by RG Stancu
"You know what people usually do during a break?" Aunt Krista paused for effect. "They visit the restroom."
"Not always. Sometimes they get popcorn or switch channels because they're bored," Dad chimed in, amused.
I threw him an irritated look over my shoulder. I thought this campaign was important to him. How could he not take my attempt seriously?
"Isn't he the jokester? Trust me, no one will channel-hop," I assured Aunt Krista. My phone had been programmed to broadcast the show on every channel in the world at the same time. Even if viewers tried to change the channel, they wouldn't get to see anything else.
"If you say so." Her voice betrayed doubt.
"What's worse? Losing a few viewers or people failing to notice your bags among all the candles and drama unfolding on the stage?" I cocked my brow and started counting to ten in my thoughts. I barely got to four when she nodded, excited again.
"You certainly know what you're talking about, dear."
Not really, but I gathered it was common sense. A bit like advertising hats during a football play. With all the action going on, who'd remember the hats?
"Who knows, if you do a good job you can pick a bag or two."
Aunt Krista winked.
"Thanks." I smiled and turned away, hoping she'd forget about what she probably believed to be a generous offer. I wouldn't even dream of wearing something that hideous, not when I had my own style. The makeup artist hurried over to apply a layer of bronze over my face and flattened a few stray strands of hair, which jumped back into curls straight away. I motioned her to go because my hair was a lost cause anyway.
Three of Dad's demons aka the camera crew took position as Dad left the stage and took his seat behind a curtain, out of filming range. I'd rather he returned to his daily routine, but he seemed keen on watching our performance live and I didn't have hours to waste on arguing with him.
A blinding spotlight fell on me as I took position on the sofa. I raised a hand to cover my eyes against the glaring brightness.
"Lower the light. She can't see a thing," Ginny yelled. The light shifted from my face to the floor and then back up to my chest. Dad must've skimped on hiring professionals, and now we were stuck with amateurs or, worse, beginners. I groaned.
"Hey, move back a few inches and try to keep that thing out of my eyes and away from my chest, otherwise you're fired. Got it?" I yelled. Dad laughed. Anger started to nag at the back of my mind. He must be having a lot of fun watching my first attempt at broadcasting.
I was determined to show him I was a natural born director, and then he'd beg me for forgiveness for underestimating my talents.
"Is this it?" Aunt Krista asked. "Shouldn't we have a trial run first?"
I shrugged. "You know your lines, right." She nodded, so I continued, "Great. Then let's get going. You'll be fine. Who needs practice anyway?"
"I'm not talking about myself, dear." She pointed at Amber whose breathing came in ragged heaps.
"Are you okay?" I gestured at the makeup artist to hand her a glass of water. Amber took small sips and bobbed her head, insecure.
"It's only a handful of people. Apart from old ladies, I doubt anyone's going to switch on at this time of day," I whispered so Aunt Krista wouldn't overhear me. Starting an argument with Aunt Krista wouldn't ease Amber's nerves.
"You're right. I keep forgetting," Amber said.
"Is everyone ready?" Ginny asked.
Resuming my position on the sofa, I took a deep breath and nodded.
"Action on one. Three, two, one. Action." Ginny gave me the thumbs-up sign and I knew the camera was rolling.
"Welcome, everyone. Thank you for switching on to Messages from Beyond the Grave. I'm Cass and this is our visiting guest, Amber."
I pointed at Amber who was staring at the camera, a smile frozen on her lips. This was her cue to explain her role in the show, but she didn't look like she'd be getting out a word any time soon.
"Many of us have lost a loved one too soon and wish they could have just one more moment to say what's been left unsaid. This show will give you a chance to do just that, and much more." On Ginny's sign, I paused and let the audience clap for a few seconds, before resuming my monologue. "Amber, you have the gift of communicating with the dead."
"That's right." Amber nodded, still frozen. Her voice sounded choked as though she was about to give a presentation in the middle of a panic attack. For the first time, I wondered why I didn't just employ a professional actress to do the job.
"I bet you never had to wonder what's on the other side, huh?" I joked. "Tell us something about it." My eyes implored her to kick her brain into motion and come up with more than a few monosyllabic words.
She laughed and shifted in her seat. "I did before I was granted the gift of seeing what's beyond."
"Thank you for sharing your unique experiences with us today.
There must be many of them." I spoke out a silent prayer. Seconds ticked by. She just kept smiling. The silence became uncomfortable.
"Tell her about me," Theo hissed.
Amber turned to her right. "What?"
The camera focused on the space next to her. We saw Theo, but I knew viewers at home wouldn't because ghosts have no reflection and can't be caught on film. My pulse sped up as I decided to keep quiet and see where this might take us.
"Tell them about me and Hell," Theo prompted.
"What do you want me to say?" Amber whispered.
I leaned forward and stared into the camera, faking surprise, then turned back to Amber. "What are you seeing? Is it a ghost?" I rubbed my arms, hoping I wasn't going overboard with my performance. But the truth was I was enjoying every minute of it. The drama of not knowing what came next nourished my need for chaos.
My skin tingled from all the excitement. "We're dying to know what you're seeing."
A frown crossed Amber's features and for a moment she just peered at me. "I see the ghost of a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.
She says her name is Theo and she lives in Hell."
"Distros," Theo corrected.
Amber nodded. "Sorry, Distros."
"That's one of the seven dimensions of Hell," I said. Like on cue, several people from the audience drew their breath sharply. For a second, a camera focused on their shocked faces. At Ginny's request, the attention returned to Amber and me.
"Ask her what Hell's like," I said.
Amber repeated the question as though Theo couldn't hear me only to echo Theo's words a moment later. "She says it's hot."
"Nothing new there." I laughed toward the camera but inched closer. My need for chaos and drama grew stronger.
"There's many people and they live in cottages, but most keep to themselves," Amber continued, unfazed. "She says it's very similar to a holiday cottage in the woods except that people aren't there to relax."
She paused. The candles flickered.
"Is she being punished?" I whispered.
Amber shook her head. "There is no punishment where she lives.
Just waiting and thinking of her sister, Sofia, and hoping she'll get a chance to warn her."
"So, Hell isn't a bad place then?" I shot the camera a questioning look.
"No," Amber said. "It's a place of contemplation and reminiscence. Theo's happy for the chance to think about her life.
Lucifer has made it clear once she's finished, she'll see her loved ones again. It's a necessary phase to go through in order to evolve spiritually. Some will be stuck there forever because of the magnitude of their sins, but others, like Theo, only pass through."
"Lucifer and Hell exist then?" I stood and walked to the front of the stage, talking to the audience. "And it's all so very different from what we've been spoon-fed for centuries. Doesn't that challenge our perception of life and death and what lies beyond? Amber, can you prove you're telling the truth?"
Amber seemed to be slowly getting into her role. "Of course. I'm happy to summon any ghost you want." Whoa, that was
a big lie. The girl couldn't raise the dead if her life depended on it. Not least because she'd probably end up fainting in the first place.
"Great." I turned to the camera. "If you have a secret no one else but a deceased relative or spouse knows about, give us a call and put Amber to the test. The lines are open now."
A telephone number appeared on the screen. I breathed out, thankful for the quick break. Next door, Dad's employees were sorting out through the first calls, picking a few genuine ones.
"You did great," I whispered to Amber and Theo. "Ready for the challenging part?"
"I've no idea how to raise the dead," Amber said. I figured that part.
"Don't worry, I do." I winked and smiled as my face appeared back on screen. "Thank you so much for staying with us." Not that they had a choice. "My assistant tells me we had thousands of callers." It was a lie. We only had ten of which eight called to complain they couldn't switch off their TV set.
"Hello?" Amber said.
"Hi," a thin, female voice said. She sounded insecure, as though she expected it all to be a prank and was ready to hang up any moment.
My smile grew wider. "You're Helen from New York. Tell us why you're calling, Helen."
"My mother died six months ago. I'd like to know whether she's okay."
Amber peered at me.
"What's her name?" I asked, stalling for time.
"Martha."
"Martha," Amber repeated. She reached for the salt and spread it over the dagger. "Yes, I can sense her presence. She's far away."
Amber's forehead creased as she raised the dagger, holding it over her head. Her voice rose into a crescendo. "I'm reaching for her, pulling her to me, but it's a long tunnel."
"Who’s that idiot?" a sharp voice asked.
My head spun toward the woman in rags inching toward us. The strong smell of sulphur hit my nostrils, making me gag. I pressed a hand over my mouth and shook my head.
"I did it," Amber whispered, amazed.
"You did nothing. I entered through that door." Martha planted her hands on her hips as she scanned the room. "What's going on? Why was I brought here?"
"Can you see her?" I whispered toward the camera.
Amber nodded. "She's one mean lady."
"Martha wasn't a nice person," Helen said. She sounded whinier than before.
"Is that you, Helen?" Martha hissed. "How dare you take that tone with me after all I've done for you?"
"Don't be shy or scared. You can ask anything you want," I said, softly. "Go on."
Helen hesitated. The candles flickered where Martha stood, staring at Dad's imposing figure. The fear in her eyes told me she must've met him before, so she couldn't be a temporary guest from Distros. Dad winked, but the way he regarded her resembled more a warning to play along than a friendly greeting.
"You amassed a fortune from your husbands. I want to know what you did with the money," Helen said.
Martha turned to face me, gaze ablaze with something I couldn't quite pinpoint. "You want the money for yourself, then."
Amber repeated the statement, wide-eyed.
"No," Helen said. "It's time to return what never belonged to you."
"You're lying, you righteous, little beast. It was all my hard-earned cash, and you're not getting any of it," Martha yelled, lunging for Amber to snatch the dagger out of her hands. Amber stumbled and dropped on the sofa, fighting the screeching ghost. Red trails of blood appeared on her skin where Martha's nails scratched the skin.
I stepped in front of the camera calmly. "What is Martha's secret? Don't miss your chance to find out after a short break."
The screen turned blank. At the same time, several demon guards jumped on stage and seized Martha's arms, pinning her down.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Aunt Krista slip into the adjacent room, which had been specifically decorated for her handbag infomercial.
"The phones are going crazy," Ginny said. "There are so many callers, the lines will fry."
"You said no one would watch," Amber whispered.
I shrugged. "Who cares? You're famous. I've heard everybody wants to be on TV."
"You don't understand, Cass. Aidan will be so mad."
"He's just jealous because you're getting all the attention." I squeezed her hand. "Just tell him to suck it up. He'll get the chance to be a necromancer at the next paranormal race in five hundred years.
Until then, you get to be the star in the family."
Chapter 22 – Confessions
The phone lines were down. Ginny was trying his hardest to sort through the chaos and fix the mess while Aunt Krista was really getting into her marketing. She'd been talking non-stop for at least five minutes, holding up this and that bag. I had no idea what she could possibly have to say about her ugly designs, but apparently it was interesting stuff because there was so many hits on her website the server couldn't cope. Of course, it could also be our worldwide viewers searching for another way to reach us.
Dad leaned over Martha, probably talking sense into her. After her vicious attack on Amber, I doubted there was anything sensible about Helen's mother, but the show must go on. We couldn't afford people thinking we were phonies.
"They didn’t see Martha, did they?" Theo asked. I shook my head, barely paying attention to her through all the chaos. "So, what they watched were scratches appearing on Amber's face. If I saw that on live TV I'd be freaked out."
I tapped a finger against my lips, thinking. "You're right. No wonder everyone's eager to call and talk to the necromancer."
"Ready, everyone?" Ginny yelled.
"I know where I've seen this guy before," Dad whispered.
"Your kitchen?" I peered at him, barely able to suppress my grin.
Dad shook his head. "No. I recently promoted him from guard to gatekeeper in Distros."
"I'm sure that's it, Dad." I rolled my eyes as he took his seat, then turned to Amber. "You've been doing brilliantly. We need you to continue with the show."
She nodded, jaw set. "No ghost's ever going to scare me."
"Let's go live then." I signalled Ginny to start before Amber could change her mind.
"Three, two, one. We're live," Ginny said.
I smiled into the camera. "Welcome back to Messages From Beyond The Grave. My name's Cass and this is Amber, our very gifted necromancer. Our last caller was Helen whose mother took a dark secret to the grave. Helen, are you still with us?"
The line crackled. "I am, Cass."
"Great. What did you say—"
"What happened to Amber?" Helen interrupted. "Did Martha attack her?"
I peered at Amber, unsure whether to tell the truth. Luckily, she made that decision for me. "She did, but I've got it all under control now."
Helen exhaled audibly relieved.
"Our viewers were enthralled. Why don't you tell the ones joining us now about your problem, Helen," I prompted.
"Martha stole a lot of money from people who trusted her. I want to know where it is so I can give it back." Helen's voice sounded more confident than before, as though being in the spotlight boosted her confidence as we spoke.
I nodded. "That's noble of you. Martha didn’t seem to agree though, which is clear from the scratches on Amber's face. Did we catch that on camera?" I peered around me with exaggerated movement, then tapped against an imaginary earpiece. "My team says we did. Well, let's see it in slow motion then."
Ginny signalled and the pictures of Amber being assaulted by an invisible force appeared on the screen.
"If that looked nasty on camera, imagine catching it all live here in the studio. That's one messed up, scary ghost, let me tell you that,"
I said as soon as I was back on. The audience nodded. Murmurs erupted. By now our viewers must be glued to the screen, not least because the programming in my phone kept them from moving.
"I would've done far more than that if you didn't stop me,"
Martha shrieked. For a soul who had just spent years dangling
from chains in the ceiling, she sure was mouthy.
"How did Martha die?" I didn't ask because I wanted to know. It was more out of a need to wind Martha up because her rudeness was slowly starting to tick me off.
"She killed herself," Helen said. "Probably couldn't cope with the guilt."
"I didn't kill myself, you moron," Martha growled, tossing a burning candle on the floor. Luckily, there was nothing nearby that could catch fire. I grinned because the camera caught it all live as Martha continued, "The street was icy and I lost control of my car."
"Did you see that?" I stared into the camera as it moved from the candle on the floor to me.
"She's always been nasty," Helen said. "I'm not surprised she hasn't changed her ways in the afterlife."
Martha shrieked and jumped on the table, kicking at the candles around her. I peered at Dad, waiting for him to stand and do something, but he remained seated, watching the scenario with an amused expression, a glint playing in his eyes.
"That's enough," I yelled, scanning the air as though I couldn't quite see where Martha cowered. "Tell us where the money is."
"No." Martha shook her head, vehemently. A guttural sound escaped her throat.
"She said 'no'," Amber whispered, raising the dagger.
"What do you think you're doing with that?" Martha asked. "You can't hurt me. I'm dead already." With the back of her hand, she flicked our water glasses from the table. They shattered into thousands of pieces at our feet.
"She said I can't hurt her because she's dead already," Amber repeated.
"Stop repeating everything I say," Martha shrieked, hitting the table until it toppled over.
The audience gasped. For a moment, the camera focused on them, filming the fake shock and dread in their faces, then turned back to us. I got up from my seat and shook my head.
"Dear viewers, we clearly have a poltergeist entity on our hands. Amber will try to retrieve the secret and send it back where it belongs. I certainly don't envy the poor guy in Hell who has to deal with this day in, day out. Do you?" I cocked a brow. "Amber, it's your turn."
Amber narrowed her gaze. "Where's the money, Martha?"
