by Terri Reid
“How could he let himself go like that?” she asked her face filled with disgust. Then she turned to Mary and, placing her hands on her hips, shook her head slowly. “It was probably the grief, wasn’t it? He came home and found out I was dead, and he just…he just went to hell.”
Mary clicked on his information. “Well, he eventually did get married,” she said.
“What?” Kristen exclaimed. “He got married?”
Mary skimmed over the information and then bit her lower lip.
“What?” Kristen demanded. “I taught school for enough time to know when someone’s hiding the truth.”
“He got married about a year after you died,” Mary admitted.
“A year? Well, obviously he meant more to me than I did to him,” she snapped.
“Maybe it was a rebound kind of thing,” Mary suggested.
Kristen wasn’t buying it. “Who did he marry?” she asked.
Mary clicked on his photos and found his spouse. “It looks like he married Janice.”
“Janice?” she cried, backing away from Mary’s desk. “He knew I hated Janice. How could he marry Janice?”
“It looks like they had three lovely children,” Mary inserted.
Kristen walked back to the desk and peered over Mary’s shoulder. “Well, did they at least name one of them Kristen?” she asked.
Mary shook her head. “No, it doesn’t…”
“Wait a minute,” Kristen cried, reading over Mary’s shoulder. “Their dog? Their dog!” She walked to the middle of the room and screamed, the haunting sound echoing off the walls. “They named their damned dog after me!”
She disappeared in a puff, and Mary just stared at the empty space for a few minutes. Then she turned back to look at the computer screen, picked up the bag of Oreos and stuffed one in her mouth. “Well, it’s a cute dog,” she murmured.
Chapter Seventeen
“So, I guess we got ourselves a celebrity visiting our little town,” Dale Epperly said as he walked into the small café in the downtown area.
“What’s that you say?” George Willingford called out from across the room.
“I said we got ourselves a celebrity,” Dale shouted back, knowing that George was not only hard-of-hearing but also always seemed to forget his hearing aid when he left his home.
“You need some celery?” George asked. “Why don’t you go down to the market?”
“He said we have a celebrity in town,” Vivian Kutchens, the owner of the restaurant, said. There was something about the tenor of Viv’s voice that somehow penetrated George’s hearing problem, and he heard her right away.
“Well, you don’t say,” he said. “Some kind of movie star?”
Dale walked over to the counter and slipped into a seat. “Naw, nothing like that,” he said, reaching for the cup of coffee Viv poured him. “Just that gal who was in the paper the other day. The one that says she can see ghosts.”
Viv nodded slowly. “Don’t you make fun of that, Dale Epperly,” she said as she wiped down the counter in front of Dale. “I’ve seen things that would make you shake in your boots.”
“Yeah, Dale and she ain’t just talking about your wife without makeup on,” George teased.
“Oh, really, George?” she asked. “Seems I remember a story you used to tell about seeing a ghost back by your barn a couple of summers ago.”
George paused and shrugged. “Guess you’re right,” he said. “Somehow I forgot it.”
“Forgot what?” another voice asked as the door to the café opened. “George, you forget your hearing aid again?”
“Hey, Mitch,” Viv said. “Have a seat. No, George just remembered he shouldn’t be making fun of the lady in town who says she sees ghosts.”
Mitchell Howse slid his large frame into the corner chair at the counter, giving himself a little more room. “What lady?” he asked, absently picking up the menu.
“That lady in the paper a while back,” Dale said, his voice heavy with skepticism. “The one that solves mysteries ‘cause she can talk to dead people. I seen her out at the old school last night.”
Mitchell slowly put the menu back in the holder and turned to Dale. “What the hell is she doing out at the old school?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Dale shrugged. “Well, my guess would be, seeing that it was night time and the place is empty, that she’s on a ghost hunt,” he laughed.
“That place is dangerous,” Mitch growled, “Should have been torn down a long time ago. Who the hell let her go in?”
He looked accusingly around the room and scowled. “I thought the city council voted to condemn that place,” Mitch continued. “I’m sure they voted on it months ago.”
“Yeah, they did,” George replied. “I read it in the paper. But now they got to go to a judge and get things all worked out.”
“How long does that take?” Mitch asked.
George shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said. “The wheels of justice never seem to hurry themselves around. Could be another year before they get around to it.”
“Besides,” Dale said. “it ain’t like she’s going to find anything in there. The only person who died in that school was that young teacher. What was her name?”
“Christine,” George said. “It was Christine.”
“No, it was Kristen,” Viv inserted, pushing a cup of coffee to Mitch. “Kristen Banks. As I recall, she tripped down the stairs.”
“I don’t suppose ghosts haunt a place because they were clumsy,” Dale said. “That would be almost embarrassing for them.”
Mitch slid out of the chair. “Sorry, Viv,” he said, pushing the coffee cup away and putting down a couple of dollars. “I just remembered something I had to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Mrs. Spangler?” Clarissa asked, looking up at her fourth grade teacher.
“Yes, Clarissa,” Mrs. Spangler replied, placing her hand softly on Clarissa’s shoulder.
Clarissa loved the way Mrs. Spangler answered questions. She put her hand on your shoulder and looked right into your eyes, like your question was the most important thing in the world.
Clarissa smiled up at her. “Do you know if anyone ever died in our classroom?”
Mrs. Spangler’s smile faltered just a bit, but then she regained it. “Why no, Clarissa,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t have any information about that. Why did you want to know?”
Clarissa shrugged. “I was just wondering,” she replied.
Knowing about some of the frightening circumstances when Clarissa was younger, the concerned teacher pressed a bit further. “Are you afraid of something?” she asked. “Are you worried someone might die?”
Shocked, Clarissa shook her head. “No, I’m not,” she replied, her voice hesitant. “Are you?”
“No. No, of course not,” Mrs. Spangler assured her. “I just thought you were worried.”
“No,” Clarissa said casually. “I was just wondering. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, that’s fine then,” the teacher said, patting Clarissa’s shoulder gently. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“That’s okay,” the child replied frankly. “If I find out about any, I’ll let you know.”
Mrs. Spangler watched the little girl walk out of the classroom accompanied by her best friend, Maggie Brennan, and shook her head. It was funny how the slightly peculiar children seemed to be drawn to each other. And those two were certainly peas from the same pod.
“What did you ask Mrs. Spangler?” Maggie asked Clarissa as they walked towards the curb where Kate’s minivan was waiting.
Clarissa shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I just asked her if anyone had ever died in the classroom.”
Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, Maggie shook her head at her friend. “You know, you’re not supposed to do that,” she said. “It kind of freaks people out.”
“I didn’t know that,” Clarissa said. “Why?”
Maggie sighed. “Clarissa
, most people don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. “It makes them uncomfortable to talk about dead people.”
Eyes widening in understanding, Clarissa nodded to her friend. “Well no wonder she looked so surprised,” she said. “So, is this like a secret?”
“It’s kind of like a family secret,” she explained. “Like you can tell your mom and dad, ‘cause they get it. But everyone else probably thinks you’re nuts.”
“But Mrs. Spangler just read us a bunch of ghost stories,” Clarissa argued.
“But she thinks they’re just stories,” Maggie replied.
“Ohhhhhh,” Clarissa said. “She doesn’t know they’re real? But I thought she was real smart.”
“Nope,” Maggie said. “My mom says she’s not stupid or anything. She’s just ignorant.”
“Ohhh,” Clarissa replied, nodding. Then she paused for a moment. “Um, Maggie?”
“Yeah,” Maggie said as they continued toward the minivan.
“What does ignorant mean?”
Maggie paused again and then turned to her friend. “I think it means stupid, but it’s nicer. Kind of like shut up and be quiet.”
“Oh, okay,” Clarissa replied easily. “Come on, I’ll race you the rest of the way.”
The girls took off, laughing and screaming, as they raced to the curb.
“Whoa, slow down there,” Kate Brennan said, catching the girls in a hug. “How was your day?”
“Great,” Maggie said. “Rusty threw up again in school.”
Clarissa nodded. “Right after lunch, so it was huge.”
“Is he okay?” Kate asked.
The girls nodded casually. “Yeah, he throws up whenever there’s a math test,” Maggie explained. “His mother told the teacher that he has math ‘xiety.”
“You mean anxiety?” Kate asked.
“Does anxiety make you throw up?” Clarissa asked.
Kate smiled. “Sometimes.”
“Then that must be it,” Clarissa said, climbing into the van.
“So, Clarissa, how’s your mom doing today?” Kate asked.
“She’s fine,” Clarissa answered absently.
“Was she happy this morning?” Kate continued, worried she had hurt her friend’s feelings the night before.
“Yes, she was really happy,” Clarissa said, “because we were talking about ghosts and she’s not ignorant.”
“Well, good,” Kate replied, slightly confused. “That’s really good to hear.”
Chapter Nineteen
“We’re going to look at some books over there,” Maggie said to her mother once they arrived at the library.
“Okay,” Kate said. “But we can’t be very long today. I have a lot to do.”
“We’ll hurry, Mom,” Maggie said, grabbing Clarissa’s hand. “We promise.”
They wound their way around the tall stacks of books to the far corner and then hurried to the desk.
Clarissa looked down the dark aisle. “The books aren’t moving,” she whispered. “Is he gone today?”
Maggie shook her head. “He’s not by the books. He’s by the window today,” she said. “He’s just looking outside.”
Clarissa turned her head so she could look sideways towards the window. She focused for a few moments and then sighed. “All I see is blur,” she said. “I’ve been practicing all day and all last night, and all I see is blur.”
“I don’t know what else to try,” Maggie confessed.
“When Mary touches my dad, he can see ghosts like she does,” Clarissa suggested.
Maggie reached over and held Clarissa’s hand, and suddenly Clarissa saw the tall man standing next to the window, gazing outside with his hands clasped behind his back. The girls stood together, silently watching him for a few moments. He looked so thoughtful. Clarissa tugged on Maggie’s hand. “Maybe we should go,” she whispered. “He looks sad.”
Maggie was just about to answer when he turned his head and saw them. His long, wrinkled face seemed to light up, and he smiled down at them.
He turned to Maggie. “Hello, Miss Maggie,” he said, offering her a proper bow. “How are you this afternoon?”
Maggie grinned up at him. “I am fine, sir,” she replied. “Thank you very much. This is my friend Clarissa.”
He bowed to her, too. “Hello, Miss Clarissa,” he said. “What kind of books do you like to read?”
Clarissa shrugged. “I like all kinds,” she said. “I used to like only the books with pictures, but now I like the ones with lots of words, too. Middle graders.”
“Middle graders?” the man asked. “I don’t know what those are.”
“Oh, they’re books for kids in the middle grades, like third and fourth grade,” she explained. “That’s why I like them.”
She studied him for a moment. He looked a little familiar, like she’d seen him before. “Do you live in Freeport?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I come to visit quite often,” he said. “Why?”
“You look like I know you,” she replied.
Smiling, he nodded. “I’ve been told that before,” he said. “I must have one of those faces that people find familiar.”
“Are there those kinds of faces?” she asked.
He shrugged. “There must be, because I have one,” he replied with a grin.
She laughed softly. “What kinds of stories do you like?” she asked.
“Oh, I like many stories,” he said. “But my favorites, when I was your age, were Aesop’s Fables.”
Maggie crinkled up her nose in confusion. “What are those?” she asked.
“They are wonderful stories that teach lessons,” he said. “The most well-known was about a race between a tortoise and a hare.”
“Oh, I know that one,” Clarissa replied with an excited smile. “I just didn’t know it was a… a sop fable.”
Aesop’s Fable,” the man replied gently.
“I’d like to hear you tell us one,” Maggie said. “But we don’t have much time. My mom has a lot to do today.”
He nodded. “Leave nothing for tomorrow which can be done today,” he said. “You never know what the future will bring.”
“What does that mean?” Clarissa asked.
He stepped away from the window and pulled out two of the chairs at the desk. “Would you join me for a few moments?” he asked.
Clarissa slipped up onto the chair, and Maggie climbed onto the other. As soon as Clarissa let go of Maggie’s hand, she realized the ghost disappeared, so she quickly reached over and took Maggie’s’ hand once again. Once the girls were situated, he sat across from them. “So, you want me to explain my wise words?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.
Clarissa nodded. “Yes sir,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Well, leave nothing for tomorrow which can be done today means that you should not put off your responsibilities, but do them right away,” he explained.
Clarissa sighed. “I thought you might have meant something like that,” she said. “That’s something grownups always say.”
He chuckled softly. “Well, perhaps we say it because we have put things off ourselves and then regretted it later.”
“I can’t wait until I become an adult and then I can tell kids what to do,” Maggie said. “My mom tells us what to do all the time.”
“The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time,” he said.
“You talk funny,” Clarissa said.
He laughed out loud and nodded. “Yes, I do believe I do,” he agreed, and then he leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret?”
They nodded eagerly.
“When I was a little boy, I had a terrible stutter when I spoke,” he said. “It took me a long time to learn how to speak properly.”
Clapping her hands over her mouth, Clarissa was immediately contrite. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said and then quickly grabbed her friend’s hand so the ghost would reappear. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
&
nbsp; He smiled at her and shook his head. “But, you didn’t,” he said. “And neither has anyone else who criticized my speech throughout my life.” He winked at her. “Because I knew my secret, and they didn’t.”
“Thank you for sharing your secret with us,” Clarissa said.
He nodded. “Well, of course, secrets are not much fun unless they’re shared.”
Maggie’s eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly. “That’s what I think,” she said. “What good’s a secret if you can’t tell someone?”
He chuckled. “Well, you just have to be sure to share them with the right people,” he warned.
“Are you the right people?” Clarissa asked.
“I believe you can trust me with your secrets,” he replied. “And I am all ears.”
Clarissa looked at the side of his face and nodded. “They are pretty big,” she acknowledged.
He chuckled again. “Yes, I’ve been told that, too,” he replied.
“Maggie is trying to help me see ghosts,” Clarissa said.
He sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his beard. “You don’t say,” he said. “Doesn’t that frighten you? Most children are afraid of death.”
“My real mommy was a ghost,” Clarissa explained. “And now she’s an angel.”
The man nodded and reached across the desk to enfold the child’s hand. It felt like a cold puff of air around her hand. “I understand the pain of losing your mother when you are a child,” he said. “All that I was, or hoped to be, I owe to my angel mother.”
“I like you,” Clarissa said. “You’re not scary at all.”
He stood and bowed to her. “I like you, too,” he said. “I hope we have the opportunity to meet again.”
“Maggie, Clarissa, where are you?” Kate’s whispered voice came from around the corner of the book shelf.
Clarissa turned and looked behind her. “It’s your mom,” she whispered to Maggie. “Can she see…”
She turned back, but the man was gone.
“He does that,” Maggie whispered. “I don’t think he likes big people.”
“I liked him,” Clarissa said, getting out of the chair and walking toward the book shelf. “I can’t believe he’s a ghost. He’s so nice.”
