Page 48 of Ghostly
Not help. He wants to run.
“Listen to me. Calm down. This isn't you.”
No,it wasn’t—or she thought so. She could hardly remember who she used to be. The century spent as a ghost—was that still her? Could she claim she was good just because she had decades to think it over?
The coffee table rattled.
“Ida, please.” No more warning in Gabriel’s voice—only worry. And fear.
Calm down. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Her whole body pulsated, as if she was collapsing onto herself while also being stretched, torn apart at the same time. Was this it? Was there another way to pass through—was she dying, even in death?
Gabriel’s eyes widened.
Help me. Please.
She reached out a hand. “I-I-I don’t know—”
The room disappeared in front of her eyes.
Chapter 12
1894
Jamie sat on the rug in his bedroom—Ida’s bedroom!—his short legs stretched out, clumsy fingers reaching for a shiny new bear plush Jacinda offered him. “That’s right. Can you say his name? Is it a bear?” She cooed.
“Nowyou can be nice,” Ida remarked darkly. She sat on the window shelf and dangled her legs; in reality, the window shelf wasn’t wide enough for her to sit without support, but Ida was outside of reality now.
Jamie babbled a dissatisfied ‘ba-ba’ and pushed the bear away.
“Alright, then. Something else.” Jacinda got up and headed for a box of toys on the other side of the room; based on its scratched edges, not a new acquisition, unlike the rest of the furniture.
Since Jamie had arrived, Ida’s bed had been tossed out, despite the new one being barely any different. Her dressing table, and the writing desk with adjoined shelves housing books on gardening, had all been replaced, too, with a crib that Jamie was outgrowing, a few small chairs, and tons upon tons of toys. How easily they’d forgotten her. Harry and Jacinda did their required mourning—half a year for Harry, six weeks for Jacinda, and based on her complaints about the crepe scratching her neck, she couldn’t get out of it soon enough. Harry moped about for some time more, but once Jamie came along, it was as if Ida had never existed.
Jacinda rummaged in the box and pulled out a wooden doll in a nightgown-like dress, with strings for hair. The doll’s painted eyes stared at Ida, and in a flash, the memory returned.
Father made that doll for her. She’d loved it when she was little—the doll was on the creepy side, but Ida thought it endearing. Then one day, Harry grew tired of Ida’s toys littering their shared bedroom, and put them all away.
“How about this?” Jacinda waved the doll at Jamie.
“No!” Ida floated to Jacinda and snatched the doll, only for her fingers to pass harmlessly through it. “That was mine!”
She tried harder, channeled energy into her fingers, and grasped the doll’s head. Jacinda’s eyes widened as the doll was pulled away from her, but she didn’t release her grip. Something awoke in Ida—an unexplored, but delicious feeling—as she watched Jacinda struggle.
It’s not fair you get to move on. It’s not fair he’s replacing my life.
“He’s not getting it!” Ida pulled harder.
Jacinda let out a distressed moan. “Why is it moving?” she whispered, and then suddenly released the doll. Caught by surprise, Ida staggered back, and the doll flew over her head in an arch.
A skull-splitting cry echoed across the room.
“Jamie!” Jacinda stepped straight through Ida and hurried to her son. The doll was lying next to Jamie; Jacinda kicked it away and kneeled, kissing his forehead. “I’m so sorry, baby. Does it hurt?” She glanced at the door. “Marie!”
Ida glided closer to them. The doll had been kicked under the bed, ready to be forgotten again, but Jamie was fine. Nothing but a spot of reddened skin on his forehead. Babies were remarkably resilient, despite how helpless they appeared most of the time.
But Jacinda… She was stressed, uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid—and accidentally hurting Jamie hurther.
