Ghostwriting

by Traci Harding

  Shannon fell out of her pose and sat up the right way. ‘Maybe you were so drunk that you don’t remember?’

  ‘When I am that pissed, I don’t get up to answer doors.’ Billie resumed her trek to the kitchen.

  ‘Then who the hell did?’ Shannon protested.

  Billie came to a stop again, before she reached the kitchen. ‘You could have just dreamt that you woke.’

  ‘No, I’m sure I didn’t.’

  ‘How do you know, if you were asleep?’

  ‘But I wasn’t.’

  Billie threw her arms up, not prepared to argue the issue before she was totally in her body. ‘Well, I was fast asleep, all night, and have absolutely no idea what you’re on about. Maybe the detox is getting to you? Nightmares are common you know.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve only been clean for a day!’ Shannon raised herself and gave chase into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes,’ Billie drew a deep breath to curb her edgy mood, ‘and you’re already driving me nuts. Want a smoke?’ She produced a carton from a box and proceeded to open a pack.

  ‘Billie! We said we’d try and do without, remember?’ Shannon would have welcomed a smoke right now and if she caught a whiff of one she’d be a goner.

  ‘You’re right.’ Billie relented and tossing the pack aside, she fetched a gold cigarette case from her handbag. ‘A joint then?’

  ‘Billie!’ Shannon sounded twice as disgusted.

  ‘Well, I can’t just stop everything at once,’ Billie defended. ‘I’m not a fucking saint!’

  ‘That’s totally cool.’ Shannon didn’t want to spoil their holiday and she was prepared to go it alone into the world of straightness, if need be. ‘Do me a favour and don’t offer me anything. I really want to get clean.’

  ‘You got it.’ Billie hurriedly lit her joint like a mischievous teenager and sucked back the smoke with great satisfaction. ‘Perhaps I can ditch the cigarettes this week and worry about pot next week?’

  Shannon smiled in encouragement, very much doubting that either of her friend’s goals would truly be realised.

  ‘Freaking me out with your little fantasies first thing in the morning doesn’t help matters.’ Billie rooted through the cupboards and managed to find herself a coffee bag.

  Now Shannon was frowning, unable to explain the vivid memory. ‘Sorry,’ she said after several moments of thought, ‘maybe my stimulant-free brain is having a meltdown under the stress.’

  ‘Better yours than mine, babe.’ Billie held up her steaming cup of black coffee in a toast to Shannon’s courage, and exhaled a large cloud of smoke before taking a long and obviously satisfying sip from her cup.

  3. Withdrawal Symptoms

  By bedtime that night Shannon had swept the unexplained episode to the back of her mind and, having thought little more of it, she drifted off to sleep as easily as she had the night before.

  When she woke before dawn and realised the coincidence, a hot flush rushed to her face. A knock on the front door startled her heart into her throat, where its rapid pounding seemed greatly amplified to Shannon’s ears. The sound of footsteps on the stairs found her on her feet and scampering to the door; this time she would catch Billie sleepwalking and validate what she suspected had happened the night before.

  Shannon swung open the door and stepped into the hall to view the stairs and the front doors below — she was chilled to the bone to see no one.

  The footsteps continued across the entrance foyer floor, and the front door opened of its own accord.

  The fear-induced heat that was rising in her body set Shannon’s surroundings into a spin and the floor suddenly rushed up to meet her trembling form.

  ‘Shannon! Babe?’ Billie was heard to appeal, and although she sounded far away at first, her voice soon seemed to be booming. ‘Wake up, will you? You’re freaking me out here!’

  Shannon’s eyelids parted and she realised she was lying in the hall. ‘Did you hear it?’ She noted the thudding in her head as she gripped it between her hands.

  ‘Your head hitting the floor? Yeah, I heard it.’ Billie aided Shannon to an upright position.

  ‘No! The knock on the door,’ Shannon corrected, rather annoyed to have to outline the obvious. ‘You heard it, right?’ When Billie held the top of her nose, as if she were the one with the headache, Shannon knew what the response was going to be. ‘I heard footsteps on the stairs just like last night,’ she began to convey her story, ‘and expecting to find you sleepwalking, I ran into the hall. The footsteps were still resounding in my ears, I could feel the vibration from their contact with the wooden stairs but … nobody.’

  Billie had her brow raised in a query. ‘But nobody, what?’

  ‘There!’ Shannon emphasised. ‘Nobody there. Get it? The front door opened by itself.’ She began to tremble and go into shock. ‘I don’t remember much after that. I guess I passed out.’

  ‘But, babe,’ Billie tried not to sound patronising, ‘the front door is locked, chained and bolted. I’ll show you.’

  Shannon watched with bated breath as her friend dashed down to the front door, and turning the doorknob she pulled hard several times. ‘See … locked. The chain is still on.’ Billie pointed out the flaw in Shannon’s tale. ‘It’s the detox factor, I’m telling you.’ She climbed back up the stairs to reassure her bemused friend. ‘And just to prove it, I’ll bunk in with you tomorrow night.’

  Shannon agreed it was a good idea; she couldn’t for the life of her explain what had happened in rational terms. She thought it better to keep an open mind and investigate further before crying ghost.

  Billie left Shannon and dashed upstairs to check the time on the clock in the hall. ‘It’s ten to five,’ she advised on the way back down, ‘so tomorrow we’ll set an alarm to wake us at four-thirty and see what eventuates, okay? If there is a ghost hanging around, it had better not fuck with me.’

  Shannon allowed Billie to help her to her feet and wandered back to bed in a daze. ‘So, going straight just sends you crazy,’ she scoffed and forced a laugh. ‘I’ve heard that.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Billie tried to sound supportive. ‘Perhaps you’ve found one of Simon’s ghosts?’ She smiled in such a way that denied the possibility.

  ‘Sorry I woke you, Bill.’ Shannon didn’t feel like thrashing out theories right now. Her head hurt, she wanted to sleep.

  The next day the girls threw themselves into a full-on work-out to avoid arguing and speculating about the adventure ahead. This was followed by a dip in the pool.

  Shannon had planned to guide Billie through a meditation, but she was finding it impossible to sink into the exercise. Every time Shannon closed her eyes, she sensed that she was being watched and the sensation made her skin crawl.

  ‘Could we do this in the house?’ she suggested at last, unable to ignore the foreboding feeling any longer. ‘This space has the wrong ambience.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Billie was disgruntled by the distraction, as she’d just started to relax into the visualisation exercise.

  ‘I think it’s …’ Shannon hesitated to say it, ‘spooky.’

  ‘Spooky!’ Billie could hardly believe Shannon’s impression. ‘Most would say it was exquisite or luxurious.’ She rose, to oblige her friend, shaking her head in disgust. ‘You’re not turning psychic on me, are you?’

  ‘No, just paranoid, probably.’ Shannon was grateful that they were leaving. Not even her early-morning delusions had made her feel as disturbed as she did right now.

  When the alarm went off Billie was quick to shut it down. She’d placed the clock under her pillow to avoid waking Shannon and, peering through the darkness to the bed, Billie found her friend still sleeping like a baby.

  Excellent, she thought. Now we’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.

  Billie took the clock and placed it in the moonlight on the windowsill where she could read it, and then hid herself behind one of the long hanging drapes and waited.<
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  At 4.44 a.m. Shannon suddenly sat upright. ‘Billie?’ She scampered out of bed and was both frustrated and horrified to find Billie absent. ‘Are you out there?’ She ran to the door. But hesitated to open it. ‘Are you hearing this?’

  Billie came out from behind the curtain. ‘Hearing what?’

  Shannon screamed and nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Holy shit. Billie, what are you doing over there? Quick!’ She urged her friend closer as she opened the door. ‘Even if you can’t hear the footsteps, you’ve got to be able to see the door opening. Hurry!’

  Billie bolted into the hall with Shannon. They both stared hard at the entrance door, but it remained closed.

  ‘See,’ said Shannon, sounding relieved. ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘What?’ Billie didn’t follow. ‘Nothing happened.’

  Shannon’s jaw dropped as she turned to look Billie in the eye. ‘You swear you didn’t see or hear anything?’

  ‘There was nothing to see or hear!’ Billie raised her brow and then placed a hand on Shannon’s forehead to see if she had a fever.

  Shannon’s eyes glazed over as she contemplated the implications of what they’d learned this night. ‘Maybe it does have something to do with the lack of stimulants in my body. That could explain why I perceive it and you don’t.’

  ‘Hey,’ Billie protested, finding her reasoning insulting. ‘There was nothing there.’

  ‘Yes, there was.’ Shannon looked Billie straight in the eye, more deadly serious than Billie had ever seen her.

  Billie released a pained growling sound as she figured there was only one way to discover who was the deluded one in this affair. ‘Then, I shall go straight … damn it!’ She hated the idea, but once Billie committed herself to a cause she always saw it through.

  Shannon smiled in deep appreciation. ‘And I’m going to the local library to see what I can find out about this house.’

  ‘You should start your search in Simon’s library,’ Billie suggested. ‘He’s so fanatical about this place that he’s probably documented the complete history already.’

  ‘Simon!’ Shannon clicked her fingers. ‘Now there’s an idea. How can we get hold of him?’

  ‘He’s out of contact, I’m afraid, although he’ll probably call to see how we’re settling in.’ Billie rethought this. ‘Or rather, how we like the place. He just loves feedback re his decorating schemes.’

  ‘Please God, let him have some idea of what I’m talking about,’ Shannon prayed. ‘’Cause, either he’s haunted, or I’m crazy.’ Shannon gave a heavy sigh on her way back to bed.

  ‘I sure hope it’s none of the above.’ Billie wandered upstairs to her own bed, considering it would be better for a sleep-in than the lounge in Shannon’s room. ‘See you at lunch.’

  Back in bed, Shannon couldn’t sleep, not now that she knew she was the only one perceiving the episodes. She felt the need for a cigarette and the truth was that if she gave in and smoked, perhaps the mystery would just go away. This was another way to prove the detox theory, but she wouldn’t mention it to Billie, as it would do her friend good to cleanse her body on the inside, if only for a few days. If the ghost theory was correct, perhaps the spirit just had more of an affinity with her, and could will itself not to be seen by Billie. Then, no matter how straight Billie was, she would never see it.

  ‘Oh …’ Shannon droned in exasperation, ‘I don’t know!’

  She’d always had an interest in the paranormal, but like many of her interests outside of cutting films, she hadn’t had a chance to really investigate and knew next to nothing about what was possible.

  ‘Simon’s library,’ she decided, pulling on her dressing gown and sheepskin boots. She’d start with the house history and find some books on parapsychology when she visited the local library later in the day.

  4. Digging up the Dirt

  By the time Billie rose, Shannon was nowhere to be found. A note in the kitchen explained that Shannon had taken the car into town. You were right about Simon’s interest in the house, the note granted.

  On the table with the note was a large, beautifully bound book detailing the history of Heartley House, now better known as ‘Heartley B&B’.

  With a fresh vegie juice, Billie sat down and began to flick through the book which was filled with handwritten letters, newspaper clippings, floor plans of the house, old legal documents, photographs and other memorabilia. Before she even realised it, Billie was engrossed.

  A couple of glasses of juice later, Billie was still seated at the breakfast bar absorbed in the house history, when Shannon arrived home.

  Shannon made her way through to the kitchen and then shook off the rain. ‘Wow, what an insightful day!’ She produced a pile of books from beneath her coat and offloaded them on the table ahead of removing her coat and hanging it up. She collapsed into a chair. ‘You found the house history, I see. Have you read the letter from Heartley’s first wife, Katlin? Tragic, isn’t it?’

  ‘That she was sold to a man she didn’t love and forced to move halfway across the world, away from the man she did love? Yeah, that’s pretty tragic, all right,’ Billie concurred in a tone that was rather more sullen than usual for her.

  ‘But then Katlin left him soon after she wrote that letter requesting to be buried back in Ireland next to her true love,’ Shannon informed her, having read the complete tale in the wee hours of the morning. ‘That’s probably why that letter was never sent off to her kindred in Ireland. Heartley probably figured she had run back home, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve read all that early history, I’m into the 1950s now, after old Heartley croaked.’ Billie’s eyes suddenly lit up. ‘He built the pool, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Shannon confirmed in an apprehensive whisper, her face paling. ‘They also found him dead in it. I told you it was creepy in there.’

  ‘Go figure,’ Billie scoffed at the scary truth. ‘The old geezer goes to great lengths to build a pool to keep him fit and healthy and in the end the exercise kills him.’

  ‘I didn’t read about any deaths occurring on the stairs,’ Shannon sighed, rather disappointed about that fact. ‘Or anything of note taking place on the staircase at all.’

  ‘He built that, too,’ Billie noted. ‘The house was only one level before Heartley and his wealth moved in.’

  ‘Yes.’ Shannon started sorting through the books she’d taken out of the library. ‘So whoever the ghost on the stairs is, they must have snuffed it after the completion of the staircase.’

  ‘Great,’ Billie moaned, ‘that only leaves us about ninety years of habitation to investigate.’

  Shannon shrugged, unconcerned, pulling out a slim book on psychic self-defence. ‘The one thing I did discover was that a body free of toxins and acid foods, like meat, potato, flour and so forth, is more prone to psychic phenomena and out-of-body episodes.’

  ‘What is there left to eat for fuck’s sake?’ Billie wasn’t intending to commit to that kind of diet change — being a body builder she craved high-energy foods like chicken, fish and pasta.

  ‘Fruits, except the sweeter ones, veggies, except —’

  ‘The ones that taste good,’ Billie chided.

  ‘You’d still have your beloved rice,’ Shannon said, ‘only it would have to be unprocessed,’ she added, and Billie rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ‘There are soy products, tofu —’

  ‘Stop, stop, you’re making my stomach turn.’ Billie was stressing out, her face all shrivelled with disgust. ‘I’ll just stick with my juice farce, thanks. It seems to fall into the criteria. So, what else did you discover?’ she asked, before finishing off the juice in her glass.

  ‘I found out that psychic phenomena can be directional, meaning —’

  ‘Even though you can see the occurrence, if the spook doesn’t want me to see it, I won’t,’ Billie summarised. ‘I’m not a complete idiot, you know, I do know what directional means.’

  Shannon pulled her head in, taken off guard by
the overreaction. ‘Now who’s suffering from detox shock?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Billie realised she was venting frustration and mellowed immediately. ‘The truth is, you’re making me edgy with all this ghost talk, which makes me miss my vices all the more.’

  Shannon could sympathise. She’d felt the same these past few days. ‘How about a work-out and a swim?’

  ‘Damn fine idea,’ Billie agreed. ‘That ought to get my mind off everything I’d rather be indulging in.’

  After a strenuous workout, a bath, a healthy dinner, meditation, and more reading, both Shannon and Billie passed out on the floor in front of the fire in the lounge room.

  Shannon woke shivering; the fire had gone out. Billie had pulled a blanket off the lounge and seemed peaceful enough curled up where she was. But the large Elizabethan-style four-poster bed in Shannon’s room seemed far more inviting to her stiff back and joints than the floor.

  Shannon rose and wandering into the foyer in a daze headed for the stairs.

  A knock on the door startled Shannon to full consciousness and she froze in her tracks. The second knock drew her attention to the door. Shannon wondered what she would find if she had the courage to open it, even though she knew she would not. She’d forgotten about the footsteps and they did not register in her petrified brain until they were nearly upon her. Shannon spun around to confront the spectre, expecting to catch a glimpse of the soul who was so obviously there.

  A deathly cold wave of air swept over Shannon and swung her around to face the door.

  She moved forward, and as she reached for the doorknob to open the door Shannon noted the old-fashioned attire she wore.

  Looming in the doorway, his face red with rage, was old Heartley. In his hand was a letter, its wax seal broken; it was the letter from the album, the one that had never been sent.

  ‘You deceiving little whore!’ He grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out on to the porch. ‘You are my wife, and I shall see to it that you are buried here, close to me.’