Lesson 39: Don’t believe photos. They are posed and are meant to show us at our best. No life escapes pain, no matter what you see on the mantle over the fireplace or in the wedding album.
Photos at funerals can be especially deceptive. Collages of photos on easels are going out of style. It’s usually a digital display of photos now, complete with music to make you feel worse. It seems like the soundtrack to all those snapshots of each lost life is always Somewhere Over the Rainbow and What a Wonderful World, by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Cry along with the ukulele.
While we’re at it, I’ll hit you with Lesson 40 because I wasn’t aware of it at the time and it turned out to be really important later. When we’re young and somebody dies, we miss the departed, but Death is a scary mirror reflecting our fears. Lesson 40 is, if you can handle it or not, we’re all running out of time. We hate funerals because it reminds us of what we’ve lost and what we will lose.
When Brad died, I confess, I thought less about him and more about us. I thought a lot about the future we’d lost together. I also felt really sorry for me.
I hate to admit it, but I blamed Brad a little bit, too. I wished he hadn’t been messing around with farm machinery. I couldn’t imagine how he’d lost both arms. It happens every year, always a shocking accident. I was mad at him for dying and leaving me and I don’t like myself for that. Of course, I soon discovered he hadn’t completely left, so there was more to be mad about, amid my wailing, moaning and crying.
Brad’s casket had been closed. There was only one picture at his funeral and it was atop the casket. It was a picture of him as a little boy of eight wearing a green shirt and jeans, sitting on the farmhouse’s front step. In the background, I could just spot the bottom of the door Brad would one day kick in as he made his way to the phone to call for help and for me.
Dents for dimples, of course, his funeral photo showed Brad smiling at the camera through crooked baby teeth. He was giving the camera a thumbs-up.
Looking at that photo, staring at his bright eyes, I saw the boy Brad had been, a long life ahead and nothing to worry about. I saw the son I might have had with Brad, too. I had hoped our children would inherit Brad’s dimples. I didn’t know at his funeral that I’d see my precious farm boy again soon enough, of course.
Ada Adams’ casket was open. Her hands were folded neatly over her chest. Comparing the photos to the real thing, Ada’s face looked a bit too long in death — “in repose,” Sam called it.
“The dead don’t bother me much,” Samantha whispered to me, “but when I’m lying in bed at night and I cross my hands over my stomach like we cross the bodies’ hands over their stomachs for display? I put my hands at my sides right away and try not to think about the big sleep. When I go, I want to be cremated, not posed and so forth.”
I began by greeting people at the door and directing them back to the Lilac Room where the body waited to be viewed and reviewed.
The trick to greeting people at a visitation is not to say, “How are you?” It’s reflexive. We ask strangers how they are every day, not wanting to know. Ask a widow that and you’ll get what you deserve when she replies, “Considering I just lost my husband of forty years, how do you think I am, moron?”
At a visitation, the door swinger’s main job is to refrain from saying, “How are you?” and direct visitors to the appropriate room. There were four rooms, but for Ada’s funeral, the smallest, the Lilac Room, was of sufficient size.
It seemed the whole town of Medicament came out for Brad’s funeral. For Ada, we hosted a little over thirty guests. It seemed a small, grim turnout for such a long life, but perhaps she’d already outlived many friends who would have come to pay their respects.
I unfolded chairs and helped to set them up in rows. Sam showed me how the coffee machine worked.
The service was officiated by the son of the deceased. I’d assumed all these ceremonies were presided over by a priest or a minister, but Sam informed me that Mrs. Adams had been a freethinker and did not ascribe to any religion. The final visitation was to be brief, followed by a short memorial service.
Still, the service was sweet and one of the granddaughters sang a song of her own composition. The service was kind of like church, but I liked it more because I didn’t have to sit still for very long.
One lonely looking guest in particular got my attention. He was shaven carelessly. No one spoke to him and he spoke to no one. He stood at the head of the casket and gazed down into Ada’s face.
“Can I get you some water or tea, sir?” Of course, too late I realized I was speaking to a ghost in front of everyone.
Lesson 41: Give everyone a good look before you strike up a conversation. Look for pale complexions, open sores, wounds, recently stitched wounds, transparency, and mournful stares.
None of the above was present with the guy standing at Ada’s casket so I might have missed the signs anyway. You’ve probably already spoken with a ghost and didn’t know it. The guy who ignores you at a party? Yeah, assume all those guys are ghosts. Sometimes, especially with the ghosts of the cremated, it’s hard to tell.
I’ve since been informed that the idea that cremation leaves a ghost’s appearance clean and less wormy and decayed is the way it worked in the movie, The Frighteners, starring Michael J. Fox. Go watch that for further tips on how things are. It’s not terribly far off from the way it really is.
Or watch any Michael J. Fox movie. The thought of Michael J. Fox in a fun movie might, for instance, be a happy distraction next time you make the mistake of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and crossing your hands over your stomach. Unless we become ghosts, we’ll all be in that position, in repose, for eternity.
Ghost, burnt or lying very still forever…not much of a choice is it?
17
The ghost’s hand snaked out fast and touched my hand. An electrical shock went up my arm and I felt dizzy. As I reached out with my free hand to steady myself, my palm brushed Ada Adams’s shoulder.
I saw a flash of white light and I wasn’t standing in the funeral home anymore. I stood in a circle of flowers. As the light dimmed slightly, I saw that I was in a garden surrounded by white orchids. They were all one kind and they trembled in the warm breeze.
I blinked and the man stood before me again. He was younger now. He had all his hair, which was parted in the middle. I giggled at him.
“Who gave you that haircut, Todd?” I asked. “You should get your money back.”
“Ada?”
To my surprise, I said, “Yes?”
“I want to thank you. You kept my secret all those years, even after I died.”
I felt a wave of regret sweep over me. “I shouldn’t have, but blood is blood. You swore to me you wouldn’t do it again and you did. You reap what you sow, Todd.”
“I understand that now, Ada. You have your rest, but I don’t. I’ll never be able to rest until you tell the Other.”
“Now? Why now?” I asked.
“I want to rest.”
“It’s all too little, too late.”
“No! Ada! Please!”
“You really think you’ll be set free?”
“Even if I’m not, it’s the right thing. And there is Carl. He’s still doing it. What was in me has got him now. Those girls…tell the Other, for their sake. Maybe even for Carl’s sake. You know it’s the right thing. I love you, Ada.”
“Oh, Todd. You were the worst brother a girl could ever have.”
For a moment, I was Ada. I was me, as well. When Todd, the poorly shaven ghost spoke to his sister, they spoke of The Other. In a flash, I understood that The Other was none other than me, Tamara Smythe, newbie ghost channeler.
I was confused. I was at Castille Funeral Home but I also stood briefly in a circle of white orchids talking to my murdering brother.
There was much more to Ada’s life than the collage of photos by her casket suggested. She was a murderer, too, but she had attained rest while her brother Todd had n
ot.
Then Todd was gone and I stood beside Ada. She turned to me, touched my cheek and said gently, “I’m sorry.”
Then she confessed everything, for her brother and a nephew named Carl.
I sorted all this out later, but first, a word about channeling murderous ghosts:
Lesson 42: When sent reeling out of a powerful vision, try not to throw up in an open casket. Aim for your shoes.
18
My eyes fluttered open. I was on the couch in Sam’s office with a cold, wet towel on the back of my head. My skull throbbed with pain.
Sam’s voice drifted down to me with all the softness of a rain of thumbtacks and baseballs. “Tamara? Can you hear me?”
“Urgh,” I said.
“She lost consciousness, Doctor,” Sam said. “I think we should get her to the hospital.”
“I’m okay,” I said. My throat was dry. “How long was I out?”
“Just long enough for us to get you to the office and for someone to fetch my bag from my car,” a man said. He was taking my pulse and I glimpsed the little black bag at his feet. A stethoscope was draped around his neck.
The doctor felt the back of my head with probing fingers, palpating in a way that wasn’t so gentle that it could do no good.
“Do you know your name?” he asked.
“Tamara Smythe.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“At Castille, in Sam’s office, feeling horribly embarrassed.”
The doctor laughed. “It happens. I knew a med student once who couldn’t stand the sight of earwax. Blood? He was fine with blood. But digging earwax potatoes out of someone’s blocked ear canal? He couldn’t handle it. Put him off his food and he lost far too much weight in short order. He made it through med school with flying colors and never went near anyone’s ear canal again. And do you know what that guy does now? He’s the top proctologist in Michigan.”
“It was your first funeral,” Sam said.
“Second.”
“It was your first here.”
“Was it my last here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sam said. “This was your last night.”
“I’m so sorry. In front of all those people…I…oh, god.” I could still taste the vomit. I blushed and covered my face with my hands. “I’ve never lost a job before. And I’ll never eat shawarma again. Oh….”
“It’s all fine, Tamara,” Sam said. “I’m just glad we had a doctor in the house. This is Dr. Brooks.”
The man smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Tamara. Any history of fainting spells?”
“No.”
“How’s your head feel?”
“The pain is already going away.” It wasn’t, but I wanted them to back off and give me some breathing room and time to think.
“Well, I could send you in for some tests or you could leave it a little and see how you feel. Any more dizziness?”
“No.”
“Are you on any drugs?”
“No.”
“What did you eat today?”
“Not much. It’s my first day on the job and I just had a little shawarma, which…like I said…”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe we should get you a sports drink. Make sure your electrolyte levels are happy, hm? Have you been under a lot of stress?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Can you shrug your shoulders for me, Tamara?”
I did.
“How about a smile? A forced one will do as long as it’s even on both sides of your face.”
I complied and the doctor nodded. “And raise both arms above your head…yes, no problem there. Any ringing in your ears?”
“No.”
“How’s your blood pressure?”
“It’s a little low. Sometimes if I get up too quickly I see spots.”
“Well, there you go. Probably just the emotion of the moment and proximity to the body. It happens, usually on the first day of cadaver lab in any med school. Some kids discover syncope their first day of high school biology when they have to dissect a worm or a frog. Tamara, what you’ve experienced is something that’s quite common among young people close to your age. You’d be surprised.”
“What have I got?” (I meant, of course, what have I got besides the ability to see ghosts and drain them of information about their sins?)
“You’ve just had an episode of vasovagal syncope. Something triggers you and bam! You fall down. That’s the main concern with fainting, the falling down part,” the doctor assured me. “Once you’re safely on the floor, blood flow returns to the brain and the confusion lifts and here you are.”
“This sucks!” I said.
“Oh, it could be much worse, believe me. Maybe now you know what careers aren’t for you, hm? Funeral parlors aren’t your thing, I think.”
I felt miserable and was on the brink of tears. “I was thinking about being a doctor someday. Instead, I’m…I don’t know what I’m doing!”
He shrugged. “Maybe there’s something else out there that would suit you better. Do you want to sit up and see how that works for you? Slowly, now.”
“Yes. Thank you. I can’t imagine what everyone thought.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “I can.”
Dr. Brooks laughed easily again. “No, no. It’s really fine. The family was just concerned for you, that’s all. Everyone was worried.”
“Yeah, everybody but Carl,” I said.
“What do you mean?” the doctor asked.
“I had a…thought. It’s nothing. He….”
As soon as I was up, my breathing got shorter and I felt fuzzy over my heart and head. I recognized this feeling. I’d had it when the Sheriff told me Brad was dead. I was about to have a panic attack. Extended contact with ghosts and getting messages from beyond Death is not for sissies.
The doctor smiled. “What were you going to say, Tamara?”
“She’s had a quite knock, Doctor. I’ll get someone to drive her home.”
“Sometimes what comes up from the unconscious can be significant.” Dr. Brooks pressed. “What did you think happened when you were unconscious?”
“I had a vision, for lack of a better word.”
“Oh, gawd,” Sam said.
And everything I knew spilled out. “I spoke to a man who was standing by the casket. I offered him a drink. He was an older man with a lousy shave who hurt young girls. He killed one of them. I found out…I mean…Ada…his sister. She found out. In Queens. He made her promise to keep his secret or he’d kill her, too.”
Sam put her hands over her eyes and moaned. “Oh, Victor, what have you saddled me with?”
“Ada said she wouldn’t tell, but he had to stop.”
Dr. Brooks stared at me. His expression did not change. “Tamara? Do you have a history of mental illness? Have you ever been hospitalized for a mental disorder?”
I stood up. “It’s true. You don’t have to believe me, but I know it’s true. There are two bodies, behind a wall in an old house in Queens. The second body will be in a battered old freezer in the basement. There are cartons of ice cream over top of the body of the girl. When police find them, they’ll be wrapped in plastic and all their teeth will be missing. There are more bodies under the floor.”
“Oh,” Dr. Brooks said.
“Yes. And that’s not all. When the old lady discovered her brother’s secret, she sewed him up in his bedsheets while he was asleep after going to bed drunk and injected him with too much insulin. Todd hardly had his diabetes under control, anyway. She made it look like a suicide. The cops found him in bed after she tidied up the scene. She murdered him rather than admit to the cops that she could have stopped her brother before he killed again.”
“I should call someone,” Sam said. She opened a filing cabinet drawer. “I’ve got Victor’s number here somewhere.”
I whirled on Sam. “It gets worse. Todd was a serial killer, but his son has the same sick tastes. Todd and Ada are dead and gone, but Carl is still out there. When
the cops dig under that house in Queens, they’re going to find Carl’s victims, too.”
The doctor put his stethoscope in his bag and stood. “Okay. That’s enough. I’ll take her in my car over to Bellevue. Don’t worry, Mrs. Biggs. You’ll never be bothered by this young woman again. I’ll sign her in myself and I’ll talk to the family. After a steep discount on your services, I can probably talk the family out of the worst Yelp review in the history of Yelp reviews of funeral homes.”
“No,” Sam said, still digging through the filing cabinet. “Tamara is my responsibility. My boss won’t be happy if I let her out of my sight.”
That’s when I felt the cold blade of the scalpel at my throat. A scalpel is a small thing, but it’s designed for cruel cutting. I felt the doctor’s hot breath at my ear.
“After my father’s suicide, I changed my name. I’m Carl. You don’t seem to understand what I’m capable of. In a moment, I’m tempted to show you.”
Sam’s head came up and her eyes widened. “What you don’t seem to understand, Doctor, is I found the file I was looking for. G is for gun.” She pulled a small silver pistol into view and pointed it at his head.
He ducked down behind me and held me tight. “I’ll slit her throat.” I felt the blade’s bite as warm blood trickled from the beginning of the incision under my left ear. I was sure he would make one sure, sweeping cut that would end under my right ear. “Drop that gun. I swear I’ll kill her.”
“Then she’ll fall to the floor and I’ll have a clear shot, won’t I?”
“I’ll cut her head off!”
“Shoot him,” I said.
Dr. Brooks shoved me toward Sam and ran from the room. I collapsed back to the couch rather than knock her over.
However, Sam did not shoot. She shook as she crossed the room. She looked down the hall to make sure he was gone.
The Haunting Lessons: 1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare a Demon War (The Ghosts & Demons Series) Page 9
