Page 52 of Ghost in the Cupboard

When I arrived in town, the wooden box and hammer in the passenger seat beside me, I didn’t park by The Lunch Counter. I drove through town, driving at a crawl, making sure that I drove by every alleyway and side street. Drove by each abandoned building, including Doc Stephens’ old place. I stopped and got an energy drink from the Gas & Go and chatted with Caleb for a moment before getting back in my car.

After being certain I’d driven every inch of the main part of town, I drove back down to the diner. I went inside and put the energy drink in the fridge for the following morning and went back to the car. Instead of getting in and driving off, I opened the passenger door and retrieved the wooden box. Though I wasn’t certain I was right, niggling doubts tugged at the corner of my brain.

Ignoring all of those thoughts, I took the box under my arm, tucked the hammer into a belt loop, and locked my car. I didn’t stick to the shadows or creep around like I had the night before. A beeline was cut from the diner to The Eternity Inn. Upon approaching the old, off-white Victorian, I walked around the back, and slung the bulkhead door to the cellar open. I didn’t worry about the creak or the “thump” the door made against the ground.

Drawing attention to my presence wasn’t a concern.

The stairs creaked and groaned as I descended into the black hole of the cellar, guided only by the weak beam of my phone flashlight. But as they had the night before, the stairs held true. Now that I knew the layout of the place, I made my way across the cellar and up the old, yet reliable stairs into the kitchen of the inn.

A few moments later and I was climbing the stairs to the second floor. I didn’t have to guess which room was important when I got into the upstairs hallway. I went straight to the door to the teal room and ducked inside. I looked around, my eye stopping on the shadow on the wall where the cupboard once stood, then went about doing the job I’d come to do.

In the center of the room, I set the green sage-ash painted wood box with inlaid silver at every corner. Kneeling in front of it, my fingers reached for the clasp. When I flipped it up, I expected a woosh of air and for Marcella’s ghost to fly out frantically. Instead, I only felt a cold presence and found myself staring into the blueish-gray shimmer of Marcella’s form packed into the box like sardines.

“We’re here,” I said. “I told you I wouldn’t keep you trapped long.”

Long.

What is long to a ghost? When you’ve lived years as a human and then find yourself facing eternity, what does time even mean? Marcella’s time in the box could have felt like an instant or an eternity to her.

“You can come out,” I said gently. “I won’t trap you again.”

A pair of transparent shimmery eyes stared out from the blob of ghost parts in the box, examining me.

“I promise.”

Slowly, like a mist made of death, Marcella’s ghost leaked from the box, bit by bit, as she had done when she materialized at my house. I waited patiently as she extracted herself from the confines of box and materialized in her ghostly form before me. Once I was satisfied that she was completely out of the box, and that I was keeping none of her inside, I shut and latched it again.

When she didn’t welp or moan, I knew that she had truly, fully extracted herself.

I stood, leaving the box in place for the moment, and faced Marcella Washington.

“Still not talking?” I asked, though I knew it would be pointless.

One moan sounded.

I nodded, gravely.

“Do you know what happens to someone when they die, Marcella?” I asked softly.

She said nothing, didn’t moan, but still stared at me as if I was the crazy person in the equation. I sighed and rubbed my hands on the thighs of my pants.

“Generally,” I say, “the experience is traumatic. As you can imagine. As you may remember, given enough time living…unliving…outside of a box. They usually find a place to hide. Gather their thoughts, examine what they are feeling and what has happened to them. If they even understand what has happened.”

The ghost stared, her mouth agape.

“Some people know immediately that they are dead. Some don’t,” I added. “Either way, they know something is wrong, so they look for safety, just as they would if they were still alive. Human.”

Two moans escaped the ghost. At least I knew she was following what I was saying.

“Ghosts are attracted to shimmery things immediately,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s because they are suddenly shimmery and something…primal…attracts them to things that shimmer. I’ll figure it out one day, maybe. Or I’ll figure it out when it’s my turn to be a ghost. Either way, silver attracts the freshly dead. Even if it is dangerous to them. They all learn one way or another to avoid things that shimmer—except other ghosts.”

Marcella stared at me, floating a few inches from the ground, her feet at an angle so that her toes pointed straight down at the floor.

“That’s why it gets harder to trap a ghost the longer they’ve been dead. They learn what to avoid. Fresh ghosts…well, they figure things out eventually. They learn the hard way or start talking to other ghosts. Or that primal thing makes their instincts kick in. It’s why you hid from me in the house. You’d already been trapped once. Figured it out the hard way. Though you’ve still refused to acknowledge your death.”

She moaned twice.

“I believe you didn’t get into that cupboard after you died simply because someone asked,” I said.