Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

scowled and made a futile attempt at combing his brown locks into place with his fingers. After the fourth or fifth failed attempt, he finally gave up and started the car. Assuming that they didn’t run into any more delays, the pair should arrive at Elspeth’s house at exactly nine o’clock. From that point on, though, Dennis had little idea about what to expect. Several miles passed and the car remained silent. Finally, Bobo moved as if to say something.

“This ghost, then,” he began, “she haunts a chair. What else is there to her?”

“Uh,” Dennis stammered. He glanced in the rearview mirror, wary of the police car which had pulled into the lane behind them. The driver didn’t look like the man from Harding’s office, but he couldn’t be sure. “She looks seventeen, but she’s actually something like sixty-three.”

“That’s it?”

“Other than the fact that she haunts a chair, yeah.” Dennis squinted at the reflection of the police car, still trying to make out the features of the person driving it. Bobo watched his face, and faced backwards to look at the car behind them.

“I take it you have a problem with cops?” Bobo asked.

“Would you turn around?” hissed Dennis. “No, I don’t usually have problems with cops, but a friend of mine might have dragged me into one of his.”

Bobo nodded, and didn’t ask for any further details. The car hummed over the Golden Gate Bridge, and Dennis breathed a sigh of relief when the police car sped past them. At some point while they were in a tunnel following the bridge, the overcast sky gave way to a cheerful blue, and Dennis squinted in the sudden rush of light.

“So, here’s a question,” Bobo said. “Why don’t we just burn the chair?”

“Burn it?” Dennis repeated.

Bobo shrugged. “Hack it to bits, then. If this spook is haunting a chair, why don’t we just off the chair?”

Dennis considered. “Do you think that would work? It seems too… I don’t know, simple, I guess.” He pulled towards the exit that would take them to the house, hoping that he remembered the correct route. “Besides, what if it hurts Evy? I don’t think Elspeth would like that very much.”

“Evy’s the dead one, yeah?” Bobo asked. Dennis nodded. “I don’t see how you can hurt a ghost, really.”

“Well, she didn’t like it when I tried to touch her,” replied Dennis. He caught sight of a familiar street and hastily braked to make the turn.

“We can try talking first,” Bobo said. “Leave the fire as a backup plan.” He scratched at his head, which Dennis still half-expected to be adorned with shoulder-length dreadlocks, rather than shaved to a fine stubble. A few minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the stone walkway leading to Elspeth’s house. Bobo let out a low whistle as he looked at the place, and although Dennis shot him a warning look, he had to agree with the sentiment. The pair climbed from the car, pausing only as Dennis double-checked to make sure his headlights weren’t left on again.

Bobo whistled again as the pair approached the house. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yeah, why?” Dennis asked. He tapped the knocker a few times.

“Well, I mean… Rather posh, isn’t it? Not at all what you’d expect for a ghost house.”

Dennis treated Bobo to a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t aware that ‘ghost houses’ had any specific look to them.”

“I suppose they don’t,” Bobo conceded. “Still, though, you wouldn’t think they’d look like this.”

The door opened a moment later, without so much as a creak, and Elspeth Palin looked up at the two men from within a fuzzy pink bathrobe. A smoldering stub of a cigarette was clenched between her fingers, and she held a small glass ashtray in her opposite palm. Her eyes had the bleary look of someone who had been woken only seconds before, but when she spoke, her voice was alert.

“Right on time, I see,” Elspeth commented. She examined Bobo with a suspicious gaze. “Who might you be?”

“Barnaby Owens, ma’am,” Bobo responded. If the man had been wearing a hat, Dennis imagined that he would have politely tipped it. “Most folks call me Bobo.”

“I see.” Elspeth took a sharp drag from her cigarette and let the smoke drift out from her nostrils. “He’s with you, then, Dennis?”

Dennis nodded. “Bobo runs a shop that sells things of an occult variety,” he explained, doing his best to sound professional. “He volunteered to lend a hand, and I could hardly turn him down. I hope you don’t mind?”

“There’s plenty of breakfast,” Elspeth said as a response. She stubbed out the cigarette and beckoned the men to follow her inside. “I don’t imagine Evy will be too polite, though.” She led them through a large kitchen to a circular breakfast nook. The walls around the table were each set with a tall window, providing a view of the expansive backyard behind the house.

“We could always talk to her one at a time,” Dennis suggested. He was ushered to a chair, and he sat down in front of an impressive array of white plates, each of which was topped with bacon, sausage, slices of white toast, and pieces of fresh fruit. Bobo followed suit, and helped himself to a selection of everything on the table.

“The eggs will be done in a minute,” Elspeth said. “Just as well, now that I know there are two of you.” She shuffled over to the stove, revealing slippers that matched her robe. “How do you prefer your eggs, Barnaby?”

“‘Bobo,’ please, ma’am,” he replied politely, albeit through a full mouth. “Never mind about eggs for me.”

“You’re not eating, Dennis,” Elspeth said without looking over her shoulder.

“I wanted to ask something, actually,” Dennis responded. “Why wouldn’t your sister be polite if two of us tried to talk to her at once? You were there the last time I tried.”

Elspeth returned to the table with a pair of smaller places, each bearing a perfectly fried egg. “It’s not a