Ghoul Friend Read online

  She nodded reluctantly, and Ezra pulled out his phone as Julian moved to help clear the table and get Ezra settled before stepping back. It wasn’t ideal as an EVP recorder, but we could pull the audio and run it through some scrubbers if we had to. We set up in the kitchen, clearing the table of coffee and cake before arranging the recorder and Ezra’s small camera to capture everything.

  I wasn’t sure how much time we had before Carstairs returned and whether or not he’d have the deputy with him, but I was loathe to hurry. Rushing a séance never ended well—either the ghosts got snippy, or you just plain got no answers You’d think they’d be more easygoing about things, considering they don’t exactly have a lot of people to talk to who can talk back. So I took a breath, and settled into myself, letting that part of me that could interact with the dead open up.

  Immediately, I heard the soft laughter from the party, the ghost who had seemed tickled at just about everything. She wasn’t urgent, just present. She moved through the room without manifesting beyond that quiet giggle. It was almost childlike, I thought, listening as it trilled again. She was amused about something, or maybe just happy. She moved away, an ephemeral thing, maybe no more than the remains of a laugh at her core. I took a breath and closed my eyes, the soft ping of the recording app on Ezra’s phone coming on signaling it was time to begin. “Now, Mrs. Carstairs. Karlotta.” I opened my eyes to find her staring at me intently, almost eagerly. “I understand from our earlier conversation there’s some question as to whether your granddaughter, Deborah, has… moved on?”

  Karlotta nodded. “Yes. She… she died over a year ago, close to two now. We never found her body, and the police stopped looking after a letter…” she trailed off, her complexion going an unflattering, concerning shade of red. “Well. There was a letter that was supposed to be from her, but none of us believed it. Dewayne, though, he’d always been awful to Leonard—that was Deborah’s husband, he passed when Enoch was… oh, three? No, two. And Yancy was already in middle school by then. Yancy was just inconsolable,” she sighed. “He was such a daddy’s boy.”

  “And Deborah?” Julian urged gently. “What about her and Dewayne?”

  She clicked her tongue. “Dewayne drove poor Leonard to his death, and we all know he’s the one who did Deborah in. He’d been coming ‘round and riling up the cattle, cutting up through the back forty like he always did from his place. I swear he just liked coming ‘round to piss us off. Pardon my language, boys.”

  “No offense taken,” I soothed. “Why would he come bother Deborah?” The laughter was gone, and something heavy and oily was seeping around the edges of the room. Something threatening. The fine hairs on my arms and neck raised, my skin pebbling painfully as I waited for Karlotta to respond.

  “Well,” Karlotta hedged, “I don’t rightly know. I tend to think he just enjoyed the drama of it, liked how he was still plucking at Leonard even with that poor boy gone.”

  “And his sons?” I asked. “Yancy and Enoch. Did Dewayne bother them, single them out?”

  “I don’t know what that has to do with Deborah,” Karlotta said cautiously. “Is she… does she say it does?” Her gaze darted around the kitchen as if she could see her granddaughter standing there if she just looked quick enough, catching her before she vanished again.

  I shook my head. “Just getting the lay of the land. Now,” I said, briskly, “Tell me about Deborah.”

  I felt a soft click somewhere in my brain. It was hard to describe, but it was a feeling that came when I’d hit on something, when I opened a channel that had been previously closed. Like a lock turning. That click popped as soon as I asked about Deborah specifically.

  Someone was reaching out, a tentative tendril through the veil.

  The stifling sensation that had been plaguing me since Bettina had lifted a tiny bit, enough for this tender little shoot of contact to work through, and I was terrified the doors would slam shut, and I’d be stuck with nothing for Karlotta. Nothing for us. I refocused my attention on Karlotta and prayed the tenuous connection would hold a little longer.

  “Deborah was such a sweet girl. Sad, but sweet. You know how it goes,” Karlotta laughed nervously. “She was a quiet girl, always kept to herself. Loved helping me in the kitchen and had her own little garden patch ‘round back—we let it grow over after she… after she went. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it, and Enoch… Well, she loved her boys and they adored her, but Enoch was the baby, you know? He damn near watered the plot with his tears. David turned it under in the winter after she disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Two years next month,” she murmured. “Dewayne stopped coming ‘round about then, too. We waited for a while, sure he’d turn up to rub it in, torment us a bit. I don’t know why he hated us so much,” she added on a soft sob. “When he didn’t turn up and they found all that blood at his place…” she shook her head. “Please don’t make me.”

  Ezra reached out and patted her arm. “Thank you, Mrs. Carstairs. Oscar’s going to attempt to contact Deborah now, alright?”

  She sniffed wetly. “Alright.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, slowly. The weak ‘signal’ I was getting allowed me to reach out and call to Deborah or try to. Deborah wasn’t there. In fact, only that oily-heavy-gross presence lingered. It moved around me like a heavy cloak, wrapping and tangling, poking at my thoughts without giving me anything in return. Still, I spoke aloud and hoped for a response. “Can you tell us your name?”

  The little red light on the voice recorder stayed steady. Nothing.

  “I’m Oscar. The Carstairs family are very hopeful to hear from their loved one, Deborah. Deborah, would you like to say hello?” I went through the motions, the heavy smothering feeling once more settling over me, driving the breath from my lungs and ratcheting up my heartbeat. “If you’d like to say something—”

  A sharp gasp from Ezra made me open my eyes. He’d gone pale again, as he had last night and again this morning. He was arching back in the chair, his neck bent to a near obscene angle and his chest heaving. Karlotta let out a tiny screech and scrambled away from her chair, clutching at her bosom and screaming for help. Ezra’s head snapped forward and he stared at me, unseeing. “If I had something to say, I’d say it.”

  “Ezra…” My heart, which had been rabbiting against my ribs a moment before, felt as if it had stopped. “Ezra, what’s going on, mate? Talk to me.” Julian moved forward. I had almost forgotten he was in the room; he’d been standing so still and quiet behind me. Now, he was at my side as if he could stop whatever was happening to Ezra.

  “People don’t listen. I’ve been trying to talk to you for years, but you just don’t listen.” The accent, the sound, was Ezra, but the cadence was wrong. The intonation was sharp and angry, not my friend at all. He slammed his hands down on the table and growled at me. “They love to put on airs about it, don’t they? They can see me, they know I’m there. But hell, trying to get one of them to goddamn listen!” Ezra’s hands came down hard again and the pain made him gasp, the sightless stare snapping out of his eyes, replaced by wild-eyed fear. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god…”

  “Ezra?” My voice was tiny, shaking. “Ezra, talk to me.”

  He finally focused on me. “I wasn’t possessed,” he swore softly. “I was in my head the whole time, I swear. I could hear him talking, hear me talking, but it was like I was standing to one side and… Oh my God…”

  “I believe you.” He looked too afraid for it to be a lie. “What happened, Ez?”

  “Whatever happened last night and this morning… They were trying to do this again. Talk, use me to talk to you…”

  “Channeling,” I muttered. “They can’t or don’t want to use their own voice to reach out. Why…”

  He laughed shakily. “Is because they’re an asshole one of the reasons?”

  Karlotta shrieked as the front door banged open. Carstairs, and a man in a police uniform, trundled in
to the kitchen, both of them scowling. “Found evidence of some encampment by the creek,” the deputy announced. “Looks pretty recent. Not much we can do about it other than clear it out and keep an eye on the place, folks.” He turned his gaze on us. “Deputy Mayhew, Budding Sheriff’s Department. Who might y’all be?”

  “This is Oscar Fellowes and his friends Ezra Baxter and Julian Weems. They’re on television,” Karlotta announced a bit proudly. Julian murmured a hello, shaking the deputy’s hand and doing one of those chin up nod things all the men seemed to do there. Ezra just nodded, still pale and shaking. I started to smile but thought better of it—who knew what expression my face would make? I didn’t trust myself to move just then. Ezra, being used as a conduit was not only new, it was terrifying. Most ghosts weren’t strong enough to use a human conduit, much less a conduit who hadn’t been prepared and willing.

  The deputy swept his gaze between Ezra and me, before turning his attention back to Carstairs. “I can’t spare the manpower to keep someone on duty here twenty-four seven, but I’ll make sure to stop by when I can. In the meantime, get one of your boys out there to keep an eye on the back fence. Looks like that’s where they got in.” He nodded to Mrs. Carstairs and gave Carstairs one of those bro-slaps on the back before letting himself out.

  Carstairs shook his head, padding over to join us in the kitchen. “I’ll be praising Jesus in the streets the day they finally tear down the Hicks place.”

  I thought of the dark, empty farmhouse we’d seen just yesterday, the one we’d laughed about looking like something from a horror movie. “Is the Hicks place that one about a mile up the road? With the overgrown fields?”

  Carstairs nodded. “That’d be the one. Why do you ask?”

  “We passed it on our way here. I’d wondered why it was just sitting empty.”

  Karlotta made a nervous clucking noise in her throat. “No one wants to buy it. On account of it being… well… haunted.”

  Ezra lunged to his feet, swaying and panting. “I need to go. Now. Now, now, now.”

  Julian made a grab to stop him, but Ezra was fast. He pelted out the front door and was halfway to the bunkhouse before Julian or I could stop him.

  Chapter 9

  Julian

  Oscar swore he’d never played rugby in his life, but he executed a perfect rugby tackle to bring Ezra down halfway to the bunkhouse. “Ezra, listen to me! You need to focus on my voice! Ezra!”

  I dropped to my knees beside the struggling pair. Ezra was snarling like a trapped animal, baring his teeth at Oscar and laughing breathlessly. “This,” he panted, “is the most fun I’ve had since Reba O’Halloran finally kicked it. Damn bitch took forever, just kickin’ and cryin’ till she finally got the idea and gave up.” He twisted and nearly broke Oscar’s grasp. “Let go of me, you little freak of nature!”

  “Hey!” I pressed down on Ezra’s shoulders to stop the worst of his thrashing, trying not to see the hurt, shocked expression on Oscar’s face at Ezra’s hurled words. “Ezra, listen. I might know a little of what you’re going through, okay? You know I’ve got my own mental issues. I’ve never made it a secret. There’re things that can help, and we need to get you to a doctor who can—”

  “Oh my god,” Ezra groaned. “Seriously? I’m fine. This idiot boy is fine. Swear to god, you’re all so blindingly earnest it makes me wanna puke.”

  Oscar hissed something under his breath, and for a moment, I thought he was angry at Ezra, at me even, but I realized he was muttering to himself, frowning at something between Ezra and me. “Oscar, seriously?”

  “He’s back and won’t shut up,” he muttered. “Ezra, listen to me. No, shut up,” he hissed at the spot between us again. “I can only deal with one crisis at a time and you, Mister No-Name, are not it right now!”

  “Oscar! For the love of god, focus!”

  He glared at me. “Call an ambulance,” he ordered. “I love you, Ezra, but no fucking way are you sleeping this off.”

  As if summoned by magic, an ambulance came rolling up the drive before he’d even finished speaking. “You’re good,” he muttered. “How the hell…”

  I shook my head. “Carstairs must’ve called, or Karlotta. I’ll wave ‘em over. Hold tight.”

  The EMTs were unloading a gurney as I jogged up. “He’s over by the bunkhouse. Some sort of seizure episode last night and this morning and he seems disoriented. I think it might be some sort of mental health crisis.”

  The nearest tech looked at me with a slightly amused but mostly annoyed expression. “Look, I don’t know about that. We’re here because an elderly lady fell down some stairs.”

  “In here!” Carstairs flung the front door open, pale and shaken. “She’s in here!”

  “‘Scuse us,” the second tech muttered, shoving me to one side.

  “What happened?” I asked, the gears in my brain grinding to a halt. “Mr. Carstairs?”

  “Ma, she… she was going up the stairs to grab one of Deborah’s old medals. Used to do gymnastics. She thought maybe Oscar could use it as a, what’s it, a focal point or somethin’. Get a better reading. She was halfway up, and I heard her scream ‘no’ and…” he choked on the words. “She wasn’t moving.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. Let me get out of the way.” I jogged back, letting the techs have space to bring her out. She was motionless, a plastic collar locked around her neck and a board beneath her back on the gurney. She didn’t look like she was in her own head, her body still and expressionless and gray. Fucking Hell…

  Shit. Ezra! “How many ambulances does the hospital have?”

  “What the fuck kind of question is that?” the first tech demanded. “I ain’t got time to play pop quiz with you!”

  “No, my friend, he’s having some sort of a problem and needs help!”

  The second tech, the one arranging leads on Mrs. Carstairs rolled her eyes. “Two. Should take a few minutes to get here. Tiny town, we’re not really far from the hospital. Now get the hell out of our way.”

  The ambulance doors slammed and, a moment later, they were taking off down the drive, Carstairs and Yancy after them in Yancy’s truck.

  “Julian!” Oscar shouted. “Julian!”

  I raced back to his side, out of breath by the time I was back on my knees beside him. Ezra wasn’t fighting him anymore, but he was very still and pale, his breath shallow and fast. Thick, cold sweat covered his face and neck and he stank of it. Panic sweat, I thought, a stink like when animals are afraid. “Mrs. Carstairs fell down the stairs. The ambulance was for her. She… she didn’t look good, Oscar.”

  “Fuck!”

  I fumbled my phone out and breathed a sigh of relief to see a whole bar of service. I called 911 and gave them our location. After a moment of disbelieving silence, I was informed an ambulance was on the way. “Hang tight, Ezra,” I muttered, scooting closer to Oscar and slipping my arm around his shoulder. “Hold on.”

  This past year, I’d spent more time in and around hospitals and ambulances than any person had a right to. Oscar went with Ezra and I stayed behind, unable to cram into the back of the ambulance and without a way to get there on my own. I texted CeCe an update but soft-sold it, telling her Ezra had a bit of a dizzy spell and maybe a seizure, so he was getting checked out. I wasn’t in the headspace for my sister’s freak out at that moment. I trudged back towards the bunkhouse, sick of the late afternoon heat, sick of feeling my clothes sticking to my body, sick of pretty much everything I could think of. I wanted to help Oscar and Ezra (especially Oscar, I admitted to myself. Especially him.) I wanted to go up to the hospital and, I don’t know, hold his hand, make sure he knew someone was there to lean on.

  Make sure he knew I was there to lean on.

  We’d been bouncing off one another like poorly mated magnets for weeks, the attraction unavoidable until one of us turned the wrong way then we’d push away. I was tired of it and I know Oscar was, too. I stopped at the door to the bunkhouse and pulled my phone out again. I
had a bit of a signal still, so I sent him a text, not sure if he’d even have his phone on inside the hospital.

  Julian: Oscar, wanted to check in with you.

  I couldn’t think of anything to add that didn’t sound distant or cold via text, so I left it at that, pushing the door open only to draw up short. The place had been ransacked. Our bags were spilled open across the bunkhouse, Ezra’s bag of road snacks torn open and wrappers all over the floor. The stench of something rotten hung in the air.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” It had to be Enoch, I decided. Had to be. Maybe he’d been looking for money? Something to get him out of town? Was he trying to run away from his family? Shit. I fired off another text to Oscar.

  Julian: I think Enoch came by the bunkhouse while we were out. Ate Ezra’s snacks, looks like he went through our things. I’m going to look for him while I wait for y’all.

  I paused, then sent:

  Julian: Be safe, Oscar, okay? Don’t come back here till you hear from me.

  I hung my phone up before I could say something too much, too soon.

  Chapter 10

  Oscar

  When I opened my eyes, the room was thick with gilt-edged shadows. A puddle of pale, gold light spilled through open blinds, making a streaky pattern on the floor that looked like someone had tried to scrub away the thickening puddles of dark. It was late in the day, that odd stretch of time just before twilight when the sun was below the horizon, but the sky was still light enough to fool you into thinking you had more daytime left. That span that could last minutes or hours depending on what time of year it was. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but after trying a few more times to reach Julian or CeCe, I’d given in to my exhaustion and let a loagy sort of drowse overtake me. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out before the voice calling my name woke me. A nurse was standing beside the bed, one of those portable trays beside him as he checked Ezra’s IV bag and made some notes on his tablet. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Didn’t mean to doze off.”