Ghostly Games

by K E O'Connor

  “Do you want a fresh pot of tea?”

  “No more tea,” said Jasmine. “I drink so much, I think my veins are full of the stuff.”

  I looked around the bedroom, seeking inspiration as to what I could do to keep Jasmine entertained. I spotted a bookshelf full of paperbacks. “Do you want to read?”

  “I always fall asleep as soon as I read in bed,” said Jasmine. “But perhaps you can read to me?”

  “I can do that.” I hopped from my seat and walked to the bookshelf. “Anything in particular you want?” There were numerous romance titles, a few thrillers, and even some science fiction on the shelves.

  “Something light,” said Jasmine. “Nothing with a complicated plot. Chris loves his hard-boiled thrillers, but they’re too full of violence for me. I like my stories to have a happy ending. Everybody deserves one of those.”

  I crouched and peered at the titles on the bottom shelf. There were several children’s picture books stacked together. I pulled one out and saw it had a brightly colored blue elephant on the cover. “Do you have children in the family?” I held the book aloft.

  Jasmine sat up straight, the faint color on her cheeks fading away. “I don’t have any children.”

  “I thought these might be for a nephew or niece when they come to visit,” I said.

  Jasmine clutched the sheets to her chest and shook her head. “I don’t have any nephews or nieces.”

  I stared at the book in my hands. “Who is this for then?”

  Jasmine was silent for a few seconds. “Bring it over here.”

  I walked back to the bed and sat on the chair before handing over the book.

  Flipper gave a gentle whine and rested his head on the edge of the bed, his gaze on Jasmine, as if he sensed her discomfort.

  Jasmine opened the first page in the book and stroked her hand slowly down it. “This book was for my children.”

  “Children you’re planning to have in the future?”

  “Children I have already had,” said Jasmine, “and lost.”

  My heart clenched. “Your children are no longer alive?”

  Jasmine shook her head, her tousled dark hair concealing her face. “I had twins, a girl and a boy. They were my whole life.”

  “What happened?”

  “They are gone.” Jasmine’s voice cracked.

  I rested my hand on Flipper’s head, needing reassurance at this sad news. “Was it an accident?”

  Jasmine let out a long sigh before raising her gaze to meet mine. “They were an unexpected blessing. We had plans to have children, but not for a few years. Our happy accident, we called them. And when we learned it was twins, we were overjoyed. They were born two months early and spent some time in the hospital as they grew and gained in strength. And to begin with, everything seemed fine. They flourished under our care, and we couldn’t have been happier.”

  “What were their names?”

  “Mirabel and Michael.” A soft smile flitted across Jasmine’s face. “They were named after my grandparents.”

  “They are lovely names,” I said.

  “Lovely names for lovely children,” said Jasmine. “They became my everything. The role of being a mother was so natural to me.”

  “I imagine you as an amazing mother.”

  Jasmine nodded. “Michael became ill first. He kept turning blue and stopped breathing on several occasions. The first time I found him like that, he was less than two years old. Still a baby. I thought I’d lost him then, but he sprung back to life and gasped in a huge lungful of air as I was calling for an ambulance. I knew something was dreadfully wrong. And after several long and stressful visits to the doctors, my fears were confirmed.”

  “What was wrong with Michael?” My fingers dug into Flipper’s fur.

  “A problem with his heart,” said Jasmine, “the same as Mirabel. They were identical in every respect. They had the same hole in their hearts.”

  “Couldn’t the doctors do anything to help?”

  “Nothing could be done,” said Jasmine. “We went to every specialist we could find in the hope that one of them would give us the answer we needed. But they all said the same; it was an inoperable problem, and there was no hope of our children living for long.”

  I blinked tears out of my eyes. “How long did you have them?”

  “They lived until just past their sixth birthdays,” said Jasmine. “We had a lovely party for them. There was a cake and streamers and balloons. But by then, they were both weak, and although they smiled and opened their presents, and even ate some cake, I could tell that all they wanted to do was go to sleep. Two weeks later, they both went to sleep and never woke up.”

  “They died in this house?” I resisted the urge to look around to see if I could spot any ghostly images of the children. My first impressions of the house had been right; there was a great sadness lingering within these walls. Now, I knew why.

  “They did.” Jasmine pressed her hands into her closed eyes. “Francis discovered them one morning when she went to wake them. The twins shared a room. They had separate beds, but it was usual for one or the other to get out and join their sibling at night. That’s how they were found, curled into a tight ball around each other. They died at the same time. Born together and died together. There’s a horrible poetry to that.”

  I cleared my throat and brushed my fingers across my cheeks to remove the tears. “And Francis found them?”

  Jasmine nodded. “Francis was their nanny. And she was wonderful with them. Doted on their every word. And when the children were gone, I couldn’t let her go. She is a link I have to them. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you. Getting rid of Francis is almost like getting rid of the final piece, removing a vital memory of my children.”

  I understood now why the cooking was so bad. Francis was no cook. But she did have a stern matronly way about her, and I could see her in the role of nanny.

  “It makes sense to me,” I said. “Francis must have spent as much time with Mirabel and Michael as you did. She will have precious memories of them.”

  “That’s it. Chris wasn’t sure about keeping her on, but I insisted. I know her food is dreadful, and I think Chris eats it simply to keep me happy. But for now, Francis has to stay. I cannot lose anyone else.” Jasmine reached down and brushed her fingers along Flipper’s ears. “May I ask you a question, Lorna?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Please don’t think I’m crazy for what I’m about to say,” said Jasmine. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  I kept my expression as neutral as possible. “I think there is an afterlife.”

  “The children are still here.”

  I raised my eyebrows, taking a second to choose my next words carefully. “Mirabel and Michael are here in spirit form?”

  “Yes! That’s it. I know their bodies are no longer here. But I’m not alone in this house. I hear things and get glimpses of movement out of the corner of my eyes. Something is in this house with me. I think my children’s ghosts are here.”

  “Have you seen them?” I asked.

  “Nothing clearly,” said Jasmine. “But there was that strange noise last night. You heard it, didn’t you?”

  “I heard a banging sound,” I said. “But how do you know that noise was your children’s ghosts?”

  “It came from the nursery,” said Jasmine. “Most of the noises come from that room as well. They spent a lot of time in there.”

  “I didn’t know you had a nursery in the house.”

  “Chris won’t call it that anymore,” said Jasmine. “He pretends it’s a store room. But we both know what’s behind the door. I haven’t altered anything in their room since they died.”

  “Strange noises can often sound more mysterious than they really are,” I said. “Loose pipes under a floorboard, or a window rattling in its frame can sound otherworldly if you’re looking for that sort of thing.” I didn’t want to encourage Jasmine by disclosing that I felt someth
ing unusual in the house as well. But there was something here. What’s to say it wasn’t Mirabel and Michael visiting their parents?

  “The noises are more than loose pipes and windows being shaken by the wind,” said Jasmine. “I hear laughter sometimes as well. Children’s laughter, so it can’t be anybody else, and footsteps.”

  “Are there other children in the village who could be passing by the cottage and you mistake their voices for your children?”

  “Absolutely not.” Jasmine shook her head firmly. “The laughter comes from the nursery.”

  “Has anybody else heard these noises?”

  “Chris dismisses anything he hears,” said Jasmine. “I love the man, but his head is always seeking rational explanations for everything. It must be the accounting side of his brain. But I’m sure Francis has heard things. She jumps at the same time I do when I hear noises, but she won’t confirm what she’s heard. I think she’s afraid I might sack her if she does. Not many employers would be happy employing someone who can hear ghosts moving about.”

  “Are you happy their ghosts are here?”

  Jasmine tilted her head to one side. “I wish they were really here. But if all I can have are their spirits then that’s what I’ll take.”

  “Have you tried speaking to them?” I asked.

  “I used to,” said Jasmine. “They died almost a year ago, and I would go into their nursery every morning as if I was going to wake them up. I’d pull back the curtains and straighten the bedding, even though it hadn’t been touched. I’d tell them about the day we had planned for them, what Francis was going to do, and the play time we would have together in the afternoon. But after a while, it felt meaningless. Nothing stirred in the room when I spoke to them.”

  “It may help you if you spoke to them again,” I said. “If you truly believe they are here, they might want to engage with you.”

  “So, you do believe in ghosts?” Hope filled Jasmine’s tear glazed eyes.

  I nodded. “I believe they are real. And I think they can hear us and see what we do as well. If your children are here, they may like it if you speak with them.”

  “Chris will think I’m crazy if he catches me,” said Jasmine, “and I don’t like to hide things from him.”

  “You could try getting him involved as well,” I said. “You said they’ve been dead almost a year. Perhaps you could do something special for them on the anniversary of their death.”

  Jasmine blinked rapidly, and a small smile lit up her face. “That’s a lovely idea. I do need to remember my babies. We had so many fun times together, and I don’t want to lose sight of those. I must not. They are the only thing that keeps me going.”

  I rested my hand on top of Jasmine’s. “This must be terrible for you, and I can see how devastating it must be to lose your children. But you have so much more life in you. Do remember them, and do love them with all your heart. But don’t give up on living a life for yourself. You have a lovely home here and a husband who dotes on you. There’s still a lot of happiness to be had.”

  Jasmine pressed one hand against her chest. “I know that. And I know that one day my heart will stop aching with the loss of my children. But I can’t think about anything else. But you are right, something to remember them on their anniversary is an excellent idea. It will help us all to move on a little.”

  “It doesn’t mean you will forget about them or love them any less,” I said. “But remembering the happier times is a way to ensure you don’t lose yourself in the grief.”

  Jasmine closed the book that sat on her lap. “You’re right. And we can work together to make sure Michael and Mirabel are properly remembered. Thank you, Lorna; it’s a wonderful plan.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “And anything I can do to assist, just ask.”

  Flipper whined and nudged my arm with his nose. I looked up and a chill ran down my spine. In the corner of the room was a ghost. Not the ghost of a child as I’d expected to see, but the ghost of an angry, mad eyed, middle aged woman. And she was staring right at me.

  Chapter 7

  Jasmine shuddered and pulled her nightdress around her. “I sometimes get so cold in this house. I know it’s an old building and can be draughty, but even with the heating on all day, I never seem to get warm properly. It’s as if my bones are permanently cold.”

  I pulled my gaze away from the angry faced ghost and nodded. “I felt chilly this morning when I woke. But you’re right; sometimes, old houses can be hard to heat.”

  Jasmine gave another shudder and looked around the room. “And you’ll think I’m paranoid by saying this, but it seems as if the walls have eyes. I can walk into a room and everything is fine, then a few minutes later, I get the sense I’m being watched. As if I’ve alerted a presence that I’m in the room, and they’ve come to investigate.”

  “Do you think it’s your children’s ghosts watching you?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jasmine. “I imagine if my children did come into a room when I was there, I would feel happy and at peace. But when I get this sensation, I feel on edge and uneasy. It’s as if whoever is watching me is unhappy I’m there and wants me to leave. My own children would never want that.”

  I glanced over at the ghost again. Her arms were crossed over her narrow chest, and she wore a plain knee length dress that was too big for her. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and her sharp cheekbones suggested she needed a good meal.

  “I get that sensation sometimes,” I said. “But usually, there’s nothing there.”

  “Usually,” said Jasmine. “Does that mean you have seen things? When you get that sensation, do you believe a ghost is watching you?”

  I wanted so much to tell Jasmine I could see ghosts, and they were real, and right now, there was one hovering in the room. “I like to keep an open mind. There’s so much we don’t know what happens after death. You could be right. There might be ghosts in this house, and they may be watching you. And the noises you hear could be your children’s ghosts. But I can’t tell you that for sure.”

  Jasmine let out a shaky laugh and grasped my hand. “Well, at least you haven’t run from the room screaming at me that I’m insane and throwing your letter of resignation in my face after I told you all of this. I see that as a good sign.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “You will stay and help me, won’t you?” asked Jasmine. “I know this is an unusual job for you. I saw your CV, and realize you’re used to grander houses than this, with a lot more to do. But you will be such a help to me if you can enable me to find some comfort in my own home. I just need this anxious feeling to go away. And I would love to know my children are at rest and happy. If I knew that, then I think I would be happy as well.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to make that happen,” I said. “And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. Believe me, some of my past employers have been on the far end of the eccentric scale. I once had a boss who would not let me start work until I’d walked around my chair in a clockwise direction three times and then bowed to the portrait of his mother that hung in his study.”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Jasmine. “Who was that?”

  “I’m sworn to secrecy,” I said. “His name will remain with me forever, as will the memory of the terrifying portrait of his mother. But your request for me to help you move on with your life, and find some closure, is not an odd one.”

  “Me talking about ghosts must be somewhat odd,” said Jasmine. “You seem like such a level-headed woman. I expected you to laugh at me and tell me to pull myself together.”

  “It’s your beliefs, and that’s what’s important to you. If you find comfort in that, then that’s what you should care about, not what other people think.”

  “You’re very kind.” Jasmine patted the back of my hand and then slid her legs out from under the covers. “Time I got up. I can’t plan my children’s remembrance event by sitting in bed all day and feeling sorry for myself.”
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br />   “That’s a great idea.” I lifted the book from the bed and placed it back on the shelf.

  “I’ll come find you after I’ve showered,” said Jasmine.

  I nodded as I left the room, casting a meaningful look at the ghost, who still waited in the corner. I was keen to communicate with her. Her anger was palpable, and I could well understand why Jasmine felt on edge if this ghost had been watching her for any length of time.

  I shut the bedroom door behind me and waited with Flipper in the corridor to see if the ghost would appear.

  It took a few moments, but the ghost slowly emerged through the wall. I gestured her towards me and walked a few steps along the corridor, so Jasmine would not hear me talking. “Are you the ghost who’s been watching the family?”

  The ghost raised her eyebrows at me.

  “I can see you,” I said, “but I cannot hear you. We need to figure out a way to communicate with each other. If it is you, you’re not making the family happy. Why are you here?”

  The ghost gave a shrug and looked around the corridor as if bored by our one-way conversation.

  “If you tell me why you’re here, I can help you,” I said. “I have helped ghosts in the past with problems they’ve had. They’ve often felt able to move on after their issues have been resolved. I can do the same thing for you.”

  The ghost glared at me and then lifted her gaze to stare along the corridor.

  “There’s something along the corridor causing you concern?”

  The ghost gave another shrug and tapped her foot on the ground.

  A few seconds later, I heard the sound of small feet running up the stairs. “Are they the children who died in this house?”

  The ghost shook her head before blinking out of sight.

  “Wait! Don’t go.” I looked around the corridor, expecting her to come back, but she didn’t return.

  I could still hear the sound of running feet; tiny, light footsteps dashing up the stairs. I followed the sound with Flipper, and they stopped outside the locked room Helen had discovered yesterday. The room Chris had said was used for storage, but I now knew was a nursery.