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Authors: Nicole Dennis
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slammed, Mother brings in more part-time planners, including my Aunt Bella. There are two people who specialize in “preparing the deceased.” They’re sisters, and behind their backs Harry and I call them the weird sisters. They’re a little strange, but loyal to Mahaffey-Ringold. I know they worked for my grandparents, but they look old enough to have worked for my great-grandparents.
As the coffee percolated, Mother and I sat at one of the blue card tables that passes for an employee lunchroom. None of the renovation money had gone into improvements here. The linoleum was worn dull, and the metal chairs groaned with every shift in weight. I opened my mouth to speak, but an unseen visitor cleared his throat.
Billy growled softly.
“Show yourself, please,” Mother said. “It’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations.”
“Rude, am I?” A young man appeared. He had slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache. His eyes were so dark they looked black. His clothing was old-fashioned. Twenties? Thirties? I’m not good at that sort of thing. He checked a golden watch on a chain. “Isn’t it a wee bit tardy to be drinking coffee, what?” He smirked.
Mother sighed. “Portia, this is Boris. Boris...”
“Oh, I know who she is. Can she finally see me? How marvelous.”
So this was the infamous Boris. I knew he resided here and that he was in the habit of popping in and annoying Mother. Sometimes he played the organ.
“I see you,” I said.
“Smashing dog! Is he yours?”
“For now.”
“Hullo, poochie.” Boris hovered over Billy, who growled. “Well, aren’t you the cranky one? Hah! He’ll fit in just fine around these uptight killjoys.”
“Did you need something?” Mother asked.
“Just being social.” Boris raised an eyebrow. “I take it I’m impinging on some sort of hen party.”
“You are,” Mother said.
“Fine,” he sniffed. “TTFN.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.
Mother waited a moment. “I know you’re still here.”
“All right. All right. I’m going this time.”
Silence.
“I mean it, Boris.”
“Damn it,” he said.
She waited a moment longer. “He’s gone now. I’ve been around him so long that I’m sensitive to his presence. That happens when you’re around one ghost for years and years.”
I shuddered at the thought. Then a question occurred to me. “What about Reclaimers? I thought they came for people who didn’t cross over? And what about demons? Are there other things I need to look out for?”
The coffee was done. Mother got up to pour us each a cup. The strains of Roll Out the Barrel being played on the organ drifted down the hall from the chapel.
“Reclaimers? You’ve been talking to Hephzibah. Reclaimers have only been around the last forty years or so. Things were getting cluttered with too many ghosts. In the sixties it became popular to linger and haunt members of the establishment. Too much war and too many drug overdoses. So the Reclaimers were drafted. They hunt unclaimed souls for a bounty, but older ghosts, like Boris, are pre-reclaimer. They can’t be touched.”
“But demons?”
“Demons are a real risk for ghosts. They aren’t picky. They’ll eat anyone they can catch. Mahaffey-Ringold is on sacred ground. Demons can’t come here, so it’s a popular place for some of the older spirits to hang out.”
“I know about Boris and that snooty old lady, whatshername. Lady Hildegard? How many of them live here?”
Mother studied me curiously. “How did you know about demons, anyway? Have you actually seen one?”
“Ugly and smelly.”
She set down her cup. “Honey, I’m impressed. I’ve been hoping to see one for years. Only a few days and your gift is so strong.”
“I’m being haunted,” I blurted out.
“Already?”
“Remember the girl who died in my hospital room? She was murdered, and now she won’t cross over. I promised to look after her dog.” I gestured to Billy, who had stretched
As the coffee percolated, Mother and I sat at one of the blue card tables that passes for an employee lunchroom. None of the renovation money had gone into improvements here. The linoleum was worn dull, and the metal chairs groaned with every shift in weight. I opened my mouth to speak, but an unseen visitor cleared his throat.
Billy growled softly.
“Show yourself, please,” Mother said. “It’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations.”
“Rude, am I?” A young man appeared. He had slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache. His eyes were so dark they looked black. His clothing was old-fashioned. Twenties? Thirties? I’m not good at that sort of thing. He checked a golden watch on a chain. “Isn’t it a wee bit tardy to be drinking coffee, what?” He smirked.
Mother sighed. “Portia, this is Boris. Boris...”
“Oh, I know who she is. Can she finally see me? How marvelous.”
So this was the infamous Boris. I knew he resided here and that he was in the habit of popping in and annoying Mother. Sometimes he played the organ.
“I see you,” I said.
“Smashing dog! Is he yours?”
“For now.”
“Hullo, poochie.” Boris hovered over Billy, who growled. “Well, aren’t you the cranky one? Hah! He’ll fit in just fine around these uptight killjoys.”
“Did you need something?” Mother asked.
“Just being social.” Boris raised an eyebrow. “I take it I’m impinging on some sort of hen party.”
“You are,” Mother said.
“Fine,” he sniffed. “TTFN.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.
Mother waited a moment. “I know you’re still here.”
“All right. All right. I’m going this time.”
Silence.
“I mean it, Boris.”
“Damn it,” he said.
She waited a moment longer. “He’s gone now. I’ve been around him so long that I’m sensitive to his presence. That happens when you’re around one ghost for years and years.”
I shuddered at the thought. Then a question occurred to me. “What about Reclaimers? I thought they came for people who didn’t cross over? And what about demons? Are there other things I need to look out for?”
The coffee was done. Mother got up to pour us each a cup. The strains of Roll Out the Barrel being played on the organ drifted down the hall from the chapel.
“Reclaimers? You’ve been talking to Hephzibah. Reclaimers have only been around the last forty years or so. Things were getting cluttered with too many ghosts. In the sixties it became popular to linger and haunt members of the establishment. Too much war and too many drug overdoses. So the Reclaimers were drafted. They hunt unclaimed souls for a bounty, but older ghosts, like Boris, are pre-reclaimer. They can’t be touched.”
“But demons?”
“Demons are a real risk for ghosts. They aren’t picky. They’ll eat anyone they can catch. Mahaffey-Ringold is on sacred ground. Demons can’t come here, so it’s a popular place for some of the older spirits to hang out.”
“I know about Boris and that snooty old lady, whatshername. Lady Hildegard? How many of them live here?”
Mother studied me curiously. “How did you know about demons, anyway? Have you actually seen one?”
“Ugly and smelly.”
She set down her cup. “Honey, I’m impressed. I’ve been hoping to see one for years. Only a few days and your gift is so strong.”
“I’m being haunted,” I blurted out.
“Already?”
“Remember the girl who died in my hospital room? She was murdered, and now she won’t cross over. I promised to look after her dog.” I gestured to Billy, who had stretched
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