Bewitched

Chapter 2

I arrived at the marketplace and picked up a few goods for my mother to bake with and some . . . nonessential toiletries. My mother would chastise me for getting them, but I just could not resist.

It was as I was paying for the items that I had chosen that I saw him. A ghost.

God, do they never go away? I all ready had to deal with a stubborn one this morning.

But this one . . . he seemed different. There were no evil vibes around him that I sensed, like I normally sense around other ghosts. He just seemed like he was observing everyone in our quaint little town. It was kind of . . . unnerving actually.

My mistake, though, was looking at him too long.

His eyes locked with mine and I quickly looked away. I think he knew though. I think he realized that I could see him. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was still looking at me, kind of in a daze, I guess.

I shook it off and paid for my items and started the walk back home.

I should help that ghost, I thought.

But I knew that something big would come from talking to him, getting to know him. I did not know whether it was good or bad, but I knew it would be big.

It turns out that I did not even have to go to him. He came to me.

He followed me as I walked home. It was quite annoying actually.

When I saw that there was no one around, I sharply spun around. "What," I hissed, "do you want?"

His dark eyes grew wide as he stuttered out, "Nombre de Dios! You can - you can s-see me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I can see you. Now what is your problem? Why are you following me?"

"How though?" he asked, ignoring my questions. "How is it that you can see me when no other person can?"

I shrugged. "Do not ask me that. I have not a clue." I sighed. "I am what is called a mediator. I can converse with the dead, as you can see."

I looked around. Some people were actually looking strangely at me, now that they were coming home from the market.

I grabbed hold of his shirt and hissed quietly, "Follow me and do not talk."

As I had promised, I went back to Goody Herbert's home to pick up the apple pie. It was nice and warm as she handed it to me, wrapped in a cloth, and it smelled so delicious. I wanted to eat the whole thing right then all by myself. However, I knew I should save some for my mother too. She loves Mrs. Herbert's pies just as much as I do.

I thanked her and walked the mile back to my home, the ghost still following me. It was rather unnerving, having him trailing behind me like that, but, alas, it was my duty.

I handed the pie and the market items to my mother, explaining to her what happened with Goody Herbert. She smiled and told me that her and Andy would start supper soon.

I nodded and went up to my room, the ghost still following me. I shut my door and locked it once we were both safely inside.

"Okay," I said, turning to him. "First of all, what is your name?"

"Hect - Jesse. My name is Jesse," he said. I didn't question on what he was going to say at first.

"Okay, Jesse, what do you think is holding you back?" I asked, repeating the phrase that I normally do with ghosts.

His brows knitted in perplexity. "Holding me back?"

I nodded. "Yes. Why do you think that you are on Earth rather than in, say, Heaven?"

He looked down at his feet for a moment, then brought his gaze back to me. "I - I do not know. I haven't really thought about it."

I sighed and ran my hand along my face. I looked back at him and said, "All right. Then how did you die?"

Yeah, it was blunt, but can you blame me? This job gets rather annoying at times.

He looked away from me and looked out my window. The sun would start setting soon. "I - I do not wish to speak of it, Señorita."

I knew what that word meant, Señorita. I have heard it spoken among the Spanish men in the community. There weren't many Spanish men, just the ones that were left behind from the Spanish voyages. But the word meant 'miss'. It was a polite word.

"Suze," I said.

He turned back to me in confusion. "¿Pardón?"

"My name is Suze." I was tired of standing and talking, so I went over to my bed and sat down on the edge of it. Jesse was now sitting on the window seat.

"Oh," he said. "Is that short for . . . Susan?"

"Susannah," I corrected.

(A/N: I don't think that 'Oh, Susannah, don't you cry for me' song was created yet in this time period, so I'm not going to include it. Capishe?)

He nodded. "It's a beautiful name."

I snorted. Was he trying to flatter me? Well, it wasn't working. But I must say, he was rather . . . handsome.

No. He is a ghost, Suze. You cannot go for their type. It is not . . . normal.

But, really. Have I ever been remotely normal? For once in my life, have I ever been considered anything but a freak?

That would probably be a 'no'. To both questions.

But enough of my internal battling, I need to help this ghost move on. We all know how fun that can be.

Not.

"Um, thanks," I said. Then I tried changing the subject. "So, why don't you want to talk about how you died? Usually the reason that someone hasn't moved on lies within the death. And, well, I can't figure that out until you tell me how you died."

He sighed heavily. "I apologize, Susannah. I would rather not talk about it."

I stood up and strode closer to him. "Listen, buddy, it would just be easier for both of us if you just told me. Then we both can get on with our lives." He smirked when I said that. "Or afterlives," I corrected.

"I—"

But he never really got to finish, let alone start, his sentence. My uncharacteristically moronic step-brother barged in at that moment, hollering, "Suze, supper is ready—who are you talking to?"

I knitted my eyebrows. "Talking to? Nobody. And is it really necessary to yell? I am right here, you know."

He rolled his eyes and slammed my door behind him and pounded down the steps.

"Imbecile," I muttered under my breath, turning back to a certain handsome ghost.

But if I wanted to see him, I was sadly disappointed. He had dematerialized while I was talking to my moron of a step-brother, Bradley - or Brad, as he insists we call him, but I call him Bradley, just to spite him; he in turn calls me Susie to spite me. It goes both ways, I guess.

I sighed and went down to the dining area to eat supper.

- § -

"Ah, Susannah, I was starting to wonder when you would come down here again."

I smiled at the wise old man and continued to walk towards him. "I am sorry, Father Dominic. It's hard to find alone time these days."

He chuckled and gestured to the pew in front of him for me to sit. "So, what is it this time, Susannah?"

I sat down in the wood pew and started to talk. "It's . . . this new ghost. He followed me home from the market and he's . . . different. He's not like the normal ghosts. Not to mention, he won't even tell me how he died."

He nodded. "What was his name, Susannah?"

"He told me to call him Jesse. He was Spanish and young-looking, but, obviously, that doesn't really matter." Oh, I forgot to mention that, I guess.

When a ghost dies, they take on the form they were most comfortable as when they were alive. So, this Jesse could really have been eighty years old when he died. He could have died in his sleep or something. But, honestly, if he did not want to tell me that much, I think it was a little more traumatic. Not to mention, I haven't really assisted all that many ghosts that have passed on while they were sleeping. That translates to: I haven't helped any ghosts that died while they were sleeping.

"Hmm," the Good Father said. "Well, if he shows up again, Susannah, send him to me. I will see if he'll tell me anything."

I nodded. "All right. And I have another one, Father. This woman called Mary. She said she was killed by a few Indians, as was her husband. She was pregnant at the time and she is obviously not a rested soul. She . . . went after me. Luckily, though, I had an interruption in the formof my youngest step-brother."

His face fell. "This ghost was . . . violent with you?"

"Yes, Father Dom. I told her I was sorry that she was killed and she got angry and, well, she tried to hurt me."

His face turned grim. "You did not act violent in return, did you?"

"Uh - well, I—"

"Susannah, we have gone over this many times. You are not to be violent with these spirits. They have all ready gone through a hard time and they don't need you adding to that—"

"But what if its in self defense, Father. I was only protecting myself!"

He silenced me. "I realize that, Susannah, but you mustn't make them angry in the first place."

Oh, I really didn't need this right then. To tell you the truth, I honestly didn't care about Mary. I was thinking about Jesse. He was so nice, kind. And not to mention handsome. He was gorgeous. I had never seen a ghost so . . . perfect before.

No. I - this can't be happening.

"Susannah!"

That snapped me out of my reverie.

"You promise me to think before you act?"

"Uh - yeah. Yes, of course, Father."

He smiled. "Good. Now run along, child. I'm sure your mother would like you home."

I nodded and went back home.