The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  “I’m so sorry, Harriet. How can I help?”

  A small breeze blew over the dust, wiping the words out, and then the mouse ran back and forth and in circles until it scratched out

  ‘Bring back Vera. BFF.’

  A tiny smile flitted across Anne’s face. And then Anne remembered.

  “I don’t think I can. I heard that the city is going to demolish the house.”

  Too late Anne realised it was the wrong thing to say. Whispers rose around her, sounding like jumbled conversation which Anne could make no sense of. A tin cup lifted itself into the air and smashed into a wall. Cushions from the couch flung themselves across the room. The cupboard doors opened and slammed and the drawers were pulled from their cavities. Deathly fear seized Anne and she turned toward the door to run. A paper plate whizzed past her. Gulping down the apple sized knot in her throat she took one small step. An empty can flew by. Somewhere in the house a window smashed. The sounds rose to panicked levels.

  Keening reverberated around her. Anne stood completely still protecting her head with her hands as much as she was able.

  Objects were still flying around, when it occurred to her that none had hit her. They’re scared and panicking. They’re not trying to hurt me. So, Anne yelled above the din.

  “I promise. I promise. I promise.” Items fell to the ground, noise ceased, all was quiet. “I promise. I will try and save the house and I will try and get Vera back. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Lying in bed sleepless, Anne asked herself the question. Do I believe in ghosts, or am I losing my mind? Yes, I believe in ghosts.

  If she didn’t believe that, what else could explain what was going on. She had seen things with her own eyes, things that couldn’t happen without an energy of some sort. Poor Mac. Living with the memory of the things he had witnessed would be enough to send anyone off the deep end, if they weren’t already mad. By night’s end, Anne knew what she was going to try to do. But before she did anything, she wanted some kind of assurance. If I could just know for sure, absolutely sure, that I’m not insane.

  By mid-morning, the common room of Westminster psychiatric ward was quietly busy. Residents were seated around the table presumably socializing, although they mostly stared vacantly into space. Another group were drawing out their feelings on paper.

  Others worked shapes with play dough. Overworked nurses with painted smiles were full of positive talk.

  Vera sat by herself in a corner.

  Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, with a childish bow clipped in her hair and her old dirty dress was replaced by a hospital gown, ‘until we get her another dress’, the aide had told Anne.

  A nurse stood with her cart, doling out Vera’s tablets.

  “She’s coming along nicely. It will take a few weeks before the medications fully kick in, but then we can expect some stability in her.”

  Vera’s brown eyes looked up at Anne, devoid of anything except hopelessness. The life that had glittered there from time to time, when she was talking to her ghosts, was replaced with despair. Anne waited until the nurse moved on.

  “Vera? I’ve brought you a hamburger.” She lowered her voice. “If you like I’ll take some up to your mouse.”

  Vera brought her face upwards and Anne would have fallen like a feather if someone had pushed her, for Vera spoke.

  “I want to go home.”

  Chapter Ten

  Anne hid her shock and gathered her wits.

  “Shh. Shh. Don’t let them hear you say that. It won’t be good if they think you want to go back there.”

  “Why? It’s my home.”

  All conversations and interactions could be used in court records, if there was ever a reason, and Anne looked cautiously around, noticing who was observing.

  Deliberately raising her voice just, a little, she said to Vera, “It’s so good to see you looking so well. You are getting along a treat here, aren’t you?”

  Vera turned her head, ignoring Anne and the burger, and stared at the wall. Anne pulled her chair closer, her back completely to the staff now, and whispered low.

  “Vera, I talked to Harriet. She misses you. I told her I will try to bring you back. But you have to help me if you can. I need to find out who Harriet is. What is her other name? How can I find where she came from?”

  Vera looked at Anne - a glimmer of hope had returned.

  “Not Harriet. Caroline Harriet Jones.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Anne continued staring at the computer. She had been here for at least fifteen minutes. Caroline Harriet Jones was a bona-fide missing person. Vaguely, she noted how easily she had slipped into thinking of him as Porgie, instead of George. To her he was Georgie Porgie the Kiss Killer. She hoped he burned in hell. She just had to think of a way to get him there, but that was another project. Right now, she needed to get Vera out of that place and figure out if she could possibly save the house. Jittery as she was, sleep wouldn’t come soon any time soon. Mac would probably appreciate a feed, she thought, hopping into her car.

  “Hey, Mac.”

  “Hey, Angel.”

  “Hungry?”

  She handed him a Thai curry, his favourite.

  “Mmmmm... Girrrl you’re good to me. Marry me?”

  He gave her a grin and a chuckle.

  “So, I looked up that serial killer guy.”

  The smile dropped off Mac’s face.

  “Just wanted you to know that I know you weren’t making it all up. I’m not sorry what happened to him, I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m glad you’re not.”

  “Hmmph.” Mac just grunted. He took a swig from the coke bottle beside him. Anne plonked down beside him.

  “Got another question for you. What do you know about Vera?”

  “She’s nuts.”

  “Go figure.” Anne folded her arms, “Come on, Mac. She’s in the psych ward. Drugged to buggery. Miserable as hell. I’m only trying to find a way to help her out.”

  “I heard they’re gonna pull that house down.”

  Mac burped loudly. Anne ignored it.

  “Yeah, I heard that too.”

  “From what I heard, it’s her own place. She hasn’t paid taxes for years, but it belongs to her.”

  Anne was impressed, Mac seemed to have little birds everywhere.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Ask him.” He glanced over to a man leaning up against the wall, sleeping. “He spent the night in the lock up. Heard the coppers talking about it.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Vera lay slumped on the sofa in the common room. After two weeks in the facility the effects of the medication were becoming more apparent. By six weeks when the effects had properly kicked in, Anne wondered if there would be anything more than a zombie occupying the tiny body.

  A new nurse, older than the ones that Anne had previously seen, was dispensing medications tonight. Handing Vera some apple sauce and one pill at a time she spoke to Anne. “Vera needs an advocate, as far as I know she doesn’t have anyone to do that for her. It takes some time, some trial and error, to sort out the right meds for a person. Everyone’s an individual until they enter the system, after that it’s just a generic approach.”

  Anne nodded in a ‘well what can you do’ manner, but felt a low-grade anger bubbling under the surface of polite behaviour. Yeah, just take away her home and stick her in a group facility. Keep her zonked out on medications so she stays nice and quiet. The nurse read her thoughts. “Better than getting bludgeoned to death by some crazy guy who blows in, though.”

  Anne couldn’t deny the logic. But to see little Vera drugged up like this… and then there was Harriet and the promise she made. Tilting her head to the side she gave the nurse a direct look.

  “If I were to consider being her guardian, then it would be possible to arrange her release from this facility, to me. It could be organised very easily, couldn’t it? Initially all it takes is the signature of two psychiatrists
and then I would apply to a court to get the legalities all sorted.” The nurse looked at her, wide-eyed and surprised. Anne saved her the enquiry. “I know how it works. I’m a social worker.”

  “Ah, I see. That makes sense. Yes, you’re right. It shouldn’t be difficult to get that permission.”

  “I’ll get the paperwork started then.”

  Anne kissed Vera on the forehead and left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Within a week her application for guardianship was pending and Anne’s next task was to secure the house.

  Entering the office of Mr. David Sanders of the City of Westminster, for the Office for the Payment of Council Taxes, she shook his hand firmly and he said to her

  “You said you’re from social services?”

  “Yes. I’m Vera’s case worker, and I wondered if you could provide some background on the house. I believe she owns it?”

  “More or less. Technically we own it now, but it’s the house that belonged to her grandmother. I went to school with Vera, she was always different. Her odd ways didn’t matter quite so much when she was younger. And kids aren’t quite so mean at eight and nine years old.

  My mother said she just had an active imagination and made up imaginary people. Her own Mum thought she’d grow out of it. But she never did.”

  Sanders fell silent for a moment, and then started up again. Anne didn’t interrupt, sometimes people just need to talk, get things off their chest.

  “Yeah, it was hard for her at school, alright, and the teachers were harder the older she got. By the time we were teens, we were dreadful to her. I called her freak, fruitcake, loony. Vera was some kind of a 3rd or 4th cousin, and I was ashamed of being related to her, no matter how distant. I treated her as bad as anyone. If I remember correctly, I would have been about twelve or thirteen when Vera finally quit and stayed home and she never moved out, even after her mother died. Of course, her grandmother died long before that. It was after her mother died that people started believing she was talking to ghosts, and not just imaginary friends. Some said she couldn’t bear to let them go, others said they couldn’t bear to leave her. It was all a bit sad, to tell you the truth. But despite the teenage years, in the end she had friends she didn’t know about. People in the town would drop off food for her, try to look out for her.” A repentant expression flitted across his face. “Some of us still do, making up for past mistakes.” They both fell silent and finally Anne broke the lull. Carefully she posed a question.

  “So, I presume you aren’t in a position to help Vera out. But I am. How much would it cost to take the house off the council’s hands?” Sanders snapped from his memories and an unbelievably cold vibe replaced his previously cordial manner.

  “Why are you so interested in Vera’s home?” She smiled reassuringly, hoping to convey she understood his concerns, although in fact, she really didn’t.

  “Vera needs to be in her own house. She’ll fade away to nothing and die in some lonely facility.

  And the house itself has --- character. It’d be a shame to tear it down. Besides, I didn’t know about you and I’ve applied to become her legal guardian, I’d like to take care of her in her own home.”

  Sanders thumbed through his papers and eyeballed her.

  “Since the house has been in disrepair for so long now, it would need to be brought up to code for safety standards before we could let anyone live in it. We would require electrical, plumbing, roofing, any foundational work that needs doing and general repairs. But I suppose that right now you’d be wanting to just pay the back taxes and I’d have to take you on your word that you’ll get the work done.”

  Anne felt self-conscious, he didn’t even try to hide his newly found hostility. Her brows knit together, she ran her fingers unconsciously over her face, along her scar, which, if he knew her, would have revealed her feelings of vulnerability.

  “I don’t think it’s in need of foundational repair, and surprisingly, downstairs isn’t too bad. But regarding what it does need, I have money set aside. I can take care of it.”

  Sanders studied her as if she were planning a grand theft, “How do I know you are not on the payroll of Vincent Mallard?”

  “What? Who is Vincent Mallard? I don’t even know who that is, and why would you ask me that?” Her nose crinkled up as though she had smelled something particularly nasty.

  Pulling herself tall in the chair she eyeballed him. “Mr. Sanders, I suppose you heard that there’s been a dead body found in the house recently. An unsolved murder? Well, as a result of it, Vera is currently in a psych facility and that’s where

  she’ll remain if someone doesn’t become her legal guardian. That person is me, and…”

  “So, as you said - you work for Social Services? Pam Stiller’s your boss – correct?”

  “Ye-es? But Pamela has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t even want me there. Feel free to ask around.” Sander’s raised an eyebrow and studied her. Anne took a long breath.

  “I was a problem child transferred to her department against her desires and Pamela doesn’t know it - but I don’t even need that job. I have plenty of money. Look Mr Sanders, my reasons are personal. I simply want to help Vera. However, the only way to really help her is to keep her in her own home.” Sanders pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together.

  “I suppose you know Pam was the one who tried to get the building demolished in the first place?”

  “No! I had no knowledge of it.” Anne’s voice had risen an octave and she intentionally brought it back to normal. That bitch. She acted like she barely knew about it. “But why would she do that?”

  “Vincent Mallard is her long-time boyfriend. We all went to school together, separated by a few years, but we all know each other. Any-way the short story is that Vincent left town after high school and returned home some thirty-five years later as a big-time developer, and he hooked up with Pam again. He’s got all those warehouses out by Vera’s house. It was him that pushed for the new highway. He wanted the house and the land around it.

  It’s right between the other holdings he owns. But it wasn’t possible to negotiate with Vera, so he didn’t get it.”

  Anne’s eye’s opened wide. “Are you saying—"

  “That’s when Pam got really interested in having that place demolished, she’d come up here and say we needed to inspect it, that it was run down and unsafe for habitation. And after that first murder up there she really put the pressure on, saying it was an attractant for dangerous vagrants and Vera might get hurt.”

  He paused, and Anne waited for him to go on.

  “But us old geezers that work here, we knew what was going on, and we didn’t want to put Vera out of her house - so we never did.”

  Anne was glued to the chair, working hard not to appear too shocked, so she kept her face expressionless.

  “Weren’t you worried about Vera after that murder?”

  “We all know Vera couldn’t have committed that crime, or the most recent one. And since I got older and realised I don’t know as much as I did when I was a kid, I opened my mind to the possibility that maybe she’s got something the rest of us don’t. And maybe someone was looking out for her.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “The thing is, now that the highway has gone through, the land is worth a lot more, and Vincent started poking around about asking about back taxes, but I heard about it and I wouldn’t chuck her out.”

  Sanders face looked like thunder. “He was a bully back then, and he is today.” Then he said something that made Anne’s hair stand on end - she didn’t even think he knew he said it.

  “I wondered about the timing of that last bloke, the one that wound up dead the other week. Vincent had made a comment. He said you never knew what types were around and the old girl might like to move on of her own accord anyway.”

  Anne felt chills run down her spine. She didn’t mention the man that had run screaming down the pathway. The one Harriet had
saved her from. All of Anne’s confusion about Sanders attitude disappeared and she held her hand out to him again.

  “If you let me buy the house I promise I will do the repairs, Mr. Sanders. You can make it part of the contract if you like. Vera will be safe. I’ll see to it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The tape around the house had been removed a few days ago. Anne entered the house. Despite the cold, she broke into a sweat and fought to quell her nerves.

  Was any of this stuff real? I must be totally losing it. Am I honestly going to ask permission to get the house fixed?

  “Harriet?” Anne’s voice was louder than it needed to be and she hunkered her frame into the back of the door. “Harriet, I kept my promise, I’ve saved the house and Vera is coming home. But there are some things that have to happen here first. The house needs repairs. If it doesn’t happen then the council will still demolish it and the doctors will make Vera live somewhere else. So now I need you to co-operate. There’s going to be workmen. You have to let them do their job, or else she’s not allowed to move back in, OK?”

  The blood was pumping through Anne’s head, like a wild river rushing toward a water fall. Despite her intense desire to turn and run, Anne stayed fixed in place, whether through fear or some other phenomenon it was impossible to know.

  The house grew steadily colder and her breath became uneven, yielding frosted wisps from her mouth.

  “Harriet? Are you going to show yourself? I know you’re watching me.” The space in-front of the stairwell shimmered icy blue. Frosted letters formed briefly, then curled into formless vapours. A scared whimper snuck out from Anne’s mouth, but if Harriet had wanted to hurt her, Anne knew she was perfectly capable of it, so instead of fainting as she wanted to, she sounded the letters out. “No Visitors.”

  “OK, I get it Harriet, but you can’t have it both ways. To have Vera back in the house, it needs to be fixed.”