AN: 'Fear of Ghosts'. The conclusion to the Babbit Bridge tale that started in last year's 'Things That Scare Me' (Don't Turn on the Light) and continued into 'Dreaming Dreams No Mortal…' (Phobias). Eyes Unable to Dream was SUPPOSED to be this, but then they went and nearly got murdered and it became a Thing.
Kitty's fault, entirely.
Oh, please. You didn't have to come with. God knows I couldn't drag you anywhere if my life depended on it.
You say that as though you don't know I'd follow you to Hell if it existed.
Wouldn't I be following you? I mean, you murdered two people before I got one.
Mm.
Recommended listening: Giles Corey's 'The Haunting Presence'.
McStaken-True. Don't give her ideas...and it didn't. The one we had when I was a boy had drunk himself to death by this time, so I have nothing against this one. Well, apart from his general existence, but that's not enough.
Forbidden Moons-Granny raised a gentleman...in her own way.
He doesn't see her until third period, and even then she sees him first.
"Hey!" To be fair, it's not his fault she's so short. "Have a good weekend?"
A bruise on his lower back dares him to lie.
"Pretty quiet. Yours?" Is there a trick to this, or does he just hand it over? He's going to go with the 'casual hand-off' for lack of a better idea. "I have your scarf, it's all dried off. Mostly. I think. Should be-it's been all weekend, so-" Time to shut up. "Here."
He practically flings it at her-whoops-and sidesteps a group of cheerleaders. He's hoping for one of them-doesn't matter which-to trip over something and fall, but no, they continue on down the hall, an impenetrable wall of giggling.
"So, in the interests of science, we need to go back."
"Go back where."
"The bridge." She shifts her bag to her other shoulder. "To investigate."
"Investigate what?"
"The screaming ghost baby."
Oh.
"There wasn't anything. It was dark, and storming, and we both went out there expecting-consciously or not-to see something."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night." He doesn't sleep much, actually, but it's not the imaginary ghost baby's fault. "But we still have to go."
"You can go."
"I get lost between classes still, you can't let me wander the countryside by myself."
That's not fair. That's not fair, this is what he gets for letting himself be roped into relationships-friendship. That's all he meant.
He opens the classroom door for her and lets her drag him to the back corner of the room.
"Really? I should let you wander. It would serve you right, this is ridiculous."
She snorts.
"If I die, it'll be your fault…anyway, I'm thinking reading Bible verses isn't going to work, because with all the church-going here, surely there'd be runoff, y'know? Unless they were Jewish…"
"There's nothing there. It's like a Ouija board-combined hysteria can lead to shared hallucinations."
"Then it's perfectly fine to go back."
He disagrees, but there really isn't a good counterargument to be found.
"I don't know…"
"It'll be fun."
Last time wasn't so bad. Apart from the cold and the wet, that wasn't fun, but…
"Fine. But there's nothing there."
"Says you."
"Says science."
"We'll just see about that."
He's prepared to argue that one, but Mr. Wilkes raps on the board and his brilliant argument is forced to wait.
It's not raining or threatening rain, and Jonathan's grateful. He's a little less grateful for the wind, because it makes the bridge creak and groan and he can't be sure if it's swaying or if he's just paranoid. Such is life, he supposes.
It's not so bad, really. He likes being out. With a friend. And out of the house. That's the important thing here, being out of the house.
She drags him into the wash, which is a Terrible Idea. There could be a flood. The bridge could collapse. There could be a landslide.
"Kitty-"
"Science." she chirps, grinning up at him like she's not completely insane. He sighs, hopes the bridge stays standing and that there's no freak disasters.
"Science."
"So come on, we have to make sure there's no bird's nest or something."
He turns instead to the sun, which is steadily sinking downwards, casting long shadows that claw over the dirt and sink into the roof of the bridge. It's a little creepy, he'll ad-what's that?
There's something shiny on the side of the bridge and his first thought is that it's the plaque, but that fell off years ago and they never put it back, so…
Huh.
It's not that far down. He's got long arms, he could probably reach it if he hung over far enough. Could explain the crying.
(And yeah, it's shiny and it's bugging him because what is it?)
"Kitty."
"Yeah?"
"If I fall and die, please come up with a better explanation. Frame someone."
"What are you doing?"
He pretends not to hear her and heads onto the bridge. Okay, okay, it was right about here…
"Jonathan?"
"See if you can convince them I came back to haunt them."
"Get down from there, you're going to fall-"
Got it!
His glasses nearly slide off his nose and he may or may not do a circus seal impression trying to keep them on while he straightens back up. There. Glasses intact, shiny thing in fist, fall averted. Not bad.
"Are you insane? That's it, you can't lecture me for doing dangerous things-"
"Kitty, your dangerous things usually involve me." he points out, because as tempting as it would be to let her wander off and get lost, he might feel a little bit guilty and it's better just to go. "Besides, I'm fine."
"What were you doing?"
"Saw something shiny." She gives him a flat look. Oh, please, as though she wouldn't have done the same thing if she could reach anything without help. What'd he end up with, anyway…oh. This is not the explanation for the crying, apparently. Alas.
It's a cross, streaked with dirt. Some of said dirt's washed away in the weekend rains, revealing just enough gold to catch the sun. The chain's snapped near the clasp. It's old, if he's any judge, and he'd like to think he is-a childhood spent in what's essentially a mausoleum may as well be worth something.
"What is that?" She leans over, watching him scrub at it with his thumb. He snorts.
"A cross. Which you'd know if you went to church."
She glares at him, but the effect is decidedly lessened by the sucker caught between pursed lips.
"Piss off."
He smirks and flicks the last of the dirt off the cross before holding it out.
"Here. You need it more than I do."
"Don't you preach at me, you're the most hateful person I know."
"Yes, but since I go to church once a week…"
"Because your grandmother drags you."
"I'm still in it."
She sticks her tongue-now bright blue-out at him and runs her fingers along the chain.
"How'd it even get up here?"
"I don't know." He supposes it could have broken when someone was leaning over, but the board wasn't sticking out and surely it would have gone straight to the ground. "Freakish incident, I suppose."
"Maybe it was the baby's, and it caught and broke."
Well. That's…ghoulish.
"Mm-mm. Poor family, remember? They wouldn't have wasted money just to throw the child into the river."
She shrugs and drapes it around her neck, pinches it closed, and leans over. He tenses to yank her back (she's tripped over thin air before, she's just the type to somehow topple over), but she straightens up quick enough and steps back.
"Higher than I realised."
Good, she won't try to climb on it or anything silly. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and watches the wind blow a dried branch into the riverbed below. It's easy, sometimes, to forget how alone you can be out here. It's a good twenty minutes back to town. No one's going to hear you being murdered.
He knows this, mind, because someone was murdered a few years ago, and remained undiscovered for several months.
"Well, o paranormal investigator?"
"We wait and see if it happens again."
WHAT.
"Why? It's cold, it's windy, and it's probably a plant. Or an animal."
"Fine. I'll come back alone. If I'm not back by morning, you can explain to my mother why I was out here all by myself, miles from help…"
"It's hardly miles." he grumbles, but explaining to Mrs. Richardson why her daughter was alone in the wilderness is not appealing. Nor is fending off the murder accusations that he's sure will crop up, which will lead to Granny demanding to know what he was doing with that harlot next door, which…
This is incredibly unfair.
"I do this under extreme duress." he informs her when they arrive back at the bridge. She grins up at him and pats his arm.
"Thank you, Jonathan."
Fine, it's only a little duress. But she doesn't need to know that.
"We'll see how much you thank me when we're murdered by a roving serial killer."
She snorts and flops down on the dusty boards at his feet. The bridge creaks but otherwise nothing happens. He sighs and sits down next to her, eyes fixed on the other end. At least it's not going to rain tonight. Small favors and all.
He tucks his hands into his jacket. It's cold out here and it's not like he wants to be back at home, but couldn't they go ghost-hunting in the summer?
Kitty stretches and swipes a lone weed that blew up here at some point, ties it in a knot. An owl dives for something in the riverbed. There's a squeak and when it flaps back up, Jonathan can make out a clenched claw.
Everything's quiet. So, really, it's entirely reasonable that the sudden sound of footsteps scares him. He braces himself for the screaming, but it doesn't come. Great, it really is a serial killer, he doesn't want to die this way-
Flashlight. Duh. Ridiculous, one of them should have turned it on at the start…why is it not turning on.
"Jonathan."
"Battery's dead."
"Jonathan."
"What?" He looks at her. She's sat up and her face is as white as (so he presumes) the nonexistent ghost. "Kitty?"
She points.
This is bad, isn't it.
He turns, mentally preparing for an ax to the skull, and sees a woman. His first, terrified, thought is, GRANNY, but…
No, she's too young. Her dress is similar, and she's wearing a gold cross, but she doesn't have a cane and she's too young. For the life of him, he can't place her.
"Miss?"
She doesn't seem to see him. Kitty grips his arm and hisses, "I swear she came out of nowhere-"
"It's just dark-"
"I didn't even blink and she was there-"
"Shh." Either somebody's playing a joke, or this woman is very lost. Maybe she's…he doesn't know, an escapee or something… "Miss? Can we help you?"
Kitty's hand tightens. The woman doesn't answer. All right, maybe she's deaf, or drugged, or…
She comes closer and he moves back on instinct. Probably Pavlovian, something about that damn dress of hers is unnerving him. And Kitty's panicking, which isn't helping. There's nothing to panic about, he needs to calm down. One of them needs a level head.
"Miss?"
She goes straight up to the edge of the bridge and grips it. It occurs to him, about now, that he shouldn't be able to see her this clearly. Maybe Kitty got the light working-no, it's still in his hand.
This has just started to register when the woman eases herself over the side-
-and falls.
There's no scream, no sickening thud! of a body hitting the dirt below. They sit there for a second, maybe two, before scrambling up and leaning over.
"What the hell-"
"I don't know-"
"We have to get down there, this isn't that far of a drop-"
The light clicks on. Funny, he didn't realize he was still trying. Who cares, who cares-he aims the beam downwards, already dreading the sight of twisted limbs, and…
There's nothing down there. That's not possible, he saw her climb over, cool as you please, he'll swear on his likely-soon-to-be grave!
"She was-"
"I told you came out of nowhere!"
"This isn't possible!" He moves the beam, seeking any sort of sign. Did she cling to the underside like some sort of spider-lady? Is she insane and planning on killing them somehow? "She was here, she fell, she should be there!"
"Well, she's not there now!"
"She has to be!" He steps back, intending to go down there, and she grabs his sleeve. "Kitty-"
"She came out of nowhere! She's not there because she went back to…I don't know, wherever she came from!"
"That's not possible! She's not a ghost, she's a suicidal-"
An icy gust sends them both reeling backwards. Kitty lets go and digs something out of her pocket.
"I bet you this is hers." She holds up the cross. It looks like hers, because they all look like that. "I bet you it caught when she jumped."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Do you see her?"
"No, but we're going to go look. Come on."
She follows him. Granted, they should probably just go, but what if she landed where he couldn't point the light or something?
She's not here. At least, she's not on the ground. It's not impossible that she could have…grabbed onto the edge of the bridge and worked her way across or down. Somehow. Or maybe she didn't hurt herself and just walked away! Yes. Yes, that's what happened. She took the hint, same as he had when his hand had gone off-track two years ago, and went home or…something.
"Well?"
"We should go."
"I told you so!"
"She could be disturbed."
"She's not here!"
A dog barks and they scramble back up the banks. Mentally questionable women are bad enough, but stray dogs are an absolute NO.
They're maybe ten feet away when a baby's screams (wind, just the wind, or the dog) split the night. He pretends not to hear Kitty's shaky, "I told you so."
It's suicidal, this. But.
He wants an explanation for that cross. (Not for the vanishing woman on the bridge, he has a perfectly rational explanation for that, thank you very much.) But the cross is odd to him, and he can't think of anyone else who might know.
So as much as he hates to do it, he does his chores without a word, makes her a new pitcher of lemonade without being asked (he could poison it, he thinks, end this…but she's probably immune) and, when she's busy stirring dinner and not chopping anything, takes this risk.
"Granny?"
"Hm."
Well, it's a promising start.
"Could I ask you a question?" She cocks one eyebrow at him and he swallows, wills himself to stay here. "About Babbit Bridge."
"Why."
"We're doing a local folklore unit in English, and you know more than the library." This is true. If she were less insane, he might enjoy her stories. She tells them well, anyway. "I have to write a paper, and I was wondering…were there any other deaths? I couldn't find any, but the records aren't…well-kept."
"And they wouldn't be." she says, tapping the spoon on the side of the pot with a sharp rap-rap-rap! "Child aside-have I told you that one, Jonathan?" He nods. Her telling kept him for two nights, thanks. "I thought so…child aside, the mother followed along, a few days after. Guilt, I'm sure."
"The mother?"
She smiles at him and he wants to run upstairs and barricade himself in his room until morning. Or maybe forever.
"When she found out the thing hadn't perished in childbirth, she flung herself over the side and drowned." She points the spoon towards the door. "Go out and fetch me some potatoes from the cellar."
This doesn't mean anything. It's just coincidence, that's all.
THE END