The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  “I see what you mean. Disproving something is just as valuable as proving something.”

  “So, you’ll consider it?”

  “I suppose I have to. You see, since I appeared on your show, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. And if I said I worked for free I’d be lying. So, quid-pro-quo. I’ll do this little look into Elrod—”

  “Elrod.”

  “Elrod and get back to you. In the meantime, I think I’ll have a bit more tea.”

  Monica smiled her second-best smile and leaned back. She had started the wheels turning, and that made her happy.

  Until she opened the door to her house.

  What met her at the door was a cacophony of beeps and buzzes. Frowning, she hurried to the kitchen which was the source of the noise. There she found every appliance spouting a warning sound. The microwave, the oven, the fridge, even the dishwasher were all shrilly protesting, as if they had been violated in some way. Crazy.

  Monica spent the better part of an hour silencing the various appliances. The last, a recalcitrant oven, caused her to consult the internet for a solution. That was when she discovered that her router was on the fritz.

  She had to use her phone to discover how to make the oven’s godawful buzz disappear. After that, she had to reboot the router which she did three times before it actually recovered. Her laptop required a reboot also, which led her to the conclusion that her house had suffered a massive power interruption. That was the only explanation, but it didn’t fit the weather which was benign. The former owners hadn’t mentioned a proclivity for power problems. In fact, she hadn’t experienced any problems since she moved in. So, why did she suffer a power issue this day?

  “Elrod,” Charlie said when Monica described the mess. “You have to give Elrod what he wants.”

  “And I have no idea what he wants, but I can’t believe Elrod knows enough to sabotage the power supply.”

  “Never underestimate a spirit. Have you tried incense?”

  “Why would I burn incense? I’m not trying to woo the stupid bloke.”

  Charlie went on to describe how Monica could keep Elrod from destroying the entire house, but Monica was no longer listening. Her problems didn’t originate with a ghost named Elrod. They originated with a house whose systems weren’t up to snuff. Once she fixed that, all the silly inconveniences would go away.

  That night, Monica performed her ritual. She locked all the doors and checked all the windows. She placed her phone face down on the nightstand and seared the image into her brain. She left the lamp on because somehow, she felt that a ghost would avoid light. Locked in, she sniffed the air to make sure the gas pipes weren’t leaking.

  Satisfied, she lay back in bed and closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when high-pitched whine started.

  “No, no, no, no, NO!” Monica said out loud. “You have to let me sleep!”

  She jumped out of bed, put on her robe, and flew out of the bedroom. She followed the sound to her office where she discovered that the sound came from the speakers attached to her computer. They had been turned up as loud as they could go. Luckily, there wasn’t any app feeding the speakers. She could only imagine the din if a music video were playing.

  She shut off the speakers, and to be safe, she turned off her computer. With everything off, she was reasonably sure they speakers would remain quiet. Although, why she believed that wasn’t exactly clear. If a ghost could goose the volume, would it matter if there was power? She didn’t hang around to answer her own question. She marched back to her bedroom and checked out the phone. It remained exactly as she had placed it. At least, that issue hadn’t come back to bite her. As a last resort, she dug out some ear plugs and stuffed them into her ears. Let the ghost raise the roof. She wasn’t going to be denied sleep. With a last look around, she settled into her pillows.

  And Monica did sleep. When she woke, she sat up and looked around her room. Why was it brighter? Then, she figured it out. She had overslept. Why? Because she hadn’t heard the alarm. Pulling out the ear plugs, she reached over and turned off the faint alarm. She didn’t need a loud alarm since she was a light sleeper, but if she wore ear plugs… She didn’t complete the thought. She leaped out of bed and ran for the shower. If she hurried, she could just make it.

  The cold shower made her shiver, but she didn’t have time to determine why the hot spigot spewed nothing but cold water. As she rinsed her hair, a project that took twice as long with cold water, she made a mental list of the problems she would have to check out, or rather have a handyman check out. Power, computer, router, appliances, water heater, the list wasn’t short or cheap. How had she managed to buy a house that needed some kind of repair every fifteen minutes? It was crazy.

  Monica’s phone rang three times before she answered it. Yes, she was on her way. Yes, she knew who her guests were going to be. No, she didn’t need someone to fill in. All she needed was two minutes with makeup, and she would be ready. And she was ready, although no one was going to label her show the best of her career. Still, she made no egregious errors. Her mistakes seemed almost purposeful, things to make the guests feel good. Right.

  “I caught your show this morning,” Charlie said over the phone. “Are you all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right,” Monica answered and proceeded to tell Charlie about all the things that had gone wrong with the house.

  “You really need to deal with Elrod,” Charlie said. “Have you heard from Gustav?”

  “Not yet, and I’m not entirely sure it’s Elrod. I may have a money pit of a house, a place where something breaks every day. It’s like old water systems. You repair one pipe, and it puts too much strain on an older pipe that springs a leak.

  You fix that pipe, and that’s more pressure on a third pipe. You’re better off replacing all the plumbing.”

  “Or finding out about a certain grave that was vandalized.”

  Monica had almost reached the end of her rope about Elrod. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t plagued by a ghost but by an old house.

  She met Gustav for lunch, and he appeared as upbeat as possible. He again thanked her for the interview and insisted on buying lunch. Monica didn’t care about lunch. She needed a solution, and if that solution included Elrod, well, she needed information.

  “Elrod Fenton Peal was not a likable fellow,” Gustav began. “He didn’t work. At least, he didn’t work steadily. When he did work, he ended up being fired for theft or insubordination or some other infraction of the rules. In fact, most people believed he never wanted to work in the first place.

  His wife, on the other hand, worked as a secretary for over thirty years. She possessed all the qualities Elrod lacked. If it were possible to marry oneself, she would have done so. Instead, she was saddled with Elrod.”

  Monica looked around the room to see if anyone recognised her. She could always tell when someone did, and she was pleased no one had pegged her.

  “What Elrod could do was drink,” Gustav continued. “As seems the norm, he liked his pints, and he had a favourite pub where he was barely tolerated. While he had an opinion about everything, he was usually wrong.

  Other patrons would hush him, and that brought on more fights than the owner could count. Elrod was banned for six months with the hope he would find another favourite place. He didn’t. He came back like a bad habit.”

  “So, we have a ner-do-well,” Monica said. “Why would he hang around his grave?”

  “Perhaps because of the way he died.”

  Monica sipped her tea and waited. Like a seasoned performer, Gustav smiled and milked the pause. She wanted to throw something at him.

  “How did he die?” Monica finally asked.

  “He drowned,” Gustav answered.

  “What’s so mysterious about drowning?”

  “He was found face down in a puddle barely six inches deep.”

  “Oh, spit.”

  “Precisely. The authorities believe he was drunk, fell or passed out,
and rolled into the puddle. Since it was raining, the hole filled up quickly. He didn’t wake, and he drowned.”

  “OK, OK, OK,” Monica said. “But why would that keep him from moving on to his just reward?”

  “Perhaps because of Percy Stonewright.”

  “Who is Percy Stonewright?”

  “He’s the bloke who got into a fight with Elrod shortly before Elrod was tossed out of the pub. According to what I could learn, Percival got the worst of the match and swore he would get

  even with Elrod who laughed the poor Percy out the door. Minutes later, Elrod followed as he had drunk away his quid, and no one would stake him to a pint. I don’t think anyone ever questioned Percy since Elrod had drowned the way he did. It wasn’t as if he had been bludgeoned or something.”

  “But you think Percy might have had something to do with it.”

  “I have no idea. Neither did Elrod’s wife. While Elrod might have considered his death bad luck, I don’t think his wife did. She wasn’t about to keep his memory alive by insisting on a police investigation—even if she could get one.”

  “So, Elrod seeks justice, something his wife won’t pursue, something the police won’t pursue. How can he move on when his murder goes unanswered? But why would he haunt me?’

  Gustav shrugged. “Because you’re on the telly? Because you have the wherewithal to make Percy pay? I don’t know. It might be that he simply can’t take being pissed on, if you forgive my speech. Elrod wasn’t a man to overlook even small slights.”

  Monica tapped her cup with her fingernail, trying to determine how much of Gustav’s tale was true, how much bunkum. She didn’t believe in spirits. She didn’t believe that a single indiscretion could lead to a haunting. Yet, what else did she have? She smiled, her third best smile and thanked Gustav. Did she need anything else from him? She shook her head. No, she would head on by herself—and Charlie.

  “Wonderful," Charlie said when Monica shared the story. “Now, all we have to do is track down Percy.”

  “No, we have done enough. I’m not going to find some old man and accuse him of drowning a man after a pub scrape. How would that read in the tabloids? Morning telly star goes off the deep end. No thank you. This stops here. I never believed in Elrod in the first place, and I’m not going to give some reporter a reason to laugh.”

  Charlie smiled. “That’s fine with me. I don’t think he’s the answer anyway.

  Monica didn’t answer. She simply knew that tracking down Percy was an act of desperation, and she was not yet that desperate.

  Chapter Nine

  Monica met the electrician in the kitchen. She sipped tea as he outlined what he had done. According to the electrician, the house was in tip-top shape. There were no electrical issues at all, and he had tested every circuit, outlet, and socket. They all worked, except for one outlet which he had replaced. So, he had no explanation for the loss of power that set off all the alarms and reset her router.

  “What about a power surge?” Monica asked.

  “I put a protector on the feed, so you no longer have to worry about that. But I have to tell you that you’re on a very stable loop. I did come checking before I came out, and the supply from the grid is steady.”

  “So, you can’t explain what happened?”

  He grinned. “Halloween ghosts, right?”

  Monica didn’t appreciate the stab at humour, so she paid the man and sent him on his way. Still, she was thankful. He had answered all her questions about the power system.

  If a surge had caused the earlier problem, then she wouldn’t be hearing jarring bings in the future. She tested the water in the kitchen, and it was as hot as she had expected in the morning. Should she call a plumber? Why? So, he could tell her that there was nothing wrong? So, he could hide a snide smile and take her money anyway? Sorry, she was going to pass on the plumber—until tomorrow if the water came out cold again.

  She thought about dinner. What did she want? She wasn’t going out. She was a bit tired for that. What would taste good?

  Soup. Soup would taste good. Simple, wholesome, easy to prepare. Throw in a small salad, and it was a meal. She smiled. First came the soup. Heinz tomato. She opened a can, emptied it into a bowl, and placed a paper towel on top. Then, she retrieved a carrot and some lettuce from the fridge and pulled out a cutting board. Placing the carrot and lettuce on the board, she took the bowl and placed it in the microwave. Since it was new, the microwave had a “soup” setting. She dialled and punched the “start” button. As the machine whirred, she returned to the cutting board.

  Picking up a sharp knife, she started with the carrot. Monica was not a trained chef, but how hard was it to cut up a carrot? She smiled as the scent of tomato soup filled the kitchen.

  Then, the knife slipped.

  It wasn’t a bad slip. She didn’t cut her finger. She merely knocked a carrot slice to the floor. Damn. She looked at it a moment, wanting to leave it there, but she had been raised to clean up when she made a mess. With a sigh, she leaned over to grab the carrot slice.

  That was when the microwave whine crescendoed For a moment, Monica was confused. What was making that noise?

  The microwave exploded.

  Monica felt something fly over her head and crash into the cabinets. When she looked, she saw the microwave door—smoking.

  She stood and turned to the microwave. Inside, the bowl of soup burned, sending out a foul, dark stench. Monica stared. All she could do was stare. If she hadn’t been bent over… She didn’t finish the thought. She began to shake. It started in her hands and spread to her arms and shoulders and body and legs and even eyes. She shook from head to toe, as scared as she had ever been in her life. Oh god, if it hadn’t been…

  Tears formed in her eyes.

  The smoke alarm spat out its jarring BLAT. Monica shuddered. Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked around the kitchen and slowly sank to the floor. She sat with her back to the cabinets and sobbed.

  Chapter Ten

  “So, are you ready to talk to her again?”

  Monica bit her nail, something she hadn’t done since she was eleven. Worse, she didn’t notice she was biting her nail. Instead, she was focused on Kahil who was busy draping a flowered, silk throw over a table.

  “Is that some kind of talisman?” Charlie asked.

  Kahil laughed. “I’m letting it dry. Let’s go outside.”

  Charlie laughed and followed Kahil into the garden. Monica stopped biting her nail long enough to bring up the rear.

  The garden was small but tidy with bushes and flowers all around. In the middle of the garden was a wrought iron table and four chairs. They found chairs and Kahil smiled.

  “Isn’t this better than that stuffy house?”

  “You work out here?” Monica asked.

  “The spirits are everywhere, so why not work where it’s pleasant. Now, you are here about the cemetery grave?”

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “We want to know how to give the ghost what it wants.”

  “We want to contact the dead man,” Monica said. “I need to know what to do.”

  “I don’t guarantee anything,” Kahil said. “Take my hand.” Charlie took one hand. Monica took the other.

  “This isn’t like the movies,” Kahil said. “You won’t hear any knocks or moans or screams. If this spirit is there, he’ll talk through me. What did you say his name is?”

  “Elrod Fenton Peal,” Monica said.

  “Elrod Fenton Peal,” Kahil repeated. “Elrod Fenton Peal.”

  Monica watched as Kahil closed her eyes and pursed her lips. To Monica, Kahil looked peaceful, at ease, a woman waiting for something, something good. And Monica hoped it would be good. Since the microwave incident, she had been reluctant to use her kitchen. What might happen next? Would the oven explode? Would the fridge spit ice cubes at her? Would the oak block let loose a salvo of sharp knives? No, the kitchen was off limits. And the bedroom might come next. Since the microwave, her phone had flipped
over twice. Monica was pretty sure that wasn’t because of a power surge. She bit her nail without knowing it.

  Kahil’s eyes popped open. Monica leaned forward, eager to hear.

  “Sorry,” Kahil said. “I’m not saying that Elrod isn’t around, but I’m afraid I can’t contact him. Sorry.”

  Monica looked at Charlie whose sick smile was worse than no smile at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie said as she slid a pint in front of Monica. “I thought sure she would be able to contact Elrod.”

  “He’s not around,” Monica said and grabbed the glass. “Or maybe he is, but he’s not going to make it easy.”

  Charlie sipped her pint. “We’re not giving up.”

  “Give up? How can we give up? As long as my house is unliveable, I’m going after this bastard.”

  “That’s my girl,” Charlie said and held up her glass.

  They clicked glasses and drank.

  “OK,” Charlie said as she set down the glass. “What’s next?”

  “We have a name,” Monica said.

  “Percy?”

  “Exactly. If he knows something about Elrod, about what Elrod might want, then, we’re going to get it out of him.”

  “How do we find Percy?” Charlie asked.

  “The same way Elrod did.”

  The Pig and Whistle was the sort of pub that never changed. The photos on the walls, the brass around the bar, the spidered mirror behind the overweight, balding bartender, they never changed. The nicked tables and chairs were the same. The split leather on the bar stools was permanent. Even the patrons were the same. Skinny ones who drank too much; fat ones who drank too much; old ones who drank too much; young ones who drank too much. The faces morphed from time to time, but the drinkers were the same, which was precisely why Monica thought she might be able to trace Percy. The only things that changed were the decorations. Pumpkins, witches, and spiders overlooked the bar.

  “Percy? Ya, I know the rat,” said a moustached man with florid cheeks and a plaid tam on his head. “That’s what we call him on account his face is all screwed up like a rat. We don’t mean nothin’ by it. It’s just our way of talkin’. Take me, they call me Shanty on account of me hat.” He tapped his head. “And we got Worm and Shorts and—“