The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  Tapping the panel, she was satisfied. Aha, she told herself, no ghost and no outsider. Her furnace expert had undoubtedly forgotten to close the fastener. For that, she told herself that she would not hire him again. His oversight had scared her half to death. Laughing at the knife in her hand, she returned to the kitchen. For some reason, the wine tasted more delicious than usual.

  At bedtime, doors locked, house silent, Monica placed her phone face down on the nightstand and took a mental picture of it. She wanted it etched in her brain. For a moment, she considered leaving the lights on, but she rejected that. She was reasonably sure she wouldn’t do anything in the night that required light. As she fell asleep, she congratulated herself.

  She had solved the mystery of the knocking without any help. Take that, Charlie.

  When Monica woke, she was turned upside down in the bed was facing the loo, a new position for her. But it made no difference. She rolled over and looked at the nightstand. The phone was there.

  But it was face up.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Monica reached her small office at the TV studio, she had overcome the shakes that filled her the second she set eyes on her phone. She had recalled that mental image, the exactness with which she had set the phone on the nightstand—face down. She was certain of that. Yet, the phone had somehow flipped over. How? Did she wake during the night and flip it? She didn’t remember flipping it, but Nigel had assured her that people did things during the night that they swore they hadn’t done. He had a name for it, a name Monica couldn’t remember.

  Not that it mattered. It was just a phone. That much became clear after her third cup of coffee. Just a phone. And she was reasonably sure she wasn’t going to solve the mystery any time soon.

  “Your guest has arrived,” the assistant producer said to Monica.

  “And that is?”

  “You don’t remember? Gustav Andersen, the ghost hunter.” The assistant producer handed over a page of questions. “He’s the perfect Halloween guest. Here are your questions.”

  As Monica reviewed the questions, she thought perhaps Gustav was indeed perfect. With her house in mind, Monica grabbed a pen and jotted down several additional questions.

  Gustav Andersen looked too old to be a ghost hunter. Bald, white goatee, blue eyes, he looked more professor than paranormal seeker. Yet, his smile was lively, and he had an on-air presence that Monica appreciated. Too many times, Monica had been saddled with a guest who seemed more like a cadaver than a live human. In his black turtleneck and jeans, Gustav projected a perfect counterpoint to Monica’s short, tight dress and high heels.

  “Where do you typically find paranormal activity?” Monica asked.

  “First, I should say that true paranormal activity is rare. Typically, we find evidence in perhaps one out of a hundred cases. And there is no special place for the activity. Sometimes

  a house, sometimes a church, sometimes a graveyard, it is difficult to predict where you’re going to run into it.”

  “And if it’s a house?”

  “Well, it has to be a special house. You don’t find paranormal activity in new, high-rise condominiums. But if the house is older and has a history of, let us say, issues, then, perhaps you’ll find activity.”

  “What about houses that aren’t truly haunted?”

  “We’ve found that in those instances, there was usually a teen around. We don’t know if the teen triggered the events or perhaps instigated them, but upon rigorous examination, no activity could be verified.”

  Monica glanced at her notes. “And does activity increase close to Halloween?”

  “Reports of activity increase. People like to participate in holidays, so when Halloween arrives, people like to see ghosts and the dead and hear the cries of those in the grave. When December comes around, people say Merry Christmas. At Halloween, they see apparitions.”

  Monica led Gustav through the questions, letting him explain how he processed a possible site. Cameras, sensors, recorders. He used the latest in equipment to detect and measure psychic power. Monica couldn’t see herself setting up cameras in her bedroom, but if she kept finding her phone moved, she would do something. After the interview, Monica managed to get Gustav off to one side where their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

  “I have a question,” Monica began. “If there is a ghost in the house, how do you get rid of it?”

  “Are you asking for yourself or someone else?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not. Well, if you’re talking about a demon or a devil, then an exorcism or blessing might work. If you’re talking about a soul that didn’t move on for some reason, then the object would be to discover why the soul stayed behind. Give the soul what it wants, and that should solve the problem.”

  “What would a ghost want?”

  Gustav shrugged. “Sometimes justice, sometimes love, sometimes revenge. Sometimes, they want something special returned or added or whatever. The problem isn’t giving them what they want. The problem is finding out what they want.”

  After Gustav left, Monica spent hours pondering his advice. She had no idea if she had a ghost or demon or whatever, and if she did, what did it want? She couldn’t fancy herself going to some priest and asking him to chant a whatever out of her house. And she didn’t really know if she even had a ghost or demon or whatever. It was crazy to even think about. There were no ghosts. Isn’t that what she had been taught? Ghosts were for people not strong enough to explore shadows after the sun set.

  She wasn’t one of those people. Still, did it make sense to research the history of her house? What did a little knowledge hurt? And she didn’t have to be blatant about it. She could do it on the sly. Charlie wouldn’t have to know. Yes, that made sense. Charlie wouldn’t have to know. Because if Charlie knew, she would blame everything on Monica having carelessly done a wee on a grave. That was what Monica really feared.

  The first thing Monica did when she got home was to lock all the doors and all the windows. She wasn’t going to take chances. Then, she drew a hot bath and slipped out of her clothes and the cares of the day.

  She listened for a moment. No knocking. She smiled as she lit a vanilla scented candle and slipped into the tub. She didn’t notice the odd odour.

  Chapter Six

  The dream wasn’t like any Monica had ever had before. She knew it was a dream because Lauren was in it, and Lauren was dead. She and Lauren were wearing Halloween costumes. They were walking through the cemetery, the short cut. For some reason, Charlie wasn’t there, which didn’t seem right to Monica. Charlie was always with them when they cut through the cemetery. But she wasn’t this night. It was just Lauren and Monica, and they were walking in the rain. And it was rain, not some mist or drizzle like London so often experienced. This was rain, solid rain, so much rain that it ran down Monica’s face and into her mouth. So much rain that she was spitting it out, but it filled her mouth faster than she could spit. So much rain that Lauren said to stop spitting and to let the rain fill up all of Monica. Let Monica become one with the water, breathe the water.

  “Wake up!”

  Monica heard the words as if they were miles away.

  “WAKE UP!”

  The words were louder, and Monica thought she knew the voice. Who was it? Someone she had heard before.

  “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WAKE UP!”

  The dream disappeared. The rain disappeared. Monica looked up at…Charlie.

  “Come on,” Charlie said and grabbed Monica under the arms. “You need air.”

  Monica couldn’t quite fathom what Charlie was doing. Monica discovered she was out of the tub, and Charlie was dragging her out of the loo and across the bedroom. That’s when Charlie dropped her.

  As soon as Monica hit the floor, she felt like sleeping. Hadn’t she been having the grandest dream? Why did Charlie interrupt that? Monica just wanted to sleep.

  Charlie grabbed Monica again and pulled her to the open wi
ndow. Open window? Didn’t Charlie know that Monica kept the windows closed and locked? Didn’t Charlie know?

  “Breathe,” Charlie ordered. “Breathe.”]

  Her head out the window, Monica breathed because frankly, she didn’t have any choice. She had to breathe, didn’t she? Everyone breathed. And as Monica breathed, her brain started to clear. The dream faded. Monica discovered that she was naked, and that the night air was cold. Still, Charlie held her out the window.

  “Stay here,” Charlie said. “I’m going to open more windows.”

  Monica wanted to ask why Charlie was opening windows. It wasn’t as if the house was warm.

  They didn’t need cold air. But while Monica might have wanted to say something to Charlie, she couldn’t bring herself to pull her head out of the cold, night air. For some reason, it felt incredibly good.

  “OK,” Charlie said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Mixed up,” Monica answered. “What are you doing here, and why do I have my head stuck out a window?”

  “Because your house is full of gas. When you didn’t answer your phone, I came over, and I knew right off what the problem was. I found you passed out and were almost under water.”

  “Passed out? Are you sure?”

  “I’m going to get you some clothes. Then, you’re coming to my flat. You can’t stay here until the leak is fixed.”

  “Are you sure I was passed out?”

  Charlie didn’t answer. Monica closed her eyes and breathed in the night air. For some reason, what Charlie had said didn’t make sense. Monica would have to ask more questions.

  The ride to Charlie’s flat cleared Monica’s head. At least, it cleared some of the cobwebs.

  “I…I don’t remember smelling gas,” Monica said.

  “Probably because of the candle which luckily had burned out. Gas and flame make for explosions. But never mind. Are you sure you don’t need the emergency crew?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. And I have to thank you. I can’t believe you came over just because I didn’t answer the phone.”

  “It wasn’t just the phone. I talked to Kahil.”

  “Oh god, your psychic.”

  “She said to take special care of you. Especially after that happened to Lauren.”

  “What else would you expect a psychic to say?”

  “It’s not funny. She thinks maybe you upset a ghost.”

  “I’m not giving any credence to a psychic. Having to answer the call nature, accidentally on a grave does not make you the enemy of the bones that lie beneath.”

  “I want you to listen to her. I mean, you just had your entire heating system inspected, and a few days later, it springs a leak? That’s a coincidence?”

  “What else could it be?”

  “A spirit that wants to get even. That’s what it could be.”

  Monica wasn’t about to grant Charlie any sort of validity. There was no way some spirit from the cemetery could find her house and loosen a pipe fitting. That was crazy thinking and crazy talk. That was the stuff of B-grade movie plots. The world didn’t work that way.

  “I tell you what,” Charlie said. “Do one visit with me. If Kahil doesn’t make sense, then you walk. And I won’t bother you anymore. Deal?”

  “Do you really want this to happen?” Monica asked.

  “I think we both need it.”

  Monica thought a moment. “OK, on one condition.”

  “Name it

  “You never mention this to anyone. Her either- you make sure she doesn’t mention it. I don’t want a Guardian headline to proclaim that the co-host on the morning telly believes in ghosts and needs a psychic.”

  “I promise neither of us will ever say a word.”

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard people promise that.”

  Charlie laughed. “Yes, but I mean it.”

  Monica really couldn’t say how much she appreciated Charlie as a friend. Monica didn’t doubt that had it not been for a missed phone call, she would be as dead as Lauren, as dead as the person in her dream. If visiting some fake seer would make Charlie happy, then Monica was only too eager to oblige.

  “Remember,” Charlie said as she handed Monica a pillow and a blanket. “You promised to go with me.”

  “I know what I said,” Monica said. Then, she reached out and hugged Charlie. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Just before Monica fell asleep, a small knocking filtered through her brain. But only for an instant, only long enough to stoke the tiny fear that had taken up residence in her head

  Chapter Seven

  Kahil’s séance room was nothing like Monica had expected. Unlike the movies or novels, the room was bright and airy. There was no crystal ball or tarot deck or even a candle. The round, oak table was as ordinary as dirt. For a moment, Monica wondered if there would be incense. She didn’t need to worry. When Kahil entered, she immediately lit several incense sticks. Monica couldn’t name the scent, but it wasn’t displeasing.

  “Charlie has told me about you,” Kahil said as she shook hands. Kahil was tiny, short, thin, her black hair hung to her waist. Her brown skin spoke to a Caribbean island perhaps or North African city, but her accent was pure UK. Monica doubted that her real name was “Kahil”, but she did have an exotic aura.

  “Charlie has been known to lie,” Monica answered.

  Kahil laughed. “Indeed, as do we all. Now, I understand you do not believe in people like me.”

  “I wouldn’t say I don’t believe as much as I don’t understand how you do what you do.”

  “I doubt any of us, including me, understand exactly how we do what we do. But whether you believe or not, I think I can help.”

  Monica wasn’t at all sure Kahil could help. After all, the repairman had found and fixed the leak in the gas pipe. Yes, the fitting was new, but even new fittings failed at times. That’s what the repairman said. So, why was she in this room with Charlie and Kahil?

  Because she had promised.

  “Charlie has made me aware of the cemetery,” Kahil said. “And I’ll be the first to say that simply desecrating a grave doesn’t usually lead to retribution. Most souls have moved away from their corporeal bodies. There is nothing there to be offended.”

  “But some stay behind, right?” Charlie asked.

  “Indeed. Some souls have unfinished business. They cannot rest until their earthly affairs have been attended to.”

  “And this case?”

  Kahil looked straight at Monica. “You have experienced some unsettling events, have you not?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Charlie told me. Blasts of frigid air. Knocking. Things being moved. Happenings that are far from ordinary. And the gas leak? I would say this spirit is very angry.”

  Monica looked from Kahil to Charlie. She felt as if she was being two-timed, pushed toward a conclusion that she wasn’t

  at all sure was valid. Yet, she couldn’t argue the truth of what Kahil said. Those “events” were indeed unsettling.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Kahil said. “You’re thinking that all those little things can be explained. Look at them from a different angle, and they’re nothing more than the vagaries of life. Don’t worry. They’re just bad luck. Now, look ahead, Monica. Look at what might happen next. Charlie may not be there next time. Those little things might add up to something big. Are you willing to predict the future? Are you willing to bet on it?”

  Monica thought for a moment. Kahil had a point. While everything that had happened could be explained, what lay ahead? It wasn’t as if she was changing her beliefs.

  She still didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits or lost souls or any of that stuff. And if she looked at it in a slightly different way, she could justify listening to Kahil. After all, if she did everything Kahil suggested, and nothing changed, then this psychic claptrap was just that...claptrap. So, maybe, she should look at this as in investigation, a story she would pursue
for her telly show. Wasn’t that the best idea? She was going along so she could expose the fakes. That made sense, didn’t it?

  “OK,” Monica said. “Suppose I buy this ghost theory. What is it that I have to do next?”Kahil smiled.

  “I knew you would see it our way,” Charlie said.

  “If you would stop the spirit, you must discover what it needs and then provide it,” Kahil said.

  “That should be easy,” Monica said. “Just chase down some dead person and find out what made him or her pissed off.”

  “Him,” Charlie said and showed them her phone. “Him.”

  Monica looked. On the phone was the photo of her answering nature’s call. In the pic the gravestone was clear. The man they had to research was…

  ELROD FENTON PEAL

  “Who the bloody hell is Elrod Fenton Peal?” Monica asked.

  Chapter Eight

  Gustav rubbed his goatee and sipped his tea. “I’m not sure I understand. Why did you come to me about this?”

  Monica smiled her best smile, the one she used when she wanted something very badly. “I thought of you because I know you’re serious about these things, and you know how to go about it. After all, you investigate supposed incidents of paranormal events for a living.”

  “Yes, but why this person? Where is the connection to an event?”

  “I suppose I should tell you the whole, unseemly truth.”

  “That would be the place to start.”

  Monica sipped her tea. “Well, it began with a Halloween costume party.”

  For the next ten minutes, Monica revealed the events that had led her to Kahil and Elrod Fenton Peal. Monica knew her tale sounded like a schoolgirl’s secret notebook, but she had promised Charlie and Kahil. That was enough.

  “I’m not terribly impressed with psychics,” Gustav said when Monica finished.

  “Neither am I if the truth be known, but I want to exhaust this direction of inquiry. Once it’s out of the way, I can discard the angry spirit idea.”