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house. Picking up vibes sounds very cool and with-it, or whatever the phraseology is nowadays. But this is exactly what we do and it’s amazing how quickly we can pick up a ‘vibe’ or spirit activity. It’s something anyone can do. Just walk around until you find a spot where cold starts to creep up your legs. Bingo!
“Can you feel it?” Jaz whispered. We were in the bathroom and it was noticeably colder than the rest of the house. As we walked in I could feel the cold creeping up and settling around my waist.
“Yeah. Nasty.”
“I don’t think it’s an incubus. I think she’s got herself a real live spirit. Well, not alive, but you know what I mean.” Jaz called out to Mrs Smallman who was hovering behind us in a ferment of anxiety. “Do you know the history of this house? Did anyone die here, in the bathroom?”
“Good heavens,” Mrs Smallman reared backwards. “Never. We’re a decent couple. How dare you make insinuations like that?”
“Work with me here, Mrs Smallman,” Jaz’s voice had an edge of impatience. “I’m not implying anything derogatory but I suspect that someone may have died in here. Not recently, possibly a decade ago. Do you know the history of this house before you owned it?”
Mrs Smallman gave a sigh of relief as if she’d been let off the hook and was no longer being accused of murder. “Well. I suppose I can find out for you.”
“It’s not really necessary but it would confirm what I’m saying. Something definitely happened here in the bathroom.”
“It wasn’t always a bathroom,” Said Mrs Smallman. She now seemed anxious to please. “It was just a pokey little room. It had no windows. The previous owners used it for storage. When we moved in last year we converted it into a bathroom.”
“Okay,” Jaz was obviously on to something. She turned to me. “Helen, let’s get to work.”
This is the part I like, where I get to act like I know what I’m doing. I held Jaz’s hand while she closed her eyes. We both settled into a peaceful state, breathing slowly and deeply. After a few minutes a strange transformation took place. It seemed that Jaz’s face had begun to melt. That’s the only way I can describe it. Melting. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyebrows bushed out. Her nose seemed to sharpen and her lips widened in a grimace. From the corner of my eye I could see Mrs Smallman peering round the corner of the bathroom. I heard a small gasp. She was obviously impressed. I put my finger to my lips, signalling her to be silent. She nodded her face white and strained.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“None of your business,” the words were forced out of Jaz’s lips but they weren’t in Jaz’s voice. Again I heard Mrs Smallman gasp.
“We are here to help you,” I said in my most funereal voice.
Jaz threw her head back and an unearthly growl spewed out of her mouth.
“No-o-o-o-o!”
That was my cue. “Your earthly life is over and you need to move on. We’re here to help you. Do you see a light?” I asked.
“Oh, come on,” came out of Jaz’s mouth, pleading this time. “Why do you Goody-Two-Shoes have to interfere? Just when I’m having so much fun.”
“You are upsetting this good lady with your antics.”
“No, I’m not. She enjoys it as much as I do. Just ask her,” said the voice.
“Please go to the light,” I insisted. Dang, but I’m good.
“No, please, no.”
“Go to the light.” I use a loud sort of theatrical tone. It works every time.
“Oh well, if you insist.” The voice coming out of Jaz’s mouth sounded petulant.
After a few minutes Jaz sighed. It was over. Her face had returned to its normal clever planes and sharp edges, her eyebrows the usual thin plucked line and her mouth once more used for smiles rather than snarls.
“Is that it?” Mrs Smallman asked.
“Hopefully,” Jaz said.
“Was that a human being?”
I laughed. “Let’s just say a human been, as in has-been. He shouldn’t worry you again, Mrs Smallman. No more unwanted sex at midnight.”
“Oh,” she said. I hoped that wasn’t disappointment in her voice.
We are not always successful and so had made it a policy to phone the client a week or so after we had cleansed a house. I dialled Mrs Smallman’s number. She was at home.
“Mrs Smallman, this is Helen Grant from Ghost Hunters Limited. You remember, we came by last week and got rid of your ghost.”
“Yes, of course, I remember,” the voice sounded hesitant.
“We usually phone just to confirm that the house is clear. Have you had any further sexual activity?”
Mrs Smallman was silent.
“Mrs Smallman?”
“Well, actually the ghost still seems to be here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It sometimes doesn’t work the first time. We’ll come round and do another clearing for you at no extra charge.”
“No, no,” Mrs Smallman said hastily. “It’s quite alright. I think I’ll just learn to live with my ghost. Thank you.”
And with that she put down the phone.
I suppose you have to get your jollies wherever you can nowadays.
***
The End
Cover art – The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli, 1741-1825
Look out for Jenny Harrison’s other books, all set in the tiny NZ township of Panui
Tessa Godwin’s past was filled with pain, guilt and regrets and she thinks it’s all behind her. Then Bailey Chance comes back to town. He has questions she can’t or won’t answer. As he probes deep in the murky past so Tessa’s Shadows become more tangible, more frightening. The story begs the question – are ghosts the product of a troubled mind or are they – out there?
Meet Charlie Cromwell, 9 years-old going on a 100, irrepressible, infant mystic and troublemaker. She inveigles herself into Abigail Grogan's life and car as they set off on an adventure. Charlie meets Stella Goodstar, owner of the local porn shop, and some pretty shady individuals, including Mr. Golightly who wants to exploit the little girl's strange powers. And the local cop is after them.
No one could have imagined George Ainslie a hero. Heroes are majestic, sublime. They look like Christopher Reeve. George is so bland his own mother wouldn't pick him in a police line-up. Also, he's a bit of a bumbler. Things happen to him through no fault of his own. How did he get to be a hero? George has friends in High Places working hard to keep him out of trouble and not always succeeding.
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“Can you feel it?” Jaz whispered. We were in the bathroom and it was noticeably colder than the rest of the house. As we walked in I could feel the cold creeping up and settling around my waist.
“Yeah. Nasty.”
“I don’t think it’s an incubus. I think she’s got herself a real live spirit. Well, not alive, but you know what I mean.” Jaz called out to Mrs Smallman who was hovering behind us in a ferment of anxiety. “Do you know the history of this house? Did anyone die here, in the bathroom?”
“Good heavens,” Mrs Smallman reared backwards. “Never. We’re a decent couple. How dare you make insinuations like that?”
“Work with me here, Mrs Smallman,” Jaz’s voice had an edge of impatience. “I’m not implying anything derogatory but I suspect that someone may have died in here. Not recently, possibly a decade ago. Do you know the history of this house before you owned it?”
Mrs Smallman gave a sigh of relief as if she’d been let off the hook and was no longer being accused of murder. “Well. I suppose I can find out for you.”
“It’s not really necessary but it would confirm what I’m saying. Something definitely happened here in the bathroom.”
“It wasn’t always a bathroom,” Said Mrs Smallman. She now seemed anxious to please. “It was just a pokey little room. It had no windows. The previous owners used it for storage. When we moved in last year we converted it into a bathroom.”
“Okay,” Jaz was obviously on to something. She turned to me. “Helen, let’s get to work.”
This is the part I like, where I get to act like I know what I’m doing. I held Jaz’s hand while she closed her eyes. We both settled into a peaceful state, breathing slowly and deeply. After a few minutes a strange transformation took place. It seemed that Jaz’s face had begun to melt. That’s the only way I can describe it. Melting. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyebrows bushed out. Her nose seemed to sharpen and her lips widened in a grimace. From the corner of my eye I could see Mrs Smallman peering round the corner of the bathroom. I heard a small gasp. She was obviously impressed. I put my finger to my lips, signalling her to be silent. She nodded her face white and strained.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“None of your business,” the words were forced out of Jaz’s lips but they weren’t in Jaz’s voice. Again I heard Mrs Smallman gasp.
“We are here to help you,” I said in my most funereal voice.
Jaz threw her head back and an unearthly growl spewed out of her mouth.
“No-o-o-o-o!”
That was my cue. “Your earthly life is over and you need to move on. We’re here to help you. Do you see a light?” I asked.
“Oh, come on,” came out of Jaz’s mouth, pleading this time. “Why do you Goody-Two-Shoes have to interfere? Just when I’m having so much fun.”
“You are upsetting this good lady with your antics.”
“No, I’m not. She enjoys it as much as I do. Just ask her,” said the voice.
“Please go to the light,” I insisted. Dang, but I’m good.
“No, please, no.”
“Go to the light.” I use a loud sort of theatrical tone. It works every time.
“Oh well, if you insist.” The voice coming out of Jaz’s mouth sounded petulant.
After a few minutes Jaz sighed. It was over. Her face had returned to its normal clever planes and sharp edges, her eyebrows the usual thin plucked line and her mouth once more used for smiles rather than snarls.
“Is that it?” Mrs Smallman asked.
“Hopefully,” Jaz said.
“Was that a human being?”
I laughed. “Let’s just say a human been, as in has-been. He shouldn’t worry you again, Mrs Smallman. No more unwanted sex at midnight.”
“Oh,” she said. I hoped that wasn’t disappointment in her voice.
We are not always successful and so had made it a policy to phone the client a week or so after we had cleansed a house. I dialled Mrs Smallman’s number. She was at home.
“Mrs Smallman, this is Helen Grant from Ghost Hunters Limited. You remember, we came by last week and got rid of your ghost.”
“Yes, of course, I remember,” the voice sounded hesitant.
“We usually phone just to confirm that the house is clear. Have you had any further sexual activity?”
Mrs Smallman was silent.
“Mrs Smallman?”
“Well, actually the ghost still seems to be here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It sometimes doesn’t work the first time. We’ll come round and do another clearing for you at no extra charge.”
“No, no,” Mrs Smallman said hastily. “It’s quite alright. I think I’ll just learn to live with my ghost. Thank you.”
And with that she put down the phone.
I suppose you have to get your jollies wherever you can nowadays.
***
The End
Cover art – The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli, 1741-1825
Look out for Jenny Harrison’s other books, all set in the tiny NZ township of Panui
Tessa Godwin’s past was filled with pain, guilt and regrets and she thinks it’s all behind her. Then Bailey Chance comes back to town. He has questions she can’t or won’t answer. As he probes deep in the murky past so Tessa’s Shadows become more tangible, more frightening. The story begs the question – are ghosts the product of a troubled mind or are they – out there?
Meet Charlie Cromwell, 9 years-old going on a 100, irrepressible, infant mystic and troublemaker. She inveigles herself into Abigail Grogan's life and car as they set off on an adventure. Charlie meets Stella Goodstar, owner of the local porn shop, and some pretty shady individuals, including Mr. Golightly who wants to exploit the little girl's strange powers. And the local cop is after them.
No one could have imagined George Ainslie a hero. Heroes are majestic, sublime. They look like Christopher Reeve. George is so bland his own mother wouldn't pick him in a police line-up. Also, he's a bit of a bumbler. Things happen to him through no fault of his own. How did he get to be a hero? George has friends in High Places working hard to keep him out of trouble and not always succeeding.
Please consider posting a review. A few stars and a comment can make all the difference to a writer’s sales. Thank you!
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
Share this book with friends
Ghost's Night Out