Page 60 of Giving Up The Ghost
The house was empty of the living, but I knew the dead were waiting, caught still in the trap my ancestor had created and Nadine had resurrected. With a backward glance at Julian and Ezra, I started up the steps. They were both watching me—tense now—but didn’t try to follow.
Did I mention how much I love them?
Inside, the house felt empty. My mother, if she hadn’t crossed already, was not lingering there. I paused to crouch by the silvery line on the floor, using the knife I’d cadged from the kitchen earlier to pry up part of the inlay. I didn’t feel a sudden rush of spiritual energy or a change in the atmosphere or anything so overt, but there came a subtle shift inside me. Relief, maybe? Relief that the trap was breaking, that the spirits held there could finally move on?
Or maybe it was just pleasure in destroying something so aesthetically out-of-place. I stood, tucking the knife back into my pocket carefully before forcing myself to walk towards the cellar. When we’d left them, the spirits were seething. My father was in no place to hold them back, and, driven by anger and fear and panic, they were not going to be kind to me. Even if I was a relation.
My father.
How strange to see him again. How strange to see him like this. I had almost no memory of him alive, just a few words, a smile. And even then, I’m not sure if they were truly memories or if I had made them up so early and so often, they felt real. But he was there, looking so much like the pictures I’d seen, that Grandfather had kept in his desk in London… Short, like me. Dark hair, bright blue eyes. He wore a t-shirt with some band I’d never heard of (but would be looking up soon) and jeans. I wondered if he’d been wearing that when he died, or if it was a favorite outfit he manifested afterwards. “I have your smile,” I croaked in wonder, and he laughed softly. I padded my way carefully down the cellar steps, the glare of the overhead lights picking out the detritus of the fight.
It hurt in all possible ways to see the detritus of my family scattered across the floor, Each paper, each artifact like a broken body discarded and left to rot. For many, it would be the only thing that ever indicated they existed in the world. Names lost forever to everyone but a few. Now, they were just torn bits of paper, broken glass and pottery, and upended bottles. Nothing had context anymore, nothing was safe and protected. My stomach clenched, seeing it, seeing my father in the midst of it. A Fellowes ghost haunting the only memorial most of our family would ever receive.
The remaining stone glittered amidst the debris, some ground into fine powder. “Ghost rave,” I muttered, trying to break my downward spiral and knowing Ezra would laugh if he could hear me. I reached the bottom of the steps and paused. “I can feel you here,” I said calmly. “It’s okay to come out. To show yourselves if you can. I’m not going to harm you or cause you to be harmed. I’m here to help you.”
My father came first. He smiled, eyes sad, and moved close to me, standing beside me and facing out into the room.I wish you were alive. You should be here and whole with me.
After almost a minute, a slip of a figure moved forward. They were an old ghost, worn thin by time as could happen. Time and who knows what Char—No, Nadine—had put them through. What sort of effects the trap had on them. “Can you tell me your name?” I asked gently. “Is there anyone you’d like me to talk to for you?” The ghost drifted a bit closer. I had the impression of a hollow-cheeked face and weedy beard. A slight figure, a boy trying to look like a man. “Do you want to cross over?”
He hesitated, misty arms lifting in a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know exactly what’s across,” I said. “My own experiences are very limited.” Telling him about my vacation with Julian, about the Wreckers and worse, would hardly help, I decided. “It’s your choice. If you’d like to stay, you can stay.”
The ghost rose up a few feet, turning in a ribbon of opaque mist before sinking back down to hover before me. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “Everyone I know is dead.”
“Your family’s gone on ahead?” I asked, confirming.
“No, everyone I know is dead,” he repeated, gesturing to the cellar. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t remember being anything else. I’m scared. What if, whatever is next, whatever I become… What if this is it for me?”
Ah. Well. That was just a nice punch to my gut. I glanced at my father, who gave me a small smile and a shrug. “You arranged this, didn’t you?”
He grinned outright then.
“You’ve been dead four times longer than I had you in my life,” I scolded, eyes smarting, “and you’re still pulling dad maneuvers, trying to give me life—or afterlife—lessons, hm?”
The ghost made a soft, throat-clearing noise. “Um, Mr. Fellowes?”
My father and I both turned. “Oh, sorry. It’s up to you,” I said again. “But if you’re asking me, I think that maybe it might not be a bad thing to… to find out what else there is.”
“Can I come back,” he asked softly. “If… if I don’t like it. Or if I’m alone. Or?—”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve known some ghosts who can and have. But many don’t. Or at least from the ones I’ve met.”
He seemed to nod, fading a bit. “I’m very tired,” he admitted. “And… I think I’d like your help, please.”
“This may take a bit, but I’ll help you.”
I decided to go one at a time instead of gathering together all those who wanted to cross. Either way would be a tremendous drain and leave me useless after, but it would be easier to monitor myself one at a time. The weedy bearded ghost was easy enough to help cross—I think he wanted to, more than he realized. And I think maybe he’d just needed someone to tell him it was okay to be afraid and uncertain.
Others were not as easy.
Some changed their minds or resisted the crossing. Somewantedit but could not make the transition.
A few were adamant—they wanted to remain. They had their reasons and did not share them with me, save for one younger man who told me we were, apparently, distant cousins. He had a daughter, born just after the war. He wanted to stay around, see her if she was still about. “Maybe she has kids of her own,” he mused, narrow face introspective as he stared at something I couldn’t see. “Do you think?”
“Maybe.” I smiled. “It’s possible. I can help you find out. Well, my best friend, Ezra can. He’s very good at that sort of thing.”
The man nodded, drifting over to join a few others who chose to remain.
