Tell Him Now

 

 

Dr. Myles finished Mac’s emergency surgery around dawn. His prognosis for Mac was “wait and see.”

Everyone had been up all night, hoping and praying for good news.

The Morton gang staked claim to the waiting room. The assault of icy looks was too much for me to take, so I told Mom I’d be hanging out in the snack machine room. I think she wanted to come with me, but I knew Howard needed her more than I did. What Mom didn’t know was that I had Better Bertie to keep me company.

For hours, Better Bertie and I prayed for Mac. I kept expecting Sandra Morton to come haunt me, torture me, or do something vengeful and ghosty. But nothing like that happened.

Better Bertie said, “I like Sandra’s aggressive style. The fear of fear is often more crippling than the fear itself.”

“Thanks for that little pearl of wisdom,” I said as I took off the sunglasses. “Did you get it from a teabag?”

It was time for a Better Bertie break. At that moment, I didn’t want any advice. I didn’t even want to be a better person. I just wanted to … be.

Anyway, despite all my pent-up anxiety for Mac and for me, I somehow drifted off to sleep with my head on the table. It must’ve been a deep-deep sleep.

When I woke up, I was horrified to see two things.

One: I had drooled all over the table.

Two: Howard was holding my sunglasses.

“Knew it! Barnard Optical,” Howard said, reading the company name on my shades.

“Any change with Mac?” I asked.

Howard shook his head.

“Barnard Optical went belly-up after customers complained that the lenses of their sunglasses caused odd visual distortions,” he said. “The company was sued into oblivion.”

“What kind of distortions?” I asked.

“Double vision, flashing lights, mirror imaging. In the optometrist trade, we call them ‘ghost trails.’ The manufacturer screwed up the chemical composite for reactive shading. I had to buy back every pair I sold. Only one person refused to return them, my late wife.” He paused, remembering. “She said the sunglasses helped her see the world in a new way, and when she looked closely enough, she saw beauty everywhere. Even if things looked terrifying at first, they could still have ripples of beauty.”

Howard handed me my sunglasses and gave me a curious look that almost seemed like an accusation, like maybe he thought I had stolen them. “So where did you find these glasses? Back at the house?”

“The hospital chapel.” I slid them on and nearly fell out of my chair.

“Ah!” I screamed. The ghost of Sandra Morton hovered above me all shimmery and spooky-like.

Startled by my scream, Howard spilled his coffee and shot me an exhausted look. “What now?” he asked.

Before I could answer, Sandra Morton said, “Tell Howard I’m here, Bernice.”

I couldn’t tell him that. He’d freak out on me. But what could I say that would not cause Howard to blow a fuse?

Gesturing to the glasses, I said, “You’re right about the lenses, Howard. Been seeing ghost trails.”

His phone rang. Hurrying out of the room, he took the call.

“Bad girl, Bernice. You should’ve listened to me!” Sandra Morton warned.

“He wouldn’t have believed me,” I said. “I don’t hardly believe me!”

“Nobody believes you, kid!” At the door, I heard a sarcastic sigh. Big Mouth Aunt and Uncle Dennis came in. Big Mouth shot me a you’re nuttier than squirrel droppings look and sat at my table. Basically, she was telling me to scram. And I was more than happy to do that. Racing out into the hallway, I heard Big Mouth shrieking. “Ew! Is this drool? I put my hand in it!”

I continued sprinting for an exit, but here’s a spooky fact: you can’t outrun a ghost. Sandra Morton appeared out of thin air before me.

“Going somewhere, Bernice?”

“Please leave me alone. And stop calling me Bernice!” I said.

“No! You and I, we’ve got work to do.”

“What do you want from me?

“You’re about to find out.”

“But I can’t do anything. I’m just a kid.”

“So is Mac.”

Gusting winds swirled. I gasped in shock. Sandra Morton’s face turned darker and more sinister, misshapen like melting wax.

She pointed a crooked finger to Room 555.

The door flew open on its own. This time, the room wasn’t empty. Howard was inside, dialing his cell.

“Tell him, Bernice,” Sandra Morton said. “Tell Howard I’m here!”

“I told you, he won’t believe me.”

Howard glanced up from his phone.

“I won’t believe what, Bertie? Who are you talking to?”

“Tell him now!” Sandra roared.

Here goes nothing.

“Howard, I’m talking to the ghost of your dead wife,” I said. “And she’s not happy.”

Clang.

He dropped his phone.