Becca's Paranormal Collection

by Vickery, Rebecca J.

  "Is there anyone who might play jokes on you, or who has a grudge against you? Maybe someone with something against the Gambrells?"

  Trudy shook her head and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla floated to his nose, distracting his thoughts.

  "Why don't you get your things and we'll follow you home? I don't think you should stay here, whatever is going on."

  Again she shook her head. "I can't leave. I accepted the job. No one will trust me again if I leave. I'm responsible..."

  Milt returned and picked up his cup. "The phone seems to be working fine now, ma'am. We need to get back on patrol in a few minutes. Maybe you ought to think about just coming by to check on this place and sleep at your own house. But these old houses... Well, sometimes they have shorts in the wiring and odd quirks. We haven't found anything, other than that old dog in three trips. We just can't keep coming for the lights being on."

  "I know... And I'm sorry to keep bothering you. But I didn't know what else to do..." Trudy took a deep breath and looked Milt in the eye. "Besides, I pay my taxes, a darn sight of them, and I'm sure the Gambrells do too. We're entitled to protection too, aren't we?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I reckon you are at that," Milt tipped his cap and smiled sheepishly at being called on the carpet by the little redhead. "Didn't mean to imply otherwise. We need to get going, Simon. This lady's not the only one needing our protection. Thank you for the coffee, Miss Simpleton."

  Simon held Trudy's hand as she walked him to the door. "You don't pay any attention to the Sarge. If you need us again, you call. No hesitation. Promise?" He put his fingertip under her chin and forced her to look up at him.

  "Okay... But I really hope I won't need to bother you. Maybe he's right, maybe it is faulty wiring." But she had a really bad feeling about this. One of those feelings where the pit of her stomach felt queasy and the hair on her neck just wouldn't lie down.

  She locked the door behind the policemen and turned to look at the lights glowing through the rooms. Then she said, loud and clear, "I am going to bed. And whoever or whatever you are, I do not want to be bothered again tonight." She reached to switch off the lights, but they went out seconds before her fingers connected.

  Trudy raced up the stairs, locked herself in her room, and hid under the covers until daylight.

  Chapter Four

  "Sounds like a poltergeist to me," Mina told Trudy over the butter and honey biscuits they were wolfing down with their mid-morning coffee. Mina stopped to ring up several purchases and then returned to the far corner of the counter they used as a break table.

  "You're serious? A ghost?" Trudy chewed while thinking it over. She had not even considered the possibility. But the things happening so far really hadn't been dangerous, no vandalism, and mostly stuff with the lights and the phone. Except for the poor dog hit by the car and possibly unrelated, she reminded herself. This is Halloween week, the most active time of the year for spirits. "Okay, what do I do about it, if it is a poltergeist?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" Trudy almost choked on her last bite of bread. "Why not?"

  "Really, it will probably calm back down after tomorrow night. Halloween will be over at midnight. Did you know that there's a full moon tomorrow night, too? All of us... I mean all the spooks will have extra powers until midnight." Mina gave an evil witch cackle and several customers turned to stare. "Sorry, practicing for tomorrow night," she hastily assured them. Most of them already thought she was weird. She didn't want to start a stampede out of the store.

  Trudy ignored her and went on, "Okay, I guess I can deal with them, it, or whatever."

  "Absolutely," Mina agreed. "Live and let die." She giggled. "It's not like you have a lot of choice, you know. We can't just vanquish it or send it to rest. It's not even your house. Maybe the Gambrells like having a ghost." She laughed again and went to help an overly large customer try on a very small sweater.

  At lunchtime, Trudy insisted they lock up the shop and forced Mina to accompany her to care for the birds.

  "Why can't you just do this in the mornings before you leave?" Mina asked as she handed Trudy the cups of feed to replace the used ones in the smaller cages.

  "These birds over here like things done a certain way. Mrs. Gambrell was very specific. Seems these, with the grey heads, are Madagascar lovebirds. They're really rare and easily frightened, very expensive, too. See how they cuddle together at the back of the cage when we're near?" Trudy was thankful the gardener would come in on Saturday to clean and disinfect all the cages. In the meantime, there were slide out sheets she removed and trashed to keep the cage bottoms clean.

  "Well, no sign of your ghost. I was really looking forward to meeting it," Mina teased as they locked the door behind them.

  "You think this is so darn funny, you should spend the night here with me," Trudy challenged as they climbed into her beat-up station wagon.

  "Can't. Grampa needs me home in case he has a spell at night, remember?"

  "A convenient excuse, my friend." But Trudy understood. Family had to come first and Mina's grandfather was special to both of them.

  * * * * *

  The afternoon flew by with plenty of customers coming in and out of the shop. Just before closing, Simon surprised her as he stopped by.

  "Mina, this is Officer Simon Gunn. I told you he came to help when the dog got hurt and again when the lights all acted up. Simon, this is my best friend, Mina Patterson."

  Simon never raised an eyebrow over Mina's ink-black, straight hair, black lipstick and fingernails, or the spider web tattoos on the side of her neck and the back of one hand. Instead, he politely held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Patterson." Then he turned to Trudy. "You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?"

  "Not really. But thankfully, nothing else happened after you left." She would not tell him about the lights going off by themselves.

  "Miss Patterson, would you please help me talk some sense into your friend here? She really should just check on the place and stay at her home at night."

  Mina held up both hands and backed away. "I'm Mina, and I am so not getting into this. I want to keep her as my friend and telling her what to do is not my scene." She began straightening items on the shelves on the other side of the store.

  "I'm okay, Simon. I think I can hang on for a couple more nights." Since she now believed her visitor might be a supernatural prankster instead of a human out to do her harm, she actually felt relieved. "Mr. and Mrs. Gambrell are due back on Sunday afternoon. I'll grab some take-out on the way there tonight, feed the cats, and then lock myself in my room again." She gave a nervous little laugh. He followed as she walked over to take the money from the cash register.

  Mina flipped the door sign to closed and disappeared into the back room.

  "What's that?" He watched as she took out the pink and green striped sock and shoved money into it.

  "This is my lucky sock. The mate to it wasn't so lucky; it got chewed up by the washer. This one serves as our bank bag." She held it up to show him the bulge from their three days of good sales. She'd forgotten to go to the bank, again.

  "Shouldn't you have one of those security bags with a lock on it? That looks like a good chunk of bills you have there." Simon leaned on the counter watching the expressions play across her peaches and cream complexion. A smattering of faint freckles ran across her nose and upper cheekbones. He felt a sudden urge to kiss each one.

  Trudy laughed, for real this time, and closed the register. "If you were a thief trying to steal something, which would you take—a locked bank bag or a ratty-looking, old sock?"

  "Okay, I guess I see your point." Simon grinned at her. "Come grab a burger with me before I go on duty."

  "What? Now?" Surprised, her green eyes met his to see if he was serious.

  "Sure, why not? We both have to eat. Why not together?"

  "Only if I can make mine a chicken or turkey sandwich, I don't eat red meat."

  "Deal. How about fries?
Anything against potatoes?" He laughed and helped her gather her things to leave.

  They ate at the diner a few blocks down the street and lost all track of time. Simon rushed to finish his food and pay the bill to avoid being late clocking in at the station. He gave her a soft kiss on the lips, right at the table, in the middle of the non-smoking section. He almost made it to the door before he hurried back on the pretense of tossing down another dollar for the waitress. Simon kissed Trudy again, a bit longer and a lot more demanding.

  "Wow, Trudy. I'll see you later. I have to go,' he huskily breathed and hurried away.

  Applause rang out from the scattered patrons and the two waitresses gave her several "whoots" and pumped their fists in the air.

  Trudy felt the heat suffuse her neck and face, but she smiled and bowed before making her way to the door. She wandered to her car in a daze and sat there several minutes, fingertips pressed to her still tingling lips. My, my, what a kisser.

  After starting her car, she drove to the old mausoleum where she would be staying the night again. As she turned onto Whitney Street, she saw the lights on at the house. Even the candles were lit in the pumpkins on each step and along the edge of the front veranda. Okay, I'll do like Mina said and ignore it.

  After parking her car at the curb, she gathered up her bag, the bank sock, and her clothes for the next day. She reached the door with full hands then almost laid her things on a porch chair to search for the keys when the front door swung inward with a loud creak.

  Trudy took a long, steadying breath and entered. The door closed behind her with no help from anyone she could see. "Thank you. At least you're being helpful today instead of scaring me to death," Trudy said aloud. Maybe polite was a better way to handle this.

  The foyer light dimmed then brightened a bit as if in answer.

  A ghost? A real, live ghost? That's an oxymoron if ever I heard one. Okay, a real, dead ghost.

  The cats wandered in and rubbed against her legs, purring, and begging for their food.

  She asked them, "Did you guys know a ghost lives here? Why didn't you tell me?" She stroked Harvey, but Mittens kept her distance as always.

  For the remainder of the evening, lights switched on in rooms as she entered them and off as she left. Trudy tried not to let it bother her, but it was nerve-wracking. This was one night she would gladly swallow a tranquilizer if she had one. She found a bottle of over-the counter-headache pills in the main bath's medicine cabinet and took two, made her cup of chamomile tea, and headed for her room. The lights went out behind her as she climbed the stairs. 'I suppose you locked the door too?" she inquired.

  The light sconce on the stairway landing blinked slightly.

  "Thank you." Trudy locked herself and the cats in her room and hid under the covers. The headache pills did their job and she grew drowsy. Maybe having a ghost around isn't so bad if one just doesn't overreact. She drifted off to sleep on that thought.

  * * * * *

  Harvey's screeching and Mittens' grumbling and growling roused her several hours later from the middle of a wonderful dream about Simon kissing her. Trudy sat up then put a hand to her woozy head. Now she remembered why she hated taking pills. The cats disappeared under the bed as she heard a door slam downstairs.

  "Here we go again," she whispered to them and jumped out of bed. Grabbing up her trusty bumbershoot, she tiptoed to her door. Unlocking it, she peeked out into the hallway. The lights downstairs were on once more. Probably the ghost. Then she heard the birds making a terrible racket. That's definitely new. Clutching the umbrella by the wooden handle and pointing it ahead of her, she quietly hurried down the stairs to see what was going on.

  Creeping through the study toward the room converted into an aviary for the birds, Trudy saw the door gaping open and heard the birds squawking and fluttering about. Another clatter gave her pause and she hesitated. All at once, the door to the bird room slammed shut with no apparent help as she waited. Then she heard a man's voice loudly cursing from within. The doorknob rattled repeatedly. Whoever was in there was trapped. By the ghost? Or was the ghost the one trapped?

  Trudy didn't know or care as she raced to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  "9-1-1. State your—"

  In a panicked, squeaky little voice, she interrupted, "There's... There's a man locked in the bird room. Help, please. Send someone before he gets out. Hurry!"

  "Ma'am, please calm down. Are you ill? Do you need an ambulance?"

  "No! Police—I need the police. There's someone in the house. He's in the room with the birds. 1313 Whitney Street. Call Simon, please, he'll come."

  "We're dispatching a car to 1313 Whitney Street for a suspected break-in. Are you asking for Officer Simon Gunn, ma'am?"

  "Yes, Simon said call if I need him. This is Trudy Simpleton. Please tell him to hurry."

  Trudy laid down the receiver as whoever, or whatever, was trapped in the aviary began pounding, possibly even kicking, at the door in an effort to get out. As the door seemed to be giving way, she hurried to the powder room under the stairs and locked herself in, just to be on the safe side.

  A few minutes later she heard a loud crash, the sound of running footsteps, then glass shattering, and a door slamming. The house became eerily silent. Finally, in the distance, she heard a siren and breathed a sigh of relief.

  * * * * *

  Upon seeing the glass panes broken in the front door, Simon almost forgot procedure, caution, and common sense as he thought of what might have happened to Trudy. He already had his seatbelt off and gun drawn before the vehicle slid to a stop.

  Milt, more experienced and the senior officer, spoke sharply, "Officer Gunn, you won't help her or yourself if you charge in there like a wild man."

  Reason returned and Simon took a steadying lungful of air as his Sergeant bumped over the curb and braked to a sudden stop in front of the porch. He cautiously climbed out and joined Milt in visually searching the area for anyone or anything out of place. Seeing nothing, they climbed the steps to the porch and approached the front door.

  "Police! Come out slowly!" Milt called, just in case, and felt a shiver of deja vu remembering he'd done this before, not too long ago.

  Simon's shoes crunched on broken glass as he stepped to one side of the front door. The glass was broken out—not in to allow a prowler to gain entry.

  The door creaked open before Milt could touch the doorknob and revealed a foyer filled with light and an antique hall tree lying across the entryway, a hat prong sticking through a glass pane.

  "Police, show yourself!" Milt called again. Stepping over the hall-tree, he led the way into the brightly lit foyer.

  Trudy eased open the door to the powder room. "Simon? Sergeant, is that you?" she called and warily stuck her head out to see.

  "We're here, Trudy. Is there someone in the house?" Simon asked.

  She hurried into his arms. "There was a man... I think he ran out just before you got here. Oh, Simon... I can't believe this." She snuggled into his side as he wrapped one arm around her and held his gun ready in the other hand.

  "I'll look around while you take Miss Simpleton into the kitchen for her usual cup of tea. Looks like she might actually have had a visitor this time," Milt offered. 'I'll call in and see if they want to take fingerprints."

  "He was in the room with the birds. What could anyone possibly want in there?"

  "I'm not sure, ma'am, but I'll see what I can find out." Milt left her to Simon and headed for the telephone.

  "Come on, honey, let's get you some tea. Don't touch anything the burglar might have touched." He holstered his gun and ushered her toward the kitchen. "Tell me what happened."

  "I'm not sure. I took a couple of headache tablets and went to bed about eleven. The cats woke me, all upset about something. I heard a noise and grabbed my umbrella. Then I came to see what was wrong. I didn't want to bother you guys again...if...well, if there was nothing wrong." She sat in the chair he indicated then watched as he filled
the kettle and switched on the flame. Probably better not to tell him about the whole ghost thing unless I want a ride to the hospital in one of those special little coats with the tie sleeves.

  "Then what happened?" Simon reached into the cabinet for her favorite tea bags and dropped one into a mug.

  "The lights were on, again, and I slipped down here to see why. I heard noises from back toward the aviary. The birds were making an awful racket. I definitely heard someone in there. Thank you," she sighed and took a sip after he placed her mug in front of her. She wouldn't tell him, but he made awful tea.

  "Did you ever actually see him?" Simon took out his pad and began writing.

  "No, I never saw him." She explained all she could remember and finished with, "Then it got quiet until I heard the siren and you..." She sniffled and wiped at newly formed tears with a shaky hand.

  Milt returned and told them, "The door to the room where the birds are kept is pretty bashed up. Captain is sending a fingerprint tech out. Once they're finished, Miss Simpleton, we'll need you to look around to make sure nothing is missing."

  "Okay. Could you call me Trudy, please?" She gave him a small smile as she got up to make instant coffee and hide the mug of tea Simon prepared for her.

  Simon gave Milt the facts of her story and then they searched the rest of the house before returning to sit with her and drink their coffee. They told her they discovered a jimmied window on the back side of the house into the study. The house was definitely broken into by a prowler this time.

  "Probably someone who knows the Gambrells are gone and wanted to help themselves. Wonder why he went into the bird room and how he got locked in?" Milt scratched at the bald spot in the top of his head.

  "Lots of prints," the fingerprint tech reported once she finished her job. "We'll have to weed through them. Ma'am, we need to take yours for comparison."

  The tech still used ink and cards and Trudy grimaced as she wiped the ink from her fingertips. She watched the officer pack up her equipment and leave.