The Ghost Who Stayed Home

by Anna J. McIntyre

  “Oh, Chris, what are we going to do?” Danielle murmured as she gently stroked his cheek. She glanced around the room and took a deep breath and then wrinkled her nose; it smelled musty. Glancing overhead, she noticed a sagging ceiling with water stains.

  “So they let you come see him,” came an English voice.

  Danielle looked to her right and found herself gazing into the face of the ghost she had seen the previous morning.

  “You’re still here,” she said.

  Startled, his eyes widened. “You can see me?”

  “Yes,” Danielle said calmly. “My name is Danielle, and I can see people like you.”

  “Dead people?” He sat down on the only chair in the room.

  “So you know you’re dead?”

  He let out a snort and said, “Of course I know. Rather difficult to ignore that fact when I’m constantly walking through walls.”

  “Can you tell me your name?” Danielle asked.

  “Excuse me. Very rude of me. Percival. Percival Clint.”

  “Nice to meet you, Percival Clint. Can you tell me where we are?”

  “Where we are?” He glanced around. “It looks like some sort of bedroom to me.”

  Danielle let out a sigh. “I’m trying to figure out where they have us.”

  “Ahh, the people who’ve kidnapped you. I assume they’re seeking ransom. Correct?”

  “Yes.” Danielle glanced down at Chris’s lifeless body. “They intended to get it from Chris here, but there was an accident; he fell. Now they’re not able to get the money. Although, I’m not really sure how they intended to do that in the first place.”

  “They do seem to be rather upset over your friend here. I believe that’s why they brought you in to see him. They hope you can get him to wake up.”

  “Do you know anything about our kidnappers…their names maybe?”

  “I haven’t been here that long. But I did hear them call the gent who brought you here Clay. He was the one who I hitched a ride with when he was down by the bridge—to look at all the scantily dressed young women.” Percival wiggled his eyebrows and smiled.

  Danielle glanced at the closed door, wondering when they were going to come for her. “Can you move objects?”

  “Move objects?” He frowned.

  “Umm…can you move that chair you’re sitting in?”

  He began to chuckle. “That would be magnificent!”

  Danielle let out a discouraged sigh. “Then perhaps you can tell me where we are.”

  “I told you, we’re in a bedroom.”

  Frustrated, Danielle forced a smile. “Perhaps you can tell me about that bridge you just mentioned.”

  Percival uncrossed and recrossed his legs, shifting his position in the chair. “I watched them put that bridge up—twice.” He laughed.

  “Maybe you can tell me how you died?”

  “You mean how I was murdered?”

  “Who killed you? Do you know?”

  “A scrawny little pickpocket who didn’t have the good manners to shove off when I told him to keep his mitts out of my coat pocket. Stabbed me in the belly, left me there to die on the bridge.”

  “So you were murdered on the bridge?”

  “Yes? Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “What city is the bridge located in? Do you remember that?”

  “At the time, London.”

  Before Danielle could respond, one of the kidnappers walked into the room. He was still wearing the mask, but Danielle knew it was the same person who had brought her to the room earlier—the man Percival had called Clay.

  “I was just checking to see if everything was okay.” Clay glanced around the room. Even if he could see ghosts, he would not have seen one. Percival was no longer in the room. With a grunt, Clay turned to the doorway and walked back into the hallway, closing the door behind him and leaving Danielle alone with Chris.

  “Percival?” Danielle called out in a loud whisper.

  No answer.

  “Percival?” She looked around the room. Still no answer.

  Convinced the spirit was no longer nearby, Danielle looked down at Chris’s still form.

  “Chris, are you there?” she whispered before placing a light kiss on his forehead.

  TWENTY

  It was the first Sunday in May. Chris had spent the previous evening trying to recall how he had arrived back at Marlow House after his fall. He discovered Walt had been correct. Once he was aware of his true condition, the fog clouding his memory began to dissolve. Like mist fading away in a movie scene, he saw the airplane he had rented—and next to it at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane was an unconscious body—his. Excitedly, he began to tell Walt what he was remembering.

  “I saw myself,” Chris said as he paced the library while Walt sat on the sofa, watching. “Nasty gash on my head. Damn, those head wounds sure do bleed! Two men were shouting at each other; one of them was the pilot. Not the one I hired.”

  “No, your pilot was locked up in your basement.”

  Chris paused a moment and looked at Walt. He arched his brows. “I also remember waking up—and it wasn’t when I was being led down those steps. It was right before that. We must have still been on the plane. I couldn’t see anything; I was blindfolded. They said something about me giving them fifty million dollars.” He resumed pacing.

  “What else do you remember?”

  “The pilot was angry that his partner let me fall.”

  “Do you have any idea where you were?”

  Chris took a seat across from Walt. “I remember now; it was somewhere in the desert. Mountains in the distance. Not green mountains. There was a dirt airstrip. No idea how they landed that thing out there, looked like the middle of nowhere. But the plane wasn’t sitting outside, it was in a hangar of sorts—more like a Quonset hut, without any doors or walls on either end.”

  “Quonset hut?” Walt frowned. “What’s that?”

  “You know, a Quonset hut—” Chris paused and let out a sigh. “That’s right, I don’t think they were really a thing in the ’20s. I believe they started making them during World War II. Sort of a semicircular structure made out of metal and steel. A prefab building, quick to put up. They were used extensively in the war.”

  “Ahh, you mean a Nissen hut,” Walt said with a smile.

  “Nissen hut?”

  “Your Quonset hut sounds like the British’s Nissen hut they used during World War I,” Walt explained.

  Chris shrugged. “Whatever it was, it was big enough for the airplane to fit under. The only other building I saw on the property was an old mobile home. But it was all boarded up, with keep out signs. I did go inside it, looking for help, but no one was around, and I didn’t see any signs of life. There was only one vehicle, a motorhome. It was parked right outside the hangar area.” Chris paused again and looked directly at Walt and asked, “You do know what a mobile home and motorhome are, don’t you?”

  Walt rolled his eyes. “Yes. I do watch television, you know. And it’s not like we didn’t have things like trailers back in my day.” With a wave of his hand, Walt summoned a cigar. “What else did you see? Danielle, the others?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. It’s weird, but I knew that was me on the ground with all the blood—yet it didn’t occur to me that I was dead, that my spirit was seeing myself. And I certainly didn’t consider I was having some out-of-body experience. All I knew was that I needed to get help. So I ran first to the boarded-up mobile home, but when no one was there, I started running down the road, looking for someone to help me.”

  “You didn’t try going back on the plane for Danielle and the others?”

  “The two arguing men were blocking the stairs—”

  “You could have walked right through them, and they wouldn’t have known,” Walt reminded him.

  “I didn’t realize that at the time. But the two men were yelling at each other; I knew they weren’t on my side. All I wanted to do was get
help. So I started running down the road. I was somewhat surprised they didn’t try to stop me. I just wanted to get help.”

  “And you just ended up here?”

  “No. I remember running down a long dirt road. I didn’t see any other people, no cars, no buildings, nothing but open desert. And then—then—”

  “Then you were here?” Walt asked.

  Chris shook his head. “No. Then I was standing on the highway, looking at a sign. It said Seligman ten miles.”

  “Seligman?”

  “That must have been where they landed the plane, somewhere outside of Seligman.”

  “Where in the world is Seligman?” Walt murmured.

  Chris shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never heard of it before. But they must be near the plane.”

  After considering Chris’s suggestion, Walt shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. When I visited Ian in a dream, he told me they were being held in a warehouse. Do you think he might have mistaken the mobile home you went into for a warehouse?”

  “No way. This means they took them somewhere else. Maybe they transported them in the motorhome I saw,” Chris suggested.

  “Did you see any warehouses in the area?” Walt asked.

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing anything along the road. I’m not really sure how long I walked. But I do remember getting to the highway and seeing cars drive by. I tried to wave a few down, but they just drove by.”

  “They couldn’t see you.”

  “And then I remember walking down the road, seeing the road sign…ten miles to Seligman…and then I remember wondering, Why am I out here?”

  “You weren’t wondering where is Danielle and the others?” Walt snapped.

  Chris let out a sigh and turned to Walt. “I can remember now what I saw back then, and I also remember how hazy and confused everything seemed. When I was looking at that sign, for some reason I didn’t quite grasp that I had left Danielle and the others back at the plane. In fact, when I stared at that road sign, all I could think about was why was I out in the middle of nowhere? I felt so confused, it was like I couldn’t grasp anything tangible; my thoughts were erratic. And then Danielle’s face popped into my head, and for a moment I didn’t even know who it was. As cars whizzed by me on the highway, I closed my eyes and focused on her face, trying to comprehend who she was to me, and then I saw Marlow House, and I felt safe, and then, well, then I opened my eyes and found myself back here, looking at you reading a book.”

  After digesting what Chris was telling him, Walt silently took a puff off his cigar and then said, “At least we know where they landed the plane. That should help us find them.”

  “I’d try to go back there, but it would probably be a waste of time. I’m sure they’ve moved them. But maybe whoever owns that property is connected to the kidnapping.”

  “I agree. But now we need to figure out how we can get someone to help us. I don’t believe Evan is really old enough to give us the help we need on this one.” Walt flicked his hand and the cigar disappeared.

  “I suppose I could see if I can find someone who we can use to help us.”

  “I assume you’re talking about someone capable of seeing spirits and…” Walt looked Chris up and down and then added in a snort, “And whatever you are.”

  Standing up again, Chris began to pace. “Let me think about this—we need some way to communicate with the outside world.”

  Walt rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

  Chris paused and turned to Walt. “How about a letter?”

  “A letter?”

  “It’s one possibility. You can write a letter—you are capable of moving a pen over paper—and then you can put a stamp on it…”

  “Exactly how do we get it to the mailbox?” Walt asked.

  Chris shook his head and said, “Never mind. Stupid idea anyway. Even if we figured out who to send it to, it could take a couple days for the letter to arrive and they might think it’s just a hoax, especially since I don’t know where the plane actually is.”

  “You said it was near Seligman,” Walt reminded him.

  “Sure, but Seligman where? It was somewhere in the desert but where—California, Arizona, Nevada, Texas…anywhere.”

  “I suppose I could look it up in my atlas,” Walt suggested.

  “It would be much faster on a computer,” Chris said.

  Walt waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t know anything about computers.”

  “Danielle left her laptop, didn’t she?” Chris glanced around. “She said she wasn’t going to take it with her.”

  “It’s in the parlor. But I don’t know how to use a computer.”

  “I do.” Chris smiled.

  “But you can’t even pick up a pencil!”

  “No, but I can tell you what keys to hit…” Chris suddenly smiled. “The computer! That would be better than a letter. We can use the Internet to get the message out—in an email or…” He paused a moment and then asked with a frown, “You don’t happen to know her password, do you?”

  “Password?”

  “Yeah. She types in a password to get onto her computer. You don’t know what it is?”

  Walt frowned. “Why would I know? I don’t know how to use a computer.”

  “Maybe you’ve seen Danielle type it in. I know you’re always lurking around her.”

  “I do not lurk,” Walt snapped.

  “Fine. But we need to find out where Seligman is so we can tell the authorities where they can find the plane and, hopefully from there, track where the kidnappers are holding Danielle and the rest of them.”

  “Then perhaps we should first figure out who we’re going to use to get this information to the right authorities.”

  Chris plopped back down in the chair. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Naturally,” Walt mumbled under his breath—that is, if ghosts could actually have a breath.

  “We need to figure out who we can get to help us,” Chris continued, ignoring Walt’s mutter. “Without a password, the computer is out.”

  “I only see two choices here—Evan or—” Walt cringed. “Heather.”

  “She could also bring her laptop over here and help us figure out where Seligman is—use Google Earth. Maybe even figure out where that hut is by the pictures!” Chris added excitedly.

  Walt furrowed his brows. “Google Earth?”

  “Google is this search engine that…” Chris started to explain and then noticed Walt’s confused expression. “I’m really surprised you haven’t used Danielle’s laptop before.”

  “Why would I?”

  Chris shrugged. “I just am.”

  “So what is this Google Earth?”

  “It’s a website where you can see aerial photographs of earth. I’m thinking maybe we can figure out exactly where that Quonset hut is by looking in the area along the highway where the ten-mile sign is.”

  “Are you telling me someone has taken pictures of the entire earth? Close enough that you can actually see a highway or a building?”

  “Yeah…pretty much.”

  Walt shook his head in disbelief.

  “I suppose we’ll have to use Heather. I can get her to bring her laptop with her,” Chris suggested.

  “Do you intend to just march over to her house and demand she come back here with you?”

  “Seems like the only thing I can do. But I’m not sure I’ll be marching exactly. You’ll have to unlock the front door—do you think you can do that?”

  “Of course I can do that. But perhaps we need to rethink Heather.”

  “What do you mean? You said yourself Evan is probably too young to help us.”

  “It’s just that…it’s Heather…”

  Chris studied Walt for a moment and then asked, “So?”

  Walt groaned and leaned back in his chair. “It’s just that I’d prefer not to make myself known to her. But I suppose, if I have to—for Danielle.”

  TWENTY-ONE

&
nbsp; Heather sat in the lotus position on the center of her sofa. Yet she was not in meditation. Propped on her lap was the Sunday newspaper open to the classified section. In her right hand she held a cup of steaming green tea while she scanned the help wanted advertisements. Periodically she would gently blow on the tea, attempting to cool it so she could take a sip, while her eyes never left the newsprint. She needed a job.

  She hadn’t had breakfast yet, and morning was slowly slipping into noon. But she wasn’t especially hungry. Nor had she dressed for the day; she still wore the loosely fitting jogging pants and a T-shirt she had slept in. Her habit until recently was to sleep in her jogging clothes, rise early, run along the beach, and then return home and shower and dress for the day. Yet she hadn’t been jogging on the beach for days. Repeatedly stepping over dead bodies or encountering ghosts along the beach had squelched her enthusiasm for early morning runs along the ocean.

  Instead of the pigtails or traditional braids she normally wore, she had pulled her hair atop her head after getting out of bed that morning and had secured it with a rubber band in what she called her Pebbles look. Of course, unlike Pebbles her hair was coal black not red, and there was no bone stuck in the high-placed ponytail.

  Turning the page of the newspaper, she sipped the tea and wiggled her toes, inadvertently forcing her right big toe to pop through and widen a hole in her sock. Looking from the paper to her right foot, she wiggled her toes again and sighed. The sock’s hole grew larger and her big toe more visible.

  “Sorry set of circumstances when I can’t even afford to buy new socks,” she said aloud. Leaning over the newspaper, she stretched toward the coffee table and set her teacup on the edge of the tabletop, carelessly splashing some of the tea on its surface. Instead of wiping up the liquid, she grabbed the felt-tip pen sitting next to the cup and leaned back. Turning her attention to the help wanted ads, she used the pen to circle several possible job opportunities.

  A meow from the doorway caught Heather’s attention. She looked up and spied her calico, Bella, strolling casually into the room, her tail wagging flag-like behind her. No longer a kitten, Bella had reached her full size, yet she still looked more kitten than full grown cat considering her delicate stature.