Donna Fletcher Short Story Collection (20 page)

So she worked on restoring the mansion and
when it was completed, she never left the place. She insisted it
needed her as much as she needed it, and so she threw fabulous
parties for friends and relatives and held family gatherings that
everyone loved to attend.

Amanda loved the house as much as her
grandmother and so when she passed a couple of months ago no one
was surprised to learn that Sophia Barnes had left Blackstone Manor
and the money to maintain it to her granddaughter Amanda.

She had been thrilled and eager to spend some
time there that was until two weeks ago when only a couple of days
after arriving, strange things had begun to happen. Doors opened on
their own, lights went on and off without touching them and while
she wanted to believe it was her grandmother’s spirit lingering,
unable to leave the home she loved, it was what happened the past
few nights that had forced her to call Mitch Connell.

The crunch of tires on the stone driveway had
her relieved to see a car pulling up in front of the house. She
didn’t waste a moment. She ran to the foyer and thanks to her daily
yoga routine she had no trouble pulling the heavy door open.

She watched Mitch Connell slip out of his
car; tall, broad shouldered and ruggedly handsome, with shoulder
length black hair. The few scars on his face proved that he was a
man who didn’t shy away from a brawl and made him all the more
appealing. He was like a warrior of old who wore his scars like
badges of courage and who you could count on to fight to the death
when needed, and she needed a warrior right now.

Even his confident swagger told her he was a
man used to winning.

“You made it,” she said extending her
hand.

He gripped her hand firmly though not to
impress since he was quick to place his other hand over their
clenched ones, as if to let her know she needn’t worry any
longer.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Amanda.”

The warmth and strength of his hands turned
her skin to gooseflesh and sent a slight shiver racing through her.
Though roughly handsome men usually didn’t appeal to her, his touch
sparked an interest, but one she had to ignore. She needed his
specialized skills for a more important matter.

“I know how busy and in demand you are, and I
so appreciate you seeing to my problem so quickly. I don’t know
what I would have done if you—”

She froze trying to deny what she heard
behind her, but as the squeak grew ever louder she couldn’t deny
it... the front door was slowly closing on its own. She couldn’t
help but tremble. The door was simply too heavy to move on its
own.

Mitch kept firm hold of her hand while he
tucked a secure arm around her waist and yanked her close against
his side. He walked with determined strides taking her along with
him. When they reached the door, his arm left her waist and his
hand shot out shoving the partially closed door open wide and
entering with her still close at his side.

That he impressed her was an understatement.
Her grandmother had the door designed from a piece of thick, solid
oak. She had joked that no one would be able to shove their way
in... Mitch had just proven her wrong.

They stood in the sizeable foyer, Mitch
casting a quick glance around, his arm once again wrapped around
her waist. She didn’t mind his touch, it eased her worries. It was
obvious that he was a man capable of protecting her, though would
he be able to protect her from... a ghost?

“I don’t know about you but I’m hungry,” he
said. “Why don’t you get your coat and we’ll go have a bite to eat
in the village.”

The door swung shut with such force that the
framed paintings on the gold damask wallpaper quivered.

Amanda nodded and grabbed her red jacket from
the hall closet slipping it on over her gray knit sweater that
matched her pencil-thin skirt. She quickly swiped her large black
leather purse from the hall table and hurried to open the front
door.

It wouldn’t budge. No matter how many times
she turned the handle it didn’t move. It was almost as if a ghostly
hand kept her from turning it.

She shut her eyes against the stark image and
jumped when a warm hand covered hers.

“Let me,” Mitch whispered in her ear and
stepped closer, his body pressing against hers as he eased her hand
off the knob and with a quick jerk turned it. The door popped open
and with a firm hand to her lower back he ushered her out the
door.

It closed with a sharp snap behind them.

“I would ask you if you remembered your
keys,” he said directing her to his car, “but it isn’t necessary.
The house wants you back and so the door will always open for
you.”

~~~

They were seated at a corner table in The
Chowder House. It was frequented by locals during the week since
weekend tourists mobbed the place and a table couldn’t be had. One
variety of their numerous chowders was better than the next as was
their sandwiches and salads.

Their wine list wasn’t bad either and she was
relieved when Mitch had ordered a Sauvignon Blanc after they had
both decided on the Seafood Chowder and homemade corn bread.

After taking several sips of wine, her nerves
a bit calmer, though not totally, she was ready to ask what he had
meant by ‘the house wants you back’ when the waitress appeared with
their bread.

“You’re that ghost hunter fellow and you’re
Sophia Barnes’s granddaughter.” The older woman smiled. “You’re the
image of your beautiful grandmother; even have her famous sapphire
blue eyes and long black hair.” She turned to Mitch. “You’re
handsomer in person than you are on TV.” She kept chattering, not
giving them a chance to reply. “I guess you’re here to finally get
rid of that ghost at Blackstone Manor. You’d think he would have
left that place by now.”

“Susie, some help please,” another waitress
called struggling with a full tray.

Without another word, Susie took off to help
her.

“No matter how many times I explain that I’m
not a ghost hunter...” Mitch shook his head. “I don’t hunt ghosts
or chase after them nor am I out to confirm their existence, though
I could easily do that. I help ghosts move on and it isn’t always
easy.”

She leaned forward, cupping her wine glass
with both hands. “I hope the ghost of Blackstone Manor will not
prove
difficult
to move on.”

“Tell me about the ghost,” he said.

Amanda was grateful that at that moment a
different waitress approached with their chowders. It gave her
time, if only briefly, to collect herself and think of how to tell
me him what she had been experiencing. But would he believe
her?

He reached out and took hold of her hand.
“Trust me.”

His words didn’t help having heard them from
men who in the end weren’t at all trustworthy, but then this wasn’t
that type of relationship so there was no need to worry that in the
end he would disappoint her. He had an excellent business
reputation and if trusting him was one of the requisites to him
helping her then so be it.

“At first I thought my grandmother haunted
the house,” she said. “Doors opened and closed, lights flickered,
electronic devices gave me trouble. I assumed my grandmother was
letting me know how pleased she was that I was staying in the house
for a while.”

“You don’t intend to live there?”

“I’m not sure what I intend to do with the
place. It’s awfully big for one person.”

“When did you realize the ghost wasn’t your
grandmother?”

Amanda took a sip of wine and realized that
this wasn’t the place to discuss this. “Do you mind if I reserve
that answer for later?”

“Not at all,” he said. “Tell me about
yourself.”

While Amanda was grateful for the change of
subject, she wasn’t comfortable talking about herself. Her life
wasn’t very exciting, her job in human resources restrictive and
boring. She had thought by now she’d have advanced further in her
job and been married, perhaps even have one child, but neither had
happened and it wasn’t making her feel too confident of the future.
So she switched the subject and regaled him with stories of the
famous Sophia Barnes.

~~~

When they got in the car, Mitch didn’t start
it. He looked over at her and said, “I believe it would be best if
you finished answering my question now before we return to the
house. When did you know the ghost wasn’t your grandmother?”

Amanda didn’t hesitate; she wanted to get
this over with. “When he touched me.”

Mitch didn’t appear shocked by her answer, so
she continued, “At first I thought I was dreaming. I drifted in
between sleep and wakefulness when I felt,”—her hand drifted inside
her open jacket and rested beneath her breast—“the hand lingered
there for a moment and then it stroked my breast, so feather light
that goose bumps ran down my arms. It moved exploring my other
breast, squeezing ever so lightly while the thumb played with—” She
paused and took a deep breath, her hand moving down along her flat
midriff and across her stomach before moving even further
down...

She gasped and her hand stilled. Her eyes
startled wide when she realized that her hand rested between her
legs.

Now he would know what she hadn’t intended on
telling anyone... the ghost had aroused her.

She was too embarrassed to turn and face him.
She remained staring out the front window of the car.

“Has this happened every night?”

Did she dare tell him that she wished it did?
She had never been so aroused in her life and it wasn’t for lack of
attentive lovers, or at least she had thought they had been.

She shook her head. “No. After the first time
it didn’t happen again until two days later and then every other
night until finally...”

“It’s been every night now?”

She nodded growing wet at the thought that
her ghostly lover would visit tonight.

“More often than not a logical explanation
can be found.”

She was mortified. Did he think that she
aroused herself? That it was nothing more than her wishful
imaginings? “You don’t believe me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he said.
“The world between sleep and wakefulness is hard to define. It is a
place of lucid dreams and an opening for spirits to slip through.
It can also be nothing more than simple nonsense, which is why
science has such a difficult time explaining and defining it. There
are no set rules in that unique world and one must approach it with
caution if you want proof.”

She still didn’t turn and look at him. “What
you’re saying is that it’s possible that I could simply be
crazy.”

She jumped startled when his fingers took
firm hold of her chin and forced her to turn her head and look at
him. It wasn’t his rough, good looks that sent her heart beating
madly; it was the sincerity in his dark eyes and the confidence of
his words.

“You’re not crazy. I’ll take care of this for
you. I promise.”

His hand dropped away and he started the car.
They sped down the road toward Blackstone Manor, Amanda eager and
fearful to be returning home.

~~~

They spent the remainder of the evening in
conversation, Mitch declining anymore wine, though eager for a cup
of hot tea. She joined him and added gingersnap cookies to the tray
she brought into the living room.

“What made you take up this line of work,”
Amanda asked, tired of the discussion being only about her and
wanting to learn more about him than from what she had read in his
books.

“My grandfather raised me, not because I
didn’t have any parents, but because they were never around.
They’re scientists and travel extensively around the world.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t say it with
bitterness but rather with sadness.

“They didn’t know what they were missing
leaving their son behind and my grandfather made sure I didn’t miss
a thing. He gave me the most wonderful childhood and when he
died,”—he shook his head—“it devastated me. That was fourteen years
ago when I was twenty and my life changed completely.”

“My grandfather came to me right after his
funeral. He told me there was work to be done and I needed to be
ready. It took several years of study and trusting that I wasn’t
nuts, but finally I accepted the gift my grandfather had given me.
I had the ability to detect ghosts and help them move on and, as
they say, the rest is history.”

She was about to ask what his scientist
parents thought of his profession when the lights in the room
flickered off then on then off and then on again.

“Does this usually happen the same time each
night?” Mitch asked not at all perturbed by it.

“I’ve noticed no pattern, and I did have an
electrician check for any problems. He found none.”

“Did your grandmother ever make mention of a
ghost while she occupied the house?”

“No, Grams was very happy here,” Amanda said
thinking back to the time that she had spent here. “She wore a
constant smile and laughed often and friends and family visited
frequently. She didn’t spend much time alone.”

“And not once did she ever make mention of a
ghost?”

“No, whenever my wild imagination would take
flight, she’d take time to calm me and make me see reason,” Amanda
said.

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?” she asked curious and a bit
apprehensively.

“Do you recall what our waitress said tonight
about the ghost?”

“Not the exact words.”

He repeated the waitress’s words. “I guess
you’re here to finally get rid of that ghost at Blackstone Manor.”
He rubbed at his chin. “That would lead me to believe that the
ghost has been around for a while.”

Could it be possible? Could the ghost have
been the reason her grandmother had stayed and never left? Had it
been her secret all these years?