Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“I see great tragedy in your future.”
I stop. “You what …?”
“Great and terrible tragedy. A death. It’s sudden. As sudden as an animal charging right at your face!”
I stare at her, stunned.
An animal … or a vehicle?
Bro, don’t read into it. She’s not talking about your near-death experience. Besides, that already happened. That isn’t in your future.
Still, it shakes me. “Mrs. Shaheen, I didn’t expect to get a crystal ball reading or … or anything. I really just wanted an answer to my hypothetical issue.”
“This sudden death, however, will make you happy. Or some part of you will be happy.” She squints at me over the crystal ball, concerned. “You’ve got a troubled heart, Griffin, if someone’s death brings you joy.”
“Can I please have a clear answer to my question? To my whole ghost and moving away issue?”
Mrs. Shaheen shoots me a look. “I thought it was your client’s neighbor?”
Careful, bro. “R-Right, yes, that’s … what I meant. My client’s … neighbor’s … ghost issue thing.”
Her eyes zero in on the crystal ball once more. She starts gently tracing her finger along it, as if writing a secret message, or drawing a picture, or stirring a bowl of lukewarm soup. “It is possible you may be the cause of this death, now that I am looking more closely.”
What the heck is all this death crap she’s going on about? “Really, I—”
“The death is someone close to you.”
I’m too compelled to ignore her. “Close to me …?”
She shuts her eyes, appearing emotional. “Oh …” Her fingers spread out, stretching, then enclose around the entirety of the ball, as much of it as they can cover. “Oh, I hope this future isn’t one of the carved-in-stone varieties. It looks so bleak … so dark … so tragic …”
“Mrs. Shaheen …?”
She snaps out of it at once. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Cash, credit, or Venmo?”
I blink. “You’re charging me for that?”
“It’s a slow day. I need the lunch money. There’s a nice deli I keep passing down the street.” She packs up the crystal ball with a huff and returns the heavy thing and its bejeweled pedestal to the shelf.
Dude, what a load of crap. I muster every last bit of patience I have. “Mrs. Shaheen, do you have an actual answer to my hypothetical? Lunch can be on me. I don’t care. Maybe I’ll even join you at the deli.”
She scoffs and turns around. “Really? You have no sense of humor, Griffin. Twice now I’ve had to educate you on what a joke is.” She sighs. “I do pity you.”
I can’t keep up with her. “So … wait, was all of that a joke? About the death I’ll cause? The death of someone close to me that makes me happy?”
“It’s all a joke,” she exclaims as she grabs hold of her cane—which I didn’t notice until now—then uses it to walk herself to the other side of the room to check on her burning incense. “This whole damned place. Money pit half of the year. All theatrics and foolery.”
“Really?”
“The kids that come by around Halloween, they just want to be entertained. Even the adults. Worried couples wanting reassurance about their futures. Lonely people wanting to reconnect with dead loved ones. I put on a big show for them. Get them their money’s worth. I’ll even rock my eyes back and moan if I must.”
An immature desire to laugh wiggles its way up my throat. “That … sounds like a different kind of show.”
She eyes me. “This building only has room for my inappropriate jokes, Mr. James.”
I lift my hands innocently. “Sorry.” Then I wonder why the hell I made that kind of a joke. Wait a sec. Was that you, West?
Maybe.
Can you take this seriously for a second? She’s the only person who can help us.
If she’s the only person who can help us, then we’re as fucked as phantoms.
She unintentionally taught us how to share my body like we’re doing right now, didn’t she? It can’t all be a joke to her.
“Yes,” she admits with a tragic sigh. “Most of what I do here is a performance. But that is only because the typical customer can’t handle the real stuff.”
That makes me stop. “The … real stuff …?”
“Yep.” She lifts her cane to poke at something on a high shelf, pushing it into place. “The real stuff.”
Before I can help it, the words go spilling out of my mouth. “You mean like how you taught me two years ago how to let a ghost share my body?”
The humor in her face vanishes in an instant.
Her eyes snap to mine.
I instantly regret making the remark. Backpedal. “I just made my own joke. See? I know what a joke is.” I let out a nervous titter. It only makes me sound more guilty. “I, um—a’hem, sorry, is it warm in here?—I just want to know what you think about my hypothetical conundrum so I can get started on my client’s project. Is there a way to free a ghost from the place in which he’s confined? Or is he doomed to spend the rest of—?”