Every Touch (6 page)

   When the chair refused to be cowed, he decided to try a different approach.  He walked away, examining the few other pieces of furniture in the room, drifting into the bathroom and back out again, keeping his mind on anything other than the offending seat. 

   Suddenly, he ran back at the chair and grabbed at it.  It gave no resistance at all and he hurtled through it, stumbling towards, and then through, the glass doors to the balcony.  He yelped as he hit the railing and fell backwards, landing with the upper half of his body in the bedroom and his legs outside on the balcony.

   “Ouch.”

   He rubbed at his hip where he’d landed, musing on how unfair it was that as a ghost he should be able to feel pain.  Then he looked down at his legs on the balcony. 

   “Now that’s interesting.”

   Drawing his legs in and standing back up, he carefully walked through the doors. 

   The idea that he could actually get out onto the small balcony hadn’t even occurred to Denny.  He took a deep breath of the fresh air, closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sun.  The warmth felt wonderful and his spirits lifted a little.  Opening his eyes again, he stepped to the railing and leaned forward to look down.  His face immediately hit the invisible enclosure and he pulled his head back, rubbing his forehead where he and the resolutely immovable barrier had collided.  He extended both hands and felt his way around the enclosure.  The unseen wall ran around the balcony just beyond the railing.  He reached up and encountered it again roughly two feet above his head.  He guessed the balcony must count as part of the building.  At least he could get outside, even if it was only into a seven feet by three feet area.

A few of the other flats in the building had balconies too and he’d seen seating on a couple of them.  That would be nice, he thought, being able to sit outside.  He’d never done it when he was alive, but he’d have a lot more time to fill now.  He could spend all day sitting in the sun if he wanted to, not having to worry about getting skin cancer and premature wrinkling or having something more useful he should be doing. 

   It didn’t make death feel any better, but it was something.

   He stood outside for a while, looking at the tops of the trees in the park beyond the buildings on the opposite side of the road, then down to the ground three storeys below where the traffic was building towards the morning rush hour and people were on their way to work.  He would have been one of them, if he’d been alive, going to his job at the station.  He wondered who had replaced him, if they missed him there. 

   The striking of the clock on the church tower down the road drew his attention and he counted.  Eight o’clock.  He rolled his eyes.  In life he always hated getting up, always lying in on his days off.  Now he could lie in as long as he wanted and he had woken well before eight.  He leaned forward against the barrier and tried to see along the road to the church, pleased to find that if he pressed his face as far out as possible, he could just see the clock on the tower.  That would be useful. 

   He looked at his watch and smiled as the display changed to match the church clock.  Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if he took it off, what would happen to any of his clothes if he took them off.  He hadn’t even tried removing his shoes yet, nervous that if anything left contact with his ethereal body it might vanish and be lost to him forever.  He didn’t want to spend the next five years with bare feet.  He decided to ask Oliver the next time he saw him, before risking anything, even his largely useless watch.

   Wandering back into the bedroom, he glared at the chair on his way past and walked through the door, which Trish had left open when she left, to the living room.  He then looked back at it and smiled.  He could have walked through the wall if he wanted to, but instead he had detoured across the room to use the door.  He made a decision to keep using doors on principle.  Just because he wasn’t alive any more, didn’t mean he couldn’t behave like he was. 

   He spent some time working on controlling his ability to touch things, sitting on the sofa, which he steadfastly refused to think about, and wafting his hand through the coffee table in front of him.  But after a couple of hours he still hadn’t got anywhere and was ready to start throwing things, if he had been able to pick them up.  After a bout of frenzied lunging at the table from every conceivable angle, he leapt up and screamed in frustration, kicking at its chunky leg.

   “Damn it!” he yelled in pain as his foot collided with the solid wood.  “Oh, of course, so
now
I can touch you!” 

   He nudged at it with his foot, thinking.  He could feel the pressure of the table leg against his shoe and he knew his shoe was merely an extension of his ghostly self.  Therefore, he reasoned, he was touching the table.  Reaching out his arm, he bent over slowly and placed a fingertip onto the wooden surface.  The varnished surface felt cold against his skin.  He pressed.  His finger stayed resolutely on top of the table.  He added his other fingertips then flattened his hand onto the surface.  He added his other hand. 

   Closing his eyes, he sank to his knees on the floor, leaned his forehead onto the table and sighed.

   “Thank you.”

   Kneeling up again, he took his hands from the table then put them back down, smiling when he felt them connect.  After repeating the action a few more times to satisfy himself he wasn’t going to lose his newfound solidness, he stood and went back into the bedroom, striding to the chair and grasping it forcefully.

   “Ha!” he exclaimed in triumph, laughing as he picked up the chair and twirled around with it before replacing it on the floor by the window.  He stood back and looked at it for a few moments then he reached out his hand, concentrating.  It passed through the solid wooden back of the chair.  Repeating the action, he grabbed it, grinning when he was holding it again.

  He spent the next hour perfecting his new ability, alternating being physical and metaphysical until he could do it with barely a thought.  His practice was interrupted by the sound of the intercom buzzer and he smiled and ran to the door leading to the corridor, eager to show Oliver his new skills. 

   It was only when he collided with the door and staggered back, clutching his nose, that he realised his error.  The pain brought tears to his eyes and he lowered his hand to see blood on his hand which shimmered and vanished after a few seconds.

   Despite his throbbing nose, he began to laugh.

   “Well, that was embarrassing.”

   After gingerly feeling his nose for injuries and wishing he could check it in a mirror, he carefully became metaphysical and walked slowly through the door, extending his hands in front of him, just in case.

  He reached the door to the stairs and suddenly stopped, looking back at the lift.  Smiling, he pressed the button, stepping in when it arrived and riding it down to the lobby.

   Oliver was standing by the door looking in when Denny strode proudly from the lift doors, but he didn’t notice as he stared at one of Denny’s neighbours, an attractive, leggy blonde woman walking across the lobby. 

   “Dude, who is
that
?” Oliver said, craning his neck to watch her walking through the still open lift doors.

   “I think she lives on the second floor,” Denny said, “but I don’t know her.”

   “Why the heck not?” he said in disbelief.

   Denny shrugged.  “When she moved in I was dating someone else.  I thought about it after that ended, but you know, dating someone who lives that close?  Having to avoid seeing them after it ends badly?  Way too much hassle.”

   “Well, that’s a defeatist attitude, assuming it’ll end badly.”

   Denny laughed.  “With me it’s a safe assumption.  Not necessarily badly, but it always ends.”

   “What’s her name?”

   “No idea.”

   Oliver stood back and folded his arms across his chest, regarding Denny intently.  “Do you know any of your neighbours?”

   “Yes,” he said defensively, desperately trying to think of names.

   Oliver raised his eyebrows.

   “I see Mr Duncan in flat six often.  He and his wife have always been kind to me, ever since I moved in.”

   “And?”

   “And... okay, so I don’t know the rest.  Stop judging me.  I have friends, just not here.”

   Oliver grinned, unfolding his arms.  “Well, you’re stuck there now, so you’re going to have to get to know them if you don’t want to lose your mind.”

   He thought about that.  “How would I get to know them if I can’t even speak to them?”

   “Hang out with them.  Take an interest in what’s going on with their lives.  At the very least, learn their names.”

   “You mean, hang around in their flats with them?  Isn’t that kind of creepy?”

   “We’re ghosts, being creepy comes with the territory,” Oliver smiled.  “Even I have the folk who are in my zone regularly, the kids at the school, their parents, the people who work in the shops, walk in the park, live around here.  Take it from me, you’re going to need the company if you don’t want to develop a hole in your marble bag.”

   “But in their homes?”  Denny frowned.  “Just seems... wrong.”

   “Just chill with them at bit and don’t watch anything you shouldn’t.  Although, with that blonde, I wouldn’t blame you if you overlooked that particular rule.”  He winked.

   Denny smiled and shook his head. 

   “By the way,” Oliver said, “what happened to your nose?”

   He gasped and lifted a hand to it.  “What’s wrong with it?  Does it show?”

   “It’s a tad purple,” he answered, tilting his head a little to one side, “and it may be swelling slightly.”

   It still throbbed when he touched it.  “Will it heal?”

   Oliver shrugged.  “I’ve managed to not hurt myself, so I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that as this body comes from our own imaginations, you may be able to heal yourself.  Give it a go.”

   “Okay.” 

   Denny closed his eyes and tried willing his nose normal again.  After a while, the pain began to lessen.  He opened one eye.

   “Is it working?”

   “Not unless you intended it to turn green.”

   His eyes flew open. 
“What?!”

   Oliver erupted into laugher and Denny rolled his eyes.

   “It looks better,” he said.  “That was actually quite cool to watch.”

   “Anyway,” Denny said, hoping to divert attention away from his nose and remembering why he had been so eager to see Oliver in the first place, “check this out.”

   Bending down, he placed his hands either side of the yucca plant’s pot, grabbed onto it and lifted it from the floor.  Oliver laughed, clapping his hands.

   “That is awesome!” he declared.  “It took me a week to be able to do that.  Must be your exceptional teacher.”

   Denny laughed, stopping abruptly when he noticed a middle–aged man in a trench coat walking past on the street do a double take at the sight of a large fake yucca in its pot hovering in mid-air.  Oliver turned to follow Denny’s line of sight and let out a bark of laughter.  Denny rapidly lowered the plant back into its place, watching as the man frowned, shook his head and carried on walking. 

   “Is it wrong to think I’m going to have fun with this?” he said.

   “I have many, many stories about the fun I’ve had,” Oliver said, “and I’m just getting started.  So, what
did
happen to your nose?”

   Denny cleared his throat.  “Nothing.  Just had a small accident.  A door may have been involved.”

   The corners of Oliver’s mouth twitched.  “’Nuff said.”

Oliver was right, Denny did need the company.  After a few days of sleeping, missing his friends and family, feeling sorry for himself, talking to Oliver and periodically checking on Mr Duncan to see if he was okay, he was going stir crazy.  He was beginning to need less sleep so he had more time to fill. 

   Six days after waking, he decided it was time to start finding out who his neighbours were.

   The first time was the worst.  He stood outside the door to flat one feeling very uncomfortable.  A myriad of different embarrassing situations were playing out in his mind.  What if he walked in and someone was naked?  Or a couple was having sex on the living room floor?  Or someone was doing something they wouldn’t want anyone else to see, like a huge, bearded, leather clad biker dude giving himself a pedicure? 

   He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the door.  He turned away.  He turned back again.  He sighed.  If all he did was stand there, he wasn’t going to see anything.  Just do it, he told himself, and plunged his head through the door.  When nothing wildly embarrassing presented itself, he brought the rest of his body through and walked in.   

   “Mum?”

  The door he’d just walked through suddenly banged open and a small form ran through him, making him gasp.  It didn’t hurt, but the sight of a head of black curly hair bursting from his stomach area was very disconcerting.