Chapter 9

It was the middle of the day and Martha was briskly hoovering the living room. She was about to push the sofa aside so that she could clean beneath it when it suddenly floated up into the air, high enough to almost touch the ceiling and certainly high enough for her to clean under.

"Might I be of assistance, Martha?" the captain asked, appearing beside her.

"That's very kind of you, captain," she remarked, stunned. "But what happened to you not being a 'deck hand'?" she asked.

"The noise from that infernal contraption prevents me from doing any work, I simply desire it to be over and done with so that I may return to more useful pursuits," he snapped.

"Well, see what happens if I don't get the cleaning done. You won't be saying it's useless then," she retorted.

"My generous moods do not tend to last, I advise you to take advantage of it while you can," he said and the floating sofa wavered in the air.

"Say no more," Martha held up a hand and turned the vacuum back on, ignoring his grimace at the noise.

When she was finished, the sofa was placed gently back onto the floor and then the chair and the rugs floated up into the air for her. It made the work much quicker and Martha gave a triumphant smile when she was done.

"Fantastic," she said with a smirk as each piece of furniture floated back down and righted itself with a wave of the captains' hand.

"Are you quite finished with that contraption now, madam?" he asked, exasperated.

"Oh, yes," she nodded, happily.

He inclined his head and was about to vanish when she spoke again.

"Well, before you…pop off…" she said, dryly. "How's the erm…" Martha held up her hand and slightly wiggled her fingers. "You know…going?" she finished.

The captain raised an eyebrow at her. "The 'you know'…I do not know," he said.

"Oh, come now," Martha scoffed. "I've kept my word, despite my better judgement, the least you could do is tell me how things are going. I've not said a word. Not one word!"

"That was our agreement."

"I can keep this thing running all day, you know," Martha drawled and looked at the vacuum.

"And I could banish it to the furthest reaches of the globe should you attempt such a feat."

"And then the house would be filthy," she retorted.

He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. "Very well," he grimaced. He took a few slow steps towards her and held out his hand.

Confused when he looked at her expectantly, she dropped her hand in his and his and was surprised that she could touch him.

"You're still cold," she noted.

"And I doubt that will change," he said, a little forlornly. "The cold of the grave is not something that one can simply leave behind no matter how powerful the spirit is."

"I guess not," Martha said. "But you don't look like a spirit…or feel like one," she added. "So how long can you…"

"Just under a minute I believe now," he answered.

"Well, that's good, isn't it? You said before it was less than that."

"Considerably less, though it does not come without cost. I have been recharging my powers since the early hours of this morning for my attempts last night."

"It can't be all that bad. You just lifted half the living room," Martha said.

"Yes, but not for long," he replied. "Raising objects from the ground is a mere parlour trick: easily done with minimal effort for any spirit with sense. Touching living beings is another matter."

"It's a lot of effort for us mere mortals, but I'll take your word for it," she shrugged.

"Would you be so kind as to time my progress," he said, and she nodded.

She turned over her wrist and glanced at her watch while his hand was placed over her other hand.

The seconds ticked by and it was almost a full minute until she felt a cold flash of air pass right through her skin and she shuddered.

Martha looked up and saw that his hand had gone through hers and he was grumbling under his breath.

"Fifty three seconds," she said. "In a year, you might be able to last for two minutes," she added sarcastically.

"Such a blasè attitude really is most unhelpful," the captain drawled.

"Well, I don't know why you're getting so wound up about it all. You're a ghost but you're still here. Most people'd be happy knowing that even after they're dead they can just…carry on and with all your powers to boot," she said. "You can move things…appear and disappear whenever you want…affect the weather…haunt people if you're bored…well, I haven't seen much you can't do."

"Perhaps," he said. "But there is nothing more vital than a sense of touch. Without it, any existence is as lonely as being trapped in a doldrum. I realise that to you, indeed to any mortal, it may appear that I am simply being selfish…but I never claimed to be a selfless man even when I was alive. After all, were I truly selfless, I would have left this house on your arrival rather than ingratiate myself with this family."

"At least you're honest about it," Martha shrugged.

"And I have no intention of leaving or of ceasing my efforts to improve on my abilities, whatever the cost."

"Stubborn, that's what you are," Martha told him. "Stubborn," she repeated.

"I believe I have been called so before, yes," he gave a unashamed smirk. "Now, if you assure me that you are quite finished with that contraption, I shall leave you to your work so that I may continue with mine," he said, with a slight incline of his head.

"Oh yes," Martha said. "I'm finished, for today, anyway. You can always help me again tomorrow, though," she added.

He gave a silent grimace and then vanished.