Ghostly Games

by K. E. O'Connor

  “Are you not hungry tonight, my love?” Chris looked at his wife’s full plate.

  “I haven’t done anything today,” said Jasmine. “I haven’t worked up much of an appetite.”

  “Eat some more, though,” said Chris.

  “I’ll have some pudding,” said Jasmine.

  “Pudding is my favorite course too,” said Helen brightly. “Francis said it was a sponge pudding.”

  Chris patted his stomach. “I do like a nice sponge pudding. I often have mine with custard.”

  I discreetly fed a large piece of pastry to Flipper, who was under the table. “Yes, sponge pudding is one of my favorites as well.”

  “My mother always made an excellent sponge pudding,” said Chris. “She’s no longer with us now, but I always remember her fondly when I think of sponge pudding.”

  “Was that who you were visiting in the cemetery today?” asked Helen.

  Jasmine’s head shot around, and she stared at Helen. “We weren’t visiting her. She’s not laid to rest in this village.”

  “My mother-in-law is not buried here.” Chris shot a worried look at Jasmine. “The cemetery is lovely, though. I enjoy taking walks through it.”

  “Perhaps we’ll take a look,” I said.

  Chris nodded and shoved a large potato in his mouth.

  The next few minutes were spent in an uncomfortable silence as we pushed food around our plates. Whatever, or whoever, was in the cemetery, the Bellamys did not want to talk about it.

  Jasmine dabbed her eyes with her napkin. She pulled her wrap round her shoulders and shivered. “It’s cold in here.”

  “I’ll light the fire for you.” Chris was already on his feet.

  “There's no need. Finish your dinner,” said Jasmine. “I'll go into the living room after we’ve eaten.”

  “The fire in there always warms the place up.” Chris settled in his seat and smiled at us all as he patted Jasmine's hand.

  Francis entered the room and set a full tray on the table. In each bowl on the tray, sat a large chunk of burnt looking pudding, swimming in a gloopy mound of steaming custard. She removed the dinner plates and dumped a portion of pudding in front of us all.

  “Thank you, Francis,” said Chris. “This looks excellent.”

  Helen gave him a quizzical look and then shook her head at me.

  I attempted to cut through my pudding with a spoon, but it got stuck, and I almost tipped the contents into my lap. I decided to leave it to cool and, hopefully, slip it into a napkin and throw it into the nearest trash container at the earliest opportunity.

  I looked over at Jasmine and saw she was almost asleep in her seat, her eyelids heavy as her head slumped forward.

  Chris seemed content enough with his pudding, and was eating large mouthfuls, his gaze shooting nervously around the room as if he expected to see someone.

  I cleared my throat and looked at Helen, raising my eyebrows to encourage her to get the conversation flowing.

  Helen patted her mouth with her napkin and laid it to one side. “I thought I might start with a general deep clean of the house, if that’s acceptable. It looks like everything is in good condition, but it will be great to start with a clean slate, as it were. Then I simply need to keep on top of everything and can take on additional tasks as needed.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Chris. “What do you think, darling?” He looked over at Jasmine, whose chin was almost resting on her chest. He abandoned his pudding and moved to his wife’s side, catching hold of her arm and rousing her from her semi-slumber.

  “What’s that?” Jasmine’s head shot up, and her bleary gaze went around the table.

  “You were asleep,” said Chris softly. “Perhaps you need a rest?”

  “But I’ve been resting,” said Jasmine with a sigh. “It’s all I do.”

  “Try some of your pudding,” said Chris. “That will perk you up.”

  Jasmine looked down at the untouched bowl in front of her. “I really can’t.”

  “I can make you something else,” said Helen. “Whatever you like, I can whip it up for you in no time. Maybe a soufflé or an omelette?”

  “That does sound nice,” said Jasmine, “but another evening. I know Francis likes to look after the kitchen. And it is your first day here. You can start work tomorrow.”

  Helen glowered at me. It must be torture for her, seeing all this overcooked, barely edible food, and knowing what amazing creations she could come up with if only she was allowed to set foot in the kitchen.

  “We could go for a walk around the village tomorrow,” I said to Jasmine. “You can show me where everything is so I get to know the place.”

  “We could do that,” said Jasmine. “I have some correspondence to write first, but perhaps after that. You can sit with me while I do my letters.”

  “I can do that.” A pang of anxiety ran through me as I wondered if this job was going to be as boring as it sounded.

  “You can take Lorna to the museum,” said Chris. “It’s run by Harry, who you met in the pub. He has everything in there. It’s a real treasure trove of finds; from shrunken heads to Egyptian artefacts. He has it all in his strange museum.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” I said. “He did mention it to us when we were in the pub.”

  A loud crash directly over our heads made us jump, and Jasmine leapt out of her seat. “It’s the children!”

  Chris grabbed hold of her hand. “No, it can’t be. You know that’s not possible.”

  Jasmine looked at him, her eyes full of tears. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Chris placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed. Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.”

  Jasmine nodded wearily and allowed him to lead her out of the dining room, without saying a word to us.

  Helen pushed her bowl away with a disgusted sounding sigh. “Inedible slop. I’m not going to last if the food is like this every night.”

  “Did you hear what Jasmine just said?” Food was the last thing on my mind.

  “Something about children.” Helen was still inspecting the food on the table as if she was expecting it to transform into a delicious banquet by the power of her stare alone.

  “They don’t have any children,” I said.

  Helen tore her gaze away from the lumpy custard. “Do you think this place is haunted by a child?”

  I shuddered. “I hope not. I’m used to handling adult ghosts but not children.” I wasn’t all that good with real-life children. Ghost children would be a challenge on a whole other level.

  “Maybe that’s why Jasmine and Chris are so out of sorts,” said Helen. “If they’re being haunted by a child, they may be able to sense it.”

  “It would explain why Jasmine is so tired,” I said. “If she’s being disturbed in the night by a ghost, it will affect her sleep. And if there is a ghost child here, it could be focusing on her, thinking she is their mother.”

  “But you don’t sense anything?” asked Helen.

  “No, and neither does Flipper.” I looked down at him and saw he was washing his paws, a large piece of pastry discarded to one side.

  “We should investigate,” said Helen. “If there is a child’s ghost here, then we have to help them.”

  “Maybe the ghost doesn’t need help,” I said. “They could just be haunting the place for fun.”

  “You want to take that chance?” asked Helen. “What if the ghost is trapped here for some reason and needs your assistance to get free?”

  “I promised Zach no more ghosts,” I said. “He’s worried about me getting in trouble.”

  “He’d help if he knew there was a child’s ghost that needed rescuing,” said Helen.

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We don’t know there are any ghosts here, or that they need my help,” I said. “That noise could have been something falling over and hitting the floor.”

  “But you saw how Jasmine reacted,” said Helen.
“It was the first time I’ve seen any life in her. She must think something is here too.”

  “But why a child?” I asked, thinking about the ball I had discovered by Flipper's feet earlier that day. Could the ghost have been to visit him? If it had, he hadn't been anxious or concerned, and Flipper always worried me about ghosts when they were around.

  Helen raised her eyebrows as she gave her lumpy custard a stir. “We need to find out more about this family.”

  Chapter 6

  Following the end of our tasteless dinner, we waited to see if Chris or Jasmine would return, but after half an hour of sitting at the table, we gave up and headed to our annex.

  “I’m starving.” Helen skulked around the room like an underfed panther. “Dinner was terrible.”

  “It wasn’t just the food that worried me,” I said. “Jasmine is miserable.”

  Helen scowled and gripped her stomach. “So am I.”

  “Didn’t you make some cakes before we left the apartment?”

  Helen blinked at me, and a huge smile lit up her face. “I’d forgotten about my macaroons! You’re a genius.”

  Five minutes later, we were settled on the sofa, a tin of macaroons between us, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

  Helen bit into a pink macaroon and sighed with contentment. “I’ll have to make more of these.”

  “As lovely as they are, we cannot live on macaroons alone.”

  “We may have to if Francis’s cooking doesn’t improve.”

  “You could try leaving a few cookbooks in the kitchen and see if she gets the hint that it’s always a good idea to follow a recipe.”

  “I bet she’d ignore them if I did,” said Helen. “I will make us more treats just in case. You know my skills go far beyond the humble macaroon.”

  I nodded, my thoughts going back to Jasmine’s reaction when she heard the noise. She needed looking after. Whatever was wrong with her, it would take more than cake and kind words to fix things, but I wanted to help. I knew that’s what I was being paid to do, but the weary exhaustion in Jasmine’s eyes ran deep. That wasn’t right in someone so young.

  “Is Flipper allowed a macaroon?” Helen’s voice cut through my thoughts.

  “A tiny piece.” I looked down to see Flipper’s gaze on the tin. “Sugar is bad for dogs.”

  “He disagrees.” Helen fed Flipper a small piece of her macaroon. “No more for you.”

  I took a macaroon, and deliberately didn’t look at Flipper’s sad expression, as I ate it. “Tomorrow we can start work on cheering this place up.”

  “Agreed,” said Helen. “I can make Jasmine a cake that’s actually edible, once I’ve got some supplies. That will help. Cake always makes the world seem brighter.”

  “And I’ll start getting to know her and figure out why the whole house feels like it wants to cry,” I said. “Maybe then we can figure out what to do to change that.”

  ***

  The next morning, I woke to find my bedroom freezing cold. My teeth chattered as I pulled on my dressing gown and then hugged Flipper tightly to me. He was his usual toasty warm self, but then he should be; he’d spent the night snuggled on my bed.

  “Must be something wrong with the heating.” I hopped up and walked over to the radiator. It was roasting hot.

  There was a knock on my bedroom door, and Helen poked her head around it. “Thought I heard you up. Fancy a cup of tea?”

  “That would be nice.” I followed her out into the lounge. “Is your room warm enough?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” said Helen. “How about yours?”

  “The radiator’s on, but it’s freezing in there,” I said.

  “And how does Flipper feel about that?” Helen switched on the kettle and put some slices of bread in the toaster. “I sneaked some bread from the kitchen when Francis wasn’t looking. We can’t go without breakfast after last night’s dinner. I pinched some jam as well.”

  “Flipper was fine all night,” I said. “No sign of any unwanted ghostly presences changing the temperature.”

  “Maybe you slept in a draft,” said Helen.

  “I hope it’s just that,” I said. “I’ll make sure I block the cracks tonight and see if that helps.”

  “Well, you’re not seeing anything, and Flipper is behaving himself.” Helen pointed to the bowl Flipper had his nose buried in as he ate his breakfast. “So we can rule out ghosts.”

  I nodded as I snuggled into my fluffy dressing gown. I still couldn’t shake off the sad feeling I experienced when I was inside the house. And along with this cold sensation, something in my gut told me things were not well in the Bellamy household.

  “I wonder what Jasmine has in store for me today,” I said. “I hope she’s a bit livelier than yesterday.”

  “Me too.” Helen flipped the toast onto two plates and set it on the table. “Don’t want to have to deal with misery the whole time. I’ll have to start looking in the job vacancies section before too long if things stay the same.”

  “She could have been having a bad day.” I smothered my toast in strawberry jam. “But something odd is going on with their mysterious graveyard visit. Jasmine was surprised when you asked her about it yesterday.”

  “We should go there ourselves,” said Helen. “Try to find out who they were visiting if they don’t want to tell us.”

  Flipper gave a whine, and I peered at him intently, checking to see if he was experiencing any sign of a ghost. I let out a sigh, as I realized his gaze was firmly fixed on the toast in my hand. “You’ve just had your breakfast.”

  Flipper gazed up at me lovingly for a few more seconds before turning his attention to Helen.

  “He’s a sucker for a piece of toast.” Helen pulled off a crust and passed it to him.

  “A walk around the graveyard isn’t a bad idea,” I said. “We might meet a few more neighbors and find out about the area.”

  “Not worried there will be too many ghosts lurking around their headstones?”

  “Ghosts don’t tend to hang out in graveyards,” I said. “And if you think about it, why would they? If you were a ghost, you’d be on your own most of the day. When I’m a ghost, I’ll be sure to visit all the places I loved when I was alive, and go to see friends and family. You won’t find me sitting on the top of a headstone waiting for people to come and visit with a bunch of wilting daisies.”

  “When I’m a ghost,” said Helen, “I’m going to scare all of my enemies, especially all the creepy former bosses, who thought my backside was a place they could rest their greasy little hands.”

  “We could be ghosts together,” I said. “It would be fun. We could travel the world as ghosts and spy on people when they don’t realize we’re there.”

  Helen grimaced. “That’s put me right off my toast, thinking I might be being spied on by a ghost. They don’t do that, do they?”

  I finished my toast and brushed crumbs off my fingers. “Honestly, I’m not sure. You may have been visited once or twice in the shower by a ghost. But you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Even so, nobody likes to be spied on,” said Helen. “Even if it is by one of our friendly spectres.”

  I drank my tea and stood up. “I need to get showered and dressed. I’ll catch up with you later, and we can go for our ghost walk together. See what the graveyard has to show us.”

  Half an hour later, I was walking along the hallway, with Flipper by my side, in search of Jasmine. The house was eerily quiet, with an empty feel to it.

  I checked all the downstairs rooms, hesitating before going into the kitchen for fear Francis might chase me away. But neither Jasmine nor Chris were anywhere to be found, and the kitchen was empty.

  I climbed the stairs slowly, pausing every few seconds to see if I could hear any sounds of life. Again, I got that strange sensation that the house was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. I reached Jasmine’s bedroom door and tapped on it.

  “Come in,”
said Jasmine quietly.

  I pushed open the door and saw the curtains were still drawn. “I don’t like to disturb you, but I wondered what you wanted me to do today?”

  “Come and sit with me for a while.” Jasmine shuffled herself up the bed and plumped some cushions behind her. “I can’t work up the energy to get out of bed this morning. But company would be nice.”

  “Is it okay to have Flipper in here?”

  “Yes, he’s welcome,” said Jasmine.

  “Are you not feeling well?” I lifted a chair from beside the dressing table and moved it to the edge of the bed.

  “I’m so tired all of the time,” said Jasmine. “Maybe it’s an age thing.”

  “You can’t be much older than me,” I said.

  Jasmine gave me a tired smile. “No, most likely not. But there has to be some reason why I get so sleepy.”

  “Have you been to the doctors?”

  “All of the time.” Jasmine sighed. “Chris calls it our second home because we’re there so often. And before you ask, they’ve run every possible test on me, and they can’t find anything wrong. One of them told me it was my nerves, and perhaps a week at the seaside would be a good idea. He sounded as if he was from Victorian times, dealing with a hysterical woman, and thought vapors from the salt air would cure me.”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” I said. “Sometimes, a change of scene can be just what is needed.”

  Jasmine toyed with the collar on her cream nightdress. “I don’t want to leave here.”

  “You must like the village a lot if you won’t leave even for a few days,” I said.

  “The village is nice enough,” said Jasmine. “It’s peaceful here, perhaps too peaceful at times.”

  “It is quiet around here,” I said. “When I first got up, I was afraid I was making too much noise.”

  “I didn’t hear you,” said Jasmine. “But then I was most likely asleep.”

  “Is there anything I can get you?” I asked. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Chris brought me a tray of food before he left for the day,” said Jasmine. “He’s had to go to London on business, so he left early and won’t be back until late.”