The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women Part 12

I am her.

"Do you?"

Oh my G.o.d, I am her!

She'd heard about ghosts. Some of her brothers talked about them privately, when they were choring outdoors. She'd overheard them, talking and giggling nervously. Ghosts were leftovers from dead people. They were stuck on earth for some reason. They came out at night and shook windows and rattled doors. They could pa.s.s through solid walls and scare you to death if you looked at them. They had magic numbers they used to their advantage. Thirteen. Seven. Three. Each had a purpose that Charity did not stay to hear, because at that point her mother was calling her.

"Hey, Charity?"

Slowly, she stood, held her hands in front of her, and placed them on the closet door. Am I a ghost, then? Is that what has happened? Did I die here? Has it been six years?

Her palms flattened against the splintery wood. She felt it grow cold at her touch, and then she pushed against it. Leaned into it. And it gave way. She tumbled forward though the door and out into the room.

Julie leaped to her feet, her eyes huge. "Oh, s.h.i.t! Oh, s.h.i.t!" Her blonde hair was grimy and limp, her jeans soaked in blood down to her knees.

Charity straightened and stared at her hands. They looked the same to her. She flexed them. They felt the same but for the chill.

Julie backed towards the bed. "Get away from me," she snarled.

"I . . . I won't hurt you," said Charity. "I never hurt anyone in my life."

"Get away!"

Charity took a step forward, wanting to console Julie, for she saw in the girl the fear and terror that she knew had been on her own face when Rufus came at her with his correction rod or belt. And in that moment saw herself in the mirror.

She screamed.

Gone was the recognizable, sunburned face, the narrow shoulders, the slim body, and the yellow dress. Her dress was torn away at the waist, revealing ravaged undergarments. The ragged remnants of cloth were covered in black streaks and blackened blood. Her body was mangled, one arm bent with a bone protruding, her legs flayed along the shins and thighs. Her face was purpled and her jaw could be seen through a hole in her cheek.

Charity fell to her knees, clutched the remaining clots of hair on her head, and sobbed. And somewhere nearby came the sound of someone else crying softly, accompanying by a persistent scratching, clawing.

"We're both dead, then," said Julie. She sat on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her brows drawn, her lip trembling.

"Yes. I died at the hands of Rufus and the Prophet. You died at the hands of the nurse your boyfriend recommended you go to."

"So we're ghosts."

"Yes."

"I don't know how to be a ghost. What do we do now?"

Charity sat on the chair at the desk. She could not feel the seat beneath her. She ran her fingers along the b.u.t.tons of the phone but could not push them. She and Julie had tried several times to leave the room, only to find they were unable to step through the door. "I don't know. Have you read about ghosts?"

Julie shrugged. "Some. Not much. We have unfinished business. I guess since we both got murdered, in our own ways."

"I guess so."

"How long have I been dead, I wonder? I would call the front desk and ask the date but we can't dial, can we?"

"I can't. Maybe you can. I've heard tell ghosts can move things sometimes."

Julie crawled off the bed and went to the desk. She lifted the receiver and gave Charity a look of surprise. She pushed the 0 on the dial pad. A moment later, a voice said, "Yes?"

Julie said, "What is today?"

"h.e.l.lo? Is someone there?"

"Yes, I want to know the date."

"h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? Who is there in room six? No one's been in that room for weeks!"

"Please, I just want to know today's date."

"I'm coming down there, whoever you are! Intruders! Pranksters!" There was a click. Julie put the receiver down. "She couldn't hear me. She's coming to the room. Are we supposed to spook her?"

"Do you think we should?"

"I don't know. She's probably an OK lady, just worried is all."

"Then let's leave her alone."

Julie and Charity went into the closet. The woman from the front desk entered the room just moments later, and they could hear her grunting as she kneeled down to look under the bed, peeked in the bathroom. Then she opened the closet door. They held still as she stared right through them. Then she muttered, "Must be crossed wires. Must be last night's storm." She went out. Julie went back to the bed. Charity went back to sit at the desk.

"Are we stuck here? Forever?" asked Julie. "Do we have to haunt the place where we died?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I wish I did. My brothers knew a bit about ghosts. I should have paid closer attention. Oh, I hope Fawn has gone on to heaven! I don't want her wandering in the desert, all alone!"

"Shhh, listen," said Julie.

There was the soft crying again, beneath them. The sound of scratching, clawing.

"What do you think that is?" Julie asked.

Charity shook her head. "It's what I've been hearing off and on. I thought it might be a dog beneath the motel, scampered there out of the sun maybe."

"No, it's a human sound."

They both listened. Whimpering, sc.r.a.ping. Under the floor.

Charity kneeled down on the rug. She put her face to the floor. "Who are you?"

More weeping, louder now. More scratching.

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

A soft, tiny voice. "Help."

"How can I help you?"

"Help."

Instinctively, Charity put her hand to the floor, through the floor into the crawl s.p.a.ce, and felt about. Her fingers brushed against some fine, soft hair, and she gasped.

"What is it?" asked Julie.

"I don't know." Her fingers traced the hair, down to a soft jaw line, a small chest, and bony shoulder. She felt about and grasped an arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Wait."

She pulled. Slowly, carefully, drawing her hand back up out of the floor, ready to let go of the arm should it refuse to move through with her. But it didn't. The body came through, huffing, shuddering.

It was a small boy, no more than five. He had raven-black hair and brown eyes. He was dressed only in a pair of short trousers. His feet were bare. There was blood at the corners of his mouth, and his chest appeared sunken, and dirt and small bits of gravel were embedded in places along his skin.

"Hi, there," said Charity. "What's your name?"

He sniffed and rubbed his nose. It was then Charity saw the nubs of his fingers. He had been digging, clawing, and had worn them clear to the bone.

"Honey," said Charity. "We won't hurt you. What is your name?"

He looked at Julie, then back at Charity, not seeming terrified by their appearances. He said, "Nantan."

"Is that an Apache name?"

He nodded.

"How did you get down there under the motel?"

The boy shrugged.

"How long have you been down there?"

The boy's face creased up and he began to cry again. His words were broken, desperate. "He threw me in the hole. Covered me up. Said I was nothing but trouble!"

"What man?"

"The man that build this place."

G.o.d . . . and how old is this motel? Thirty years, maybe?

Charity tried to hug him but there was little of substance to hold. Nonetheless, she remained there on her knees, her arms encircling the boy, trying her best to replicate what had been easy in life.

Then Julie said, "Would he sleep? Could we put him to bed? Perhaps he would at least rest."

"We can try."

Charity sat back on her heels and held out her hand to Nantan. He took it. Julie grasped his other hand.

And they all felt it. A strange and sudden surge between them, a blue, undulating energy that took their dead hearts and set them pounding.

Julie almost let go but Charity said, "No, don't! Don't let go!"

"Why?"

"Just don't, please. Let's get up together."

"Why?"

"Please?"

"I guess," said Julie.

The three of them stood then, a young woman, a girl, and a little boy. Charity's brothers had said there were magic numbers ghosts used to their advantage. One was three. And here they were, three ghosts, holding hands. There was something special there. There was power.

She led Julie and Nantan to the door.

"What are you doing?" asked Julie.

"Trying something." Charity closed her eyes, thought about Fawn, dead, her body G.o.d only knew where now. Perhaps her spirit lingered on the outskirts of Flinton, not knowing what happened or what to do about it all.

"Come with me," said Charity. "And don't let go of each other, OK?"

"OK," said Julie.

Nantan nodded.

She pushed through the door. The others came with her, sliding silently out on to the uneven concrete walk then across the night-darkened parking lot.

Yes! Yes!

Together, they could go where they needed to go. Together, they would take care of the business each needed to take care of. They had all the time in the world to figure it out and get it done.

You will be avenged, sister. I may see you again. I may not. But you will be avenged. You will be freed!

Flinton wasn't so much h.e.l.l as h.e.l.lish. Not so much owned by the devil as bedevilled by humans and their cruelty. Charity led the others down the road, heading westward through the shadows, casting none of their own. She imagined herself shaking the town's foul soil from her feet.

And as the silver moon rose over the desert and dogs barked behind chain link fences, she smiled her first smile in years, savouring the expressions she would see on the faces of Rufus and the Prophet when she took them to task back in Gloryville.

The Fifth Bedroom.

Alex Bell.