Page 39 of Giving Up The Ghost
“It’s nothing official, but between colloquial wisdom and the bit of research I’ve been able to do, and what the university’s provided for me to review, ghosts seem to be drawn to people with any sort of parapsychological ability.”
Both of them looked over their shoulders at me in the backseat.
“Mediumship, empathic abilities,” I added, pointing to Ezra. “It could extend to things like telekinesis, telepathy, etcetera, if such things were proven to exist.”
Ezra and Oscar exchanged dopey expressions, both of them pretending to cry and sniff. “Our little skeptic’s growing up,” Ezra faux sobbed.
“I’m so proud,” Oscar added. “My baby!”
“Oh my god, I hate both of you so much,” I muttered, but I was unable to stop myself from smiling. They laughed, and Oscar reached back to stroke my face in lieu of the kiss I knew we both wanted. “Anyway, the fact remains there are three weird things going on, aside from Charlotte’s attitude towards us. One, the house gives Oscar a feeling ofvoid.”
Oscar nodded. “Despite the crying woman encounter, it doesfeelempty. Well. Except for the cellar.”
“And two,” I pounced. “The cellar! You said there are boxes and boxes of family materials there, some dating back centuries. Putting aside the fact that, to paraphrase, everybody’s favorite bad archaeologist, it should be in a museum or at least a climate-controlled, appropriate research facility, is it possible the ghosts are attached to the items? And three,” I held up my three fingers and waved them back and forth, “the house itself.”
“What about it?” Oscar asked warily. “It’s an old house, they’re all a bit strange.”
“The stone! The stone it’s made from is the same as the stones outside the churchyard, at the circle!” I’d been aware of the similarity for a few days now and while it seemed unusual, it didn’t strike me asodduntil a few minutes ago. “Why would the graves of people who—no offense—were outcasts from the community have burials using such unique stones? Stones that aren’t local, that aren’t common, and that are apparently considered highly decorative since they’re used purely for aesthetics at the house. Possibly, it could have been something the family put up for their loved ones, using some leftover materials from the house itself but…”
“Possibly?” Ezra asked, turning onto the drive leading up to the house. Lights were still on so at least we wouldn’t be crawling through the cellar window tonight, I thought with a twinge of relief. I wouldn’t have put it past Charlotte to have locked us out just to be contrary. “What else could it be for?”
Even after all this time, I was hesitant when suggesting somethingout thereto the guys. Even knowing what we’d seen, what we’d been through, I always braced for a laugh, for derisive snorts. They’d never given me any reason to expect it, but stodgy academia is hard to shake when it was part of my entire being for so long—presenting any of these ideas to a colleague at my old job would’ve led to me being put on mandatory sabbatical with a strong suggestion to seek professional, in-patient help. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled the nibbling anxiety and said, “The stone is being used as a sort of cage.”
Aside from the sound of Ezra parking the car and shutting off the engine, quiet met my suggestion. Finally, Oscar unbuckled and shifted up onto one knee to regard me over the seatback. “A what now?”
“I’ve seen something similar—well, broadly so—in my graduate research. That’s why the stones stuck out in my mind, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. It’s been over a decade. But in some cultures, and, to get even more granular, communities within a larger culture, specialized burials to, say, keep a suspected vampire from rising, or to ensure an unquiet spirit can’t roam aren’t unheard of. The burials are different than the others in the local cemetery in cases like that. The headstones, the coffins, the orientation of the bodies, and even the location of the burials will differ all with the intent of ensuring whoever is in the grave doesn’t come back and is either eternally punished for whatever the community thinks they’ve done, or they’re unable to continue their actions after death.”
“So, Oscar’s ancestors are… vampires?”
Oscar was looking at me oddly, a mix of dismay and possibility on his features. “So, why would they use it on the house?” he asked quietly. “If they used it because they thought it would trap the spirits of my ancestors, why use it on the house?”
I shook my head. “Which came first? The burials, or the house?”
“Shit.” He sank back down into the seat, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Add this to the list of things I need to look into.”
“Hey, remember what I said? Let us help.”
Ezra nodded. “Let’s go inside. I’ll start digging into the house’s history on a deeper level and see if I can get into some of those databases Reverend Barnworth mentioned. Julian can help with the burial history. And you just…” He made a vague gesture at the house itself, scowling. “Deal with Charlotte. The sooner we can wrap this up, the better.”
Oscar sighed. “I suppose I do need to have a sit-down with her, don’t I? Something is wrong. She’s so flighty. Maybe I can try getting in touch with Nadine. She might know what’s up and can offer advice if nothing else.”
We clambered out of the car, all of us sore and in need of a stretch after the drive back from the city. Ezra waited for us at the foot of the steps leading to the front door. “Hey,” he murmured as Oscar drew near. “I can find her name. It won’t be hard. Do you want to know?”
Oscar hesitated, then nodded.
“All right. Give me a little bit when we get inside, yeah?” He trotted ahead of us to open the door, pushing it wide so we could go in abreast. As he stepped in behind us, there was a flurry of movement, a shout, and Ezra was down, clutching the back of his head when he landed on the floor. “Oh, you bitch!” he yelled. “What the actual fuck?”
I lurched forward, but Oscar was faster, dropping to his knees beside Ezra.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, letting me push her back with the end of my cane. “I thought you were burglars! I thought you were coming to kill me!”
“Which is it?” Ezra demanded, clutching the back of his head. “Burglars or murderers? Who just happen to use the front door and walk in, chatting loudly?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice tight and thick. “I… earlier, I heard something downstairs, and I called out, thinking you’d returned. But when I came down, no one was here. Iheardthem, though! Someone was down here! I called the authorities, but they did nothing! So…” She gestured to the fallen spade, to Ezra. “I am so sorry, Ezra.Merde!Let me get some ice!” She bolted towards the kitchen, leaving us in relative privacy at least for a few minutes.
Oscar, gingerly prodding Ezra’s skull, frowned. “Julian, call 999 and?—”
“Don’t,” Ezra ordered. “Don’t. They’ll scan me.”
