‘Do you think that’s the end of it?’ I asked Ben the next day. We’d met for lunch and a debrief at a local cafe, near the library. We sat in the corner, away from the crowds. Everyone was so caught up in their own conversations they didn’t care what we were talking about anyway. It was usually writers who tended to eavesdrop, and they usually assumed we were talking about a book idea or role playing.
Ben sipped his coffee, taking a few moments before replying. ‘I don’t know. There are no signs to confirm it’s one ghost possessing people and jumping from victim to victim, or that it’s multiple ghosts. Lila’s complete lack of memory for the last fortnight sounds like just one, but that’s not to say there aren’t more in other people.’
‘Well isn’t that just great?’ I grumbled. ‘Did you at least find anything from the drawing that Edie gave you?’
‘Possibly. It looks like he came from a local mine. I have a meeting with a local historian tomorrow to talk some more about the industry. She’ll know more than me.’ He rummaged in his messenger bag, which was dangling on the back of the plastic chair, then pulled out Josh’s drawing.
‘I sent her a copy of the photo and she said it’s very specific to a particular time. That might help.’ He pushed the drawing across the table towards me. ‘I thought you might want to keep the original.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, folding it back up and putting it into my handbag. ‘Do you think the earthquake could’ve brought out this guy? He didn’t sound very friendly.’
‘It’s possible. Natural disasters have disturbed ghosts in the past,’ he said.
‘Or they’ve been caused by ghosts being disturbed,’ I added.
He nodded. ‘Like the recent one around here.’
‘Exactly.’
We paused for a moment as our food arrived. Two full English breakfasts with all the trimmings. Yum.
‘So what you’re really worried about is that there are more of them? And that this ghost is after Edie?’
‘In a nutshell,’ I said.
‘Why do you think he’d be after Edie?’ he asked as he picked up his cutlery and sliced into a sausage.
‘Well, Javi was a prankster when he was alive, but he wouldn’t have interrupted a seance to tell me Edie was in danger unless she actually was in danger. That’s intense even for him. And…’ I tapped my cutlery on the edge of the plate. I’d already told Ben a lot. Did I really want to keep dragging him into all this?
He stopped eating to study me. Pretty sure I looked like crap from all the worrying, but it didn’t seem to bother him. ‘And what?’
I cut up my egg, even though I’d lost my appetite. Initially, I hadn’t wanted to get Ben involved. Somehow, he’d ended up more involved than almost anyone else. How had that happened so fast? If he was already in, I might as well be honest with him.
‘She’s powerful. More powerful than anyone else I’ve met.’
He buttered some toast, then placed it onto his plate and spooned some baked beans on top of it. ‘Powerful in what way?’
‘She’s sensitive. She nearly suffocated in that damn house yesterday. I felt awful for taking her but I’m not sure I could’ve done the exorcism without her.’ Feeling too sick to eat, I put my cutlery down.
‘I’ve never known someone react that badly to the atmosphere in a house before.’
‘Exactly. And this ghost wasn’t even that powerful. I kept her away because I know she can feel more than most of us and I wanted her to have a normal childhood. But what if it goes beyond what she can sense? What if she has some other powers we don’t know about?’
Ben put down his cutlery and regarded me for a moment. ‘Like what?’
‘I have no idea. That’s what scares me.’
*
After an anti-climactic lunch with Ben, I headed to my regular meeting with Mrs Brightman. She’d hired me to sand down all her wooden furniture and re-varnish it, which would take at least a few days, if not longer. The face mask was a pain to wear, but I wasn’t inhaling all those shavings. I liked my lungs fully functioning, thank you very much.
Mrs Brightman didn’t care. She sat on a bench a few feet away, nursing a cup of tea.
I supposed, at her age, she was past caring.
‘You know, there’s this really lovely boy from church I could set you up with,’ she said as I stopped for a breather.
‘Thanks, but I’m interested in someone a bit older than a boy,’ I said, wiping my brow with the back of my sleeve.
Her husband sat beside her, a warm expression on his face whenever he looked at her. He met my eye and mouthed ‘sorry’. I shrugged. He laughed.
‘Oh, psht! You know what I mean. At my age, everyone is a boy.’
‘He is lovely,’ said Mr Brightman.
I glared at him.
‘Sorry. Not helpful, I know.’
I shook my head at him. It was hard replying to ghosts vocally when the living were around – most got freaked out by the prospect, so it was safer not to tell them.
That, or they’d cling on to the fact that their loved one was still around and wouldn’t be able to move on with their life. Mrs Brightman was happy in her house, drinking tea and going to church. And apparently finding odd jobs for me to do. I didn't want to accept that and risk her heart condition with, ‘By the way, your dead husband is sitting right beside you.’ If I told her that, even if she didn’t believe me, I was pretty sure it’d trigger a one-way trip to the hospital.
‘You should give him a chance. You don’t know what the townspeople say about a single, middle-aged woman,’ said Mrs Brightman.
‘You do know it’s the twenty-first century, right? Being single and female isn’t a crime anymore.’ I put my mask back on, then leaned onto the sander, figuring that was a better source for my anger than the well-meaning octogenarian in front of me.
‘Still. What will you do when your daughter moves out?’ she asked, the next time I paused.
‘Walk the dog more.’
Mrs Brightman rolled her eyes. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having someone to warm your bed at night.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with using an electric blanket either.’ I decided that was a safer response than mentioning a vibrator. She was so old school she probably wouldn’t even know what one was. Or would be so horrified she’d never let me back in.
‘Would you like some tea? You look like you could use a break,’ she offered.
I’d only been going for ten minutes, but sure, why not? ‘That would be great, thanks.’
Mrs Brightman smiled, then went inside.
Her husband walked over as I carried on sanding. Since my mouth was covered, nobody would be able to tell I was talking to a dead person. ‘She means well.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m not annoyed at her. Just her attitudes.’
‘Yes, well. She can’t help those. Can you imagine what she’d be like if she knew I was a ghost?’
‘Which is why I haven’t told her,’ I said, turning the sander off and leaning against the wall. Why was I doing it in October, when it was bloody freezing? That had been a dumb idea.
Her garden was fairly open, making it easy for the cold air to get to me, no matter how many layers I was wearing or how much manual labour I was doing.
Since I was outside, I’d still had to put sunscreen on, too. Being ginger was such a pain if you didn’t want to look like a tomato all the time.
‘Have you heard anything about the ghosts that appeared above Hucknall recently?’ I asked Mr Brightman. Had he been one of them? If he was, did he have any memory of it?
‘I didn’t see it – I was too busy watching my wife – but I’ve heard whisperings since. Everyone – the ghost everyone, I mean – knows something is wrong. The atmosphere in town has changed. It’s more negative, less welcoming. Like a black cloud hovering over everything.’
I pursed my lips. Ghosts were more sensitive to things like that than humans – even those of us who could see ghosts. They were more open to it because they weren’t held back by their corporeal forms. ‘Can you tell where it is?’
‘Everywhere.’
I shuddered.
‘You can’t be chilly out here, doing all that work!’ said Mrs Brightman, returning with a tray holding two cups of tea and some biscuits.
‘Trapped nerve,’ I said.
‘Ah, someone stepped on your grave,’ she said.
God, I hoped not.