Page 14 of Ghost

T here wasn’t a Braves game on that night, so the three had to settle for a Pirates and Cubs game. Mitch and Paul were on the small sofa and Mason on the floor with a few cushions. They munched happily on fried chicken, fried okra and coleslaw.

“What the hell happened to the Cubs?” Paul asked around a mouthful of chicken. “They almost won the World Series a few years back.”

“Hell, if I know,” mumbled Mitch. “They should bump that shortstop back to the minors, though. He’s terrible.”

“It’s gonna be a one-sided game, that’s for sure,” Mason added. “Actually, it’s a pretty boring game.”

“What’s the game plan for tomorrow, Mas?” Paul asked before finishing the rest of his longneck bottle of beer.

“I was thinking of setting those kitchen cabinets up. Maybe getting the sink set in. There was nothing really wrong with the one that was in the old kitchen upstairs.” Mason got up and got them all another beer.

“What about counter tops?” Mitch asked as he took the cold beer.

“I saw some eighteen-inch square black granite tiles at the Homo Depot. I was thinking I might use those. They were on sale, so obviously the end of a run or something.”

Mitch sat forward a bit. “I saw some plywood that we could use to set the sink and tile on.”

They continued discussing plans for the basement of the new house, paying little attention to the game. The three friends joked, laughed and basically enjoyed themselves, all while planning out Mason’s new home.

Mason watched his friends. I’m really going to miss them when they leave.

* * * * *

T he next morning Mitch and Mason began setting the upper cabinets while Paul dug around in the pile of old lumber and scraps they had, piecing together things that they could use for countertops and other odds and ends.

Mason had just finished screwing in a cabinet over the stove when Mitch commented about the brick wall that he claimed nearly killed him. “This stupid wall isn’t structural and it’s taking up about two feet of floor space all the way down to your living room.”

“Think we should try and see what’s behind it?” Mason asked, putting his electric drill down.

Mitch looked at it. “If you did, you could put in a built-in pantry and have more space in your dining room.”

“Yeah, but who knows what disaster is behind that wall.” Mason stepped closer to the wall. “The last thing I need is to open up a can of worms I can’t afford to fix.”

“No short cuts. Remember?” Mitch slapped Mason on the shoulder.

“I should have known my own words would come back to haunt me.” Mason shook his head. “All right, I’ll go and get the sledgehammer.”

It only took a few moments for Mason to come back with the heavy tool. He lifted it, ready to take aim.

“Whoa. Let me,” Mitch said as he reached for the hammer. “I owe this damn wall a good whack!”

“By all means,” Mason chuckled.

Mitch lifted the large hammer and swung.

Just as a three-foot hole appeared close to the ceiling the old woman charged from the wall, going right through Mitch and towards Mason, screaming so loud and in such a high, piercing voice that Mason automatically covered his ears with both hands.

She went through him and then began circling around him, shrieking.

“Get away from me, you ol’ crone!” Mason stumbled backwards, tripping over the extension cord for his drill. “Stop!” He recovered his balance and ran out the back door. That didn’t stop her from continuing to scream and shake her fists at him, although she couldn’t get to him.

“What the hell, Mas?” Mitch yelled.

Paul ran up. “What’s going on?” he asked with concern, reaching for Mason. “Are you alright, Mas?”

“It’s her,” Mason said pointing toward the doorway. “She won’t stop screaming.”

Mitch and Paul both looked towards the door.

“Uh, Mason, there’s no one there,” Mitch said, looking between the door and Mason.

“She’s there?” Paul asked in a low voice.

“Yes, she’s there and she’s screaming her fool head off and won’t stop. It’s killing my ears!”

Suddenly there was a loud boom from the main floor. The old woman stopped her screeching, looked up and then turned and flew back into the depths of the house.

“What the hell was that noise?” Mitch asked, running into the house behind the female ghost.

“Mason?” Paul still had his hand on Mason’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay here? It felt... really cold for a few moments in there.”

Mason lowered his hands and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m not gonna let some ol’ shriveled up ghost run me out of my own house.”

Mitch opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. “It was just a big tub of drywall mud falling over. Not sure how it happened, but it... at least it didn’t break open and make a mess.”

“Francis,” Mason muttered.

“He’s the other ghost? The one upstairs?” Paul looked concerned if not a little frightened.

“Yeah, he’s a good one.” Mason shook his head again and started back towards the house. “I think there is something to do with that wall that she doesn’t want me to see.”

Once inside, Mason dug around in one of the larger of his toolboxes until he found what he was looking for, a pair of noise reduction headphones.

He put them on and picked up the sledgehammer from where Mitch dropped it.

He took aim and pounded the wall next to where Mitch had made a large opening. The entire wall started to crumble.

Mason took a closer look. Whoever did this brick work didn’t know what they were doing. The mortar had been too dry. Too much sand had been used and the bricks weren’t exactly level. Wonder why I hadn’t noticed it before now. It wasn’t done by a mason, that’s for sure!

Mitch had been correct. It was only one brick thick and so old that the mortar just crumbled.

When the dust settled, there wasn’t much of a wall left.

Many of the old bricks had crumbled as well, leaving the remaining brick on either side of what little there was left of the wall.

Definitely done by someone who had no idea what they were doing.

Paul stepped forward intending to start cleaning out the debris when he stopped. “Oh shit!”

Mitch came running down the stairs and stopped when he saw Paul stepping backwards away from the mess. “What’s up?”

Paul pointed. “There’s... a....”

“There’s a what?” Mitch strode over towards what was left of the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

Mason inched his way forward. In his gut he knew what he was going to find. When he stepped in front of Paul and looked down, he said, “Francis.”

He knelt down, reached out and brushed away some of the dust from the skeleton’s chest. He immediately recognized the vest and the tie. It was what he’d seen Francis’ ghost wear every time he’d seen him.

“Hello?”

It was Nick. The three friends were so stunned they didn’t answer back.

“Hello? Anyone here?” Nick stepped just inside the doorway. “I was going to see what you guys might want for lunch today. I have a fresh batch of potato salad.”

Mason stood up and turned towards Nick. “Can you go and call the police?”

Nick frowned. “Why do you need the police?”

Mitch pointed towards the remains. “We just found a body.”

* * * * *

T here were two patrol officers and a Detective Stafford standing looking at the remains. After the first patrolman arrived, assessed the situation, he called for backup and the detective.

“You,” he said to the skinny, black patrolman who had been the first one to show up, “I need you go to call the ME and forensics.”

The patrolman all but ran up the steps. When he’d first seen the skeleton, his eyes widened, and he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but where he was.

Detective Stafford rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Rookies,” he grumbled. He then turned back to Mason. “So, you said you have an idea of whose remains these are?”

“Um... yes, sir.” Mason could feel his face turn red. “Francis Watson.”

The detective looked a little closer at what was left of the body, which wasn’t much. “It looks like he’s been in there for a long time. Care to tell me how you came to that conclusion?”

“Well, Nick, the owner of the small store and deli down the street told me who the original owners were,” Mason answered. He sure as hell didn’t want to tell the man that he’d been seeing ghosts.

“Oh, Nick Davies.” Detective Stafford wrote the name and something else down in his notebook. “Nick does a great potato salad. If you’ve not tried it, you should. Best I ever had, but don’t you dare tell my wife.”

“I won’t,” Mason replied, knowing the chance of his ever meeting the wife of the detective was marginal at best.

“So... the original owner, huh?” Stafford seemed to scrutinize Mason closely.

“It’s just a guess.” Mason shrugged his shoulders.

Stafford shook his head, putting his notebook away. “You never know what you’ll find in some of these old houses. I doubt we’ll be able to identify this poor guy, but someone sure did have it in for him.”

Poor Francis had been bound in rope, his mouth gagged with a piece of cloth of some sort, which had mostly rotted away. Mason could only imagine what it would have been like to lie there and slowly die.

Suddenly, there was a gurgling noise coming from the bathroom. They all could hear water running through the pipes. There was a hissing sound behind the noise indicating that the toilet tank was filling up.

“Damn,” Paul said, rushing over to where the plumbing for the sink was going to go in. There was a steady stream of water leaking from the cut off valve.

Mitch ran outside to see if he couldn’t catch the guy who’d just turned the water on.

“Well, Mr. Montgomery, until further notice, I’m going to have to declare this a crime scene. I’ll need you and your workers to clear out.” Detective Stafford looked around the room. “I’ll need you to lock everything up and leave the keys with me.”

“Is that really necessary?” Mason felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach.

“I’m afraid so. I’ll do my best to make it as quick as possible.”

“I’d really appreciate that.” Mason rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m kinda on a deadline. My help is leaving next week.”

“I’ll tell you what: let me see what the ME and the forensics team have to say.

” Stafford looked around the room. “Since this is obviously an old, old, old ... case, I’ll see if we can’t get this all wrapped up by tonight.

I can’t promise anything, because it is.

.. well, old, and there may be others that will take priority. ”

“I’d really appreciate anything that you can do. Thank you.”

“How can I reach you?” Stafford had his notebook back out.

“I’m staying two houses down, in the basement apartment on the backside. I don’t have a phone yet.”

“Okay.” Stafford scribbled in his notebook. “I will for sure stop by before I leave.

“Thanks, again.” Mason headed for the stairs. “I’m just going to put a few tools away and then I’ll come back and give you the keys.” He turned back around towards Stafford. “Can I lock up the upstairs?”

“Sure, sure.”

Mason went up the stairs. He needed to talk to Francis.