Haunted Paranormal Mysteries Collection

Haunted Paranormal Mystery Novella

Collection

Jane Monson

Smashwords edition

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Jane Monson © 2013

Contents

Haunted House For Sale

Ghost from the Past

Ghost Lovers

Ghost Paparazzi

Haunted House for Sale

The client was already talking when Catherine reached the front door. I love this space. She gestured with her acrylics at the big living room. There was an arched doorway in the wall between the living room and the rest of the house. Just in front of the archway, a blonde woman about Catherine’s age lay dead, apparently strangled.

Catherine screamed when she saw the dead woman. At the same time, a tiny part of her brain calmly noted that a house in this condition in this neighborhood should be priced a lot higher. At this price it should have been snapped right up already. So this body might explain, at least partly, why it was still available. The house smelled awful, too, all damp and clammy, like it had a bad foundation.

While Catherine was screaming—a high sustained wail like a siren—she also realized her client hadn’t said anything, and was staring at Catherine as though Catherine were the problem here. Catherine instantly stopped screaming, because she liked Lori, and obviously the two of them were having totally different experiences, and a sale was a sale. Huge spider! Ran up my leg, she said in a choked, hysterical voice and ran into the bathroom off the foyer. She hoped Lori believed the spider story, because she didn’t want Lori to think she was a flibbertigibbet. When she turned to shut the door, she saw Lori walking eagerly toward whatever lay beyond the archway. Lori walked right through the body like it was a hologram.

What the what? Catherine sat on the closed toilet lid. American Standard fixtures, she noted absently. Lori hadn’t appeared to see anything out of place, and Lori was a good client who’d buy a house from Catherine sooner or later. They’d known each other in college, and then run into one another again about a year ago.

If you worked on commission, you had to suck up a lot. Catherine did suck up a lot. She ignored all kinds of things, and smiled right through all of them. Other people’s husbands grabbing her ass, renos that were frankly hideous, children’s sticky fingers on walls. She could ignore a murdered woman’s ghost corpse as long as Lori did.

Catherine was pretty sure now what she’d seen couldn’t have been a body. It must have been some kind of reflection of something, plus a suddenly morbid imagination. Was there a stained glass panel in a window to cast patterns of color and light on the floor? She stood up. She was wearing high heels—she always wore high heels—and a close-fitting grey tweed skirt. She straightened her skirt, checked her teeth in the mirror, opened the door, and walked out of the bathroom.

Lori was calling something from the master bedroom, and the body was still in front of the archway. Catherine decided to act like nothing was wrong. Ignore the body and go join Lori in the master bedroom. She’d have to walk close to the body when she passed it. She didn’t feel right about walking right through it the way Lori had. She approached it carefully and skirted close to the wall of the archway.

Just as she passed, the murdered woman stood up and said, You can see me, can’t you? Catherine would have screamed again, even louder, but she found she couldn’t say anything but uhhh. So she said that. It was like the kind of nightmare where you find yourself paralyzed, trying to make a noise and wake up.

I know you can see me. You look scared, because I’m dead, right? Did that mean she wasn’t even sure she was dead, or she wasn’t sure Catherine knew? "I look all dead, don’t I?"

She did look all dead. It seemed she’d been around Catherine’s age when she died. Catherine couldn’t be sure, because she had to judge by what she saw from the neck down. The victim’s face was bloated and bruised, her eyes bulging and filled with red starbursts of broken blood vessels. Her neck was all... There was something around her neck, maybe. Catherine couldn’t stand to look directly at her for more than a glance or two; it was too horrible and creepy. It was bad enough to see her dead like that, but dead like that, and standing up and talking—it gave Catherine cold shivers, like ice-water dripping down the back of her neck.

You have to help me. Nobody else can even see me. Catherine didn’t want to help her. Catherine wanted to get away from her. She’d never show this house again to anybody; that was for sure.

Catherine almost ran through the archway and down the short hall to the master bedroom. Lori said, There you are. I hate this carpet.

Catherine concentrated on breathing evenly. It probably looked good when it was new and in fashion. She felt as though the channel had changed and she was suddenly in a different show.

Lori laughed scornfully and said, Lime-green!

It’s a simple fix, said Catherine, practically on autopilot now. This was relaxing, after what she’d thought she’d seen in the living room. She’d had this very conversation with so many clients. A lot of the time, they picked on something totally meaningless like a carpet or a paint color. It really was due for replacement, but a carpet was cheap compared with a roof or a furnace.

Would you like to check out the laundry facilities? She took them down to the basement and then out through the back door to the driveway and their cars, so she didn’t have to pass the corpse again.

Back in her car, she still felt shaken. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the car’s mirror as she got in, and she was pale and ruffled-looking. What had that been about? Was somebody playing a joke on her? It was a pretty elaborate joke, and she couldn’t think of anybody she knew who would do that. Plus, how would someone even do it? Catherine had never seen anything, felt anything, like that before.

As soon as she got back to her office, she went into the bathroom and put herself back together. Then she went to a computer and googled the address they’d been to. It wasn’t one of her office’s listings. If it had been, she would have expected some warning from the listing agent, because sure enough, there had been a murder in that house. The woman she’d seen dead had apparently been strangled by her estranged husband. He was in custody now. That was good, anyway.

The murdered woman had been 32 years old. Catherine was also 32, and that was way too young to die. Her name had been Krista McLean. There was a picture of her. She’d been pretty when she was alive. There was also a picture of the estranged husband, the bastard. He was good-looking, too. Fat lot of good that would do him in prison. Ha! He’d probably wind up dating some guy named Bubba. Maybe thinking about that would be some consolation to Krista’s ghost.

Catherine had never before had any clue that she could see ghosts. She really didn’t want this. Was it just something that happened only once, because of some weird affinity with Krista McLean? Maybe she was sensitive to something about dead people, or murdered people. Any of that was all right, as long as it never happened again. It was no worse than being allergic to shellfish. She just avoided shellfish. From now on, she’d make sure to avoid going into a murder house. She’d just have to make really sure to do more research before, not after. She wasn’t going crazy. And it would never happen again. She wouldn’t think about it.

And she didn’t, very much, until Lori called the next day. I’d like to see that house on Orchard Street again.

Why? Catherine hadn’t been paying very much attention to Lori yesterday after the murder victim showed up. Looking back, though, she saw Lori had been giving all kinds of signs of interest in the house. Clients started talking about minor things like carpets after they’d already thought about and dismissed the bigger things. Crap! She’d had a chance to deflect Lori from the murder house, and she hadn’t even recognized it in time.

Okay, Catherine said, trying to think fast. I’ll try to set something up there again. But I have another nice one that just came in. She gave Lori the details. It hadn’t really just come in, but Lori hadn’t seen it yet, and that was what counted.

Mm. Lori sounded totally underwhelmed. It doesn’t really sound like my thing. That’s the wrong direction from where I want to be. Let me know when you have Orchard Street set up again. Too bad; it was a nice house. Though Lori was right it was in the wrong place for her.

After she’d hung up, Catherine thought about how she could get out of this. It was a haunted house, even if Lori didn’t sense that. Catherine started to call the listing agent’s office to set up the appointment, still thinking how to get out of it. Finally, she realized all she had to do was to tell Lori about the murder. Nobody would want to live in a house where a woman had been murdered by her husband. She stopped calling the other agent’s number and called Lori back.

I don’t care, said Lori. I don’t believe in ghosts. She laughed. I believe in saving money, though. Think about how this murder thing could get the price reduced even more.

Catherine sort of admired that attitude. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the... whatever she’d seen, she’d be thinking about a price reduction, too. She didn’t believe in ghosts either. What had happened yesterday, after all? She’d thought she’d seen a dead body. Even if she had, there was nothing dangerous about it—the dead body’s husband had been dangerous, maybe, but he was in jail. What could a ghost do to you, except scare the crap out of you? And it had already done that.

She met Lori at the house this time. She opened the door and Lori pranced in like she already owned it. Catherine followed, feeling the clammy haunted air the second she stepped inside. She looked reluctantly toward the archway. The body of the murdered woman stood up when she saw Catherine, and started talking. Please, don’t walk out again. You have to help me. Nobody else wants to. Please, just listen. Please! Catherine nodded and held up a finger. The corpse lay down with a sigh.

What am I doing here, thought Catherine. I could go back to selling clothes. Clothes couldn’t be haunted. Haunted houses you heard about. Haunted cardigans, not so much. She earned more with houses, though. Lori pulled out a measuring tape and walked out into the kitchen. Oh, boy. She was serious, all right. But there was no way Catherine could let her buy this house.

While Lori bustled around the kitchen with her measuring tape, Catherine stood near the corpse. You’re Krista McLean, right? she asked.

Yes, said the corpse. You can see me all the time, can’t you?

You mean most people can’t? Catherine said. Lucky me. Lori started measuring the counter closest to Catherine and the ghost. Lori called out, Will you remember eleven and a half for a second?

Who killed me? Krista asked.

Catherine couldn’t answer while Lori was only a few feet away. What if she heard Catherine apparently having a conversation with nobody?

Lori asked Catherine for the number she’d remembered for her. Thanks, she said, as she poked at her phone to make a note of it and moved off.

That gave Catherine an idea. She took out her phone and held it to her ear so Lori wouldn’t think anything of it if she heard Catherine yacking away.

The ghost asked again who killed her. How could she not know? Your husband, Catherine murmured.

No, it wasn’t him.

Catherine didn’t want to argue with a ghost. She saw Lori take her tape measure down the hall to the master bedroom. Catherine, still holding her phone, said, He’s the one they arrested.

No. He didn’t kill me. She was quiet for a bit and then said, Your client’s going to buy this house, isn’t she?

Catherine made a noncommittal noise.

And I’ll be here. She doesn’t see me. Yet. But she’ll start to feel me sooner or later. The house will start to seem unwelcoming to her.

So I’m not the only one who can see you.

No. Everybody senses me somehow, sooner or later, even if they think it’s just allergies they’re feeling. Then why not ask somebody else to help her, Catherine wondered. As if she read her mind—and who knew, maybe she did—the ghost said, You’re the only one who’s got a horse in this race. There’s nobody else with a reason to help me. This was just what Catherine had been afraid of. She really couldn’t let Lori buy this house.

If you find out who killed me, I can leave this house. And I will. I don’t want to hang around here.

You won’t haunt it anymore? The ghost nodded.

Maybe I can help you, Catherine said reluctantly. We’ll talk more. She could see that Lori wanted to buy this house, more all the time, but Catherine would keep trying to talk her out of it while she could. Then, after she’d exhausted all other possibilities, maybe she’d have to make some kind of deal with the ghost. She really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Who could have killed you, if not your husband? Catherine asked.

I don’t know! But it wasn’t Sean, because I was looking right at him when I was killed.

Catherine shrugged. She didn’t know what that had to do with it. Was this some spooky ghost superstition, like seeing an image of the murderer in the victim’s eyes?

Really! Sean and I were talking and I was looking right at him, and then I saw a look on his face as though he saw something over my shoulder, and then I felt the wire go over my head and round my neck, from behind.

Wow, thought Catherine. So why didn’t your husband tell somebody who it was when he was arrested? Now Krista shrugged, apparently uninterested. You’d think she’d pay more attention.

Lori came back into the room and said, I wonder where it happened? She was standing not a foot away from the ghost corpse.

I don’t know, said Catherine. The ghost held out her hands, like she was saying, Here I am. Well, let her. Catherine wasn’t going to start talking about ghost corpses to Lori.

Can you find out where? asked Lori.

Why? If you’re not bothered by the very idea of a murder, why would you be bothered by where?

"I don't really care, but find out. If it was in the bedroom, then you can pretend I’m a little creeped out by sleeping in the same room. Whatever. I know there are no ghosts; you know there are no ghosts—speak for yourself, thought Catherine—but some people believe in all that supernatural crap, and they’d find this whole thing creepy."

Do you maybe want to look at some more houses before you make a decision?

Lori got a stubborn look on her face. Call the listing agent and call me back. I’m pretty sure I want to make an offer on this.

Oh no, thought Catherine. Well, nobody had signed any papers yet.

As Catherine was locking up, she heard Krista calling, You’re my only hope! And you promised. Tell them my husband didn’t do it. Then they can start looking for who did.

Who’s them, wondered Catherine. And why would they listen to her?

The listing agent was a