The Storyteller's Muse

by Traci Harding

  ‘Are you going to tell him about yesterday?’ Gabrielle was obviously wondering how much he’d told the horror writer.

  ‘Am I going to boast about my kick-arse girlfriend? I most certainly am,’ Peter assured her, and he read out loud the report so far. ‘My lady fair evicted my ghostly nemesis from the house yesterday and the story is flowing again. Off to do some more fieldwork and ghost-busting today.’

  ‘Very good.’ Gabrielle left to seek coffee.

  ‘It wasn’t the butler who did it, it was the critic! I have proof and more to come, fingers crossed.’ Peter added to his message and hit send.

  On the way to the warehouse site to meet with the realtor of the property, Peter checked his messages on his phone and had to chuckle. ‘Spooky says . . . I love a heroine with spunk!’ he read to Gabrielle as she was driving them to their appointment in her new car.

  Gabrielle winked, lapping up the flattery.

  ‘The hero, however, is a bloody worry, running off ghost-busting without telling anyone where!’ Peter was amused. ‘4 Kismet Way, of course.’ he typed back. ‘No need to worry, my better half is with me.’

  ‘We’re first here.’ Gabrielle pulled into the abandoned building site that was in vast contrast to the otherwise active and modern industrial area surrounding it.

  ‘What a huge waste of prime real estate,’ Peter observed as he climbed out of the car. On the street out front he noted people walking by, looking at them and whispering. ‘Something tells me this site has become even more notorious since Penelope’s time.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way.’ Gabrielle closed up the car and locked it.

  Peter turned to look over the building — two levels of car park with a warehouse above. ‘This is completely surreal . . . it’s just how I imagined it.’ His emotion welled unexpectedly — standing in the heart of both Penelope’s story and Em’s was overwhelming.

  ‘It is.’ Gabrielle eyed the building, not so fondly.

  Another car joined them on the lot and they both looked to it, in expectation of receiving the keys to get inside.

  A short, middle-aged fellow climbed out of the car and introduced himself as Barry. Peter was quietly amused to note that Barry seemed a little on edge about the viewing.

  ‘I’m sorry to say I’ve rather overbooked myself this morning,’ he told them, ‘I don’t have too much time to show you around. Is there anything specific you’d like to see?’ He made a couple of hesitant steps towards the building.

  ‘The warehouse space upstairs,’ Peter advised, feeling a little cruel as he watched the realtor squirm.

  ‘I don’t know that that’s safe.’ Barry had the keys in his hand, but seemed in no hurry to use them. ‘The building has little to do with the property value; it’s the location you’re buying here.’

  ‘But no one has been able to knock this structure down in nearly half a century.’ Peter let him know he’d done his homework. ‘Can we take the lift to the top floor?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Barry was insistent about that. ‘It’s been known to get stuck.’

  ‘Then the stairs will suffice.’ Peter led off towards the steel gate structure put in place over the opening to the car park to secure the lower entrance. ‘I gather you have the key to the upstairs door?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Barry followed. ‘But as I said, I am very pushed for time.’

  ‘Then why not leave us the keys? We’ll show ourselves around, and you can meet us back here in, say, an hour?’ Peter suggested.

  Barry was thrown into complete turmoil. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He clearly wanted to take up the offer.

  ‘We can hardly do the place any harm.’ Peter added to the man’s seemingly unwarranted woes.

  ‘You can take my car keys as insurance,’ Gabrielle proffered.

  ‘No, really, my concern is for your welfare,’ Barry insisted.

  ‘We know the history of this site.’ Peter decided to put Barry out of his misery. ‘I know people have died here, and that this site has had some paranormal difficulties and that’s why it’s still here.’

  Barry appeared stunned, then relieved, and finally perplexed. ‘I don’t like to be deceitful about such things, which I cannot blatantly deny.’ He looked across the street to a group of factory workers on a smoke break, all observing him with great interest. ‘Everyone around here knows this site has . . . well, not lived up to its full potential.’ He quickly avoided any talk that might jeopardise the sale.

  ‘The history is exactly the reason this building is of interest to me,’ Peter got to the point. ‘But I can fully appreciate why you might wish to be elsewhere while we take a look.’

  ‘Very well.’ The real estate agent seemed to feel suitably absolved of responsibility. ‘So your interest in the property is historical?’

  ‘Quite.’ Peter felt that explained things very well.

  ‘Are you interested in knowing the asking price?’ Barry handed Peter the keys.

  ‘Rather less than it’s worth, I should imagine.’ And it wasn’t just the ghosts that made Peter assume it had a low price tag, but the fact that Barry wanted to tell him the price before he’d taken a look at it. ‘Who wants to buy a property that’s cursed?’

  ‘I . . . I wouldn’t go that far,’ Barry back-pedalled a little.

  Peter tossed the keys in the air and caught them, not discouraged. ‘We’ll do a pest inspection and meet back with you in an hour.’

  ‘You have my number if you need me.’ Barry was out of there.

  ‘Alone at last.’ Peter unlocked the padlock and opened the gate. He strolled inside ahead of Gabrielle. ‘Holy shit, it’s huge!’ He observed the empty lower floor, a dark cement jungle that was seemingly unscathed.

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Gabrielle had spotted the antique cage lift. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ She neared to take a closer look, and brushed dust from the metalwork. ‘I can see why a bunch of artist types might like this place, it’s very bohemian.’

  ‘It’s very quiet.’ Peter spotted the door to the stairs and was spared finding which key unlocked it, as it was open. They scaled the stairs to the next floor. Peeking through the door they found another vast concrete forest of pillars, only this level was semi-open to the elements on two sides, with breaks in the concrete walls acting like windows. Not unexpectedly the door that led out to the third level was locked. The second key he tried opened the door.

  ‘So far, so good.’ He stepped into the foyer and looked about, and Gabrielle trailed him.

  ‘All your characters have stood here at one time or another,’ Gabrielle imagined, as she took in the space.

  ‘Any bad vibes?’ he queried approaching the front door — he certainly didn’t feel any.

  Gabrielle pouted and shook her head. ‘I have to say I’m loving this place so far. Open it up — let’s take a look.’

  Upon entering the studio both Peter and Gabrielle were completely gobsmacked by the sheer size of the space and the tall arched windows. The extent of the damage to the glass was far more obvious from up here, and there was a fair amount of water damage to the walls and floors nearby.

  The sink cabinet of the small kitchenette was still standing, but the room was otherwise gutted. No spiral stairs, no upper level period! And there was certainly no storage cupboard. It was all just one huge open space.

  ‘This is what you call an anti-climax.’ Peter wandered further in — it was magnificent and yet so disappointing.

  ‘Well what did you expect?’ Gabrielle was amused. ‘That you’d walk in and find the ending to your story staring you in the face?’

  ‘No! Kind of.’ Now he was pouting. ‘I expected to find something worth exploring.’

  ‘Just because you can’t see anything, doesn’t mean there’s nothing here,’ she suggested. ‘Why don’t you try making contact with Em?’

  ‘What? Like, just lie down on the floor and try going to sleep?’ Peter doubted he could do that.

  ‘No. Just sit down and go into
a trance like you do when you write.’

  ‘Okay.’ Peter threw his hands up, thinking, What the hell, and took a seat on the floor.

  ‘Just think about where you are up to in the story and see if anything happens.’

  The image that formed in Peter’s mind was that of Em packing up belongings in this space. He was interested to note that Em was presenting as Emeline in this instance, but then Em was planning to go out and Emeline was the more outgoing personality.

  Ready to leave, Emeline approached the window to check the coast was clear, only to see Pettigrew and his manservant disembarking from a cab. ‘Oh no.’

  She dropped everything and ran for the elevator, grabbing one of the cases by the front door on her way through. She pressed the button to bring the carriage back up to the top floor, and locked the door at the top of the fire stairs while she waited. Once the elevator carriage arrived, Emeline shoved her suitcase in the doorway to prevent the door closing, effectively rendering the elevator useless.

  ‘Why is he not at the exhibition?’ She backed inside and locked the front door also. ‘How did he find this place?’

  Emeline appeared bewildered at this point, she was under siege and locked doors would only keep Pettigrew at bay for so long.

  ‘The journal.’ She realised she had to hide it as she would never get it out without detection now.

  Emeline dug the item and the correspondence with her brother back out of the luggage and headed into the storeroom to bury both volumes in among a multitude of other books. But what was she to do with the keys? A glance about brought her sights to rest on her old cello case, and she regarded it fondly for a second — like an old friend she’d not seen in a long time. ‘No, too obvious.’

  Upon exiting the storeroom, she locked the door and with the aid of a ladder, climbed up as high as she could and tossed both sets of keys up on top of one of the large metal ceiling cross beams.

  The sound of the elevator doors trying to engage alerted her. Here he comes.

  Peter was startled to hear the sound of the elevator activating so clearly, and for a second he wondered what had happened to Em’s blockade.

  ‘Peter?’ Gabrielle called for his attention and Peter realised the elevator sound was not internal but external — the elevator was moving!

  Peter rose as Gabrielle backed up to stand alongside him. ‘Could be Barry?’ he posed hopefully.

  The sound stopped and they heard the doors open, but on the floor below. The cage rattled about for a bit and was silent.

  ‘There’s no way he’d get in that elevator.’ Gabrielle was sounding more than a little wary as she gripped hold of the locket she wore on the chain about her neck, preparing for the worst.

  They were startled as the cage rattled about again, the door closed and the elevator began to ascend again.

  ‘Someone is looking for us.’ Peter reached in his pocket and wrapped a hand about the pouch that contained his effigy.

  The front door was still wide open, which allowed a clear view straight through to the lift beyond. They stood breathless as the closed carriage arrived at the top floor.

  Please don’t be empty. Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest as the door opened, and Spooky slid the cage aside.

  ‘What’s up, kiddies?’ he asked as Peter breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Did I give you a scare?’ He chuckled. ‘That’s my job done for the day then.’

  ‘You could’ve told me you planned on coming down.’ Peter held his chest to prevent his heart beating right out of it.

  ‘I sent you a message.’ The old Scot wandered in and took a look about. ‘Nice. I could live here.’

  Peter checked his phone to find it dead. ‘Must have run out of charge. Gabrielle, meet Spooky Burns.’

  Gabrielle moved forward to shake his hand.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, but . . .’ He held his hands up to show her how greasy they were. ‘I’ve been doing some work on my bike this morning, so we’d best take a raincheck on the handshake.’

  Gabrielle screwed up her nose and nodded to agree.

  ‘So where is this proof you were boasting about?’

  ‘I have some back at the house,’ Peter advised. ‘But I suspect there’s more definitive evidence here somewhere.’

  ‘There doesn’t look to be too many places to hide anything,’ Spooky observed. ‘Or were you expecting ghosts?’

  ‘Maybe?’ Peter waved off the expectation as probably a bit naive. ‘I thought we had one too, when the elevator started moving.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint.’ Spooky served them a half grin. ‘But that’s the thing with ghosts, they never come out when you want them to.’

  ‘You weren’t given any insight by your daydream before?’ Gabrielle probed.

  ‘Nothing I hadn’t already imagined, really.’ Peter was finding the visit most disheartening. ‘What if I don’t find the ending?’

  ‘You’ll find an end, I wouldn’t worry,’ Spooky advised. ‘Every story has an end, although not always the one you desire.’

  Gabrielle had wandered over to the window. ‘Barry’s back. What are we going to tell him?’

  ‘That I’ll think about it overnight,’ Peter replied. ‘And I’m sure I will. Did you want to come back to the house for dinner?’

  ‘After the last dinner, how could I say no?’ Spooky replied. ‘If that’s all right with Gabrielle, and I’m not intruding.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Gabrielle assured him. ‘Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine. You’d be most welcome.’

  Although he wanted to be a good host, Peter was at a rather low ebb that evening. The day had really not been as beneficial to his quest as he’d hoped it would be. All he really wanted to do was go to bed and see if he could dream up any other clues that might help him solve Em’s mystery and finish this novella. Gabrielle had retired early to leave the men to talk shop. But Spooky, having had a few too many whiskies, fell asleep on the lounge while Peter was tending the fire.

  He looked so comfortable Peter didn’t have the heart to wake him and send him home in a cab — better that he sleep it off and ride home in the morning. Peter removed the empty glass from his hand.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ he uttered.

  ‘It’s all good, my friend, I’ll see you in the morning.’ He covered Spooky with a blanket, happy that he’d make it to his bed all the faster.

  It didn’t take long for Peter to get into the lucid sleep zone once he was comfortable on the bed — the image of Emeline, alone in the warehouse studio, had been haunting him all evening. She may have been wearing trousers, but her make-up and hairstyle was late 1940s lady chic, and her breasts were not compressed as they were when she was Emanuel.

  Peter. She acknowledged his presence.

  Em, he replied. No car ride tonight?

  Pettigrew has fled, she said.

  He just let you go? Why?

  That is what Alejandra has gone to find out, she explained. He may just be toying with us and could rear his ugly head at any moment.

  There was a hard bang on the door at the top of the spiral stairway, which startled them both.

  Ignore it, Em suggested. There is no end of distractions in the spirit world.

  Tell me what became of you, Em. Peter didn’t want to waste any more time either.

  You know my secret, and you still wish to champion my cause? She seemed pleasantly surprised.

  Of course.

  She motioned him closer, so she could look into his eyes. Pettigrew left me only two options that day — kill or be killed.

  And which option did you choose?

  She placed her hands upon his chest and Peter felt his airflow restricting. How could that be happening when he had psychic protection?

  I had never harmed another living thing in my whole life —

  The sensation of no air grew so intense that Peter was forced awake, and his panic snowballed when he found someone leaning over him in the darkness pressing their t
humbs into his throat. What the fuck . . . ?

  Peter felt the amulet in his hand and his first reaction was to belt his assailant in the head with it. Upon release, Peter, gasping for air, dived for the light switch and flicked it on, temporarily blinding them both.

  As his eyes adjusted, Peter was horrified to find Spooky Burns raising himself from the ground with a bloodied gash in the side of his head where Peter had struck him. ‘Spooky, what are you doing?’ Peter rolled to the far side of the bed to put some distance between them.

  ‘She’s leading you all down the garden path!’ he growled at Peter.

  ‘Are you sleepwalking?’ Peter had no clue what was going on.

  ‘I’m here to defend my honour! Preserve my legacy!’

  Peter suddenly noted something rather odd about this picture. ‘Why are you speaking with an English accent?’

  A vase appeared and smashed over Spooky’s head, and he fell to the floor to reveal Gabrielle behind him, shaking like a leaf.

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ Clearly, she felt awful to have done this to their guest. ‘He wasn’t wearing any protection at the warehouse today,’ she attempted to explain. ‘I think that was Pettigrew you were speaking to.’

  ‘Shit!’ Peter freaked. ‘My villain has possessed my favourite horror writer . . . how the fuck do I deal with that plot twist?’

  ‘Don’t freak out.’ Gabrielle had stayed her nerves. ‘We just need to strap his body down, and I’ll drive the spirit out of him the same way we did the painting.’

  ‘How the hell did Pettigrew get back in?’ Peter had to protest this reality. ‘Tell me I’m still dreaming.’

  ‘You’re not.’ Gabrielle moved to pick up the unconscious man’s feet. ‘We invited him back in.’ She looked to Peter.

  ‘Well, I didn’t know Pettigrew was in him?’ He found himself on the defensive, but then, insight.

  ‘That’s where Pettigrew went. He’s not restraining Em, because he’s here.’ Now he was smiling. It might also explain why Spooky was feeling a little off-colour this evening, the banishing spell must have been disturbing the spirit within him and affecting Spooky’s equilibrium. ‘You’re right, let’s tie him up, but let’s not exorcise his demon straight away.’