Sean Houston: Ghost Talker
Because ghosts don't listen, you have to do more than whisper.
The broken glass made crinkling sounds under Sean and Jordan’s shoes. They tread carefully through the general store, a staple of Old Town Plunkett, now refurbished and offering newer goods like ear buds and fidget toys. Sean sighed, his breath visible from the winter air that filled the shop through the broken front window.
Jordan, a woman in her early 40’s, with sandy blonde hair, an overdressed winter look, and a look of concern on her face, tried to meet Sean’s eyes.
“Well? Any clues?”
Sean chewed his lip. He was thinking about a cigarette, as he often was while trying to quit. This was the seventh attempt so far. Sean scratched his thumb with his index fingernail as he looked around.
“Well, Jordan, not really. But I’m not a cop, I’m a private eye. Breaking and entering isn’t really my specialty. More missing persons and martial strife. Looks like nothing has been taken, just a busted window.”
Jordan’s arms were crossed, her hands rubbing her biceps for warmth. She sighed loudly.
“Come on, Sean! You know the cops out here are barely above Mayberry! They don’t give a shit about some Metro Resident come to the country! It’s probably locals trying to scare me out!”
Sean knew Jordan since high school. She grew up in Plunkett but moved to Arlington to pursue a realtor career. With a business degree from Georgetown University, she came back home to sell the dream of living just East of Nowhere. In the interim she inherited her uncle’s general store and decided to refurbish and update it.
“Jordan, there’s no conspiracy. Locals are blue collar, they don’t like ‘city folk’ but they just complain over beers.” Sean walked away to check the broken window. The window showed a break like a rock had been thrown through, but nothing that could have caused the break in could be found.“They don’t vandalize in a town small enough that everyone knows your business as soon as you do it.”
“Maybe something went bump in the night a little too hard.” Sean mumbled under his breath, not wanting to share his supernatural side of business with a mundane citizen of town.
A cell phone ring erupted the cold night. Jordan spun around, answered in a clipped tone, and walked outside in ‘realtor mode’. Now Jordan the Salesperson was in charge, pacing on the cobblestone walkway of the walking mall, leaving Sean to wander around the empty store. The jingle of metal caught Sean’s attention. The sound came from the 90’s era cash register, shifting and slowly lifting into the air. The air became colder and mist coalesced around the register.
Sean groaned and muttered “Great. it’s ghosts.” The spirit continued to take form, eventually conforming to a shape that was a man in khaki shorts, a collared short sleeve polo, and disheveled hair. Sean glanced at the window, saw Jordan still on the phone in on the sidewalk, fully engrossed in the phone call. Seeing the coast was clear Sean walked to the register, reaching into his coat pockets.
“Hey, uh, spirit of, he who, uh, passed on. Put that down.” Sean scratched his thumb with his index fingernail, the craving more acute, sharper now. The spirit halted, glanced at Sean, then in a heavy Appalachian accent spoke, it’s voice sounded like it was talking through cloth, slightly muted.
“You c’n see me? Praise tha lord I have been gifted a helper!” The spirit dropped the register, letting out a loud clang that popped the register portion out, revealing a handful of bills and coins. Sean flinched and glanced back at Jordan. She was peering into the broken window, hand over phone speaker.
“Everything OK in there?” Her tone revealed she was only partially listening, as the voice over the phone was still talking, a tinny hum of a high pitched voice.
“Yeah, yup, banged my elbow into the counter, it’s all good. Ouch.” Sean waved a hand through the spirit who was rifling though the register’s dollar bills. Sean leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth. “I’m no helper, you’re supposed to be off this mortal-goddamn-coil!” Sean pointed to the window. “Did you do that?”
The spirit placed hands over its heart. “Oh, my goodness, yes, I was feeling awful sad and when I let out a cry the window done broke. So, since the good lord opened a window after closing a door, I let myself into my friend’s shop.”
Sean’s brow furrowed. Taking the context of what the spirit said, he was possibly dealing with a poltergeist, but a very polite one. Sean inhaled then exhaled through his nose and put his investigation skills to use.
“Your friend. He owned this shop?”
The spirit nodded. “That’s right. I would visit him every day and bring a little treat. He always got crumbs in his beard an’ it was the cutest-” The spirit froze for a moment. “-I mean ta say, we was friends is all.”
Sean scratched his chin. “So you two were…friends.” Sean raised his eyebrows as he said the word ‘friends’. The spirit nodded. “And you’re here because it was, what, left to you in a will or something?”
“Oh we don’t got no need for no fancy paperwork to say what’s ours, I know this is mine, just as I know my heart attack was a test to keep me from my-good friend’s property.”
“Cool, great, listen, that’s not how this works. That lady out there-” Sean pointed to Jordan, now simultaneously texting and speaking over speaker phone. “-she owns this, her uncle, her actual family, left it to her. With all that ‘fancy paperwork’ you chose to ignore.”
The spirit grew more solid, the air dropped another few degrees, their eyes grew dark. “I don’t think you un’nerstand, young’in. This here’s MINE.” The spirit expanded, the shelves began to shake in response, the wind began to swirl. Sean held his coat closed as the wind whipped at him. If he didn’t act quickly this shop would be a disaster and he would have no one to blame it on.
“Thank you Egon Spengler.” Sean muttered as he pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. The glass had symbols painted on with craft store paint. The barcode from Jo Anne Fabrics still on the bottom of the vial. Sean uncorked the top and the spirit began to float towards the bottle, against it’s will. Sean’s voice was quiet but stern. “Hey man, this goes one of two ways. You agree and get to float around the town, or I bottle you and lose this vial in a junk drawer in my house.”
The spirit’s eyes grew wide and it shrank back down to normal human proportions. “I’m sorry, I just…I just miss him so much. And this was gonna be our place when we could…be business partners.”
Sean tilted his head. “What year was it when you two were friends?”
“1957. It was spring time, beautiful colors in the leaves. We would walk through the arboretum when it was empty.” The spirit shrank more, now about the size of a twelve-year old. “I just miss him.”
Sean put the vial back in his bag. He looked at Jordan, still on the phone, then looked at the spirit, realizing several things at once.
“You know what? I’m so rude, my name is Sean, what’s yours?”
The spirit titled it’s head. “Name’s Bertram, nice ta’ meet you Sean. You look a mite familiar.”
“Yeah, you probably know my dad, Thomas Houston.”
“Oh yeah! He’s a fine man, been going with this lovely lady for some-”
Sean waved his arms frantically. “Yeah yeah yeah I’m sure, listen, Bertram. If you can promise to not bother the nice-” he glanced outside. “-the, er, busy lady, I can let you stay here. You can watch people come in and shop and patronize the business the way your friend wanted.”
Bertram had grown back to standard size, and pondered this for some time. Sean was glancing back and forth, seeing Jordan finally wrap up her phone call and start to walk back to the shop. Sean kept his life manageable by keeping those who didn’t know about the strangeness of Plunkett out of the affairs of the strange. He had to wrap this up as soon as he could.
“Look, Bertram, I’ll also try to find your friend, I’ll come visit and get details later, does this work for you?” Sean heard the bell over the door jingle. “Please?”
Betram faded from view as Sean heard barely above a whisper. “Deal. Find Caleb Holbrook.” Sean noted the name and turned to greet Jordan. Before he could think of anything else to say Jordan glanced around.
“Did you turn the heat on? It feels warmer than it did before.”
Sean shook his head. “No, I think we’re just-acclimating. Sorry about your register, I can’t figure out, closing, nothing’s gone, I, sorry I need a smoke.”
Jordan grinned. “Yeah, you were always the cool kid with the smoking habit. You should get that gum that helps with the cravings.” Jordan shut the register with a single practiced motion. “So any ideas?”
Sean took a large breath and glanced around the shop. “I think it was either kids on a dare or just someone drunk stumbling into the shop. If you go to ‘North Plunkett Insurance’ and talk to Danny, he can get you set for minimal costs and repairs. He owes me a few favors, so let him know I’m cashing in.”
Jordan hugged Sean. “See, this is what I missed about small towns. Everyone knows everyone and helps each other out! No secrets amongst the populace!”
Sean nodded and kept his mouth shut. Yeah, except for what happened with a ghost in love with your uncle. Sean bid Jordan farewell and left, emerging into the dark streets of Plunkett, lighting up a well deserved cigarette and planning how to find a ghost in a town full of them.