The Ghosts

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “That’d be nice,” he said, and then poof, he was gone.

  Beans and rice. The things people miss never ceased to amaze me.

  The air in the room changed and instead of waiting for me, the spirits zipped around each other, vying for a chance with me. The air was so thick with energy my head throbbed. Experience taught me that the throbbing meant I was headed into one heck of a migraine but I had a job to do and that was what mattered.

  “Okay everyone, I know you’ve all been here a long time—from the looks of some of you, a very long time. It’s 2016, and your loved ones are long gone.” I pointed to the ceiling. “Do you see that light? Go to it and you’ll find your loved ones waiting.”

  Voices filled the room, some talking to loved ones who’d come down to help them cross over and others calling out to those thy longed to see. Mel paced behind me.

  “Is something going on? The hairs on the back of my neck are up.”

  “They’re leaving,” I told her.

  One by one they each shimmered away until only a woman was left. She hovered in front of me. Her face, the texture of leather, wasn’t transparent. It was so real I reached out and touched it with my fingertips. I flinched and pulled back. Ghosts weren’t supposed to look and feel real.

  “You must go. Go now or he will find you,” she said, and then she disappeared. She didn’t shimmered like most spirits. She just up and disappeared.

  My shoulders stiffened and my heart raced. I wanted to cut and run but I was there for a reason and I wouldn’t let a case of the heebee geebees make me bolt. I wiped the clamminess of my palms onto my shirt and held my head high, hoping if I acted brave, I’d actually feel brave.

  “What’s wrong?” Mel asked, her voice a tad higher than usual. “What happened?”

  I shook my head as if it was no big deal. Mel didn’t need to know anything about the eerie spirit. She was already freaked out enough and that would send her sailing over the edge. “Uh, nothing. They’re all gone.” I swiveled on my heel and did my best to casually leave the dead room. “Let’s poke around a little upstairs. Maybe we’ll find something that’ll make sense of my dream.”

  Mel followed, though it was clear she didn’t want to. “If I regret this I’m blaming you.”

  “Who else could you blame?”

  “My cheating rat of an ex-husband is always a good choice.”

  “I say pick him then.” I’d stepped on the last step and stopped at the top of the stairs hoping to get some kind of sign showing me which room to check out first.

  She poked my back with her fingertips. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I have to get to the store to get my kids stuff for their Halloween costumes for Halloween.”

  “You still haven’t done that? Way to wait ‘til the last minute.”

  “I’m juggling a lot right now.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, rolling my eyes to show I knew the real reason she'd put off getting the costumes. She'd been too busy banging her boyfriend, my boss.

  “And working full time.”

  Her eyes glistened.

  Busted.

  I glanced at the doors on both sides of the hallway and waited for a sign. A tennis ball rolled out of the room on the left and startled Mel so much she lost her footing and latched onto my waist for support. She pulled my hips backward, and my feet slipped from the dust on the wood floor. Gravity took hold, and even though I gripped the doorframe with both hands, we bounded down the wooden staircase like a bolder bouncing down a mountaintop.

  Mel hit the bottom first. I landed on top of her. “Good God woman, you gotta stop eating all those cupcakes. You weigh a ton.”

  “A ton of fun, baby.”

  She pushed me off. “Maybe for someone your husband’s size but not for me.”

  We tread back up the stairs, both a bit achy from the tumble. My right hip ached, and Mel complained of pain in her lower back.

  “I know this is gonna hurt later tonight,” she said. “Aaron will rub the kinks out, I’m sure.”

  “TMI, Mel. TMI.”

  She held onto the railing at the top of the stairs. “Don’t want your ton-a-fun breakin’ a rib.”

  “Nice.”

  I picked up the ball and tossed it back into the room. A sly smirk wisped across my face as it rolled back out again. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”

  “Awesome bed,” Mel said. She ran her hand across the light wood footboard. “Think it’s pine?”

  “Really? The only trees I know about are Bradford Pears.”

  She scrunched her cheeks and mouth into her nose. “Those things stink when they bloom.”

  “I know, right? I tell Jake they smell like the dirty underwear of a popular hooker.”

  “And you’d know that smell how?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  We explored the room and the energies of the dead clobbered me. I swallowed hard, the tightness in my chest coming in waves, almost as if I’d inhaled my mother’s meatballs and gravy too fast and had a serious case of ojida—heartburn. While Mel touched each piece of the antique furniture I relaxed, hopeful to feel whoever had sent the ball rolling into the hallway.

  Note to self: watch what you wish for.

  A young woman wearing a long, plaid patterned, blue dress that poofed out at the waist, flashed in front of me. It was brief, but her image burned a place into my memory nonetheless. Her sunken eyes and white-as-a-ghost—no pun intended—look of horror wouldn’t be easily forgotten. The pressure in my chest worsened. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to get Mel’s attention but she was floating far way, on the other side of the room, and I could barely whisper. How was she floating? I screamed, but nothing came out. I clutched at my throat, gasping for air, pleading for my lungs to pull in oxygen. I grappled with the back of a chair nearby, and it fell over. Mel must have heard it because she circled around. I grabbed ahold of my neck again, signaling to her that something was wrong. Then the room darkened, and the walls closed in on me. I heard someone talking in the distance, but the voice was muffled, and I couldn’t understand. Suddenly everything went black.

  ***

  “Don’t you die on me Angela, you hear me?” Mel was on her knees, leaning over me, her face so close we could have kissed.

  I peered at her through my left eye. “What’d you have for breakfast? Your breath stinks.”

  She sat up. “You scared the living daylights outta me.” She breathed into the palm of her hand. “Ew. You’re right.”

  “Told you.” I sat up. “What happened?” I rubbed the back of my head. “That’s gonna bruise.”

  “Beats me. One minute you’re standing there and the next you’re on the ground. You gotta stop that. It freaks me out.”

  “Everything freaks you out.”

  “True.”

  I was dizzy and stayed seated until my head stopped its slow spin. It reminded me of my younger years when I’d hit the bars and have a few too many shots of Jägermeister. “I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

  Mel scooted away from me. “Can you wait until I’m outta the room at least? You know how bad my gag reflex is.”

  “Wow, feelin’ the love.”

  We both giggled, and I knew she’d flashed back to a few months ago when we’d each puked our guts out in the bathroom of a home we’d entered without permission. We’d gone there hoping to find a missing girl or something to lead us to her and found her deceased cat instead. The smell, putrid and strong, was overwhelming, and neither of us had been able to keep our lunch down. Our intentions were good, but our stomachs were weak.

  The urge to barf passed, and I stood, what happened slowly coming back. “I saw a woman.”

  “And?”

  I skimmed the room, but she wasn’t there. “She's gone now, but she didn’t look good.”

  “Was she dead?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Um, no. She's a magician. She just snapped her fingers and poof; she was gone.”

  “Hey, given our recent
adventure I have a right to ask.”

  Considering one of the last people I’d connected with wasn’t actually dead, I couldn’t argue that. “She was dressed in a big fluffy dress, the kind that tightened at the waist with tulle or something under it to make it big. Civil War era-like.”

  “You mean it had a cage hoop?”

  “Look at you being all smart and stuff.”

  “I am Asian, ya know. We’re known for our super intelligence.”

  “Really? I had no idea.” I picked up the tennis ball and examined it. “But I don’t think she’s the ball tosser or the one in my dream.”

  “Oh boy.”

  I explained what I’d experienced to Mel.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking she’s not the ball tosser either. So what happens now?”

  I plopped onto the torn up mattress and then realized it had probably been used by God knows who, doing God knows what, and jumped up, cringing at the thought.

  Mel busted out laughing. “You totally just caught an STD.”

  I gave her the evil eye. “I did not.”

  “Probably not, but we both know that’s what you were thinking.”

  She was right.

  “Anyway,” I said, attempting to draw the attention away from my OCD tendencies. “I don’t know what we do now. I guess we could hang out and see what happens or—”

  She cut me off. “Not.”

  “Or not.”

  “This place gives me the heebie geebies.” She pressed her left palm to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Oh, I’m feeling something.”

  “Good grief.”

  “Shh. Don’t mess with my juju.”

  “You don’t have any juju.”

  “Hush.” She made some funky moaning sound—one I hoped she didn’t make during sex because it sounded like a sick cow. “I’m seeing a metal table with two white cups on it.”

  “You’re funny.”

  She opened her eyes. “Can we just get outta here now? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

  Before I had a chance to say no, the bed rattled and the mattress shook violently. The headboard banged against the wall with such force a wooden cross fell onto the floor. Our eyes met, and we darted out of the room and down the stairs. We rushed to the entrance but just as we reached it, the door slammed shut. I grabbed the handle and tugged, but it wouldn't budge.

  Mel bolted to the window in the parlor and used all of her weight to force it up, but it was useless. “It won’t budge. We’re gonna die.” She leaned against the window and slid down, landing on the dusty floor, sweat pouring down her face, tears welling in her eyes. She clutched her chest. “The air is so thick. I’m dying, aren’t I? Great.” She was hyperventilating. “I’m never gonna see my kids again. How poetic. Dying in a haunted house during Halloween season.”

  “We are not going to die here,” I said. I stood next to her; my feet planted firmly on the wood floor. “Whoever you are, show yourself dammit. Show yourself now.”

  The floor swayed, and my balance waivered, so I spread my feet out to stop myself from toppling over. “You're not scaring me,” I lied. “Ma, I could use a little help here.” My mother, a celestial spirit with some serious skills had a knack for showing up when I needed her without me asking. I wondered where she was.

  “Fran, please, we need you,” Mel begged. “I don’t wanna die here.”

  “Ah Madone, you ain’t gonna die here, for cryin’ out loud,” my mother said, her voice filling the parlor and sending a sense of relief zipping through my veins. She shimmered in then, and the thick, dense air in the room lightened.

  “She’s here isn’t she?” Mel asked. “I can breathe again.”

  I nodded to Mel but talked to my mother. “What’s going on here? First the dream and then the warning, and the woman, and the—”

  She cut me off. “Quit your yapping, you chiacchierone.”

  She’d just called me an excessive talker, but I think I deserved the right to talk considering some kind of God-knows-what had almost killed us. “But you don’t—”

  “Hold on,” she said. “Lemme see what’s going on here before you get your undies all in a bunch.” She flitted around the room, disappeared for a second and then came back. “There’s somethin’ oobatz goin’ on here.”

  Oobatz was Italian slang for crazy, and if Ma said things were crazy, I believed her.

  “What’s going on?” Mel asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I explained and glanced back at my mother.

  She flicked her wrist toward the ceiling. “There’s a whole lotta bad juju in here. You see all these dead people? There’s a reason they’re still here and it ain’t good.”

  I didn't see any more dead people, but I didn’t argue. I grabbed Mel’s arm and pulled her toward the stairs. “We’re outta here.”

  “Works for me.”

  We raced down the stairs and to the car without a word. Once we’d cleared the gravel driveway, I told her what my mother said.

  “That’s friggin’ messed up.”

  “Yup.”

  “So whaddya we do now?”

  “You go and get your Halloween costumes for the kids, and I wait to hear back from Fran.”

  “You’ll let me know what she says, right?”

  “Only if it won’t freak you out.”

  “If that’s the reason you’d keep things from me I’d never know anything.”

  ***

  Four hours later, after researching the old mansion online and reading everything I could about the people who lived in it, I came to the conclusion that I knew absolutely nothing more than I did before I opened my laptop. If anything, I was more flummoxed. “None of this makes sense,” I complained.

  My son Josh peeked over the back of the couch. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  I angled my computer for him to see. “This mansion. It’s haunted.”

  Genetics provided Josh with the same psychic gift as me, though his was less intense, thankfully. We didn't encourage or discourage it but allowed him to do whatever he chose. He usually chose to ignore it unless something peaked his interest. Apparently, the house did. “That place is wrecked. There's a lotta stuff goin’ on there.”

  I tipped my head back to see his face. “And you know this how?”

  He shrugged, put his hand on the couch and hopped over it, landing next to me.

  “Josh Richter Panther, you know I hate it when you do that.”

  He leaned his sweet boy face onto my shoulder because he knew I was a sucker for it. “But you love me.”

  I tilted my head and rested it on his. “Love is not unconditional when it comes to my furniture.” I balanced the laptop on his left knee along with my right. “So when did you go here?”

  “Couple Saturdays ago. Big Sexy drove a few of the guys and me after lax practice. It’s definitely haunted.”

  “Yup, it is. What did you see?” I faced him and narrowed my eyes, pulling my standard you’re-in-trouble-now mom look. It never worked on him because frankly compared to his sister Emily; the kid was a saint. And he knew it. “And why didn't you tell me?”

  He popped a Goldfish® cracker into his mouth. “You didn’t ask.”

  One day Josh would get married, and I would no longer be the only woman pulling my hair out over his literalness.

  “What did you see there?” I stuck my hand in the big box of crackers and stuffed a few into my mouth. The things were devilishly addicting.

  “Not much.”

  Back in the old days, when Josh wasn’t a full-blown teenager and spoke in sentences with more than two words we’d had our share of detailed conversations about anything and everything. I missed that. At fifteen getting the boy to talk was like pulling teeth with my bare hands. “So if you didn’t see much, how do you know it’s haunted?”

  He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I see dead people.” The smile on his face was an exact replica of my dads, and it tugged at my heartstrings.

  I smacked his arm. “
You really need to stop watching Netflix. Seriously, tell me exactly what you saw. Did you see any ghosts? What did they look like? Were they male, female? Something else?”

  “Something else? And what’s with all the questions? You afraid to go since it’s almost Halloween?” He did a horrible imitation of a chicken.

  That time I pulled an old-school Italian mother trick and pinched the skin on his tricep. “Yes, that’s it. I’m afraid of ghosts.”

  He gripped his arm and whined. “Ouch, that hurt.”

  “That’s what you get for being salty with me. And I’ve already been there, and know what I saw. I just wanna know if you saw the same thing.”

  “What’d you see?” He asked.

  I shook my head. “That’s leading the witness. You tell me first.”

  “Talk about watching too much TV. Those late night episodes of Law & Order are coming back to haunt you.” He laughed at his wit.

  I held my fingers in the pinch position again. “You’re hilarious. Not.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up like he’d been caught stealing. “Don’t get all Grandma Fran on me. I saw a few ghosts, but that's it. The guys freaked. We walked in, a few doors slammed, and we were outta there.”

  “Did any of them approach you or try to talk to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you see anything unusual?”

  “Like what? The place is old. Everything in it was ancient.”

  “Not the stuff, the spirits. Were any of them unusual?”

  He shrugged. “Looked like your every day ghosts to me.”

  He wasn’t overly helpful, but I was relieved to know he hadn’t experienced what Mel and I had. I nodded. “Okay.”

  “So you gonna tell me or what?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What you saw. The something else?”

  I put the laptop on the coffee table, grabbed his knee and squeezed it just a bit. “Nope.” I pushed myself off the couch and shuffled back to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  “And you say I never tell you anything,” he said.

  “I'm the mom. It's my prerogative. Plus, I don't know enough yet to share, not that I would anyway.” Josh was an old soul, but that didn't mean I didn't want to protect him. He was still my baby, and my instinct was to keep him safe. “Do me a favor please, don’t go back there.”