Wham!
The entire house shakes.
Ooo-kay. Hosea didn’t like that one bit.
I walk to the start of the hallway leading away from the living room. “Hosea? You don’t have to keep banging things. You can talk to me the same way you used to talk to people when you were alive.”
No reply.
Vincente walks up behind/beside me, staring down the hall.
“Hosea?” I call out.
After another minute of silence, I advance to the first door on the left, the bathroom. No one there, so I poke my head through the door on the right, the smaller bedroom. “Hosea?”
As soon as I back out of the side room, the figure of a man appears in the doorway to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, phasing into existence in mid-stride. The sudden manifestation plus strong aggressive energy makes me jump back, startled, unintentionally leaping into Vincente’s arms. Well, more like crashed into him and he grabbed me to keep me from falling over.
Anger falls off the spirit in waves.
For a long, silent few seconds, I lock eyes with the spirit of Hosea Povey.
I’m certain it’s him, even though I shouldn’t have any way to recognize him. He’s much younger than I expected, not far at all into his thirties. The guy’s quite muscular, but average in height. Probably tall for his era, though. Brown hair, brown eyes, suntanned. He’s no movie star, but I could definitely see him on the cover of a steamy Western novel. And yeah, he looks like a cowboy without a hat, wearing grey pants, a long-sleeved white cotton shirt that looks like the upper half of long johns, and boots.
“What happened?” asks Vincente.
“Sec,” I whisper. “Hosea’s standing in your bedroom doorway.”
He’s close to solid-looking, but still transparent enough to be an obvious ghost. Other than a dark red line across his throat, he doesn’t have any other obvious signs of injury—such as a broken or stretched-out neck.
Vincente squints, evidently unable to see him at all.
“Hi, Hosea. I’m Allison Lopez. I can see you. Please talk to me. What can we do to help you rest?”
Hosea keeps staring at me, clenching his fists and relaxing them. I really don’t like the look in his eyes, like a bull about to charge. Or a drunk who thinks we said something rude about his little sister.
“Something is keeping you here,” I say in a soothing voice. “Spirits aren’t supposed to be stuck in this world. I’d like to help you move on. What can you tell me about the marshal—”
Fast as a blur, Hosea rushes at me.
Next thing I know, I’m on my back, a mild dull pain in my chest, and Hosea’s attempting to strangle Vincente with an inch-thick rope. Despite the clear rage in his eyes, his facial expression remains calm. It doesn’t look like he’s truly wrenching down on the spectral rope with any true effort, and I get the weirdest feeling he isn’t trying to kill. I mean, seriously… throwing a rope around someone’s neck and choking them is a pretty strange way to say hello.
Vincente gasps for air, wheezing but not completely unable to breathe. Having no real substance, the ghost clings to him like a backpack, going wherever he staggers. Okay, what the heck? The pain in my chest feels an awful lot like Hosea shoved me out of the way to get at Vincente. I thought for sure he intended to attack me over the protection spell. Making the cell phone keep showing my number had to be a message, right?
Why would he throw me out of the way to get at Vincente?
“Stop!” I yell, while scrambling back to my feet.
The spirit glances at me. At Vincente. Back to me. He seems confused.
“Yes. I can see you.”
Hosea loosens the rope. Vincente draws in a huge breath despite the ghost still holding the noose around his neck, evidently without pressure.
“Is he gone?” rasps Vincente.
“Not yet.” I raise both hands in a placating manner at the spirit, like a hostage negotiator trying to get the suspect to calm down. Yeah, I watch too much Law & Order.
Hosea’s anger morphs into frustration and sorrow. Ghosts don’t have auras, but I’m getting an unmistakable sense of emotion from him.
“Whoa… hang on.” I point at him. “You didn’t do it, did you?”
The ghost continues staring at me.
I know he’s not hung up on being unable to talk due to a strangulation death. If so, he wouldn’t have said his name on the digital recorder. “Someone else killed the marshal and the deputy, didn’t they?”
Hosea’s mood falters back to anger.
“Okay. I can feel you getting mad again. I’ll take that as a yes.” I step closer to him, reaching out a hand. “Please talk to me. I want to help. Give me a chance to help you. The only thing I ask is you stop hurting people in this house.”
He continues staring.
“I spoke to a historian in town. He told me they never found your daughter. What happened?”
Hosea glares, then disappears.
“Crap.” I exhale.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Vincente rubs his throat. “It feels different in here all of a sudden. Less heavy.”
“Yeah.” I collapse against the wall, raking a hand through my hair. “You okay?”
“Fine. Not the worst it’s been.”
“This is going to sound strange, but I don’t think he’s trying to kill you.”
Vincente tilts his head, giving me the ‘are you serious’ eyebrow. “What else would he be doing squeezing me so hard I almost pass out?”
“I have an idea, but immediately came up with a counterargument.”
“What?” He laughs.
I limply gesture toward the living room. “Your phone kept showing you my number, right? Well, I think Hosea might have been antagonizing the people who live in this house in hopes they would reach out for help to someone like me who can talk to them… but, if he wanted someone like me here, why did he disappear instead of speak to me?”
“Huh…” He exhales hard. “Good question. Now what?”
“Now, I’m going to follow up on a hunch I had last night. I think there’s possibly another ghost around here, outside. Mind if I take a look?”
“Go right ahead. Want me to come along?”
“I might have better luck alone. Ghosts can be shy.”
He folds his arms. “All right. Keep your eyes open for snakes. Do you have a flashlight?”
“Not with me.” Darn. It’s probably time I replace the batteries in the one I keep in my hall closet, come to think of it. Just my luck, the power will go out and the flashlight will be dead.
Vincente waves for me to follow him. “Let me grab you one.”
Chapter Eight
Ragdoll
Exploring the property around an old, abandoned mine isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever done.
Bear in mind, I have no intention of going into the mineshaft. This is me following a hunch, not trying to kill myself. Walking around decaying buildings shouldn’t be too dangerous. Admittedly, it is somewhat difficult to tell by flashlight how bad the buildings are. The place had been in operation into the early 1970s, so it’s unlikely the ‘disturbance’ of my footsteps is going to cause a collapse. I mean, they’ve remained standing this long.