Three Ghosts Read online

  Arthur chuckled. He’d had disappointments in his life and if he didn’t die in his sleep, nothing Tim could say would startle him. He was dead after all. What more was there?

  “You were murdered.”

  Tim’s words hung in a realm where nothing else existed. They floated in the unknown, protected by a hard outer shell so their full effect could not be felt until the membrane cracked like an egg. But how does one accept the existence of a horrendous crime where you are the victim? Yet the truth was chipping away the outer layer.

  “You didn’t attend your funeral,” Carol confirmed.

  Arthur shook his head in tiny movements. “How?”

  “You were shot,” Tim explained.

  “And you heard that downstairs. Did Alexander say it?” Arthur waited for a response. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Carol shuffled away from Tim. “Maybe it’s better if you sit between us for the next bit.”

  Arthur eventually sat between the couple on the worn sofa bed. His friends wrapped their arms around him, and both laid their heads on his shoulders.

  “Alex murdered you.” Tim’s words shattered the imaginary egg. Its contents spilled to the floor like a dark mass. “I’m sorry to tell you but he and Ed were in this together.”

  “Ed?” Arthur jolted. His friends moved their heads from his shoulders. “Ed wasn’t in the picture when…”

  He swallowed. There had been nights Alexander came home very late from the office. So much so Arthur no longer answered his phone when Alex rang in the early evening. A text message was always there shortly after apologising for not being home to share dinner. Arthur began to dread cooking for two.

  But they all heard Edward complain about Alexander’s lack of work/life balance. Ed couldn’t have been bonking Alex while Arthur sat home eating alone. Or could he? Might Alex be lying about work to Ed? Another himbo in the works?

  “We should confront them,” Tim said. “Three ghosts scaring the hell out of them. Petrify them to leave for good. Haunt this house for a while. Inhale the booze and dance to the camp record collection.”

  “That’s it!” Arthur ran downstairs.

  He kept himself invisible as Arthur paced and Edward sat on the sofa stunned beyond belief. Sabrina crossed her arms and tapped her foot. She even gritted her teeth like a rottweiler about to attack. As Arthur reached for the Donna Summer record, she nodded with approval.

  He looked back up to Carol and Tim who stood halfway up the stairs. Tim tapped his chin knowing Arthur obviously had a plan.

  “Look.” Ed’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

  Alex turned back as “No More Tears (Enough Is Enough)” played.

  Arthur cranked up the volume.

  “He knows,” Edward said.

  Alexander grabbed the volume knob, but he couldn’t turn it. Arthur kept it rigid. Edward dived for the power point and pulled out the plug. Donna Summer and Barbara Streisand sang like heroin addicts slowing down after a hit.

  Sabrina marched into the middle of the living room. “Get ready to jump into the backseat of the car.” She pointed. “All of you. To the driveway, now!”

  But Arthur, Carol, and Tim waited at the front door. House spirits put on a good show when they’re upset with mortals living in their home, and the trio didn’t want to miss the drama.

  Sabrina whirled her arm several times in the air. A mini cyclone formed. Then she jutted her arm, pointing to the backyard. The furniture shifted in that direction. Alex was knocked over by the sofa which he fell onto. He screamed as it charged towards the glass sliding doors with the force of a roller coaster. It stopped just in time for him to be catapulted onto the glass. His skin clung in spots as he slid down. Random vowels spilled out of his mouth.

  As Edward headed for the front door, he was hit with a hail of ornaments. A glass sculpture shattered, slicing his arm. The bloody wound was struck with an exploding money box. A decorative plate frisbeed at him. He ducked. It hit Alexander in the ribs.

  “Arthur,” Alex yelled. “Stop this.”

  But Arthur made himself be seen and simply shrugged. Then he made himself invisible again.

  “That was him,” Ed shrieked. “That’s the guy we—”

  A flying stainless-steel statue cracked Ed’s front tooth. Blood dripped down his chin. It stained the rug.

  As Alex rushed for the door, the three-seater jumped in his way. He crashed into it, forcing it onto its back. His went face-first onto the floor. There was a crack.

  “Oh, my nose. I’ve broken my nose.”

  Blood stained the couch. Its mustard-coloured fabric bore a new dark-red spot.

  “Ith thtopped.” Ed had a lisp. “Eekth. Your noth. Ith’s buthted.”

  “I need ice,” Alexander said, all nasally.

  The freezer door opened. Cubes of ice struck him like a hailstorm. They ricocheted away, making a dull thud as they bounced off his bones.

  Ed and Alex stumbled towards the front door. Arthur, Carol, and Tim bolted for the back seat of the Corolla. Alex dived into the driver’s seat. Edward jumped into the passenger side. Neither closed the door of their home. Alex started the engine.

  “Where are fee go-eeng?” Edward spluttered.

  “To the resort.”

  “Buth ow thuit cathes?”

  “I don’t bloody care about our suitcases.”

  Alex sped down the road.

  The ghostly friends pulled at Alex from the backseat. Arthur then floated above him and undid his seatbelt.

  “Karma is thasing uth.”

  “Will you just shut up. You’re impossible to understand.”

  Arthur grabbed Alexander from his armpits and yanked him upward. Tim joined his friend, floating above the two men. They both yanked Alex into the backseat.

  Ed reached for the steering wheel, but Arthur smacked his arms away. The ghost showed himself, reached for the clutch, and drove.

  Carol and Tim sat on Alex who couldn’t see what was pinning him to the seat. Tim also reached forward, wrapping his arms around Ed so he couldn’t reach for the steering wheel again.

  Soon, the murderer and his accomplice subdued themselves, too horrified to change their fate. When Arthur pulled into a police station, Ed tried to jump out of the moving car, but the door was locked. Alex still couldn’t move but was wriggling as much as he could to try to see where they were.

  Tim showed himself. “I’ll take it from here, Arthur.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Alex cried.

  “A new element to your nightmare.” He floated through the Corolla’s metal chassis. “Keep them here until I get back.”

  *

  Tim saw the aged “Missing Person” poster featuring Arthur’s smiling face on the large corkboard. He pointed to it as he reached the desk.

  “Can I help you?” The middle-aged officer seemed tired. His tone as enthusiastic as a schoolkid doing homework.

  Tim kept pointing.

  “What? You know where that guy is.”

  Tim nodded. “Sadly, he’s dead.”

  The cop jumped out of his seat. “How do you know?”

  “The murderers are in the car outside.”

  “Say, what? This better not be a joke.”

  “Hey, Sarge,” called a younger policewoman from the window. “I think someone’s having a seizure in the backseat of that Corolla.”

  The older cop pointed at Tim. “Take a seat. Don’t go anywhere. I need to question you.”

  “All fine,” Tim replied. “Check the boot for DNA. Arthur was shot, then he was crammed in there in pieces.”

  *

  An hour later, Tim was being questioned. Samples had been taken from the boot of the car. Edward’s lips were swollen making it impossible for him to speak. Like Alexander, he wore handcuffs. And both denied the accusation.

  “Why do you believe Arthur is dead?” The middle-aged policeman wasn’t polite to Tim.

  “Because I heard Alexander admit how he shot Arthur in the b
ack when he threatened to walk out on him.”

  “And why would he confess a murder in front of you?”

  Tim nearly told the cop it was because Alex couldn’t see him. He gazed at the officer, trying to think of a believable response.

  “I mean, it’s a big accusation,” the cop continued. “You drove the men here. One has a busted lip, the other, a broken nose.”

  “What have the DNA results shown?”

  “That’s for us to know. That’s no business of yours, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless we find Arthur’s DNA in the boot. Then that makes what you know true. But how would you know if you weren’t there because Alex hasn’t confessed. Seriously, lad, you’re our prime suspect if there is DNA. We’re currently locating our samples of Arthur’s DNA.”

  Tim studied the grumpy cop. Years of police work and his disdain for the human race was on display for the world to see. Yet Tim knew, whatever the outcome, a ghost always has the upper hand. What could the police do to him? Tim could disappear at whim. Or float through the wall. Was it worth even sitting here going through this nonsense?

  “Fred, you need to see this.” The female officer stood at the doorway of the interview room.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “No. Fred. You really need to see this.”

  The cantankerous cop rose with obvious reluctance. “This better be good.” He peered down his nose at Tim. “You. Don’t go anywhere. The door will be locked. Wait here until I return.”

  He left. Tim heard him swear at the top of his voice.

  *

  “Why aren’t you dead?” Fred was furious.

  “Wasn’t I just missing?” Arthur replied. “That’s what that poster on your board says.” He stood at the front desk amused with himself.

  “Is this some elaborate scheme? Are you blackmailing Alex and Ed somehow? Did you and your mate smash their faces?”

  “Do I look like someone who fights?”

  “Tim does.”

  “Look. I am dead. Alex was my ex and he killed—”

  “Yes, I know he was your ex. I’ve checked your file. You were lovers until you disappeared.” Fred felt a moment of calm. “Actually, Alex would be pleased you’re alive. He needs to know. Come with me.”

  “You know, Fred. That’s a good idea. Where are they?”

  *

  Alexander’s stomach gurgled as Fred marched into his cell with Arthur. A little vomit made its way to the back of his throat.

  “You don’t look well,” Arthur teased.

  “It’s been a night of surprises.”

  “So, you know Arthur is alive?” Fred sounded suspicious.

  “I saw him earlier tonight.”

  “Then, who’s Tim?” Fred asked. “Is he blackmailing you or something?”

  Arthur wore the biggest grin. Alex trembled. Sweat dripped from his forehead, eventually trickling down his busted nose. But Alexander knew he had to take control.

  “I love you, Arthur,” he said. “Forget about Edward. You always were the love of my life.”

  “Then why did you kill me?”

  “You’re crazy, darling. You’re right here.”

  “You shot me in the back when I left you.”

  “How? This isn’t America. It’s not like I can walk into a store and buy a gun. I don’t even know how to get one.”

  “Liar!”

  “Oh brother,” Fred growled. “We’ll need the psychiatrist. You two wait here.” He sauntered away.

  “Is this the right time for a confrontation?” It was Carol’s voice. She was there with Tim.

  “Who’s she?” Alex lost his bravado.

  “My girlfriend,” Tim replied.

  “I’m sorry I found Edward after you left, Arthur.” Alex’s voice wavered like a buckled record. “But he wasn’t self-centred like you.”

  “We were both self-centred. That’s why it didn’t work.”

  “And now we’re in different places. Me alive. You dead. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore. You’re with God, or Buddha, or Satan. Let me live out my life. It doesn’t matter to you now. You don’t belong here.”

  “But my body is somewhere, decaying, in pieces!”

  “And now that you’ve shown yourself, Arthur, they’ll tell your mum you’re alive.” Carol had clearly had enough of this confusing charade.

  “Oh dear,” Arthur said. “You’ve got a point. Fred!”

  “Sergeant Beazley to you.” Fred entered the cell. “What is it? Are you going to come clean with what’s going on?”

  Arthur floated through the security bars. Fred glared like he was having a heart attack.

  “See, I told you I was dead.”

  “I think you’ve all taken up enough of this nice policeman’s night,” Carol said. She floated through the bars as well. “Come on, Tim.”

  “Hey wait. He’s not going—” Fred choked on his words when Tim also spirited himself through the metal rods.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” said Tim. He waved his arms through the bars. “See. Now be a good officer and believe me. Alex shot Arthur. Ed helped cut up and bury the corpse.”

  “Eew. You know I don’t like being thought of as a corpse. It sounds so final.” Arthur turned to Alexander. “Now, where did you bury me?”

  Fred was as pale as a ghost, yet still stared at Alex, expecting an answer.

  “Come now, Alex,” Carol badgered. “You’ve seen how the spirit world attacks. Just feel your nose.”

  “His body is at um…” Alex was nauseated. “Frederick Street. Abandoned house. Shallow grave in the backyard.”

  “You buried me in an abandoned house? Not a murky forest somewhere? Where’s the drama in that?”

  “At least we solved the mystery,” Tim said.

  “Yeah, but I want a team of officers combing the bush,” Arthur said. “An abandoned house isn’t dramatic enough. I want dogs sniffing for my scent. How’s it going to look on TV when the cameras just show my decayed body surfacing from a backyard? I deserve better. I want to go out with a bang.”

  “The flowers will have bloomed.” Carol grinned. “It will be a thriving backyard with lush grass and your nutrients feeding the flowers. That can look good on TV. Lots of colours. Your death giving life.”

  Arthur considered. “Sergeant Beazley, could you do me a favour? I don’t like the picture you used on my Missing Person poster. There are better ones of me on my Insta. I want people to see one of my adoring selfies on television as you, and a couple of big robust sniffer dogs, find my final resting place. Shed a tear for me, Fred. Shed a tear as you speak to the reporters. Get emotionally involved. Or at least, act like you’re sad. Then make sure the news stories all end with my smiling face. Let them remember how I was. Not some dead lover in a shallow grave. No. That won’t do. There’s a sweet one of me on the beach. Please, none of me with Alex. Too tacky. This is about me. In the one on the beach, I have a nice tan. It’s marked hashtag sunfun.”

  Fred rolled his eyes. He turned to Alexander. “How did you obtain the gun?”

  *

  Eight men with shovels dug up the backyard of the house that was no longer abandoned. In recent years someone had inherited it, renovated it, and rented it out. Fred supervised the men as its residents, a single mother with two younger children, stayed inside.

  Now and again, the kids peeked out of a bedroom window into the backyard. Their mum shouted each time she realised they’d snuck back into the room to watch. Fred never caught on that two youngsters were observing his men with excitement, until he heard the shrill tone of their mother, unnerving him each time she yelled.

  “Blood-curdling,” he mused to himself. “Sounds like my wife when I’m in the doghouse.” He glanced to see if the kids were watching again. They weren’t. “Surely it’s past their bedtime.”

  The dead body had to be found tonight. Two suspects were being held at the station and without hard evidence, they’d have to be free
d. Fred didn’t want that, especially as they still couldn’t locate where they filed Arthur’s DNA.

  Arthur was here, too, invisible. Fred brought him along when he kept insisting. Carol and Tim didn’t want to see Arthur’s decayed body exhumed and continually tried to stop him from the freak show that would be his own corpse. But his fascination was too strong. His desire to see what his sinister ex and the accomplice did to him was stronger than his common sense.

  An hour passed. Very little was left of the lawn. A patch of grass here and there. But beneath the treasured flowers Fred was given strict instructions not to touch by the woman who lived here must have been where Arthur’s body was buried. After all, the flowers were thriving. And the resident had explained how grateful she was these zinnias blossomed after everything else she planted never bloomed. It was a mystical corner of the garden, she believed.

  Fred knew Arthur had to be under those damn zinnias. But police had to respect the wishes of the public. Especially Fred. His superior had come down on him many times over his lack of patience. If there was another complaint, he’d be assigned a desk job, and his hard-earned detective skills would amount to nothing.

  Piles of soil were everywhere. Another half hour passed. Beads of anxious sweat dripped down Fred’s face. It was a warm night. Some of the men peeled their shirts off and dug topless under the stars. A gleeful yelp came from the darkness. Fred glared at where the sound came from, hoping it would keep Arthur from yelping again.

  “Sorry,” Arthur replied. “Oh, sorry. I’ll keep quiet.”

  The men stopped digging and gazed in the direction of the bodyless voice.

  “Did you hear that, Sergeant Beazley?” one asked.

  “Hear what?” Fred replied.

  They all listened.

  “Hear what?” Fred repeated. “Nope. I don’t hear anyone.”

  “So, you heard someone,” another replied.

  “Someone?” Fred peered at each workman individually, but all returned his look with puzzled expressions. “Oh. That voice. That’s my text notification sound.”

  “You have ‘Sorry, I’ll keep quiet’ for text messages?” said one.

  “It didn’t sound like it came from your direction,” claimed another.

  “It’s a loud notification,” Fred replied. “It carries.”