Ghosts and Lightning

by Trevor Byrne

  We knock back the absinthe. Teresa makes a face and shakes her head.

  —Hate that stuff, she says.

  Paula rubs Teresa’s shoulder.

  —OK, says Pajo. —Right, so yeah, like I said, everyone just chill, yeah? OK. And, emm … Pajo looks at me. —Should I say about the flowers and the candle and that, Denny?

  —I don’t even know wha the flowers and candle are for, Pajo. You’re the expert.

  Ned smiles.

  —Yeah, yeah, says Pajo. —Emm, right. Yeah, so, the flowers help to attract the spirit. They can smell them, I think. Or they like it, anyway. It’s good. It’s good for the vibe. Especially daffodils, they love daffodils.

  —And the whiskey’s in case the ghost’s Oliver Reed? says Ned.

  —Yeah. It’s … no. I mean … no. It’s like, it’s another strong smell, just. It’s somethin they might remember. Yeah? So they can, like, home in or wharrever. Em. And the candle’s for –

  —Spookiness?

  —No. It’s the light, spirits are attracted to it. They can see it, yeh know? It’s like the light o the other side, o the spirit world. That kind o thing. It burns a special kind o colour, cos o the baby goat fat. We can’t really see it like, but they can. Yeah? Yiz OK?

  Pajo runs his finger round the inside of his shot glass and sucks on it, then continues.

  —So, it’s like, it’s about communication. We wanna talk to whoever it is that’s here. Yeh know? Pajo turns to Paula. —Wha do yeh wanna know, Paula? D’yeh think, like, d’yeh know who it might be?

  Paula looks at me and then back at Pajo. She’s told me about this before but it’s still fuckin freaky.

  —There’s someone under me bed, she says. She looks at me again. —It’s a man but it’s pretendin to be a woman. Or a girl, really.

  Ned raises an eyebrow; he hasn’t heard this before and he looks a bit bemused. Teresa has but she still looks concerned.

  —I don’t really wanna say anymore about it, says Paula. —It’s weird. It’s a bit mad, I know. Just … I’d rather just see wha happens. Is that alright?

  —Yeah, OK, says Pajo. —That’s fine. It’s just that, no one should get afraid and that, yeah?

  —Yeah.

  —Yep.

  —Alright then. OK. Let’s, emm … will yeh turn off the light there, Denny?

  I nod and stand and, after a second’s hesitation, flick off the light. It goes dead dark. I reach for the chair and sit back down. The flame o Kasey’s ritual candle is dancin slightly, bobbin in some unfelt draught. It doesn’t give off much light and I don’t think the actual flame looks any different to any other I’ve seen. It smells fuckin rank, though; horrible, like our chip pan but ten times worse. I can just about see everyone round the table, their jumpy shadows loomin behind them.

  —Everyone put their hands flat on the table, says Pajo. —Yeah? We need to be dead quiet, like. Total silence.

  No one says a word. We sit there for about a minute.

  —My name is Patrick, says Pajo, finally. I can see Pajo’s face floatin in the gloom. His eyes are closed.

  —And this is Colm, Denny, Teresa, Edward and Paula. We’d really like to hear from yeh. It’s, emm … well especially Paula would. She’d like to know, like, who yeh are.

  Pajo falls silent again. Paula shifts slightly beside me. There isn’t a sound in the whole house, cept the pops and creaks o the place settlin for the night. I watch the candle flame flickerin, and the reflection o the flame in the whiskey bottle. Ned’s eyes are closed, and so are Teresa’s. Maggit’s lookin at his hands on the table. I’m startin to feel like –

  —Did yeh hear that?

  I turn me head and look at Paula, then Pajo. His eyes are open again; I think he’s noticed it. He nods at me.

  —Can yiz hear that? says Ned, eyes still closed.

  —Shh, says Paula.

  —Emm, thank you, says Pajo. —Thanks for gettin in touch.

  I can see Ned smilin at that.

  —We’d like to ask a few questions. Emm. Like, who … who are yeh?

  Nothin. Just a low down noise. Jesus, there is a voice though, definitely. Or voices. There’s words, it’s language. I have to strain but there’s a weak voice comin through. Fuck. Somewhere above, it sounds like. Or am I imaginin things here? Am I –

  —What’s yer name? says Pajo.

  There’s silence for a few seconds more.

  —Who are yeh?

  Then Ned bursts out laughin. —It’s Simon fuckin Cowell, he says, openin his eyes.

  —Wha?

  —That’s the fuckin X-Factor. Listen.

  Everyone strains, silently.

  —It’s Louis Walsh now. Listen.

  —For fuck sake, says Paula. —Did someone leave the telly on upstairs?

  —Oh shite, I did, yeah, says Teresa. —Sorry.

  —Jesus, I was gettin fuckin worried there, says Ned. —Fuckin hell. Imagine if Louis Walsh was hauntin the place? Fate worse than fuckin death.

  Pajo bites his thumbnail again. —Emm, yeh wouldn’t be able to, like, go up and –

  —I’m not goin up on me own, says Teresa.

  —I’ll go with yeh, says Paula.

  Paula stands up andTeresa does likewise. I can hear them talkin on the stairs on the way up. Maggit fills himself out another shot and downs it. He looks at Pajo with a kind o disdainful smirk.

  —It’s not my fault, says Pajo.

  —Don’t worry about it, Paj, I say. Jesus, I feel dead fuckin relieved. I fill meself out a shot as well, and gulp it back. It sounds stupid but me nerve ends are buzzin. I was startin to get a bit windy there for a sec, started doubtin meself. A few seconds later Paula and Teresa come back in and take their seats.

  —Sorry Pajo, says Teresa.

  —Yer OK.

  —Are we alright to go on? says Paula.

  —Yeah, says Pajo. —Emm. OK. Pajo takes a long, deep breath. —Right. Sorry about that, he says, not so much to us but to whoever or whatever might be out there. —If yeh could let us know yer there, that’d be cool. Emm. Like, if … yeah. Who are yeh?

  Again, there’s nothin. I can hear the wind outside and the breathin o me fellow would-be spiritualists.

  —Let us know yer here.

  —I need another drink, says Maggit. He reaches across the table and takes a swig from the bottle. —Anyone else?

  There’s general noddin, includin from Pajo. The bottle gets passed around and everyone takes a mouthful, even Teresa. We had a few scoops in town already and I can feel a slight buzz.

  —I want to know who yeh are, says Paula, suddenly. She looks determined. Pajo looks up. Paula looks at him and Pajo nods.

  —Are yeh happy? says Paula —I don’t mind sharin me room with yeh but I need to know who yeh are.

  —Just give us some kind o sign, says Pajo.

  —I know yer not me mother, says Paula.

  I get a little chill up me spine when she says that.

  —Yeh can, like, speak through me if yeh want, says Pajo. —Like, if yeh don’t want to –

  The baby goat fat candle sputters out. Fuckin hell. It’s pitch black.

  —Jesus, says Teresa.

  —Must be an oul cheapo candle, says Ned.

  —Have you a lighter, Denny?

  —No, says Pajo. —No, leave it. See wha happens.

  I can’t see a fuckin thing. It’s completely, utterly, deep space black.

  —Yeh alright? says Paula. I’m not sure who she’s talkin to, me or Teresa or someone else.

  —Get in touch.

  Someone laughs. Ned I think.

  —Get in touch.

  —Is this an ad for Vodafone?

  —Shhh.

  —Who are yeh?

  …

  …

  —Are yeh there?

  …

  —Is that your hand down me jeans, Denny?

  —Shhh!

  —Who is it?

  —Speak to us.

  —We’re her
e to help.

  …

  —Use the force, Luke.

  —Will you shurrup?

  —Yeah, shurrup you, will yeh?

  —Jesus. Sorry.

  …

  —Speak.

  —Did somethin happen here?

  …

  —Somethin bad?

  —Are yeh stuck?

  —We can help.

  …

  …

  …

  —Do yeh want to move on?

  —Where’s the absinthe?

  —We’re here to help yeh.

  —We’re listenin.

  …

  —Fuck, that’s strong stuff isn’t it?

  —Shh!

  …

  …

  …

  —Yeh OK there, Pajo?

  …

  —I won’t stay for long.

  —Pajo?

  —I’m only passing through.

  —Pajo?

  …

  …

  …

  —Pajo?

  …

  …

  —My name is Paula. Who are you?

  —It doesn’t matter.

  —Is this for real?

  —Shh!

  —Why are yeh here?

  —I’m a wanderer. I’m always somewhere. Now I’m here.

  —Wha d’yeh want?

  —Is that not just Pajo talkin?

  —Just shurrup will yeh? For fuck sake.

  —Why are yeh here, though?

  —I’ve been here before. You remind me of someone from long ago.

  …

  —Who?

  …

  —Who do I remind yeh of?

  —A woman.

  —Who?

  —Emer.

  —Emer?

  —A long time ago.

  —Who are yeh?

  …

  …

  —Did yeh die here?

  —I died in the North.

  —North Clondalkin?

  —Shh.

  …

  —The North.

  —Wha d’yeh want here?

  —Nothing.

  —Why are yeh here then?

  …

  —Yeh still here?

  …

  …

  —Ask him somethin. Quick.

  —Ehh, do yeh want us to do somethin?

  …

  —Yeh still here?

  …

  …

  …

  —Death is nothing much.

  —Wha?

  …

  …

  …

  —Why are yeh pretendin to be a fuckin girl?

  —I have no time for tricksters.

  —Wha d’yeh mean?

  —I moved him on.

  —It’s gone? The thing under the bed?

  —I cast him out.

  —Why?

  —Because you look like her.

  …

  …

  —Are yeh still there?

  …

  …

  …

  …

  —I’m turnin the light on.

  —No, leave it.

  —Fuck this.

  Someone stands up. There’s a commotion and then the light flicks on. Me eyes burn. Everyone looks at Pajo. He’s sittin with his eyes closed.

  —Oh Jesus. Givvim a shake, says Teresa.

  Maggit pours himself another shot.

  —Was that for real? says Ned.

  —Betcha he’s on somethin, says Maggit. —A fuckin load o pills, watch. Fuckin clown is off his head.

  Teresa puts her hand on Pajo’s shoulder and shakes him. He makes a snortin noise and then opens his eyes.

  —Yeh OK? I ask.

  —Ehhh … grand, says Pajo. —Did I fall asleep?

  —Yeh fuckin goofed off, says Maggit.

  —D’yeh not remember? says Paula.

  —Wha?

  —All that stuff. Yeh said I was like some woman from years ago. D’yeh not remember?

  Pajo shakes his head.

  —That’s a load o me fuckin bollix, says Maggit.

  Paula looks at Maggit. —Will you shut up? Eejit.

  Maggit holds up his hands and wriggles his fingers in mock offence.

  Paula hunkers down beside Pajo.

  —D’yeh really not remember any o that?

  —I remember, like, askin was there someone there and all that.

  Pajo looks ashen. He’s shakin a bit, as well. So am fuckin I. Paula looks at me.

  —Wha did yeh think o that, Denny?

  I shrug. —I dunno, I say. And fuck, I really don’t, other than the fact that I’m freaked out. I grab the absinthe and pour meself a good measure. I down it and then pour another one.

  —I think we made contact, says Paula.

  —With who? says Pajo.

  —Some ghostly pervo who thinks Paula looks like his old girlfriend, some queen from ages ago, says Ned. Ned blows out a breath and looks at me. He shrugs, clearly undecided.

  —He said the other thing’s gone, though, says Paula.

  Pajo nods.

  —Fuckin mad, wha? says Ned.

  —Yeah.

  —Fill us a shot there, Denny, says Paula.

  I do.

  —Thanks.

  —Well yeh can tell yer man that yer already taken, says Teresa. She puts her hand on Paula’s forearm. Maggit looks at Paula and Teresa and shakes his head.

  —Bollix, he says. —Yiz are all fuckin mad. Yiz are –

  —Shhh! says Paula. —Listen.

  We go quiet.

  —Wha?

  —Listen. The dogs.

  She’s right. Every dog in the estate must be barkin, a cacophony o hounds growlin and whinin and barkin like mad.

  —God. I’m sleepin with the light on, says Teresa.

  GRIFFINSHIT

  I’m sittin at the foot o the stairs, a cup o tea at me feet and I’m just about to cancel the call when Ned finally picks up.

  —Denny, man, what’s the story?

  —Took yer time.

  —I was playin that new Pro Evolution. Pretty good, like. They’ve still got stupid fake jerseys but it’s better than FIFA. Yid wanna see the head on Rooney in it, Shrekfuckintastic. I’ve a suitcase o them here. They’re –

  —Nah thanks, I’m grand. Here, d’yeh know of anyone who’s lookin to sell a car?

  —Yeh after a set o wheels?

  —Yeah. Wouldn’t mind, like.

  —Wha brought this on?

  —Just … dunno, sick walkin everywhere. And I’m twenty fuckin six, yeh know? I was sayin it to meself in the mountains. Fuckin hours we were walkin that day.

  —Em, well, Chockie from Shancastle could do yeh one, I suppose.

  —No, not robbed or anythin. Jesus. Secondhand, like. Someone sellin on or wharrever.

  —Bit more difficult, that. I mean, I know loads lookin to offload motors, legit like, but they’d be out o your price range. Unless yer after winnin the bingo or somethin.

  —Nah, I’ve about a hundred euro.

  —Won’t get much for that.

  —I could get another hundred or so off Maggit as well.

  —Sounds like hassle, man, co-ownership.

  —It’ll be grand. Fuckim.

  —Actually, isn’t yer brother sellin a car?

  Goes to show how close me family are these days when I have to hear about stuff like this off o Ned.

  —Which one?

  —Gino. It’s only an oul banger, like. An ‘89 Fiat I think. Yeh won’t be able to get a piece o shite like that taxed and insured, though. Yill be reefed off the road if any guards see yeh.

  —It’ll be grand, I say.

  Fuck the tax and insurance. Don’t have anywhere near the money to get the car sorted properly. I just fancy the bit o freedom; it’s been on me mind for a while, like. I learned to drive ages ago, when I was about sixteen or seventeen, in the industrial estate
out by Palmerstown. Got the lessons off o me cousin Martin.

  —Up to you, says Ned. —Can’t think of anythin else for that money, though. At the end o the days it’s — actually, look man I’m gonna have to go, Sinead’s at the door.

  —Right, thanks Ned. See yeh after anyway.

  —Slan go foill Denny.

  *

  Delapidated’s a good word but it doesn’t do justice to me brother Gino’s front garden. Place is a fuckin kip, like, an eternal tipsite and the subject o countless ignored council warnins. The grass is long and crabby and dandruffed with empty milk cartons and crisp packets and currytrays from the Chinese up the road and there’s a big pile o bashed pallets beside the front window. The cracked and webby porch door is out o the frame and leanin against the wall. Gino’s Jack Russell is sittin on the welcome mat and he starts pantin and waggin his stumpy tail when he sees me. There’s a black satellite dish stickin from the side o the house. Gino used to have NTL but he got rid of it and got Sky instead cos, as his wife pointed out, with NTL yeh just get a little box that yeh put with yer video and that, under the telly, whereas with Sky yeh get a dish, which is more conspicuous; she didn’t want people assumin she hadn’t the money for cable TV.

  I walk up to the door and hunch down and scratch the dog behind the ear. Pajo rings the doorbell. Maggit plonks his arse down on the wall, smokin, a scowly look on his face. He wasn’t mad on the whole car idea, but he’s after agreein to give somethin off it anyway, so I’m not bothered.

  —Ring again there Pajo, I say.

  Pajo steps forward and is about to push the doorbell when there’s a crash from inside, followed by a deep bellow. There’s an argument goin on upstairs.

  —Yeh mad fuckin bitch, yeh!

  —How dare yeh, Eugene. How fuckin dare yeh! You’re the one foolin around.

  —Foolin around? With fuckin who, Tracy? With who?

  —That slag Nuala Dunne!

  I stand up and look up at the bedroom windows.

  —Jaysis, says Pajo. —Bit of a domestic there. Should we come back after?

  —Fuck it, says Maggit. —We’re here now. Maggit looks up at the window, then back at me. —Gino and Nuala Dunne, wha? Yid wanna be desperate.

  —She’s alright, Nuala, I say.

  —Alright? She has a face like a full fuckin skip, Denny.

  And then the front door flies open and Maggit nearly falls off the wall. I instinctively hop away from the porch and me heel skids in a smooth swirl o dogshite. I’m expectin a pickaxe handle in the skull … but it’s not Gino. It’s his eight year-old son Jason and he storms past me to the gate, strugglin into a blue Nike jacket as he goes. He stops at the end o the garden and turns round, his eyes big and full o tears.