Page 6 of Ghost in the Cupboard

I glanced at my phone screen.

“I gotta skedaddle,” I said. “It’s almost time for Rhonda.”

Ginny shook her head with a smile.

“She hasn’t given up?” she asked. “After all this time?”

“I don’t think she ever will,” I replied, rounding the counter. “Not until she’s dead, anyway. Then she won’t need me. It’s only been a couple months, anyhow. That’s not too long to grieve.”

“She doesn’t need you now. You haven’t been able to summon her husband, and it’s been forever!”

“Hey,” I said, passing by Ginny on the stool, “she pays me fifty bucks every day to come try to contact the guy. That’s a lot of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone. I’ll keep trying as long as she keeps paying.”

Ginny eyed me for a moment when I turned at the front door to grin at her.

“Maybe you are a charlatan, Si,” she said. “Because any respectable medium would have told her to give up the ghost by now. Ha! Give up the ghost!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Very clever,” I groaned. “I’ll be back in time to help serve. You good on blending up soup ingredients and getting everything ready?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Victor Grimm wouldn’t have told her to give up,” I murmured.

“I said respectable medium,” Ginny said.

I winked at my helper and dashed out the front door. Fortunately, with it being late morning in early fall, it hadn’t been necessary to grab my coat or a hat before ducking out of work. A cool autumnal breeze was whistling down the street, ruffling my hair, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. As I walked past the ghost at the window, he turned, wordlessly, and fell in behind me. Floating along behind me, he said nothing, and I pretended to not notice.

We’d already spoken once, and that was enough. I wasn’t able to help him. He needed to move along. Until he chose to do so, I was going to ignore him—and I didn’t care how long I had to ignore him to prove I was a man of my word.

Gary was in the little alcove between the side of The Lunch Counter and the Wash-A-Teria. He was turned so that I could only see his profile, and he had his arms wrapped around himself—a self-soothing gesture. When I came up alongside him, I stopped and turned to face him, but kept my distance. Gary didn’t like being touched or to have his personal bubble invaded.

For as long as The Lunch Counter had been open, Gary had been one of the daily faces. He’d sneak in the front door, quiet as a church mouse, wearing his brown trousers and black sneakers that had seen better days, along with a ratty t-shirt and a cardigan that was two sizes too big. He’d asked one question, as quietly as he could while still being heard. How much for a meal?

It didn’t matter that our prices had not changed over the three years The Lunch Counter had been open. It didn’t matter that the leader of the homeless camp, Sal, would always be the one to come pick up meals for the folks at the camp. It didn’t matter that the cost didn’t actually matter—if a person needed a meal, they got a meal. Gary came in every day and asked the cost every day. And every day I gave him the same answer. However, sometimes Ginny would snap at him, annoyed with answering the same question every day.

But he hadn’t actually spoke in quite a while. He had turned into more of a silent creeper lately.

Gary was on the taller side, and obviously in need of the meal he got each day from us. A “bean pole,” most people would call him. Hunched in the shadow of the space between the two buildings, the hem of his cardigan flapping in the breeze, he looked small. Like a wounded bird.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Gary,” I said. “Don’t beat yourself up too much about it.”

He nodded nervously, avoiding eye contact. His hands flexed, gripping his flesh tightly as he hugged himself. I looked in the direction I’d been going, not wanting to be late, but not wanting to ignore someone in obvious crisis.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

He nodded furiously again.

“Do you need me to walk with you back to the camp?” I asked.

Gary shook his head, though a little more calmly.

“Okay,” I said. “Head back when you feel like it. Sal will come get food for everyone. I’ll make sure she gets a sandwich and soup for you. I promise. All right?”

Gary made eye contact then, but only briefly. Then he looked down and nodded. He seemed as if he wanted to say something, but was holding back. Since I couldn’t force the man to speak to me, I let it go. A smile played at the corner of his mouth briefly. I smiled back.

“Good,” I said. “See you tomorrow, Gary.”

He nodded.

I said nothing else as I turned away from Gary, leaving him in the shadowy cocoon between the two buildings, and carried on my way. Making sure Gary was okay had been my goal, and I had achieved it. Even though I desperately wanted to talk to Gary more, possibly delving into the reasons behind his situation and behaviors, I knew it was pointless. Gary didn’t tolerate intrusions from others well—physical or otherwise. Leaving him to collect himself before he headed back to camp was all I could do.

Rhonda Milner’s house wasn’t far from The Lunch Counter, so I never saw a reason to drive from one to the other. The short physical space between the two structures paled in comparison to the economic distance. The Lunch Counter, though in much better shape than the other dilapidated businesses in Sage Grove, looked like a shack compared to the Milner abode.

Within a minute of leaving Gary at the side of The Lunch Counter, I was trudging down the sidewalk to the front gate of the house. Whether iron works on ghosts like the legends say it works on the fae, I’m not sure. However, when I grabbed the iron gate and swung it open enough to slip into the front courtyard, the ghost following me fell back. Once the gate clanged shut, the ghost moved up, keeping a yard of space between himself and the gate, and watched me as I continued up the stone walkway to the front porch. It was the same thing he’d done every day I’d walked over to give Rhonda Milner her daily reading.

Keeping my eyes ahead and not glancing over my shoulder at the ghost was difficult, but I managed. I stared at the house as I walked the path and took the steps up to the huge wrap-around porch. At the door, I made sure to use the doormat for its intended purpose, stomping my feet when I was done to make sure my shoes were thoroughly clean. Then I took a deep breath, sighed, mentally preparing myself for the reading ahead of me, and pushed the doorbell.

Muffled chimes sounded in the home beyond, and I kept my eyes on the imposing, polished oak door as I waited. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard movement in the house, the sound of high heels on wood. Hours seemed to pass by as the person made their way through the gargantuan house, and then I heard the clicking of locks. Finally, the door swung wide.

And the screams began.