telling him what, exactly?
Bless me, Father, for I have seen a ghost...
She turned the flashlight away from him once more. "What do you want?" she demanded, recognizing that her voice came out harshly.
He
was
good-looking: dark hair, huge dark eyes. He swallowed hard before answering, in a little voice, "I want to go home."
The flashlight shook in Ashley's hand, making the hanged man's shadow dance, but she kept the beam of light away from the area by the doors.
Does he know he's dead?
she wondered. She didn't dare ask, for fear that such knowledge might make a ghost more powerful, more malevolent. Or was the lack of knowledge precisely what was keeping him here? Ashley just didn't know how all this supernatural stuff worked. So she only repeated, "'Home'?"
"Don't let him hurt me anymore," the kid said.
"He won't," Ashley assured him. "He can't."
At least the kid stopped rocking. "Why didn't they take me?" he asked. "Why did they take the others but not me?"
That was a chill up her back. "Who are you?"
The boy began rocking again. Though he looked Ashley's age, his fear made him appear much younger. "I can't remember," he cried in desperation. "Everything's fading away from me." He held his hands out to her. "Like with the light."
She could see through him: She could see his torso through his hands, the door through his torso. She angled the flashlight's beam farther away from him, and the lack of light made him easier to see.
"At least there were the others before," he said, and Ashley wondered if Roehmar had kept one boy alive longer than the rest, though she had never heard anything like that, but then he added, "the ones in the crawl space. But they took them away, and they left me."
"Where are you?" Ashley asked. Dumb question, he was obviously right in front of her in the barn.
But he didn't say that. He said: "Here. Under the porch."
Her breath came in a hiss.
There was another body.
The police had found the plastic bags under the floorboards, crammed into the crawl space. And they'd already found more than they had thought to find. But there was another. Buried in the ground. The house had stood empty, then been knocked down; the barn had eventually gone up in the same place—but without a foundation, without digging.
"Can't they come again to get me?" he pleaded. "Can't you show them?"
"Yes," she assured him.
"Will you stay with me until..."—she suspected he altered the direction of his question—"until then?"
"Of course." Though it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.
Nikko, or whoever he sent to check up on her, would come bearing flashlights, but she would make them turn the lights off, and then they would see. She would not be silly, easily spooked Ashley, but Ashley who had solved a mystery, who was helping to lay a spirit to rest.
"Can you call them to come now?" the lost boy asked.
"My headset's broken," she explained.
"I'm good ... I used to be good..."—the kid closed his eyes—"with electronic stuff."
She went back to gather the parts: earpiece, loose wire, and battery pack. The thunder was a distant grumble now; she could hear the water dripping off the roof, but no longer the sound of rain battering the barn or the ground. Help would be here soon enough, but she couldn't bear to tell the poor dead kid to wait any longer than he already had. "Can you touch..."
Um, how did one word THAT?
"Solid things?"
"Sometimes," the boy replied from his seat by the door, so weak and wistful she worried he was about to fade away again. If he did, how would she ever know when he'd come back so she could rescue him?
She rushed back to the door and crouched beside him. He looked more solid than ever, and when she leaned in close, her hand brushed his arm, and she felt it—she
felt
it, though before she'd seen the light pass through him. "How's this?" she asked, holding the earpiece in one hand and the battery pack and the loose wire in the other. The flashlight was back where
Bless me, Father, for I have seen a ghost...
She turned the flashlight away from him once more. "What do you want?" she demanded, recognizing that her voice came out harshly.
He
was
good-looking: dark hair, huge dark eyes. He swallowed hard before answering, in a little voice, "I want to go home."
The flashlight shook in Ashley's hand, making the hanged man's shadow dance, but she kept the beam of light away from the area by the doors.
Does he know he's dead?
she wondered. She didn't dare ask, for fear that such knowledge might make a ghost more powerful, more malevolent. Or was the lack of knowledge precisely what was keeping him here? Ashley just didn't know how all this supernatural stuff worked. So she only repeated, "'Home'?"
"Don't let him hurt me anymore," the kid said.
"He won't," Ashley assured him. "He can't."
At least the kid stopped rocking. "Why didn't they take me?" he asked. "Why did they take the others but not me?"
That was a chill up her back. "Who are you?"
The boy began rocking again. Though he looked Ashley's age, his fear made him appear much younger. "I can't remember," he cried in desperation. "Everything's fading away from me." He held his hands out to her. "Like with the light."
She could see through him: She could see his torso through his hands, the door through his torso. She angled the flashlight's beam farther away from him, and the lack of light made him easier to see.
"At least there were the others before," he said, and Ashley wondered if Roehmar had kept one boy alive longer than the rest, though she had never heard anything like that, but then he added, "the ones in the crawl space. But they took them away, and they left me."
"Where are you?" Ashley asked. Dumb question, he was obviously right in front of her in the barn.
But he didn't say that. He said: "Here. Under the porch."
Her breath came in a hiss.
There was another body.
The police had found the plastic bags under the floorboards, crammed into the crawl space. And they'd already found more than they had thought to find. But there was another. Buried in the ground. The house had stood empty, then been knocked down; the barn had eventually gone up in the same place—but without a foundation, without digging.
"Can't they come again to get me?" he pleaded. "Can't you show them?"
"Yes," she assured him.
"Will you stay with me until..."—she suspected he altered the direction of his question—"until then?"
"Of course." Though it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.
Nikko, or whoever he sent to check up on her, would come bearing flashlights, but she would make them turn the lights off, and then they would see. She would not be silly, easily spooked Ashley, but Ashley who had solved a mystery, who was helping to lay a spirit to rest.
"Can you call them to come now?" the lost boy asked.
"My headset's broken," she explained.
"I'm good ... I used to be good..."—the kid closed his eyes—"with electronic stuff."
She went back to gather the parts: earpiece, loose wire, and battery pack. The thunder was a distant grumble now; she could hear the water dripping off the roof, but no longer the sound of rain battering the barn or the ground. Help would be here soon enough, but she couldn't bear to tell the poor dead kid to wait any longer than he already had. "Can you touch..."
Um, how did one word THAT?
"Solid things?"
"Sometimes," the boy replied from his seat by the door, so weak and wistful she worried he was about to fade away again. If he did, how would she ever know when he'd come back so she could rescue him?
She rushed back to the door and crouched beside him. He looked more solid than ever, and when she leaned in close, her hand brushed his arm, and she felt it—she
felt
it, though before she'd seen the light pass through him. "How's this?" she asked, holding the earpiece in one hand and the battery pack and the loose wire in the other. The flashlight was back where
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