"It just says 'the ghost' on here. Look!" Donovan
held the piece up careful not to let the man in the dressing gown take it from
him. "This is the right house?" He looked around him and back at the
figure glowering at him in the doorway. "Is it haunted?" Donovan asked.
Donovan had taken a bus for the
first time, it had been an experience which had both terrified and bored him in
equal measure. Full of old people and winding streets, the fascination faded very quickly. He had considered how he
would return home and then wondered where even was his home? Would he go back to the flat his father paid for in the fashionable area of the Industrial District? An area where old converted factories had been transformed into chic apartments with exposed brick walls and double height ceilings. He had been on Sarah's couch for eight days in her shoe-box apartment eating cereal and watching
day time television which he could do at his own flat but Sarah's throw pillows
were very comfortable.
"I'm not... How did
you find me? Did anyone follow you?" The man glanced up and down the
street. He had stringy black hair dangling over his creased forehead. He
couldn't be more than Donovan's age but fatigue had aged him. Certainly not lack of
money, this was a nice area.
"I just told you, the bus."
Donovan realised he shouldn't have started this encounter by bragging about finding
his way there by riding the bus. He sounded like a four year old.
The address had directed him
'The Bend', a suburban district to the west of the river situated on the curve.
What had been an overgrown network of terraced houses choked by ancient trees
had been developed into a fashionable place to store the second car and the
family.
Donovan stood on the stranger's
door step, having just walked up a small garden path swamped by an overgrown
shrubbery on one side and a severe brick wall on the other.
"Just get in." The
man hissed grabbing Donovan by the shoulders and roughly hauling him across the
threshold and slamming the door.
They stood in a hallway which
was cavernous and very dark considering the time of day. Donovan's back
collided with the wall and he felt the man fumble jerkily into his jacket
casting thick fingers around his chest and back.
"Whoa, buy me a drink
first bud." He gasped, slightly winded by the impact.
"Did she send you?"
The man croaked. Donovan could feel the man's breath against his cheek as the
investigation covered his chino pockets.
Donovan didn't know what to
say. He didn't mind being manhandled much but this was an absurd situation.
Where did Sarah find this weirdo?
Satisfied the man led him into
a well appointed kitchen and directed Donovan to a dining room table with a
flick of his wrist.
In this light and at this new
angle Donovan could see a withdrawn hermit with a terrible haircut and overgrown
stubble. The kitchen, dining room area had a smattering of discarded toys and paintings which were
essentially just splodges of colour stuck haphazardly across the walls.
The man clattered about the
kitchen and approached the table collapsing into a chair opposite his guest. A
mug of tea was carelessly shoved in front of him, Donovan recoiled. The teabag
remained in the mug with no teaspoon and he hadn't been offered any milk or
sugar. What kind of Siberia was this?
"Sooo..." Donovan
drummed his fingers against the side of his mug. He had no intention of
drinking the contents.
The man was slumping in his
chair, his dressing gown hung open exposing a scattering of black chest hair
and a small but recognisable beer gut.
"The ghost." He said
looking squarely at Donovan with eyes like a wolf. "You're looking for a
ghost."
"Yes!" Donovan was
relieved the man had demonstrated some kind of acknowledgement of what he had
presented to him. The list was safely tucked back in his inner pocket in his
leather jacket.
"And she sent you?"
He asked.
Donovan considered answering
the question he had left unsaid in the hallway. There were no hands dangerously
near his genitals at this point and furthermore he had a cup of boiling hot water
to throw in the man's face if he tried anything funny.
"Yes." He said.
"Fuck." The man
exhaled deeply. "What does she want?" He asked.
"She wants... You to tell
her what's going on!" Donovan said.
"Wife left me and the kids
are with their grand-" His eyes narrowed and he sat up pointing an
accusing finger at Donovan. "She didn't send you."
"Yes did!" Donovan
snapped, "Sarah sent me."
"Who the fuck is Sarah?
I'm talking about the... you know who." He enacted a slicing motion
across his neck with his finger.
"You know HER?"
Donovan rose from his seat slightly. He was looking for answers and had assumed
the list was somewhat connected to Sarah. "Oh! Well that makes
more sense." Donovan settled into his chair somewhat relieved that this
wasn't some wild goose chase Sarah had invented by to get him off her couch.
The man went on to tell his story, it all happened five years ago. He explained that he had taken a sheet and black permanent marker. He had cut the
edge in a wavy line and blotted two large circles near where his head would be.
It was rudimentary at best but looked at least like a childish attempt at a ghost
costume. He hadn’t wanted a party.
He lived with several undergraduates while
studying in the city for his Masters and this was the most cost effective option
open to him. His friends had moved away to start careers in the city but he had
gambled that another year of academia could improve his prospects. This meant moving into a house with students who were looking for someone to fill a room and help pay the rent.
The undergraduates who had deigned to let him take a room in their
house expected him to be ‘cool’. He was more than happy to disillusion them. He was
slovenly, rude and frequently drunk out of his mind. By Halloween he was
regretting his decision to take his Masters and found himself frequently rehearsing
the speech he would tell his parents about ‘failure being a learning experience’.
"I didn't know what she was doing there." He said exasperated. "Who just walks into a party and just sits around staring at people?”
“Yeah man, that’s just… weird.” Donovan said with a sympathetic frown.
A woman who had forgotten to wear a skirt and had a scar across
her neck entered the house and he found himself drawn to her. She wore a black
lace mini dress and skyscraper kitten heels. Her hair was black and her lips
were blood red. He didn’t really recognise anyone at the party but she didn't look like a student looking to drink and copulate. She looked like something else
entirely, like she’d stepped out of a gentleman’s club. Perhaps it was
Halloween but he felt it worth mentioning that her eyes looked haunted.
Donovan felt that the best reaction in this case was to nod and smile and the man continued after an excruciating pause.
He spent the evening following the girl to see what she would do. She
scoured the hallways and the vacant rooms, she examined book shelves and the touched
all of the towels in the hallway cupboard. He ducked whenever she turned to
look behind her and at one point he found himself splayed across the staircase lying on his stomach. She
stepped over him as she descended with a cigarette between her lips. He had no
idea where she had found that, she didn't have pockets in that tiny dress.
“Then she cornered me.” He said suddenly.
“Did she ask you to stop stalking her?” Donovan asked. His chin was resting on
the base of his palm, elbows on the table, eyes half closed. He ran a hand
through his blonde hair distractedly looking around the large dining area. It
would seem that the guy had done well in the end. This was a fancy looking
house. He certainly hadn't paid for it with his storytelling skills.
“What?” He asked uncertainly from under his sheet.
“Shh.” She put a finger to her lips and pursed them. “No talking.”
He nodded and could feel the contents of his skull sloshing back
and forth as he did. Since following her around the building he hadn’t been
drinking but he still felt disorientated as he stood in the darkened basement
with the woman in black lace.
“I will give you twenty thousand pounds.” She said.
Donovan scoffed, “And you went along with it?”
The man glowered at him and rearranged his dressing gown to cover
his bare chest. “It was a lot of money.” He said. “Maybe not for someone like
you but, it was for me.”
"Yeah, sure man." Donovan said, his eyebrows flicked upwards but he rearranged his face to concerned intrigue in a flash.
The arrangement was simple enough in theory. The ghost would remain in his costume for one week and follow the woman at a 'reasonable' distance. No talking, no further action to be taken, he would simply hover near by and predominantly behind her. She would then pay him and he could go back to his life, his anonymity retained and whatever sick pleasure she derived from the exercise achieved.
Once the pact was sealed they had left the party and he had followed her through the dark streets. They walked through the suburbs of The Fosters which shifted into the Business District. The skyscrapers slowly began to stack up. Halloween had bled into the city and people were carousing in the bars spilling onto the pavement in plastic masks and torn dresses. The people were older but there didn't seem to be much difference between them and the students he had left hours before.
She strolled confidently and constantly in her heels and the ghost followed as she sashayed with purpose to wherever she was heading. His trainers scuffed and his legs tired as she walked into a hotel, 'The Collards'. The ghost's mum had travelled to the city to have afternoon tea there with his aunt for her birthday. He was aware it was fancy but he wasn't prepared for the intimidating sensation of walking into the gilded lobby. Marble floors, plush red carpets on the stairs, mahogany panelling on the walls, standard rich decor but nonetheless overwhelming.
He hovered behind her as she spoke to the receptionist. The room they were in had a four poster bed which consumed most the space. She had tossed him some small bottles of alcohols from the mini fridge as he had settled on a chaise lounge at the bottom of the bed.
The ghost paused from telling his story as Donovan gazed at him, eyes glazed over.
"Look man, I'm not going to tell you the story if you're going to do that." The man in his dressing gown looked hurt.
"What...?" Donovan asked blearily.
"You're falling asleep!" The man snapped.
"No I'm not." Donovan sat up straight and rubbed his palms against his thighs and shook his head back and forth. "So what happened next? You followed her?"
The girl dressed in black coaxed the ghost onto the bed. He was drunk and afraid and she had unbuckled his jeans and was straddling him within moments.
Donovan slumped back in his chair frowning. The man stared at him unblinking and silence hung between them. Donovan could hear the birds chattering outside and creak of his chair as he leaned back in it.
The ghost proceeded to follow the woman. She would eat at restaurants and he would sit on the table behind her or near to her. Food would be presented to him by the waiters who said nothing. He would stare at the back of her head, black hair cropped to the base of her skull, her shoulders slim but muscular. The ghost memorised the shape of her skull, he settled on it being similar to the shape of an apple.
She didn't really do much. She walked everywhere, at the shops she was fascinated by the home-ware department, specifically the bath towels he recalled. She also attended museums and he sat several rows behind her when she saw a movie. A lot of the time she just walked places never quite sure of the destination veering off down side streets but never turning around. She would sit on park benches and he would stand behind her three metres away. She would return to the hotel on the evenings and sleep with the ghost next to her. He never removed the sheet and unless she had removed it while he was sleeping (which he did fitfully) he swore she never saw his face.
The ghost considered running away but what would he run to? He was drowning in coursework and the intensity of his masters was overwhelming him. He noticed that colleagues on his course at university were struggling to find gainful employment. His parents hadn't called him in weeks which he felt was a sign that they were not interested in his state of mind. He had left his phone and wallet at the house and yet he felt that his housemates would not have noticed his absence regardless.
He had stepped out of his life into this abyss and convinced himself that he just needed to survive and he would receive enough money to at least make a decent start in life. The girl in black was clearly wealthy and yet she ate mostly at fast food restaurants and rarely showed any interest in the high end shops when she was browsing.
Then it came to the final day and first thing in the morning she walked to the bus station which was near the Industrial District by the river. It was still dark when they left, he remembered it had been raining through the evening. She had the key to a locker in the station and removed a large backpack. They took an 'out-of-city' bus which was part of the city's efforts to connect the capital to the satellite towns beyond.
"Then I'm walking around in the woods." The man said with some finality.
"The woods." Donovan repeated.
"Yeah, the fucking woods." The man said.
She had produced a map and spade and had stopped at a spot next to a fallen log. The trees surrounded them reaching up to the sky which was obscured by a green canopy. He could smell the damp moss and earth and turned to see her pointing a gun at him. It was a pistol but nonetheless it was unmistakable. She had tossed the spade at him and had marked the forest floor with her foot.
"Dig." She had said.
"And I thought I was going to die." The man said.
"But you didn't." Donovan said, then he paused. "Unless..." Was he talking to an actual ghost?
"No I didn't die but..."
It hadn't taken him long to strike his spade against a hard surface. He uncovered a biscuit tin wrapped in clingfilm. It had a painting of an idyllic country lane on the front. The ghost recalled that his grandmother used to have biscuit tins in her cupboards. In them she would store her sewing kit, her first aid supplies and even old jewellery she was saving. The man specifically recalled that she had one tin which held sweets and sugary surprises. He would always make a beeline for it when visiting her.
He opened the tin and inside it was filled with folded up rolls of moneys. Lots and lots of money.
"There should be more down there if that isn't twenty thousand." The girl had said nonchalantly.
The ghost continued digging and found another biscuit tin and realised there was more, he pulled another from the soil and looked up at her.
"I don't know what came over me." The man said clutching his forehead recalling the memory. "I mean I was exhausted, humiliated, she had tortured me, raped me, abused me. I was tired and fucking..."
She had looked surprised when the spade had connected with the side of her head. That split second of shock and confusion and then she had collapsed to the floor. The ghost had removed his sheet and had kicked her in the stomach. He gingerly took the gun from her hand and stood up observing her lying prone on the floor. A rage boiled inside of him. He wanted to continue pummelling her, with the spade, with his feet, with his hands. He wanted to put a bullet through her apple shaped skull. But he didn't, he had left her unconscious on the forest floor.
Deeper into the hole as he dug further gave way to innumerable biscuit tins. He bundled them into the sheet he had been wearing over his head the seven days prior and tied a knot in it before slinging it over his shoulder. He took the map from the floor and walked away.
"Two hundred and eighty five thousand pounds." The man said miserably.
Donovan looked at the sighing man and then around the room. This place was designed for a family, it was a place for people to grow but he was clearly sitting opposite a stunted adolescent.
"And you blew it." Donovan said. "You have the house, but the family aren't here and you're sitting around in the middle of the day looking like crap. You blew it."
"I shouldn't have taken the money." The man said, his eyes downcast.
"But you did." Donovan said bluntly, "And if the same situation played out again, you would."
"Hey man..." The 'ghost' was stung. "You don't know that."
"And neither do you." Donovan said.
What Donovan didn't understand was why Sarah had given him a list which had the loser's name on it. Was the girl in black that the 'ghost' was talking about even the same person? Why was she wandering around paying losers to follow her? What was the point of that? Were the rest of the people on the list similar situations? This had happened years ago and clearly this guy had no idea where she was or what happened following leaving her in the woods.
"My life is a mess and... The money..." The man mumbled.
"The money didn't do... whatever kind of crisis this is." Donovan flapped his hand at the dark haired man with disdain. "The money did what you told it. Obviously bought you a nice house, got you the attention of a girl who became your wife and gave you some children. The money didn't fuck that up man. You did."
"You would say that." The man said bitterly. He sat up in his chair and ran both hands through his greasy hair. He looked pointedly at Donovan and said, "You just wouldn't understand. I know who you are. You've never lived a day of discomfort. You've never felt desperate."
Donovan was stunned, desperation had dragged him to this idiot's doorstep.
"What if I offered you some financial help, get you back on your feet?" Donovan wanted to prove this man wrong and at least leave this corner of the world a better place than when he found it.
"What is wrong with you people?" The man spat angrily. "I don't want anything to do with any of you. What the hell do you want from me?"
"I'm looking for the girl you're talking about," Donovan paused, "I think."
"Well let me give you some advice, and this is for free. You're better off without. She is the fucking devil and she will destroy you. Stay the hell away from her."
