Page 8 of The Accidental Ghost

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Ralph immediately apologized. “I have a horrible sweet tooth, and it looked so beautiful and delicious… I reacted before I thought.”

Wanda smiled at her, tucking her hair back to smooth it. “It’s fine, Ralph. No harm, no foul.”

“So you can eat?” Shamus asked with a cock of his head.

Ralph bit her lip, looking down at her short nails. The first thing she noticed about them was they needed a trim, but they also had something under them—which was odd. She was meticulous about keeping her nails clean ever since she’d watched some show on Discovery about the disgusting germs that lurk under them.

Frowning, she replied, “No. I can’t eat. At least, I don’t think I can, and I haven’t been hungry at all. Which should tell you how fabulous those cupcakes were. Why? Does that matter?”

“Only helps to identify the type of ghost you are.”

“Type of ghost? Dead is dead, isn’t it?”

Shamus smiled at her. “It is, but how you live your death is contingent upon how you lived your life. Or your eternity.”

Ralph twisted a piece of hair around her finger. A nervous habit, but one she was glad she’d been able to retain as a ghost. “Well, I don’t know what the heckity-heck I did in life to deserve this. I’m stuck in a castle I can’t seem to leave, watching people live their lives, while I float around in the same clothes and the underwear I’ve been wearing for at least a week.”

Marty winced.

Ralph cringed. “Sorry. Too personal?”

Wanda reached out to her, the soothing hand she offered falling right through Ralph’s. “It’s just shock. It removes your filter.”

“Is that what happened to Nina?” she blurted out—instantly regretting her words.

Nina narrowed her eyes and leaned toward her. “Careful there, Casper, or I’ll get the gamma ray gun and zap your floaty, boho-vibing ass.”

Wanda swatted at Nina. “Leave her be. She’s not lying. You really don’t have a filter, Vampire. If she’s been ghouling around for a week, she knows that as fact. And to answer your question, Ralph, she’s never had a filter. But we’ve dealt with these kinds of circumstances plenty. It happens with everyone. The shock of what’s happened to you always brings out the worst in everyone.”

“You say that like you’ve done this before…” Ralph murmured.

Wanda paused for a moment and peered at her, her lashes sweeping her cheek. “We have, and we’ll get to that. For now, it’s interesting that you should say it’s been a week. How do you know for sure you’ve been here a week?”

Ralph gulped. “The last day I remember was a week ago. I saw it on Nina’s calendar. I was in my store, unpacking some inventory and then everything went black. I woke up here.”

“Your store? What kind of store do you own?” Marty asked with interest.

“A bookstore. New and used books. Some vintage. I just…” Ralph squared her shoulders. “I only opened it a couple of weeks ago, before…”

Before this. After all that hard work. After all the years of planning, scraping, saving, endless meals of canned ravioli and baloney sandwiches so she could purchase inventory, do renovations, live until the store showed a profit. And she’d ended up dead. Sorrow filled her heart.

Marty clapped her hands in clear glee, but then she appeared to remember the situation, and she gave Ralph a small smile. “I’m sorry, Ralph, but at least you remember that much. Am I right in saying some people are too traumatized to remember things that happened before their death, Shamus?”

Death. She hated that word.

He clicked his teeth. “You’re absolutely correct. So we can check off little to no trauma. Except…”

Her ears perked up. “Except?”

“Except, do you remember how you died, Ralph?”

She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. “I don’t remember anything after going to the store. It was nighttime, and I was looking forward to kicking off my shoes, having some dinner and watching some Netflix with my cat, Blanche— Blanche! My cat! She’s all alone. We have to help her!”

But Shamus held up his hands. “All in good time. First, let’s get you categorized so I know what I’m dealing with and, most importantly, how to help you get to where you need to be.”

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried to block out all the colors of Nina’s great room. They were giving her a headache.

Which, by the by, shouldn’t she at least be pain free for all her trouble? How could she have a headache if she was dead? Trying to focus, she wondered what he meant. “Categorized? There are ghost categories?”

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