Pen Pal(72)

Her hand holding the pencil tenses. Then it twitches. Then it begins to tremble uncontrollably. I watch in fascinated horror as Claire’s forearm starts to move, jerking back and forth over the paper in short bursts.

Abruptly, her arm freezes. She presses the pencil to the paper and writes a word in one fast scrawl from start to finish. The word is composed of heavy block letters all in caps, scratched so deeply into the paper, in some places it’s torn through to the page beneath.

REVENGE





A sudden freezing draft snuffs out the burning candles. Something cold brushes against my cheek, like a ghostly wind.

Or ghostly fingers.

I scream at the top of my lungs and run from the room.





35





Fiona and Claire find me in the kitchen, huddled on the floor in a corner with my back against the cabinets and my knees drawn up to my chin.

Glancing around, Claire asks, “Why did you open all the cabinets and drawers?”

“They were open when I got here.” My laugh sounds unhinged. “The resident ghost thinks it’s hilarious to do stuff like that.”

The sisters look at each other, then at me. Claire suggests gently, “Why don’t we all sit at the table and have a chat?”

“A chat sounds great. So does an exorcism. There’s a fucking ghost in my house!”

Fiona says, “Yes, but look on the bright side. At least there’s only one.”

I groan and drop my forehead to my knees.

“Now, now, my dear, don’t despair. This is actually quite good news.”

“Remind me where, in this unmitigated supernatural disaster, good news can be found?”

She says brightly, “Now we know what the spirit wants!”

I look up and stare at her in disbelief. “From the sound of it, the spirit wants to commit murder. And as I’m the only person who lives here, I’m thinking I’m the prime candidate for its homicidal quest.”

“The spirit is angry, but I sensed the anger isn’t directed at you,” says Claire, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table. She sits, patting her hair and smoothing a hand down the front of her blouse. She looks exhausted.

Being possessed by a dead person must really take the wind out of you.

“But it knows me. What does that mean?”

“You’re the owner of the home. You’ve been living here with it. Of course it knows you.”

I’m horrified all over again. “Oh, God. Has it been watching me when I’m in the shower?”

Fiona says, “I think you’re missing the bigger picture here, dear.”

Exasperated, I demand, “Which is?”

She pulls up a chair next to her sister and sits down. Folding her hands in her lap and looking at me with kindness in her eyes, she says, “If you can help the spirit get what it wants, it will move on.”

I glance at Claire, who nods.

“You’re saying you want me to be an accessory to murder?”

“The spirit said nothing about murder. It said revenge, which can take all sorts of forms.”

I drop my forehead to my knees again and say miserably, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Ever the practical one, Fiona says, “We need to contact the spirit again.”

I lift my head and insist, “There’s no way I’m doing another séance!”

Claire shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Growing more desperate, I demand, “So that’s it? We’re out of options? Can’t you just burn some sage or something to make it go away?”

Claire laughs as if I’m being silly. “Oh, my dear, that’s a myth. A spirit isn’t a pesky insect one can banish with a little perfumed smoke.”

“Great. So I have to sell the place if I ever want peace again?”

“Unless it’s not the house your spirit is haunting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps the spirit is haunting you. In which case, it doesn’t matter where you live. It will always find you.”

I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. She shrugs again, as if she hasn’t just delivered the worst news yet.

Then something hits me. “Holy shit. Maybe it’s one of my parents. Oh, God, I never considered that!”

Claire and Fiona share another of their odd looks. Feeling defensive, I say, “There was no answer when I asked if it was Michael, so I have to assume it wasn’t him. Right?”

There’s something strange in Claire’s pause, as if she’s carefully choosing her words. “We can’t assume anything. How long have your parents been dead?”

“Many years. Both of them.”

“Then it’s not them.”

“How do you know?”

“You would’ve been contacted before now. Spirits can’t cross to the Other Side then return to this dimension. Once they ascend Beyond, this plane of existence is closed to them. The only spirits who can make contact are lingering in limbo. Now, come sit at the table. My legs are getting cramped just looking at you huddled on the floor.”

Though my legs are shaky, I manage to stand. I join them, sitting across from Fiona and propping my elbows on the table. I drop my head into my hands and sigh.