Ring Twice for Ghosts

  Linda Maye Adams

  Published by Turquoise Sunset Publishing, 2022.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Ring Twice for Ghosts

  Introduction

  Teddy Bear Man

  Gregg Bay

  The Stones Next Door

  Map-Mage

  Tidying Magic

  Titles by Linda Maye Adams

  Chapter 1 of Superhero Portal, Book #1 of Dice Ford, Superhero

  CHAPTER 1: NO ONE’S CALLING ME A FOOD

  Copyright Information

  Sign up for Linda Maye Adams's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Superhero Portal

  Praise for Linda Maye Adams

  “Linda Maye Adams’s especially delightful ‘Alien Pizza’ features friendly aliens so enamored with low-budget monster movies that they make one of their own.”–Publisher’s Weekly

  Mask Pretty–Writers of the Future Silver Honorable Mention

  Teddy Bear Man – Writers of the Future Silver Honorable Mention

  Family Places–Writers of the Future Honorable Mention

  Vagabond of Blood–Writers of the Future Honorable Mention

  Map-Mage–Writers of the Future Honorable Mention

  Watcher Ghost–Writers of the Future Honorable Mention

  A Quartet of Clowns – Writers of the Future Honorable Mention

  Sign up for Linda’s newsletter and get a free short story and exclusive behind the scenes of the Dice Ford, Superhero Series: https://sunny-hustler-2102.ck.page/2112121da0

  Introduction

  I grew up fascinated by ghosts, from the first time I saw them in the TV show Scooby-Doo, Where Are You to reading them in Fate Magazine. I loved reading the heartwarming tales of ghost encounters.

  When I attended Superstars, a writer’s conference, in 2019, I discovered everyone has a ghost tale. Either they’ve had an encounter with one or a family member has.

  This is one of mine:

  In 1991, I had recently returned from Desert Storm to what was then Fort Lewis, Washington. War left me feeling like I no longer fit in the world I’d left behind only six months earlier. I’d lived a lifetime in such a brief span, and now everything stared back at me, too bright, too sharp, too pungent.

  I dove into everything I could find for a similar experience. The books from Vietnam veterans were starting to come out, but few of anything for women. Still, I devoured them, both satisfied and craving more.

  One day, I drove out to the state capital, Olympia, and explored the government campus. Being on a weekend, it was eerily vacant.

  The sun knocked the chill out of the air as I spotted a sign for the Vietnam Memorial. The memorial was like the one in Washington, DC, a wall of black granite embedded into a hill, names in perfect rows.

  As I stepped across the entrance, a frisson washed over me. Not cold, or frightening. More like a door opened. Then a thousand voices spoke, fluttering like wings: Welcome, sister.

  And it was gone.

  But after that, I felt like I wasn’t as alone.

  I hope you enjoy my ghost stories!

  Happy reading!

  Linda Maye Adams

  Arlington, Virginia

  January 23, 2022

  Teddy Bear Man

  Six feet from the antique store, The Object (as how Nanette Perry had referred to them) began keening.

  She would have bolted right into the store, save for her husband Eric, who gripped her shoulder firmly. His eyes warmed in the spring morning’s sunlight, hair dappled by shadows of a sycamore tree’s leaves.

  “Nan,” he said, “you can’t go in there like that. The owner will double the price on the spot.”

  But the friendliness he had before the move, before the house, before the magic was gone, was replaced by a hard edge. Her heart fluttered against it, but she swallowed it down, reminding herself he was also right. She pressed her face against his chest, wishing she had her teddy bear man back.

  She didn’t know if anything would ever be the same again.

  The Object wailed again, shattering through her thoughts.

  I’m coming for you, she told The Object with as much annoyance as she could put in her thoughts.

  It felt silly talking to The Object. But it was magical, and they always had their personalities, mixed in with the person who had selected it. From her research, this was Opal, her great aunt, known for going to bed when the going got tough.

  The weight of The Object’s stink eye landed on her as if it could have eyes.

  It’s not my fault, she said.

  Opal’s idiot great-grandson was at fault, greedy guts that he was, always looking for the silver bullet and never finding it. Now he could add thief to his list of accomplishments.

  Then the wailing receded, mulishly, and very reluctantly.

  Nanette gazed up at Eric, who stood a head taller than her, and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s get this done,” he said.

  She drew in a deep breath, then plunged through the glass door, a string of bells announcing her entrace. Fragrant wood made her stop to inhale with pleasure. For the first time on her forced treasure hunt, the warmth of a store welcomed her. The last store had been run by a surly gentleman who had gotten into antiques to make money. Didn’t care a thing about the antiques. Or customers.

  This store...everything was loved.

  It was cluttered in the way an antique store should be, everything out so it could be handled and oohed over. Two of the other stores had been like high-end furniture places. Look from a distance, buy because it’s expensive.

  “Holler if you need help,” called the owner, a woman behind a glass counter with a nameplate identifying her as Ruby. Fifties, hair a chestnut brown merging with silver, eyes alit with the color of new leaves.

  “Thanks,” Nanette said, succumbing to the temptation to check out the jewelry through the glass. Simple kitchen towels, one bearing the smiling face of a cow, covered the shelves along with a variety of necklaces, earrings, hatpins, and hairpins. The jewelry made Nanette sigh wistfully. She wanted to linger.

  “Do you want to see anything?” Ruby’s voice was honey.

  Eric tugged on Nanette’s arm, impatience returning to his voice. “We want to look around.”

  “Just like a man,” Nanette said, though her grin felt forced. “Don’t want to window shop.”

  “Always the way,” Ruby said easily. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  But those leaf green eyes fixed on Nanette for a second, making a pang of something distant stir.

  Nanette shivered, not entirely from a chill. She drew closer to Eric, seeking his warmth again. Maybe later, she’d look at the jewelry. Between all the unexpected expenses of inheriting the house and recovering the five objects, their money might as well be a flock of swallows taking flight.

  “Does all...this bother you?” she murmured as she and Eric navigated the cluttered aisles. “The house...everything else?”

  Inheriting the house had uprooted everything. They’d had to move from their apartment in Springfield to the 137-year-old house in another state. The estate, the inventory, and then finding out the family’s legacy of the house.

  Eric turned from her, examining a small collection of fishing lures on the table, all manner of bug-eyed fish and frogs with moving legs. Like a door closing on her.

  The Object stirred at that moment, quite rudely, its energy flaring enough to make Nanette gasp.

  She rushed to the shining light of energy she could see in her thoughts, just to get The Object to shut up. She passed a wall of clocks, all working, ticking, their pendulums swinging. A wicker dress mannequin sporting Mardi Gras beads brought a smile to her lips. Ruby must have gone last month. On the table, there were cobalt blue bottles, a rooster tea cozy, a lopsided mohair bear, serial killer baby dolls. Brass and bronze doorknobs were everywhere, including one in the lap of an ugly monkey like an offering to a primitive god.

  The Object smacked her with impatience. Nanette had walked right by without even noticing.

  She stepped back, passing her hand over the dishware on the table. A pretty serving bowl caught her attention, and she hoped it was The Object. Nope. Nor were the teacups and saucers, a cuckoo clock on the wall, or a folding ladder. A tingle along her fingertips made her glance up at the bed warmer hanging on the wall.

  Eric’s lips twisted with amusement. “A bed warmer?”

  “I suppose it makes sense for a woman who went to bed where life got tough,” Nanette said.

  The Object sang in her hands, warming to her touch. It was brass and reminded her of a frying pan with a lid, a floral pattern engraved on the top. There were family stories about The Object choosing the person, but she thought Aunt Opal had simply picked any old antique to fulfill her duty.

  What would happen when she brought back the bed warmer? Stories said she had to contribute one, too. How would that work?

  How would Eric take it?

  The house came into view as Nanette and Eric followed the road curving next to the lake. The water lay blue and sparkling in the rising sun, the majestic Victorian house a sentry over it.

  The only other time Nanette had seen the house, she’d been ten. Then, she’d thought it looked like one of those haunted houses out of an old black and white movie. She’d expected lightning to crack above the lone tower, thunder to stir.

  Now she found it like a stately gentleman, all dressed up for an elegant party. The enormous front porch wrapped around the front like an apron, ending in a screened-in area where families sat sipping iced tea and coffee, watching rabbits nibble on leaves on the lawn. It was easy to imagine a party here, or a wedding, the porch crowded with people as elegant as the house.

  Hers. The thought still warmed her and overwhelmed her.

  Inside, it was always like walking through a time machine. Everything decorated by her great-great-grandparents, much of it still right where the left it, from the sewing basket in the parlor, a newspaper with headlines from Lincoln’s assassination in an oak rolltop desk, the lake blue settee in the library, extra long for her great-great-grandfather’s height.

  If someone had told her she’d own a house that looked like a museum, she wouldn’t have believed them. No, she corrected herself. Museums looked dead. This place, it had life, and now that the bed warmer was back inside, there seemed to be an energy in the walls.

  But it still seemed off, like something was missing.

  She turned back to Eric. “Does it feel...”

  She struggled to find the right word.

  “A little out of alignment?” he said, setting the bed warmer on a wood bench in the entryway. “I thought getting everything was supposed to fix this.”

  The annoyance flared back into his voice. Nanette swallowed her rising unease, wishing she had a reset button that could clear everything out.

  “I wish I knew more,” she said. “Maybe it’s looking for my object.”

  “So how do you pick one?” he said, his voice sharpening. “We can’t keep having sleepless nights because the house is upset. Excuse me, I’m going out back to water the garden.”

  He stomped to the back of the house and the screen door banged after him.

  Nanette tried rereading the ancient leather journal left for her, pages smelling of mold and crackling as she turned them. She’d already scanned through the journal before, but in a hurry, and only searching for how to solve the problem of the missing objects.

  She sat in the first floor library as the bust her great-grandfather watched over her. She sat on the lake blue settee he had napped on, wondering if she could connect with him. It sagged now and would need restoration.

  So many things to do.

  She closed her eyes, fingers trembling.

  One thing at a time, she reminded herself.

  The distant cousin who had stayed in the house (to keep Greedy Guts out) told her that the house was unbalanced without the five objects. He’d tried to find them, but he didn’t have the connection to the magic. When the house passed to Nanette, whatever the magic was that came with it, passed to her, too.

  She’d asked what the objects were for, but the cousin didn’t know.

  Nanette turned to the blank page in the back, waiting for her, and added her hunt for the objects, right after Opal’s entry about the bed warmer.

  It was a curious lot of antiques. Not anything she would have pictured when someone said antiques. Her first image was like those TV shows where the antique was unusual and is worth thousands.

  There were more every day and would have been used. A hand-carved cat holding a faded pincushion, a well-used cast-iron skillet, a blackbird porcelain pie bird, a white and brown porcelain cow with fluttery eyelashes.

  A shiver rocked her body, so powerful she knew she was on the right track.

  Tied to family. Tied to warmth.

  Were they treasured objects from the family, passed down?

  Nanette didn’t have anything like that. She was in the disposable era, where even the companies didn’t make anything to last. How was she supposed to fulfill the promise of the house?

  Nanette and Eric said little to each other that night. She climbed into bed empty and confused and not knowing what to say. The house invaded her dreams again, thousands of people pressing against her.

  The next morning, the coldness thawed over the breakfast table on the porch outside. The sun beamed in as if happy to warm Nanette and Eric up, the breeze light and fresh.

  Nanette made a frittata to use up the leftovers from the last few days, some ground beef and festive bell peppers, a bit of rice. Butter on top because butter made everything taste better.

  Eric stared at his plate for so long that Nanette finally had to speak up.

  “Please talk to me,” she said. “Is it something I did?”

  “No.” He sighed as if airing out the cobwebs. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s just...it’s the move.”

  Nanette’s grip tightened on her mug of tea, the heat seeping into her skin. “I thought you hated Springfield.”

  “I did!” Eric said. “I hated the traffic, the people, the culture. It’s just—” He picked up a crust of toast and nibbled on it absently. “Everything changed. And then we had the problems with the house—”

  Nanette stared down at her tea. This was the first time they’d talked and not reacted.

  “Does that bother you? All this magic?”

  “It’s weird, sure,” he said. “I thought it was a story. But I feel the difference. I got the nightmares, and I didn’t want to leave. If you sold the house, a developer would just tear it down and jam a dozen houses on this site. That would be criminal.”

  “So you want to put up with it, and me?” Nanette asked. She sipped from the mug of Jasmine tea, sweetly fragrant.

  He nodded, a slow, thoughtful nod. “I know this is better for us. With the business online, we don’t need to be in a big city. I could get used to looking at the lake from here. With a beer.”

  “You always want beer,” she teased.

  His smile faded. “But what do we do about your object? The house gave me nightmares again last night. Whatever it is, it isn’t complete.”

  Nanette plucked at a red bell pepper and popped it into her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about that. I believe it just has to be something personal. Mean something to me, and you.”

  “Me?” he said. “I don’t have any magic.”

  “No, but Opal got her object from her husband.”

  “A bed warmer?”

  “Why not?” Nanette said. “It was a private joke between them. She wrote that after he passed away, it always reminded her of him.”

  He drooped with disappointment. “More scavenger hunts at antique stores?”

  “No, just one.”

  The one store was Ruby’s. It was the only one that Nanette thought might have something that fit her story.

  “Back again,” Ruby said with dulcet amusement.

  “We’re going to roam,” Eric said.

  “Roam away,” Ruby said.

  “You look,” Nanette said to Eric.

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he said. “What if I mess up?”

  Nanette laughed. “We’ll have a new antique.”

  But she felt certain that she was right. He had to pick it.

  The fragrance of old wood welcomed them deeper into the store. Eric kept her hand in his as he wove down the narrow aisles. He touched items tentatively here and there. Frustration flashed in his eyes.

  “Relax,” Nanette murmured. “You’ll know it immediately. Part of this is enjoying picking it. Have fun.”

  She didn’t know if it was true, but it should be.

  He seemed to settle down to searching with that, allowing himself to examine items that caught his interest. Twice, he circled back to the table with the ugly monkey with the doorbell offering.

  Nanette held her words back, hoping that wasn’t the object. She would hate to hide it in the attic.

  But Eric’s hand landed on the lopsided teddy bear behind the monkey. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “This, this—”

  He turned away, ducking his head and blinking hard.

  Nanette beamed, her heart flying high. “A teddy bear from my teddy bear man.”

  That night, violin music awoke Nan. It sounded like a ballroom waltz, reminding her of mists drifting on a dim morning.

  She sat up in bed, the moonlight painting a stripe across her blanket. Eric was still asleep, but then he slept like a rock buried deep.

 

1 2 3 4 5