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

Chapter 12

Jamie sat on the rug in his bedroom—Ida’s bedroom!—his short legs stretched out, clumsy fingers reaching for a shiny new bear plush Jacinda offered him. “That’s right. Can you say his name? Is it a bear?” She cooed.

“Now you can be nice,” Ida remarked darkly. She sat on the window shelf and dangled her legs; in reality, the window shelf wasn’t wide enough for her to sit without support, but Ida was outside of reality now.

Jamie babbled a dissatisfied ‘ba-ba’ and pushed the bear away.

“Alright, then. Something else.” Jacinda got up and headed for a box of toys on the other side of the room; based on its scratched edges, not a new acquisition, unlike the rest of the furniture.

Since Jamie had arrived, Ida’s bed had been tossed out, despite the new one being barely any different. Her dressing table, and the writing desk with adjoined shelves housing books on gardening, had all been replaced, too, with a crib that Jamie was outgrowing, a few small chairs, and tons upon tons of toys. How easily they’d forgotten her. Harry and Jacinda did their required mourning—half a year for Harry, six weeks for Jacinda, and based on her complaints about the crepe scratching her neck, she couldn’t get out of it soon enough. Harry moped about for some time more, but once Jamie came along, it was as if Ida had never existed.

Jacinda rummaged in the box and pulled out a wooden doll in a nightgown-like dress, with strings for hair. The doll’s painted eyes stared at Ida, and in a flash, the memory returned.

Father made that doll for her. She’d loved it when she was little—the doll was on the creepy side, but Ida thought it endearing. Then one day, Harry grew tired of Ida’s toys littering their shared bedroom, and put them all away.

“How about this?” Jacinda waved the doll at Jamie.

“No!” Ida floated to Jacinda and snatched the doll, only for her fingers to pass harmlessly through it. “That was mine!”

She tried harder, channeled energy into her fingers, and grasped the doll’s head. Jacinda’s eyes widened as the doll was pulled away from her, but she didn’t release her grip. Something awoke in Ida—an unexplored, but delicious feeling—as she watched Jacinda struggle.

It’s not fair you get to move on. It’s not fair he’s replacing my life.

“He’s not getting it!” Ida pulled harder.

Jacinda let out a distressed moan. “Why is it moving?” she whispered, and then suddenly released the doll. Caught by surprise, Ida staggered back, and the doll flew over her head in an arch.

A skull-splitting cry echoed across the room.

“Jamie!” Jacinda stepped straight through Ida and hurried to her son. The doll was lying next to Jamie; Jacinda kicked it away and kneeled, kissing his forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. Does it hurt?” She glanced at the door. “Marie!”

Ida glided closer to them. The doll had been kicked under the bed, ready to be forgotten again, but Jamie was fine. Nothing but a spot of reddened skin on his forehead. Babies were remarkably resilient, despite how helpless they appeared most of the time.

But Jacinda… She was stressed, uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid—and accidentally hurting Jamie hurt her.

The feeling grew, bubbled throughout her being. Anger? She remembered anger from life, but this was nothing like it. In life, anger only made her stressed, and sometimes even worsened her condition. But now it was glorious, and more than anything else—more than clinging to her memories, more than maintaining the same routine day after day—it made her feel alive.

“Where is that insolent girl?” Jacinda shook her head. “Marie!”

Rapids steps approached, and the maid appeared at the doorway, wringing her bony fingers. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Bring a poultice for Jamie. We’ve had an accident. And get started on a meal for him afterward. None of that apple mush, yes? He’s very sensitive.”

Jacinda’s shaky voice fed whatever dark, demanding hole anger opened within Ida. This was it. Revenge. Jacinda and Harry had brushed off her meager attempts so far—a swishing of curtains, a sudden frost on the windows, rattling in the night. She couldn’t get to their core, tackle that primal fear, feast on it until she was finally satisfied and she’d move on.

Perhaps the core of Jacinda’s fears lay in the very person who made the family forget all about Ida—Jamie. He was how she’d get to her sister-in-law.

On the way out, Jacinda passed through Ida again. Jacinda turned by the door, rubbing her arms as if cold, and as she examined the room, a flicker of worry passed through her eyes.

The deep, dark corner of Ida’s soul sang, and she smiled. She was on the right track.

1901

Pale moon shone through the half-closed curtains. Jamie twisted and tossed in bed, not entirely peaceful in his sleep—but not as disturbed as he could be. Ida concentrated, focusing her force toward the ground. The wooden floor creaked.

Jamie turned, but did not awaken.

She repeated the procedure, gliding forward this time. Planks beneath her creaked—first, second, third, coming closer and closer to Jamie’s bed.

She rattled the bedside lamp.

Jamie came awake with a sudden intake of breath, and sprang into a sitting position. He sat like this for a few seconds, then screamed, “Mommy! Mommy!”

It didn’t take long for Jacinda to come rushing in.

I’ve trained you well,Ida mused. Kept you on your toes.

And most of all, kept her afraid.

“Monsters,” Jamie whined as Jacinda hugged him. “The monsters are back.”

“Calm down, darling. There’s no such thing as monsters.”

Funny you’d deny the existence of your own kind, my dear sister-in-law.

After five guarantees all would be well, Jacinda left the room. Ida decided to give the boy a break—he’d done his job for the night—and phased through the wall into Harry and Jacinda’s bedroom.

“And it gets so cold in there.” Jacinda paced in front of the fireplace. “Not normal cold, Harry. There’s a spot in that room that feels like you’ve entered an icy cloud, but it moves.”

“It’s the draft from the turret.”

“It’s not the draft.”

Ida rattled the window. “I’d listen to your wife, Harry. She’s not right often, but this time, she is.”

Harry and Jacinda whipped their heads to the window.

“Like this!” Jacinda said. “Can’t you feel the cold? And all these noises…”

“It’s the wind. And no wonder you’re cold, going around in the middle of the night. Get back to bed and you’ll be just fine.”

Jacinda grumbled, but burrowed herself into a blanket, anyway. “Harry,” she said after a few moments of silence, “have you ever thought of moving away? This place—it’s not—”

“This is my family home,” Harry said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “You convinced me to do a lot of things. But I will not leave my home.”

“It’s not a good environment for Jamie!”

“He’s a child. Children are afraid of monsters. It’s normal.”

Jacinda pouted.

“We’re done discussing this.” Harry turned to the side and hugged the pillow. After a while, Jacinda took the hint and went to sleep. Fifteen minutes more, and her grating snoring filled the bedroom.

But Harry hadn’t fallen asleep yet. From her position by the window, Ida could see the slight shine in his eyes—they were open.

“She wouldn’t let us leave, anyway,” he murmured.

1917

Ida bit her nails, staring at the phone that graced a new console table in the drawing room. The phone itself, a box with a brass finish and a rotary dial and a clunky handset on top, was a new acquisition, too. Jacinda was so proud of it that it had to be installed in the drawing room instead of the hallway, so the guests visiting could admire it.

If there were any guests to speak of.

New technology meant new challenges for Ida’s abilities, and new opportunities to mess with Jacinda. Ida would love to say her sister-in-law had suffered enough, but then, Ida would’ve also loved to still be alive.

She closed her eyes, concentrated, and flicked into the phone. The last time she’d haunted the phone when a call came in, she remembered the circuit that pulsated, and she triggered it now. The phone rang, the slightly muted sounds reverberating through her.

Jacinda was in the kitchen, so she should hear it. Ida continued to ring until a click came through, and then Jacinda’s voice, “Hello?”

Time for part two.

Ida flashed back to Jamie’s goodbye two years ago—the last image of him, standing on the porch, his words, but most importantly, his voice. Focus on the voice.

“Mother?” Ida pushed the word out, and, even if raspy, it came through the handset sounding very much like a young man’s voice.

“Jamie?” Jacinda whimpered. “Oh, darling. I’m so glad you called. I’ve missed you. We both did. Hang on for a moment—I’ll fetch your father!”

No, no, no, don’t leave. This was meant for Jacinda. Ida flashed further back to a younger Jamie.

“Mommy?” The voice was that of a child. “Mommy, the monsters are back.”

Stunned silence on the other end—and then a click. Ida flew out of the phone.

Jacinda stood by the console table, hugging her middle, hair flying out of her voluminous bun as she wildly shook her head.

Ida focused harder and tapped into the phone, releasing a slew of mangled words, switching between a child and a young man’s voice. “Don’t leave me, Mommy—I don’t care about you or this damn house, I’m leaving!—Mommy, Mommy—”

“No. No.” Jacinda slammed the handset back on its holder. “It’s not real. He’s not real. This is all a dream.”

“No, Mommy,” the tiny, but frighteningly calm voice came out of the handset. “This is a nightmare.”

Jacinda ran out of the drawing room. Ida had considered bolting the front door, but she’d let her have this one—Jacinda would be back, anyway. Besides, the whole endeavor had weakened Ida. She floated to the deer statue, feeling light enough to be swept away by a breeze as she flicked into it. The dark corner of her soul that used to thrive whenever she caused distress to her family members hadn’t felt the same lately. It was like having too much of a favorite dish and getting sick of it—only Ida knew of no other dish to sate her hunger, and sometimes, she wasn’t even certain she still was hungry.

But if she wasn’t, if she had punished her family enough, why was she still here?

1939

Harry sat in the rocking chair, his old body hunched over as his eyes looked through the window into the backyard, not truly seeing. They’d grown paler over the years; Harry himself had paled, diminished. Only a light white fluff remained of his once thick auburn hair—just like Ida’s—and time etched hundreds and hundreds of wrinkles into his skin, like tiny rivers carving the surface of the Earth.

“Won’t be long now, Harry.” Ida kneeled beside him. If he could feel her presence, he didn’t show it. Harry didn’t show much of anything these days: just stared at the garden that used to be her pride and joy but was now turning into a jungle of overgrown bushes, and dutifully made a few sips and swallows when the nursemaid brought him his meals of bread, jelly, and milk.

“I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours. I suppose I’ll find out soon.” Did he ever think of her anymore? If he did, he’d stopped voicing those thoughts many years ago.

The sky slowly grew dark as the sun set on the other side of the house. Something intangible, unseen changed in the air—like an energy was building up, about to release. Harry gasped, but didn’t move. His eyes grew soft, watery, and then drifted close as his head fell on his chest.

The energy in the air boomed, passed through her like a wave—and was gone.

As was Harry.

“Harry?” Ida looked around the room. He should show up at any moment now. Surely, he would. She had all her lines prepared. We meet again, at last. I dolook a bit better than you, don’t you think? Perks of dying young.

But there was nothing.

“Harry?” Ida tried louder. She phased through the wall to her old bedroom—empty ever since Jamie had moved out—to the bathroom, refurbished twenty years ago, downstairs, past the new radio in the living room, the package of sliced bread spread out in the kitchen—sliced bread, who needed that!

But Harry was nowhere to be found.

She returned to him upstairs. Maybe he needed time? But no—when she died, she appeared as a ghost straight away. And she felt the energy—his essence, his soul, whatever it was, leaving. He should’ve been here.

“No, no, no.” She glided up and down the room. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to meet me!”

The windows rattled.

“You were supposed to help me! Release me! Make up for what you’d done!”

Frost spread across the glass, blurring the view onto a few remaining, dying roses in the garden.

“And you were supposed to show me how to pass through. I should be free! You killed me, you might as well have freed me!”

A plate and cutlery, left on the table from Harry’s last meal, rattled, lifted and flew across the room. The plate broke as it hit the wall, but the pieces didn’t hit the ground; they stayed up and began to spin, faster and faster, forming a funnel by the fireplace.

“No. No! It’s not fair!” Harry had been her last remaining link to this world, the last person she used to exact her revenge upon. Jacinda died years ago; there’d been no word from Jamie since he left.

It was only her and Harry.

And now he, too, was gone, and she was still here.

“You said you’d take care of me.” Ida’s voice broke, and she collapsed into a heap by Harry’s chair. “When Mother and Father died. You were my brother. My guardian. Why didn’t you protect me?” The last word spread into a wail. The glass on the windows vibrated, shook harder and harder, until it shattered. Cracks formed on the ceiling. Dust flew out of the fireplace.

All the lost years blinked in front of her eyes—the life she should’ve had, a husband, a family, a lovely garden with kids running around, Harry coming over for dinner, telling her it’s all right, that he’s sorry he ever thought her strange and erratic.

The room turned to black, and Ida felt no more.