Ghostly: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Perks of Being Paranormal Book 1)

Chapter 4

“And besides bunny pajamas, he was obsessed with spy books. James Bond and the like.” Ida leaned on the back of the couch and watched Gabriel’s fingers move swiftly over the keyboard. The man could type like thunder. “I haunted all of them. Too bad they always pack up the books when they leave.”

“Haunted them?” Gabriel looked over his shoulder. “You said you don’t haunt.”

“People. I can haunt objects, though. They don’t mind.” She considered going through the couch, but figured it would be better to appear normal, and went around. She even moved her feet, so it looked like she was walking. “If I haunt an object that contains certain information, I gain that information. So haunting a book is like reading it, only faster.”

Gabriel paused with his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Fascinating.”

“Anyway, Larry didn’t like to stack them by any order. Not alphabetical, not chronological. He’d let them lie in utter chaos. So one day I tried to rearrange the shelf and—are you listening?”

Gabriel had switched his attention back to the laptop and the massive document he had open. “Uh-huh.”

“And while doing that, I mistakenly killed Larry…”

No reaction.

“You aren’t listening, are you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gabriel!” She passed a hand through his shoulder.

“Ouch!” He swatted at the spot.

“Sorry. But you weren’t listening.”

“Look. You said you wouldn’t bother me. I understand you spent many decades not having anybody to talk to, and you want me as a communication partner—”

“But you’re like any other man who’ll buy me flowers and put me on a pedestal on our first date, and after you get what you want, won’t care for me anymore? Even listen to me?”

Gabriel looked up, nose scrunched. “What?”

“Larry’s wife, Rhonda, was obsessed with musicals and lifestyle magazines. I may have haunted them.” She bowed her head. “Sadly, it means I can never forget all the dating column advice.”

“Oh.” His confused look changed to a suspiciously scrutinizing one—it looked right at home on his face.

“I mean, not that I’m turning this into a dating situation. Oh, dear.” She sat on the sofa. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. I think my conversational skills had gotten rather rusty over the years.”

“Ida.” He turned to her with a reassuring, but cold smile. “I have a lot of work to do, and I want to do it well and quickly.”

She looked at the screen, displaying blocks of text. “You know, I could go in there and retrieve any information you need.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather do it myself.”

He didn’t trust her, did he? Or maybe he thought her, and her abilities, creepy.

Or maybe she was being too clingy. Rhonda’s magazines said a lot about that, too. She’d promised she wouldn’t bother him. But talking—to a proper person, not herself or the TV or a book—felt so good. She hadn’t felt like this in ages.

Perhaps she’d chosen a bad time. Back when she was alive, she got upset, too, when people interrupted her gardening.

“Sorry.” She stood. “I’ll leave you to your work. I didn’t mean to be a nuisance.” She zoomed out of the living room, only to be halted at the doorway. Out, back in, out, in, out—

“Ida?” Gabriel’s suspiciously scrutinizing look was back.

She clenched her fists. Not now, loop, please. Not now. Luckily, after three repetitions of the three repetitions, the memory of her compulsion let go, and she disappeared upstairs.

And luckily, Gabriel didn’t come to question her behavior.

***

He regretted everything.

When Ida said she needed company, he’d expected a not-too-invested roommate, like someone at college who said hi and bye and occasionally chatted over a vending machine sandwich.

Occasionally.

Ida, however, was here through all of his waking hours (and he wouldn’t be surprised if through the sleeping, too) and had an opinion on everything.

Toast. “I don’t get what all the deal with sliced bread is, anyway. We always had to cut our own, and I think it retains more freshness if it isn’t sliced beforehand.” She said that, hovering by the kitchen counter as Gabriel prepared his dinner.

Wallpapers. “The one they had here in the forties was much nicer. Lovely pastel with flowers. What would you put up, if you could? I mean, you can, if you want to. It’s not like I can prevent it—well, in theory, I could rip it off with enough energy…” She stared at the living room wall, tapping her finger on her mouth.

Even damn computer keyboards. “Your keys are spaced out very nicely. And it’s neat. Mike, who lived here before Larry and Rhonda, was a gamer. He had this crazy setup where everything was lit up in red—and then ghosts are supposed to be the spooky ones? And his keyboard had some keys painted…”

Meanwhile, Jacobsky had figured out Gabriel would do just about anything, so he sent him more work. Speaking of regrets: some documents were all chemistry—to deal with the disputable drugs—and chemistry had been one of Gabriel’s most hated classes in high school. He’d already had to do three Google searches just to get the meaning of this crap, and an annoying, uncomfortable voice kept whispering to him that he was still winging it.

He wouldn’t admit it, but if Ida did have research superpowers, he could’ve used them right now.

But no—he wouldn’t back down. Everything he’d ever achieved had been because of work (though a charming smile here and there didn’t hurt) and this was just another test. He couldn’t let Ernest and Clifford forget he was still good, and still useful.

But it was damn hard to focus when Ida wanted to chat, and he was starting to feel bad for constantly telling her not to chat.

And to think a few days ago, his main problem was boredom.

It was evening, the third day since Ida showed up. She may have finally ran out of things to say, because she’d been quiet for about fifteen minutes, inspecting the bookshelf. Gabriel was deep into writing a report for Jacobsky, when an email popped up.

Ernest? Clifford? News of his suspension? Maybe he could come back anyway and—

It was only a reminder of a voucher for the ski resort. For him and Wynona, their happy ever after in an alternate reality where they never got discovered beforehand. The reservation date was but weeks away. Gabriel took one glance at the overly-photoshopped promotional image for the resort, and he loathed this damn living room and its musty smell even more.

Wyn.

He reached for his phone and, with a few taps, got to her social media profiles. No updates. His stomach clenched until he reminded himself this was good. At least she still had her profiles—she was only laying low, much like he had to.

Wynona would understand his annoyance. She never felt the need for aimless chatting.

Curiosity ate at him—what was the media saying?—but he was too afraid to check, as if that only could get the reporters onto his trail. He gritted his teeth. 172 days to go.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was a book—Ida pulled it out of the shelf, then put it back, and repeated that two more times.

Focus, remember?

Gabriel clicked the email out of his sight and returned to the report.

Knock, knock, knock.

Another book. She reached for the next one.

“Stop!” The command came out more forceful than he intended.

Ida dropped the book, which fell straight through her skirt and landed in her foot. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?”

“I just…” She picked up the book and placed it back. “I have to do it.”

“Well, it’s distracting.”

“Well, I have to!” She stomped her foot.

“You have to move each book three times? Is that a part of a ghostly ritual or something?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Maybe you’d know if you ever listened to me,” she returned in the same tone.

“I am listening! But you must realize it gets…”

“Annoying?”

He slumped his shoulders. “No.”

“Tiresome?”

“I have a lot of work.”

“So you said.”

He felt her countenance change. He couldn’t explain how, and there wasn’t a visible change, but when she got sad—like right now—a wave of energy floated toward him, where it stuck onto his skin.

Was she upset because he’d rejected her help? He needed to do it himself, on principle. He wouldn’t stoop to Anderson’s level, making use of others for his own gain. And besides, now that he was cut off from everything and everyone else, what was there to do?

More work. Hell, he should’ve asked Clifford for two projects. Just nothing pharmaceutical.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can’t I exorcise you or something?”

Ida gasped. “You want to get rid of me?”

She didn’t look angry, only shocked, but Gabriel’s fingers still froze over the keyboard. Uh-oh. How vengeful could ghosts get?

“Well, you’re out of luck.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s no way. You’re stuck with me, the same way I’m stuck with you.”

“Excuse me?” he shot back, his tone not unlike Ida’s, earlier.

“As if you’re such a reward of a tenant. We could’ve had wonderful discussions—pick any topic, and I’ll research it and debate it with you, and

that’s only if I don’t know it yet. But, no, you’d rather stare into your laptop all day and complain about walks.”

Gabriel gawked.

Ida huffed and glided to the window.

Gabriel turned his attention back to the laptop, though his mind wouldn’t let him settle on the text.

“Actually, there might be one way.”

Gabriel raised his eyes. The glass showed the reflection of the living room in the window, but no Ida, despite her standing beside it.

“I’m trapped in here,” she said, her voice shifting to a sadder tone. “I can only go out to the backyard, up to the fence. I can’t get past it. All I have is this house, and the eternity in it. An eternity of doing nothing. Being nothing.”

Gabriel didn’t need the wave of sorrow to be frightened of the concept itself. For so many years, he’d been trying to achieve the most he could out of his life. How would it feel to have all the time in the world, but also know nothing you do will matter anymore?

“But I believe there is a way for me to leave, permanently. To move on to the great beyond.”

Not wanting to interrupt with another badly timed (and phrased) statement, he let her continue.

“Back in the seventies, I had two lovely tenants, Tanya and Tony. The last ones to properly take care of the garden. Although they did plant some stuff back there that made for very relaxing cookies.”

Oh.

“Anyway, I tried to establish contact. It didn’t go well. They assumed the house was haunted because I’d move objects and such. I tried to write them a message, with her lipstick, on the mirror…” Ida shrugged. “Calligraphy is hard when you’re a ghost. I only scared them more. Tanya started looking into ways to get rid of a ghost, and one day, she brought home a book. She seemed certain it would work.”

“But you’re still here, so it didn’t?”

“That’s not the problem. The day Tanya brought back the book, the cops—well, they found out the secret ingredient for the cookies. Tanya not as much stepped through the front door with the book when Tony herded her out of the house, saying they had to leave, quickly. Until they did, the book was left in the car—”

“Which was beyond the fence.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. So I’d have to hunt down the same book Tanya found.”

“There might be an easier way.” Ida floated to him. “Tanya couldn’t return the book, so Tony said they’d leave it at the town library, as a donation. It could still be there.”

“You’re suggesting I find it.” Gabriel blinked. “But I thought you didn’t want to move on. That you wanted to chat and…” He waved his hand in the air.

Ida sighed. “I’ve been here for a long time. I’ve seen a lot, and since I can’t leave, I’ll never see it all. If this is my one chance to move on, I have to take it.” Her voice grew higher, but she shook her head, as if to get herself back together. “And, it’ll mean I don’t have to be stuck with you.”

She managed the tiniest smile, so Gabriel returned one. “Sounds great to me.”

“Perfect.” She seemed completely composed now.

“Perfect.” He stood up and rubbed his hands. “Now, tell me what my salvation looks like.”

The Buttons Library (official name) wasn’t hard to find: the town had one main street, and it was on it. Gabriel parked nearby, put on a pair of sunglasses as a disguise, and walked to the solemn red-bricked building. In the early morning, the town wasn’t particularly busy, and the inside of the library was quiet. Gabriel wouldn’t stretch the visit just to get peace from Ida; in and out was his preferred way of operating at the moment. He headed straight for the librarian, a middle-aged woman with a meticulous perm and a blouse and skirt of matching daffodil yellow.

“Hello there.” He opened with his classic charming smile—always made people more receptive. “Do you have a section on ghosts? Curses? Things like that?”

The woman looked up, pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “No sunglasses in the library.”

Gabriel looked around. “There are no signs saying that.” Also, what kind of rule was that?

“I’m saying it. No. Sunglasses. In the library.”

He sighed, took them off, and pointedly tucked them into the collar of his shirt. “So, ghost section?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed even more. She hadn’t recognized him, had she? “Over there,” she practically barked, pointed to what could be three different shelves, and turned her attention to an ancient computer in front of her.

Go figure. They did have a section on ghosts.

***

Ida paced the living room. She’d usually go to the music box to calm down, but then she wouldn’t know when Gabriel returned—and she wanted to be there when he got back with the book.

Not to mention, her entire immaterial body was currently too rattled at the prospect of moving on to enjoy the music box. It was the good kind of nervousness, though; she wanted to leave. She didn’t know this two days ago, but now, it made perfect sense. She was already halfway to the great beyond; perhaps soon, she could join the souls there. She’d never have to worry about being lonely again. Dying was natural. Ghosts weren’t.

A car pulled up outside. Footsteps—the lock turning in the door—and Gabriel rushed in, clutching something under his arm.

“Did you get it?”

“You’re one lucky ghost.” He raised the book, then plopped it on the coffee table.

He found it. He actually, truly found it, and it was beautiful. A slim volume bound in deep purple leather, with nothing on the cover except an outline of a golden rhombus. Just as she remembered.

Gabriel sat down with the book in his lap. “I think I know what you’re looking for.” He leafed through the yellowed pages, firmer than she’d imagined. The book wasn’t very old; the wear may have been merely from it sitting in a library for decades. Even doing nothing could have an effect on an object… or a person.

“Here.” The spread had print only on the right side. At the top of the page was a title, The Passing Through Contract, with a line under it. Ida read eagerly.

If a ghostly individual binds to this contract and fulfills its conditionsto the letter, they will be allowed to pass through to The Great Beyond andlive in peace forevermore.

“If you ask me, it smells fishy,” Gabriel said. “Like they’re trying to sell you something.”

“Yes, peace.”

“Ida…”

“I’m already dead. What could possibly happen to me that’s worse?”

Gabriel’s eyes met hers, a brief streak of softness passing through. Caught in an awkward moment where, for the first time in days, she didn’t know what to say, she lowered her gaze to the book instead.

“Alright, here are the conditions.” Her voice came out slightly cracky, and she cleared her throat. “Enlighten someone… oh, these are tasks. Good, I can do that. I probably just have to tell you something you don’t know. Warm up. I suppose you can light a fire and I’ll go stand by it. Forgive.” She stumbled over the last word. Forgiveness. She’d been through that once. Of her family, of herself. She thought back then it would finally set her free.

Maybe Gabriel was right to not trust this book.

“Ida? Is something wrong?”

She looked at Gabriel and, when she couldn’t stand maintaining eye contact, turned her attention back to the contract. That’s when she saw the last condition.

Fix something broken.

“Nothing. It’s stupid. It won’t work.”

Gabriel must’ve been trying hard to go along with this, because she’d practically laid a path for him to say “I told you so,” and yet, he didn’t. “Why would you think that?”

“Fix something broken. Like, a machine? I can’t do that. I can touch objects if I apply force, but I can’t fix them. That’s precision work. If anything, we ghosts break things.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that is what ghosts usually do.” Gabriel tapped his chin. “The tasks are the opposite. Enlighten someone—because ghosts, in the stories, would turn off lights. Warm up—because you’re associated with cold. Forgive—because ghosts are driven by revenge.”

Ida flinched, but Gabriel was too engulfed in his theory to notice.

“And fix something broken, because you usually break stuff. It’s clever, prank or not.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing.” She stood, passed through the coffee table, and faced the bookshelf. “Why would they even do that? Give you hope and take it away by making the conditions impossible to fulfill? I bet I can’t warm up, either. I don’t feel warmth or cold. It’s not fair.”

“Ida—”

“Yes, I know. I was stupid to believe it in the first place, I gave you false hope, now excuse me as I go spend the rest of my countless days in the music box so I don’t disturb you.”

“I meant to say, there’s more.”

She stopped halfway to the hallway.

“There’s fine print.” As Gabriel looked up, his eyes glittered like a child’s in a candy store.

Wow, he must really like fine print.

“The ghostly contract has fine print?”

“Everythinghas fine print.” He pointed to a block of tiny text at the bottom; she had to strain her eyes to read it.

The ghostly individual (in continuation: GI) may transfer the contract toanother, ghostly or non-ghostly individual (in continuation: TI), by possessingthe TI after bonding to the contract but before any of the conditions arefulfilled. Once the TI fulfills any of the conditions, the contract can nolonger be transferred back to the GI. The TI will fulfill the conditions onbehalf of the GI. No perks of this contract apply to the TI.

“It’s so wordy,” she said.

“That’s fine print for you.” Gabriel put the book on the table. “I’ll leave it open in case you decide to do your… thing.” He waved his hands in an approximate circular motion and went to the kitchen.

Ida slowly glided to the book. She never thought she could, in her ghostly existence, feel so much in a day. Annoyance, expectation, happiness, despair. But the range of emotions only made it worse, made her realize how she’d never again shed a tear when sad or hug someone when happy. How she’d never again feel her heart race.

Maybe the Great Beyond dulled emotions, too. That would be nice.

Muffled sounds of puffing and gurgling came from the kitchen; Gabriel was making coffee again. The man was obsessed with it. Ida couldn’t quite put her finger on him, and not only literally. Curt for most of the time, but occasionally, a kind word would escape him. Almost as if he could change his behavior at will, to be what the other person—or his client—needed the most. And she was supposed to be the one with supernatural abilities!

However, he’d helped her so far, and once he got a job, he seemed determined to finish it. She needed someone to help her leave—who’d be better than the man who wanted her gone?

“Gabriel?” She spoke low and carefully at first, but then repeated the call with more conviction.

“Yes?” His head peeked out of the doorway.

Ida wrung her hands and nodded to herself. What’s the worst that could happen—he’d reject her and she’d hide away in her music box, as she intended, anyway? “Would you fulfill the contract on my behalf?”