Call Me Jane

by Ryan Maitland

  “Obviously,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

  “My name is Peter and you don’t belong here!” he screamed in my face, getting nose-to-nose with me. “This is my house and you can’t have it!”

  I confess, there are times when I envied ghosts… They can get away with screaming to their heart’s content and I’m the only one that can hear them, much less rebuke their volume.

  “Are you the one scaring people away?” I asked, unfazed by him. Benjamin used to get into moods like this, too, sometimes. Ghosts can’t actually hurt you, although… if he was the one that had knocked the book off its shelf, then may he could!

  “They wanted to take my home!” he screamed at me, louder than before. I’d try plugging my ears, but it doesn’t work. I don’t think I hear ghosts through my ears, so plugging them does nothing.

  I glanced nervously behind me, listening intently to hear if Beth might be wondering what was taking me so long or maybe nervous about leaving me in a house she was responsible for. I couldn’t hear her so either she was staying in the dining room or she was stealthier than I thought. Either way, I needed to wrap this up quickly, lest she find out how strange I really am.

  I turned back to Peter, putting my hands on my hips in imitation of him, and asked him, “You obviously know you’re dead, what with the floating and all, so what’s the real reason you’re trying to scare everyone away?”

  Peter looked startled and floated a few feet back. His face was one of deliberation as he considered whether he should tell me.

  “You may as well tell me,” I fired at him, trying to nudge him to the correct decision. “I doubt you’ll find anyone else that will be able to hear you.”

  Peter looked dejected as he answered, “I’m waiting for my sister, Wendy, to come home. She’s shy and she won’t come if people are here.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, my voice going sympathetic. “Did she die, too?” I asked, gently. I knew it was a silly question, given the style of his clothes, but Sarah had always warned me against assuming anything.

  He nodded mutely before answering in a soft whisper that I probably would not have been able to hear without my… special affinity to ghosts, “They found her frozen body a day before I died…”

  Oh. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, at first. By this time, Peter had only been the second ghost I’ve spoken with, but I’ve learned in my long life that nobody has stories more depressing than ghosts.

  “Can I ask how you died?” I asked him as gently as I could.

  “I had a bad cough and a fever,” he answered just as softly as before.

  I nodded for him to continue and he took the hint, looking slightly relieved to be able to tell someone what had happened.

  “Wendy and I went to play hide-and-seek before the snow fell,” Peter continued. “Wendy was hiding somewhere in the woods. Then the blizzard came and we both got lost. Nana found me and carried me inside, but I was already so cold… They tried to find Wendy, but the blizzard got bad and night was coming and so they… gave up.” He said this last bit with a small whimper and sob.

  I confess I was getting teary-eyed at this story, too…

  “And then you got sick,” I told him softly, picking up where this story was heading. “Pneumonia or something…”

  Peter nodded, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

  “And they started searching for Wendy, again, the next morning,” I continued, getting nods of agreement from Peter. “Only it was too late… the night would have been bitterly cold, dark, and lonely… She would have been buried in snow… so finding her would have been difficult…”

  “Yes,” Peter agreed ever more softly.

  “Did they find her the next day?” I asked, now riveted, yet horrified, by this unfolding tragedy.

  Peter shook his head before answering, “It was two days after that morning that someone found her…”

  “Do you know where they found her?” I asked, already forming the rough outlines of a plan. It was a wild and crazy plan, but I was becoming more determined to implement it, the more I heard Peter’s sob story.

  What can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for missing, lonely, kids. I think I relate to them too much.

  “Uh-uh,” Peter answered shaking his head a little.

  I took a deep breath to center myself, wanting to think this through. Ghosts are said to appear when tragedy or gruesome death occur, or there’s ‘unfinished business’ that needs to be resolved. In Wendy’s case, a shy, terrified girl that froze to death all alone, I thought there was a good chance she might still be around much like Peter. Each was waiting for the other, but they were separated by being anchored to different places.

  “Peter,” I started, fitting my plan together quickly, “if I found Wendy, and brought her back, would you let me stay here?”

  Peter’s eyes went wide before he asked, his voice full of wonder, “You can do that?”

  “I can try,” I answered, not wanting to make promises I couldn’t keep. “If I do, will you let me stay?”

  “You bet!” Peter whooped, doing a loop-the-loop in the air in front of me!

  “Okay then,” I promised, looking at him meaningfully before heading back downstairs to Beth. My mind was busy formulating what I would tell her so as not to arouse her suspicion. From experience, I’ve learned that simpler is usually best, especially if you leave it to the other person to fill in the gaps. People are more willing to believe their own conclusions than any lie you care to tell them.

  “I love everything about the house!” I tell Beth as I almost bounce down the stairs. There’s so much potential here!” I tell her, using a word she had used on me. “Would it be possible to buy the house outright? I don’t want anyone else snatching this up waiting for a loan or anything…”

  I could see the delight in Beth’s eyes, even as she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to see the rest of the house?”

  “I’ll see it after I move in,” I tell her confidently.

  “I’ll draw up the paperwork, then!” Beth exclaims, practically singing with glee. “It’ll take me a few days; do you have a place to stay?”

  “I don’t…” I confessed. “Is there a motel near here?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you stay here?” she asked, motioning to the house. “There’s a fresh mattress upstairs, put there by the last people that…” she stopped abruptly.

  “Bought the house and were scared away?” I asked, figuring this is where she was going with it.

  “Yes…” she answered, sounding dejected, like she thought she had just blown the sale. “I have to tell you something. This house has changed hands over a dozen times in the last ten years. Most of them were people wanting to flip the house, but there was one or two that wanted an actual home to live in. Nobody has stayed in this house more than two nights in a row.”

  “Then I’ll be the first!” I state, like this was a foregone conclusion.

  “Still…” Beth hesitated, looking nervous, debating how much to tell me.

  “How about this?” I asked, offering a compromise, “I’ll stay here a few days and if I still want the house, I’ll buy it outright. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Beth answered, sounding relieved.

  Beth showed me to the third-floor master bedroom, which was a large room with dark hardwood floors. I hesitated in the doorway as the sight of the bare mattress on the floor flooded me with dread. Memories of my childhood washed through my head, overpowering my reason. I might have started hyperventilating…

  “Something wrong?” Beth asked. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I squeaked unconvincingly. I took a deep breath, focusing on centering myself and shoving those memories aside as well as I could. I took another deep breath or two, willing my heart to calm down. “Is there a furniture store around here that delivers?” I asked after a moment. “I was just thinking that…” I hesitated, not wanting to voice my dread at seeing that bare mattress on the
floor.

  “That nobody wants to sleep on a bare mattress on the floor of a drafty old house,” Beth answered, filling in her own reason for my dread.

  “Exactly!” I shout, relieved that she had come up with a story herself.

  “I understand completely,” she answered. She thought for a moment and continued, “I think there’s a bed frame in another room of the house. I think it was abandoned by one of the other owners. If you’re willing to help, I think we can move the mattress to the bed, okay?”

  “That’d be great!” I tell her more relieved than I can tell you.

  Beth nodded understanding before helping me maneuver the mattress to another, smaller, room that Peter readily informed me used to belong to him. I ignored him as best I could so Beth wouldn’t notice anything was amiss. I’ve had a lot of practice at ignoring the dead so the living don’t freak out…

  Before leaving, Beth checked the other rooms to ensure the electricity and water were working. Once she was satisfied, she handed me the keys and reminded me, “I’m just a phone call away. If you change your mind about the house and can’t stand another minute in the house, you call me, day or night, and I’ll come running, okay?”

  “Okay,” I tell her with a humoring smile.

  Once she was safely gone, I sat on the mattress, testing to see if any of the springs would poke through, and began to wonder if there were any food places that delivered.

  All in all, I think it went better than I could have hoped! After all, I had a deal with a ghost to leave me in peace if I found his sister, I had a deal with Beth to buy what I thought of as my dream house, and I had a place that would afford me the kind of privacy I had always wanted!

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Famous last words…

  Chapter 14

  Wendy

  I called a pizza delivery place for dinner before using Sarah’s bracelet to contact her.

  “So, did you find out why the house is so cheap?” she asked, trying to sound not weirded out by my method of reaching her.

  “Couple things,” I told her nonchalantly. “For one thing, the house will need a lot of work.”

  “I warned you about that,” Sarah chided gently. “And the other thing?”

  I took a deep breath and told her, “The house is haunted…”

  “Haunted?” she asked, ever the skeptic. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve met him,” I told her matter-of-factly. “I think he died of pneumonia after playing in a snowstorm. Apparently, he’s been scaring off anyone that tries to stay.”

  “But not you?” she asked. I could feel the thoughts going around in her head as to possible explanations for this. Part of her thought I might have come up with seeing ghosts as a coping mechanism for an entire childhood of loneliness, neglect, and abuse. Another part of her wanted to believe me. All of her wanted me to be well, which is the part I latched onto.

  “I grew up with a ghost,” I told her, depression creeping into my tone. “Benjamin was Billi’s brother; he died of cancer. Talking about him when Billi was around was…” I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

  “Grounds for a caning?” Sarah asked, horror flooding her mind.

  “Big time,” I confided. “I ignored him whenever Billi was around, but when I was alone… he was the only one I had to talk to…”

  “Until Tommy,” Sarah finished, ever the sharp one. There was a lot I had kept from her after seeing the horror and pity she expressed at hearing of some of my childhood scars. I don’t know if Sarah was just easy to read, wearing her emotions on her sleeve, or if I was just that skilled at reading people, having learned it as a matter of survival.

  “Benjamin understood my wanting to talk to Tommy over him,” I told her defensively. “Benjamin… apologized for Billi and made excuses for her…”

  I could feel Sarah expanding on her first thought of a coping mechanism, adding details with every word I told her. She worried about me, which was sweet and wonderful, but also painful to me. I didn’t want Sarah to worry about me; I wanted her to be confident that I wasn’t stark raving mad…

  “I don’t think it was a coping mechanism,” I told her, trying to assuage her concerns.

  This didn’t work the way I wanted it to.

  “Jane, are you reading my mind?” Sarah asked, her concern and fear ramping up, which is the complete opposite of what I had intended.

  “Sorry,” I told her quickly. “When I’m doing this, your thoughts sort of become my thoughts, but… separate… I can’t explain it well…” I confessed, feeling frustrated. Dammit, if I kept scaring her like this, I would lose her! I had to do something to keep her from running away!

  “I try to ignore them,” I tell her by way of showing that I cared about her privacy. “It’s just… sometimes it’s easier if I don’t ignore them. People seem to skirt around problems that are bothering them and they waste so much time! If they would just come out with it, it would be so much easier!”

  “Jane, I understand,” Sarah placated. “It just caught me off guard. It shouldn’t have, since I saw you do it with Mr. Magus, but it’s one thing to see it happening to someone else, and something else entirely to experience it firsthand.”

  “You’re not mad?” I asked, worried that I had hurt her.

  “Don’t you know?” Sarah half-mocked.

  Relief eased my worries. If Sarah was joking, even a little, then we were okay. “You’re concerned and a little embarrassed,” I told her gently, trying to make this less creepy than it must feel. “You want to believe me, but you’ve seen too many frauds and charlatans to accept it without a mountain of proof, even though you’ve seen what I can do.”

  “So, what is your assessment, counselor? How should we proceed?” she asked, awed and impressed, with some mirth thrown in for good measure.

  “Well, for now,” I tell her, steering the conversation back on course, “I’ve made a deal with the boy that died here to find his sister. She froze to death nearby, alone and scared, so I’m hoping her ghost is still here.”

  “What will you do when you find her?” Sarah asked, her attention focusing.

  “Well, first I’ll tell her she’s not alone anymore,” I explained, thinking through the specifics of my plan. “Then I’ll tell her that her brother is waiting for her and wants to see her again.”

  “And then you’ll lead the brother to her?” Sarah asked, becoming slightly less skeptical.

  “No,” I answer gently. “It… doesn’t work like that. Peter is anchored to the house, so he can’t go to her…”

  “Anchored?” Sarah asked, slightly puzzled.

  “The ghosts that I’ve seen are either anchored to a person or a place,” I explain. “Those that are anchored to a person tend to be… more present… more coherent…”

  “And the ones bound to a place?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  “I think it depends,” I tell her, not quite sure. “Most of the ones I’ve seen before today were barely there, and usually don’t recognize that anyone else is there, but Peter… Peter is strong! He’s strong enough to knock objects over! Benjamin was never able to do that, that I’ve seen…”

  “So, what makes Peter different?” Sarah asked, sounding professorial.

  “I think it’s the house,” I answered, still unsure. “It’s where he grew up and where he died. The house means so much to him that it… I don’t know… strengthens him? Maybe the stronger the tie, the stronger the ghost?”

  “Are you asking me?” she asked, teasingly. “You seem to be the expert!”

  “Peter is only the second ghost I’ve ever really talked to,” I admit, a little defensively. “I’m still learning… still trying to figure it out.”

  “Still asking questions and testing your hypothesis?” Sarah asked. I could feel the smile on her face as she said this, thinking of the scientific method.

  “Always,” I tell her, smirking.

  “Good,” Sarah declared, nodd
ing.

  We said our goodbyes and I had some more pizza while kind of dreading the night to come. At least Peter was leaving me alone, for the most part, aside from staring at me with a scowl on his face.

  The first night there was rough, but not my worst night. Peter stayed quiet all night, but I got the impression that he was still watching me, which, if you can believe it, is actually creepier than it sounds, considering that he’s a ghost and doesn’t make any kind of sound…

  So, yeah, I didn’t get much sleep that night. New place, a bed that reminded me of childhood trauma, and a ghost keeping watch on me all night long will do that to you…

  I finally gave up trying to sleep at around two in the morning. I explored the house for a bit, using a combination of a flashlight and the house lights. On the top floor, in the little tower addition I had seen from the outside, I found a lovely little room that must have been a nursery of some kind. There was an old wooden rocking chair beside the window that looked out onto the front yard. When I ran my hand over the arms of the chair, I got a sense of love and caring, like the chair had absorbed the emotions felt while someone was sitting in it and I was reading them like a book.

  “That was Mom’s” Peter told me, somewhat angrily, scowling at me.

  “I’ll bet she sat in this chair and told you and your sister bedtime stories, didn’t she?” I asked, gently, still getting a contact high from the chair.

  Peter’s eyes went wide with wonder. “How did you know?” he asked in the barest whisper.

  “I can feel her love for you in this chair,” I told him, kind of amazed myself. This had never happened to me, so far as I knew… but then, I was always careful about what I touched. Growing up with Jack and Billi, touching something I wasn’t supposed to was grounds for a severe caning. Once I was with Sarah, I kept up the practice as I never knew if I might touch something with a strong connection to a person that would practically pull me into their head, leaving me dizzy. I also wasn’t completely familiar with societal norms and felt like an outsider in her home, so I tried to intrude as little as possible while I lived with her.