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1
I
typed in SCREAMING GHOSTS and tapped
enter. A few seconds later, over 1
millions searches popped onto the screen.
The first one had a heading entitled ‘Screaming Ghosts, or
Banshees’. The site was Wikipedia, which
I have used before as a source in my editorials and articles.
‘Screaming Ghosts, or Banshees
as they are
Commonly called, have origination in
Irish
Folklore. Most of the time these ghosts
Are women and signify some sort of
impending
Doom, generally death. Chances are if you see
One or a Banshee stares you down, your
survival
Isn’t good. The louder and higher pitch the
Scream, is proportionate to the degree
of that
Doom.
A general rule of thumb is if you have
To cover your ears, then you will
probably
Die.
Anything less most likely just means
Something painful but bearable. You might think
That you can send these ghosts back by
trad-
Itional methods like helping them complete
tasks
Or finding someone they love to tell
them how
Much they love them, etc. But Banshees are a
Different sort. As of this writing, there is
Nothing concrete someone can do if a
Banshee
Is terrorizing you.
But not all Banshees are bad. There are some
Who just go about their supernatural
existence
With daily routines as if they were
alive.
They will go to work, pursue their
recreations,
And be peaceful like nothing ever
happened. You
Don’t have to worry about these, just
the ones
That scream.
Some Banshees leave objects behind
that were
Important to them when they were
living.
Usually this object they treasured
until the
Day they died or it was an object of
someone’s
they didn’t want to forget.
RELATED WEBSITES
That’s what I see. Has to be.
There is a Banshee running loose in Ilton and I seem to be the only one
that knows about it. Well, me and those
who saw her just before they died. Miss
Molly, Old Man Noonan, Betty. What did
they see before they passed away?
I looked over the related websites
again. Clicked on www.bansheedeathcount.com because
it appeared to be the most interesting.
The page downloaded and 70% of it was ads. There were some options to add your own
sightings and include any loved ones or friends you believed to have died from
a Banshee vision. In the middle of the
web page was a large box with ‘TOLL’ scripted in red block letters. The number currently read ‘842 since
2005’. To be honest, that didn’t seem so
bad.
For an interesting-sounding web site name,
the actual site was dreadful. I back up
to the Wikipedia site and clicked on www.ghosthunterjones.com.
A solid black page came on with just a
phone number in white in the center of the page. 1-219-433-2691. And that was it.
“Oooooh,”
I mocked. “Mysteeeerious…”
I jotted the number on a Post-it and stuck
it to my monitor.
A door slammed. Through the window, I watched Bobby storm
through the office. Maggie was yelling
at him to stop, I’m not to be disturbed.
He said something to the effect of fuck you and continued on. He whipped open my door, Maggie in tow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried to tell him.”
“It’s okay, Mag.”
Bobby shut the door when Maggie left.
2
“I need to talk to you,” Bobby said.
“I figured, you coming in here like some
kind of bastard.” I shut my computer
down.
“Well, shit is pointing to you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Bobby sat down. “I’m missing some evidence.”
“And you think that has something to do
with me?”
“Maybe.”
We stalemated a gaze. I broke it first.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll bite. What’s missing.”
“The hairbrush.”
I attempted to hide any knowledge of the
hairbrush from my face and I wondered if Bobby saw that. Five, four, three, two, one.,,
“Really?
Why do you think it has something to do with me?”
“You are the only one that knew anything
about that thing.”
“So.
How the fuck would I get into your evidence locker.”
He laughed.
“Seriously? Have you seen what
I’m working with as far as a police station?
My ‘evidence locker’ is an old metal filing cabinet with no fucking
lock.”
I caught a quick glance to my own cabinet,
then Bobby returned to me.
“Why would you take it?”
After getting up, I walked to my office
door and opened it. “Leave. I can’t believe you are accusing me of taking
a piece of shit hairbrush.”
It seemed like an hour before Bobby stood
up. Finally. Was he trying to break me? It was going to take more than a minute of
not getting up to do that.
“Something crazy is going on here in
Ilton,” he said, “And I know I’m some hick Chief of Police, but I know
something crazy is happening. You might
be involved and you might not. Either
way, I will find answers.”
“Then you find them. Find them right out of my office.”
Bobby left my office and I watched him
leave the office. But not before giving
Maggie a flirtatious glimpse. She nodded
once. Good girl.
Maggie appeared in my office seconds later.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Nothing.
Just got a bug about something.
Needed to vent.”
She didn’t believe me. She could smell my bullshit even before I
said it. “That’s no bug, Grant.”
“I know,” I muttered. “I know.”
Maggie did leave.
“Not now, Maggie. Not now at all.”
“Then when?
Whatever you got going on inside here—“
She tapped her brain. “—you obviously can’t do it alone. It may help to share it.”
She was right, I know that. But I couldn’t bring her into
everything. Everything that may hurt
her.
“No,
Maggie. Not now means not now—“
“Fine.”
She whirled around and walked through the door.
“Maggie--!”
I called out after her.
Useless of course. I really didn’t want her to come back in here
so I would have to yell at her again.
But I did have to tell someone.
At least to get some advice on what the fuck was going on in this town.
I peered at the phone number written on the
yellow Post-It stuck to my monitor.
3
Someone picked up the phone on the second
ring. A cell phone. I heard the cackle of bad reception.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hey.
Is this…uh…ghosthunter?” I felt
weird saying it, but I had no other name for this guy or any other information
than what that website provided me.
A pause.
“Yup.”
What this guy going to give me more? “I found your number from website.”
“Okay.
Whatch ya got?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, is it a ghost at least?” A little sarcasm?
“At least.
I just don’t know. I don’t know
what’s going on. I really don’t know
what I’ve seen.”
“You don’t know much do you.”
Bastard, I thought. “I know your fucking website popped up when I
searched for banshees.”
Another pause.
“Hello?” I said.
“Banshees?” I heard on the other end. His tone quickly got serious. “You said banshees, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Um…”
Some thinking perhaps? “Look, I’m
in
“Ilton.
“I see.
Not bad,” he said. “Not bad. Is it serious there?”
“Three people have died.”
“Very serious I’d say.” I heard paper rustling in the
background. “I can be there in three
days. What’s your address?”
I gave him my address. “You don’t think this is a prank call, do
you.”
“You don’t sound fake my friend. You sound like something serious is happening
there and you’re afraid.” He nailed it.
“That’s right.”
“Good.
Three days. What’s your name?”
“Grant,” I said.
“I’ll see you then.”
Like silent jet whizzing by, Ghosthunter
was off the phone.
Fuck, I didn’t even get his name.
4
The next couple of days went by
uneventful. I wrote my next couple of
editorials just to get them out of the way.
My guys (and Maggie) went about their journalistic duties gathering
stories and tidbits of information for future stories like good little
reporters. I didn’t talk much to them,
especially Maggie. I think after the day
I told her I wanted to be alone, she shied away from bothering me on other
things. She no longer asked about my
day, or my night. She would come into my
office and drop papers off without a single hello.
Did she see something in me? Did she know about everything? Did she know about how Bobby thinks it was
me? They seem to have gotten a little
chummy recently. Just how chummy is a
mystery.
Maggie and I use to be chummy. Use to as in four months ago. We had a year of fun and, I’ll admit,
love. If you ask her I’m sure she’ll say
she enjoyed the fling. A fling. What a way to put it.
Now we are Boss and Worker. I tell her what to do and she does it. And despite that I am giving the
order, she still happily carries out any task I give her.
We didn’t end on a terribly happy note. One night I had cooked an Italian dinner—you
know the great bachelor dinner of spaghetti, salad, garlic bread, and green
beans—and she says after a forkful of wrapped pasta, “I don’t think I could
fall in love with you. It’s already been
a year and I’m not in love.” She’s the
kind of person who likes to stick her fork in and spin it in the spaghetti to
start a ball going. Then she lifts it
out and continues to spin the fork until the spaghetti is wrapped around the
fork enough where she can place it in her mouth. Anal with a hint conformity.
“Did you know just realize this?” I had said.
“No, months ago, but I figured I’d give this
and you a longer chance.”
I dropped my utensils. “Well, thanks…I guess…”
I mean, we didn’t argue or yell at each
other. I just removed myself from the
table and disappeared into my bedroom.
Even at work the next Monday, we were fine
with seeing each other. Maybe I wasn’t
in love with her as much as I thought.
That’s possible since I let her go so easy.
But with Bobby traipsing in here like he owns
Maggie and getting all chummy
--mystery chummy mystery chummy—
Twinges of jealous rock my body each time I
see them together.
Do I still have something for her? Well, yeah, of course I do. She’s a great woman. Very affectionate, loving, and loyal. And awesome in bed. Not great, or good, or adequate; Maggie is
exceptional in bed. I miss that, but I
also miss the other qualities I fell in love with.
Shit, I need to get out here. Sometimes seeing her and working with her
makes me real nostalgic for the times we had.
I need some of Betty’s Grub.
5
The afternoon was quickly turning cloudy. Storm clouds gathered in the distance. Dark gray, loopy clouds just begging for the
rain to be released. Good, deep storm
clouds…the kind that spawn tornados if it was just a little more humid.
The walk to Betty’s Grub usually took me about five minutes, but I strolled
today. Today was a strolling day. No hurry to get some food; just hurry to get
away from the paper, from Maggie. How
could one loser Police chief named Bobby Hamilton make me so jealous?
I turned the corner onto
The gold-plated cowbell dinged when I walked
through. The crowd inside all glanced up
at me. A decent crowd, not as many as
the cars outside indicated, but still a decent crowd.
One old guy raised a finger to me in
hello. I didn’t recognize him and still
couldn’t place him as I took a booth near the front corner. The closest people were a few tables away,
which is how I kinda wanted it.
Kara came over. “Hey,” she said.
“Hi.
How are you?”
“Eh.
Okay, I guess.”
“Yeah.
It sucks.”
“Mm-hmm.
What can I get you?” She poised
her pencil over her pad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.
You gonna order? It’s kinda busy
and I got other tables.”
“Kara, something’s wrong.”
She nervously looked back at everyone
else. “I shouldn’t even say this.” Kara plopped down opposite me.
“Say what?”
A couple of the locals eyed Kara
suspiciously, then eyed me suspiciously.
“People are talking about you.”
“I’m use to that,” I said. I was.
People either hated you as an editor or loved you. I’d like to think the majority of the town
loved me, but there were always a few that expressed their disdain for me.
“No.
About Betty, and the others,” Kara whispered.
“What about them?”
She looked back at the others. “They are saying you had something to do with
their deaths.”
“Had something to do with them—“
“Not exactly,” Kara said quickly. “But that you actually killed them.”
“What?”
“I hear a lot. You know I do.”
“I know.
But you also know that it’s ridiculous right?”
She didn’t answer.
“Kara?”
She nodded.
“I know. I wouldn’t be talking to
you if I didn’t think it was crazy.”
“Thank you.
Now just get me my usual and make sure you get back to the others. They might think we are fucking or
something.”
Kara smiled and got up, shier than usual and
went to check on her other customers.
I think Kara believed the rumors a little
bit. Not a lot, just enough to be scared
to talk to me. Just enough to avert her
eyes from me. Just enough to make me
feel like the outcast of Ilton.
A few of the farmers game me some disdained
looks, but I didn’t give a fuck right now.
I can’t believe that some were against me.
Kara brought my food a moment later, but I couldn’t really enjoy it with the others watching me, glaring at me. I finished quickly, left a good tip, the left.