Page 5 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“Good luck finding holy water,” I said. “Nearest church is twenty miles away. And it doesn’t work on ghosts, anyway. That’s just a myth.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I believe it.”

“You believe I can see ghosts and talk to them, but you think I’m wrong about the holy water?” I asked, one eyebrow rising. “That’s deranged.”

Ginny chuckled as she set the timer for the ovens.

“Why wouldn’t it work?” she asked. “It’s holy water. If it can affect vampires—”

“Really?”

She shrugged. “—then why can’t it hurt ghosts?”

“Because holy water is a religious thing. Being a ghost has nothing to do with religion. You’re just…a ghost.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!” Ginny laughed.

“Ghosts have been around since man existed,” I said with a laugh. “Religion came long after man started walking upright. Holy water is a religious thing. Ghosts are not.”

“God existed before man, even if there wasn’t religion.”

“Debatable,” I replied.

“Who says?”

“Everyone.”

“Heretics!”

“Atheists, actually,” I said. “Regardless, holy water is a human invention that came after the first existence of ghosts. They could care less about it.”

“Then why does silver and sage keep them out of buildings, huh?” Ginny smiled proudly.

“Are you trying to insinuate that silver and sage are also human inventions that came after ghosts?” I laughed.

She rolled her eyes but dropped the topic. Ginny walked around the service counter and plopped down on one of the diner-style stools bolted to the floor in front of it. I stared at her from across the counter, amused.

The Lunch Counter was once the thriving ‘Sage Grove Diner’, serving hundreds of meals a day. Back when our little river-front town was a big shipping port on the Mississippi. Times change. As the shipping business tapered off and disappeared, the ports closed and the piers and docks were abandoned, then rotted and fell into the river, a similar fate fell upon our town. Sage Grove had seen better days, and a small stroll down the main thoroughfare proved it.

Except for the Wash-A-Teria, Shop-A-Teria, the Gas & Go, the post office, and The Lunch Counter, almost every business was shuttered. More than a third of the homes in the town of nine hundred and thirty-two people was abandoned. Many were at the point of needing to be condemned, but no officials were around to make those decisions. Our honorary mayor, David Honeycutt, had the authority to label any houses as condemned, but why would it matter? Who was he going to send to tear them down and clear out the debris? Sage Grove barely had a budget to keep the one street light working and the mail delivered, the water running, and the roads in decent condition.

When I’d bought and opened The Lunch Counter, I was fortunate enough to find that it was one of the buildings in town that had not completely fallen into disrepair. The plumbing and electrical were good and most of the repairs that needed to be done were minor or aesthetic. It took a little money and some work, but my profits from my medium business, and a bit of know-how and elbow grease, took care of those problems. Within six weeks of purchasing the place, I had it open and ready for business.

Now, you may be asking yourself why someone who makes a decent living as a medium would open a diner. Additionally, you may be asking why anyone would open a diner on a rundown street in a rundown town with a population of less than a thousand people. It’s the same reason I’d been applying for the Waterson Altruism Grant for three consecutive years. Someone had to help feed the unhoused and poverty-stricken residents of Sage Grove. The town couldn’t afford to do it. The local and state governments weren’t interested in helping, either, preferring to ignore and wait the problem out.

With the money I put into The Lunch Counter from my medium business, everyone in town who needs it gets at least one decent meal a day. Obviously, we never have the money to serve anything elaborate, but a hot sandwich and a bowl of soup go a long way when you’re talking about people with daily food insecurity. Without the Waterson Altruism Grant, that was the best I could do while still taking care of my own needs. However, it was my goal to one day have enough donations and grants coming in so that everyone in town who needed it was guaranteed three meals a day.

The bell jangling over the door brought me out of my thoughts once again. Ginny spun on the stool slowly to see who had entered as I looked up from my spot behind the counter. I didn’t even have a chance to say a word before Ginny was standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s four dollars or whatever you can afford—including free. Now get out of here, Gary!”

I shook my head at the sight of the man ducking out of the front entrance, the door gliding shut behind him. Following him with my eyes, he dashed right past the front window, passing through the ghost who was still staring at me through the “O” on the glass. Gary shivered when he passed through the ghost, but gave no other indication that he noticed it. I tore my eyes away before they connected with the ghost’s. I didn’t want to encourage him.

“Every single day, Si.” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “Gary has been coming in here every day, saying nothing, just staring like a lunatic. Does he think anything is going to change? And he knows Sal is going to pick up enough for everyone at the camp anyway.”

“You’re too mean to him,” I said, admonishing her as I slid my phone from my hip pocket. “Other than everyone at the camp, he doesn’t have anyone. He misses being a part of society.”

“Then come in and start a real conversation!” Ginny exclaimed.