Chapter 3
It wasn’t how Ida had imagined an introduction.
That being said, she hadn’t specifically imagined an introduction, given people could never see her. Except he could, and she’d botched it by sneaking through the house in the middle of the night.
“Don’t move,” the man said, still pointing the lamp at her.
“I… uh…” What could she say to that? None of the books she’d ever haunted covered the etiquette of introducing yourself to a man who’d caught you sneaking through your own house. And that had distracted her from the actual important fact.
“You can see me!”
Okay, maybe less intense enthusiasm.First impressions and all. But it was so hard to hold back; she still couldn’t quite believe she was actually talking to a living person, and a part of her was afraid the moment would end, and she’d be back to being invisible. Unseen. Unheard.
“Yeah, I can see you.” He frowned at her, but still hadn’t lowered the lamp. “And I’m calling the cops.”
Wait, what? “No, you don’t understand. That’s not going to—”
“Now you just…” He approached and reached a hand toward her.
“I wouldn’t recommend—”
His hand passed through her upper arm. He raised it in front of his face, wiggled his fingers, then tried again. Straight through. “What the fuck?”
Ida shrugged. “I’m a ghost. You can’t touch me. And I’d recommend not calling the police, since they wouldn’t be able to see me and they’d bill you for raising a false alarm. That is, if they believed you and came here in the first place.”
“What kind of trick is this? A hologram? How are they making you talk?” He passed a hand through her again and flinched.
“You feel cold if you, uh, pass through me. Or I pass through you, though I try not to do that, mainly because of the aforementioned cold—”
“There’s got to be a device in here somewhere.” He crouched and sunk his hand into her skirt.
“Well, excuse me!” She stepped back and put her hands at her hips. “Ghosts deserve some privacy too.”
“Will you stop it with this ghost nonsense?” He straightened back to his full, rather impressive six-foot height, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Ida took another step back and accidentally phased through the wall. She quickly flew back into the hallway. “Sorry, unintended departure. Can we start again? Hi, I’m Ida.” She reached out a hand and quickly retracted it. “Forget it, you’ll just feel cold.”
The man inspected her with more wariness than previously. Darn it, she’d never considered this problem: someone seeing her, but not believing her. But now that she could finally communicate with someone, now that she finally had a proper companion—one that seemed rather well educated, too—she couldn’t chase him away. How could she make him believe?
Alright, calm down. Be your usual self.
Actually, that wasn’t the best idea. Ida had never performed well as her usual self around men, especially handsome ones, and he definitely was that. Jet black hair, tan skin, a square face with full, sculpted lips, and moss green eyes, staring at her suspiciously from under strong, straight eyebrows. He had a good taste in pajamas, too—a simple gray t-shirt and checkered bottoms. Her previous tenant, Larry, had a thing for matching sets with bunny motifs, which looked slightly disturbing on a 55-year-old man.
“Hey. Lady.” The man waved in front of her face. “Or whoever’s talking.”
“For the last time, I’m not a hologram. I’m a ghost. See?” She zoomed past him, flew through a wall to the bathroom, back out, past the railing to the downstairs hallway, and flicked into the little deer statue. She loved that one—being in it felt like lying in a warm autumnal forest, with a slight smell of leaves and earth. After a few seconds, she sprung back out and flew up to the man.
His eyes widened.
“Don’t be afraid,” she blurted. “Standard ghost stuff.”
“I’m dreaming.” He rubbed his eyes, squinted at her through his fingers, and groaned.
Oh, wonderful. How did he come up with all these excuses? “It’s not a dream. I’m real. Well, I’m not material, but I exist, somewhere—”
“Probably sleepwalking. I’m going back to bed.” He took a step back, entangling his foot into the cable from the lamp.
“Careful—” She reached out her hand.
Another step; the cable stretched, he stumbled, fell back, and hit the doorknob with the back of his head. He collapsed by the door, unconscious.
Damn,damn, damn. Please, don’t let the first person to ever see me die because of astupid lamp.
Ida glided over to him and crouched so she was at level with his chest. It rose and fell evenly, and there was no blood on his head; he’d probably just have a bump. And if anyone, Ida knew her head injuries. He’d be fine in the morning. But it would be nice—and hospitable—of her to get him back to bed. She rubbed her hands. Her person-moving skills were rusty, but there was no time like the present.
***
Gabriel woke up with mild pain and strong confusion. His first thought was he’d gotten wasted the night before, but memories of hangovers from his college years didn’t match with the slight pulsating pain at the back of his head, and otherwise, his memory was clear. Not to mention he didn’t drink yesterday.
He went through his usual morning routine, stepping cautiously. So, last night. The knocking again. A strange woman in the hallway, he couldn’t touch her, and she sort of glided, instead of walked—even flew down the stairs…
In the kitchen, he grabbed an icepack to soothe the swelling, then sat in the living room. She said she was a ghost. He thought it was a prank, a hologram, but the way she moved—would some prankster kid own technology like that? Well, it didn’t matter, because it was a dream.
But such a vivid dream. More vivid than even the dream he’d had the night before the closing of his first trial, in which the judge bowed down to him and the jury wiped the tears his closing argument had induced. He’d woken up that morning 27% convinced it had really happened.
With this one, he might dare to go as high as 29%.
Bits of sunlight streamed in from the two windows that looked onto the backyard. In the early morning, the living room looked innocent, normal. It should help him separate the real from the imagined, but the more he latched onto the memory of last night, the more it felt like it belonged in the first category. His injury proved he’d been out and about. And something about the dream was so tangible—he could still feel the slight cold as his hand passed through the woman, he remembered her voice so clearly. And the strange noises and the sculptures that changed positions during the night…
He walked to the hallway. The deer-hog statue was lined perfectly with the other two. Feeling like a total idiot, he waved around the general stair area. Floating motes of dust blinked back, but nothing else—no invisible thread that would make things move, no holograms.
Stop embarrassing yourself. It was a dream.Time to get to actual work and never think of it again.
Luckily, Jacobsky had sent him a digital stack of files to look through. Gabriel made himself some coffee and settled into the sofa—for all it lacked in looks, surprisingly, it made up in comfort—with the laptop in his lap, and worked away. Now that he had something to do, the peace and quiet weren’t bad. Perhaps he could survive another 175 days here. He hadn’t realized until now how accustomed he’d grown to the white noises of the city—sounds of cars, ambulances, the screeching of trains, muffled conversations in the far background. It had been comforting, but there was something to say for a pristine, natural silence, too.
“Hey there.”
Gabriel jumped, nearly knocking the laptop to the floor. He grabbed the screen, using the grip to stabilize the laptop as much as his pounding heart. The ghost, the woman, the hologram, stood at the bookshelf, the orange-brown of her dress nearly blending in with the wood.
She shyly raised a hand. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”
Oh, hell, no.
Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, counted to six, and looked again. She was still there, hands now clasped in front, a slight smile on her lips.
“Ignore it,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re going crazy from lack of work. Get working, and she’ll disappear.” Work fixed everything.
“I’m sorry for last night.” The thing moved on the edge of his vision, doing something between a walk and a glide. Her feet moved, as if walking, but the movement was unnaturally smooth. “Did you sleep well? I’m not too good at moving people.”
Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Gabriel took deep breaths and stared at the screen. Its blue light should be comforting, but he couldn’t focus on anything written there. Was he going insane? Please, no. He had so much yet to accomplish. He couldn’t go out letting Anderson have the last victory.
The thing stopped at the foot of the couch.
“It’s not real.” Gabriel rubbed his eyes. Please, make it disappear. But when he opened them, the strange-looking woman hadn’t moved.
Okay. Reason. Logic. No craziness.
Maybe he’d eaten something strange or sniffed something wrong. The backyard! Maybe he inhaled some fungi when he’d gone on that walk. He opened up a search and started typing, feeling better already.
“Oh, no, don’t do that.” She glided to the back of the couch and looked over his shoulder. “You should never search for disease symptoms online. They’ll make you think you have cancer.” Whatever was causing this hallucination, did it have to make it so… chatty? “Besides, you’re not hallucinating. I’m real. Well, as real as a ghost can be. If you count materialness, then I suppose I’m not that real—”
“Shut up.” He closed the lid of the laptop. “Just. Shut. Up.”
And incredibly, she did.
But she didn’t disappear.
Long seconds passed as Gabriel stared dead ahead, like a prey afraid to move lest the predator see it. What was he supposed to do? This backwater town probably didn’t even have a decent doctor. Wait until whatever he’d ingested passed, and hope it wouldn’t get worse?
“Fine.” She glided back to the bookshelf. “Would a hallucination do this?” She swiped her hand, and a book fell off the shelf.
And then she was gone.
Gabriel took a deep breath, gulping on air as if he’d spent the last few minutes underwater. Maybe it would be better to go back to bed, sleep this through. He’s had a rough week and could use a good rest.
He stood, but stopped as his eyes landed on the book. He walked to it and slowly lifted it off the floor.
It had to be a draft, right?
“I’m a ghost. Really.”
Gabriel yelped and nearly dropped the book as he turned around. She was back by the couch.
“Me throwing the book off is real. Our meeting last night was real.”
Gabriel swallowed. “Then how come I woke up in my bed?”
“I took you to bed.” She paused. “Not in that way. Just to rest! I couldn’t leave you in the hallway. But I went back to the music box right after,” she added quickly. “I didn’t watch you sleep or anything strange.”
“Great,” he said, his voice weak. So, those were his two options—either he was sick and/or going insane, or he had a ghost in the house. But hey, at least she let him sleep!
He approached slowly as she sat on the sofa. The voluminous layers of her skirt looked like they were pressed down, but if she was immaterial—
“I can make it do that,” she said. “Look like I’m sitting. I’m not really, but it looks less spooky, right? Better than this.” She sunk through the sofa until only her head was visible, then quickly rose back up.
Gabriel looked away, gritted his teeth, and looked back. No way this was real. No way.
But if he had to choose between his mind going, and there being actual ghosts—something that had a basis in myths and legends, even if he never bothered to care—which one would he rather have?
“So you are… a ghost.” He squinted at her. She didn’t look dead. No discernible injuries, no rotting flesh. In fact, she didn’t look bad.
“Now we’re talking!” She patted her knee. “You must be wondering about a lot of things. Ask away. I’m prepared for all the possible questions you may have.”
“I…” He frowned. “I don’t know what to ask.” Witness interrogations—that, he could do. Ghost interrogations? Not so much.
“Oh.” A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I hadn’t prepared for that.”
“Listen, uh—”
“Ida.”
“Gabriel.” He extended his hand automatically.
Ida looked down at it and back at him. “Let’s pretend I shook that.”
“Were you the source of the noises at night? The knocking?”
“Yes. Sorry for that. I had to straighten the sculptures and I thought it
was better to do it then, rather than during the day when it may freak you out.”
“And the screeching on the facade?”
She waved her hand. “That’s just the old tree outside.”
A-ha! He knew it!
“And you’re here to… haunt me?” That was what ghosts did, wasn’t it? Damn. Now he wished it was the hallucination-inducing fungi.
“Of course not. I’d never do that.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I take it there are some nasty rumors going around about ghosts. But I wish you no harm.”
“Yeah, that’s great, but…” He crept forward until he reached the laptop, and dragged it toward himself. “I think I’ll be going now.” He tucked the laptop under his arm and strode to the hallway. Ghosts or fungi, didn’t matter—he was getting out of here. Was there a hotel in town? “And I just got into this house,” he muttered under his breath.
“No!” A swish of cold air breezed by, and Ida stopped on the stairs. “Please don’t go. I…” Her sunlit expression had vanished, replaced by a downturned mouth and drawn eyebrows. “I have no one else.”
“And I can’t deal with this.” He wanted to brush past her, but hesitated. Not because she could jump forward to obstruct him again, but because of how low and close to tears her voice had gotten.
“You won’t have anything to deal with, I promise,” she said. “I only want some company. I hadn’t had one in a long time.”
“How long?”
“I died in 1888.”
Holy shit.
“How?”
She hesitated, and he wondered if he’d breached some sort of ghost etiquette—was it insensitive to ask ghosts how they died?—when she said, “I was ill.”
That made sense. Even young people died of disease a lot in those days.
“And you’ve been here ever since?”
She nodded. “Only no one had been able to see or hear me until now.”
Gabriel tried to sort out a myriad of thoughts rushing through his head. He’d never bothered with the supernatural, but piecing facts together and making sense of them—that was his thing. And the facts were: an injury to his head, moved statues, a fallen book, and a woman whose touch felt like a gush of icy air and whose dress seemed too intricate and era-appropriate for his mind to conjure up. Ergo, he was presently chatting with a 130-year-old ghost. A hundred andthirty years. She’d been here all this time—the things she must’ve witnessed, all the different eras, the changes—and not being able to interact with anyone…
The last thought sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t imagine being cut off from the life around him.
Actually, he could start to. Only six months to go. How would he feel, if he’d been subjected to this kind of isolation for a century?
“Fine.” He looked at the floor. “I’ll stay.” It was only logical. He wouldn’t have to bother with finding another house and the mess that would come from him trying to cancel this contract not even a week into his rental. The last thing he needed was to bring more attention to himself.
“Really?” She whizzed past him and twirled around the room. A vase on the shelf nearly overturned. “Whoops!” Ida stopped, and the vase settled back on its base.
“But no knocking, scraping, and other strange noises.”
“Okay.” She gave him a wide smile.
“And you won’t bother me.”
“No bothering.” She nodded vigorously. “I promise, you”ll barely know I’m here.”