand in hand down the street with another woman. He probably didn’t have a clue I was feeling that way, but I did see competition in the form of a dead woman who also happened to be his sister, at that.

  “But why do you ask?” I liked Roger, but I was feeling confrontational. “And why are you here? You couldn’t wait to see me when I dropped off my car?”

  He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and looked down. He looked lost. He opened his mouth to say something, but stalled.

  My anger lifted somewhat. I shook my head. “I actually told Scott to leave right after you left. But then he offered to make pancakes, and I was hungry.”

  He relaxed a bit.

  “He must make good pancakes. I never saw him as a good cook, though.”

  “He isn’t,” I said. “But he makes good pancakes, brownies, macaroni and cheese and really good grilled cheese sandwiches. Don’t trust him with any other foodstuffs, however. Unless he’s expanded his repertoire in the last few years.”

  Roger smiled. “He once did make grilled cheese sandwiches at the bar. It was some snowy night and business was nonexistent, so a few of us played poker and ate sandwiches.” He looked right at me, his icy blue eyes intense as fire. “You two used to date?”

  Well, that was a conversational shift.

  “Years ago. In college, and then for a few months a couple years after that.”

  “Are you still close to him?”

  Where was he going with this? “To be frank about it, I hadn’t seen him – like, literally seen him – in maybe a year. Mainly when I run into him we catch up on each other’s lives for a few minutes and move on. At this point we just have memories of parties in college, or drinking around a campfire, things like that. I like him more as a friend than anything.”