Ghost College (5 page)

I did that. Or I tried to. The door seemed to waver in and out of my thoughts. Sometimes it was a door. Other times it was just nothing. Once it was a trash-can lid. Other images came and went. Stream of consciousness at its best.

Door. Think of the door.

Another door came in view. A school door, perhaps. With a number on it. Etched into the wood. The door then turned black. Then turned white.

God, my mind was all over the place.

“
Focus on your breathing again,” Ellen said. “Keep focusing on the door.”

I did as I was told. Until I realized I never mentioned anything about the door.

Holy sweet hell. My wife is seriously spooky.

Thirty seconds later, after focusing on my breathing—which seemed easier to do with practice—I thought of the door again. The heavy old school door came back into view. Now I could see that there was a “9” etched into it. The door was shut in my thoughts.

“Don’t be alarmed and don’t open your eyes, but you should see a number ‘9,’ Monty.”

I was seriously alarmed and you’re damn straight I almost opened my eyes. But somehow I didn’t. I kept them shut, and kept my mouth shut, too. Somehow.

“It’s her old classroom here in school, Monty. The room is of significance to her.” My wife paused. “It’s where she died. It’s also, roughly, about where we’re sitting now.”

So my wife hadn’t randomly chosen this room. And perhaps there was a reason it was empty. Perhaps one too many administrators had gotten the creeps? Perhaps.

“She’s waiting behind the door, Monty. Open it, honey. Open it for her.”

Huh? Like I wanted to let in a ghost? For all my skepticism, actually bumping into one of these things was a different ball game. Suppose she was a little demon or evil succubus or even just an angel looking for someone to escort to some soft, cloudy place?

But curiosity trumped fear, so I did it. Or I tried to. I kept having a weird image of light filling a hallway, perhaps coming from under the door.

Open the door.

Had those been my thoughts or my wife’s? I didn’t know. That ESP thing of hers might be contagious under the right circumstances.

The old door was still sitting there in my fantasy, with the number 9 etched deep into the wood. I saw a hand—my hand, perhaps—reaching for the latch. I pushed down on it.

Pulled it open.

Light filled wherever I was standing. And I’ll be damned if a cute little girl wasn’t waiting behind, in the old-fashioned outfit Ellen had described earlier. I thought I heard her whisper “Can I come in?”

I nodded and opened my mouth to speak, and what happened next I probably won’t ever forget. A little girl’s voice came out.

“
Hello,” she said. Or, rather, I said. “I’m Sophia.”

Chapter Twelve

Maybe if the Sony recorder’s batteries hadn’t drained, I would have known for sure whether I was actually squeaking like a girl or if my ears simply perceived my own voice as such.

And from that idea grew another theory, that maybe real ghosts drew so much power to materialize that no camera or device could ever capture them, because they obliterated every type of mechanism that might measure their presence.

It was a theory I’d debate with Ellen later, but right now, there was girl in my throat and I didn’t have a clue what I was saying.

“
Hello, Sophia,” Ellen said.

“
The room is cold,” I said, though I was wearing my leather jacket and it was a bit warm. But maybe where Sophia had come from, “cold” was the normal state of things. I took it as a good sign because it probably meant she hadn’t just taken an elevator up from the lake of fire.

“
I know, sweetie,” Ellen said. “You’ve probably been in there a long time.”

“
Not so long,” I said.

“
Do you know what year it is?”

I giggled. “You must be a teacher. You must think I’m dumb.”

“No, not at all,” Ellen said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

I looked around, blinking, and the part of me that was still present realized Ellen must have been talking about me as part of the “we.” That is, the me who was 38, bearded, and rapidly adopting a new set of spiritual beliefs.

“I’m right here,” I said in my girl voice. “Where else would I be?”

“
Okay, then. Who is president?”

“
Ulysses S. Grant. ‘Ulysses’ is a silly name for a president.”

I giggled again. I’d always thought little girls were silly, and I was glad I’d never had to be one. At least until now.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

Ellen said it gently, but I felt an unaccountable sadness creep over me. So much for the theory that ghosts were just little echoes, a few frames stuck in an endless loop in the film projector of life, residual entities that had no feelings or emotions.

“I’m late for dinner,” I said. “We’re going to have mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, my favorite.”

“
I’m sure they’re keeping it warm for you, honey,” Ellen said, with a soothing charm that I admired even as I grappled with the uneasy realization that I was possessed. “Who are the other teachers here?”

“
We only have Mr. Sigmund. He’s a good piano player, but he makes us learn stupid old Latin.”

“
Do you know where he is now?”

My chest grew even colder. My heart beat faster. “He’s behind the door with the ‘9’ on it, too.”

“Where you came from.”

“
Yes. He says I have to learn my lessons or I’ll have to stay after school for the rest of my life.”

My wife’s eyes glinted in the candlelight and a tear leaked from the corner of one eye. Now I understand why she felt her gifts were from a higher power, and why she had to use them for the power of good. As much as I’d have preferred her using that force at the Las Vegas roulette wheels and blackjack tables, all the money in the world wouldn’t help this little girl who was hiding inside me.

“Are there any others here?” Ellen asked. “Any like you?”

I shook my head. “Just me and Mr. Sigmund. Sometimes he goes away and I can hear him talking to people behind the door, but they’re all talking in Latin and I can’t understand what they’re saying.”

Ellen leaned across the table and held her hands toward me, palms up.

“
Listen, Sophia, I have a very important favor to ask.”

I shivered in dread. And I didn’t know if it was Sophia’s dread or my dread. Ellen’s eyes were intense and earnest, and if I didn’t already love her, I would have fallen for them now. The series of orange flames danced in her pupils, twin mirages of the room where we sat in a séance, consorting with the dead. All the depth and hope of the world were in them, and I could tell this was her most important mission in life.

I couldn’t even be jealous, even though I am selfish by nature and prefer to have her attention directed toward me and my needs. I was just self-aware enough to know this scared girl might have needed help more than I did.

Ellen slid forward just a little and took my hands in hers. “It won’t hurt, will it?” I asked.

“No, I promise.”

“
Mr. Sigmund said it wouldn’t hurt. But he lied.”

“
That’s what we need to find out, but we can’t do it without your help. You’ll have to be a big, brave girl.”

I tilted my head up and said with defiance, “I’m 11. I’m brave.”

Well, that’s what she said. I was as scared as I’d ever been, because not only was my worldview rapidly breaking apart and a dead person was inside my skin and making my lips move, Ellen’s tone suggested that something very bad was about to happen.

My wife. She was the fearless one. I just liked to talk a good game.

But one thing I’d learned, when somebody else is inside your head—and maybe sharing your soul, if such a thing exists—there’s not really anywhere you can go to hide from them.

Ellen smiled. “I know you’re brave, sweetie. I can tell.”

I think she was talking to me, too.

“
What do you want?” I asked in my Sophia voice.

“
I want you to take us to him. Mr. Sigmund. So we can talk to him.”

I glanced toward the corner of the room, the direction from which the little dead girl had come. It was just a wall now, the flames of candles making shadows dance.

She was scared, and I wondered just what the hell was waiting back there that had tormented her so.

“
Can you do it?” Ellen said. “We’ll protect you, I promise.”

“
How come you didn’t protect me all the other times?” I asked.

Good question
, thought the me who was Monty Drew.
Why should she believe us? After all, we’re grown-ups.

Ellen gave that dewy, saintly gaze again, and, hell, I would have followed her into a kiddie pool full of sharks. “Because we weren’t here before,” Ellen said. “Now we are.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and I looked once more toward the corner of the room.

“
Okay,” Sophia said, and then she was gone.

I blinked and rubbed the arms of my leather jacket, trying to get circulation back into my arms.

“Ellen?” I said, relieved to hear my own voice. “Did the thing I think just happened really happen?”

“
You always said you’d believe it when you saw it.”

“
But I still don’t believe it.”

“
Well, your days as a skeptic might be nearing an end, my love. And don’t get too comfortable in your own skin. You’ve got a job to do.”

“
A job?”

“
I have to stay here, because one of us needs to be grounded. But you’re going in there and finding Mr. Sigmund.”

Chapter Thirteen

I was feeling lightheaded and a little queasy. And oddly hungry, too. But hungry for something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“
Ellen, I’m not...” I paused. My lower jaw had decided to shake almost violently. I bit down, calming myself. I tried again. “Ellen, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on here.”

“
Then let me catch you up to speed, love,” said my wife. “You were just possessed by the discarnate soul of an eleven-year-old girl.”

“
That much I get.”

“
And when she returns, she’s going to lead you through Door Number Nine.”

“
Okay, this is where I’m getting a little fuzzy. She’s going to lead me through a door that doesn’t exist?”

“
Not in
this
now,” said Ellen.

“
But it exists in another now?”

“
Right.
Her
now.”

“
And her now is a hundred and fifty years ago, where Door Number Nine still exists?”

“
Exactly.”

“
And this doesn’t sound insane to you?”

“
Makes perfect sense.”

“
Of course it does.” And now my head hurt, too. “And behind Door Number Nine exists the Dark Master.”

“
It’s his old classroom. He’s connected to it, too, much the same way that Sophia is.”

“
Where he did bad things.”

“
Bad enough to kill her.”

“
So he’s here, then,” I said.

Ellen closed her eyes and cocked her head to one side. “He’s nearby, certainly, but he’s keeping his distance for now.”

“Why?”

“
This is new to him, too. I sense he’s waiting to see what happens next before he acts.”

“
So what does happen next?”

“
We’re waiting for Sophia,” said my wife.

“
And where did she go?”

“
Oh, she’s here, standing next to you. She felt your desire to come through again and gave you your space.”

“
How sweet. Ghostly etiquette. So she’s waiting for me?”

“
Yes.”

I was about to say something else when I realized what I was suddenly hungry for. “Peach pie!”

“What an odd thing to say,” said my wife.

“
I’m hungry,” I said, frowning slightly. “For peach pie.”

Ellen smiled gently at me. “When have you ever had peach pie?”

“Almost never.” And then it hit me. “She wants peach pie.”

And just like that, little Sophia was back.