On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

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Here's story 178, of 240 so far.

In the Presence of the Dead

The place was everything that he’d seen in a hundred TV shows, or cartoons, or movies, or even just his own imagination. Draped in midnight-blue fabrics, the smell of incense or something similar hanging in the air, and a pervasive sense of ersatz, clichéd, packaged mysticism.

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Dan thought to himself, biting his tongue to avoid voicing the thought.

He hated stuff like this. The sick manipulation of people who were desperate and grieving. The new-age, cynical, irrational nonsense of it. It was the same deal as crystals and horoscopes and homeopathy and all the other drivel. But what could he say? That was the trap.

He looked over at Rebecca, and saw with dismay that her eyes were already glistening. It had been almost two months since her father died, and privately Dan believed that her life would be much better without the old man sharing the same planet, but parental bonds were a powerful thing. They defied not just reason, but also experience. It was completely possible — and even commonplace — to deeply miss someone you never wanted to see while they were still alive.

“You still sure about this?” Dan asked, immediately wincing inwardly at himself. Sure enough, Rebecca gave him a look of momentary irritation which served as a very clear answer.

She had found the place via one of her flaky friends, and the recommendation was glowing. Apparently the medium had put the friend in contact with her cat, who had died a year earlier. Dan wondered if the medium had meowed instead of speaking English.

Dan had tried to talk Rebecca out of this visit, instead suggesting they find a grief counsellor, or organise a family gathering to share stories about her father, but she had insisted on coming. In resignation, he’d volunteered to accompany her, knowing that she’d accept the offer. At least he could drag her out of there if it got too ludicrous. A small part of him was even curious to see what kind of performance the shyster would give.

They were alone for now, waiting in the quiet, fragrant darkness, and there were two stools on their side of an ornate, circular wooden table. Dan almost expected there to be a crystal ball in the middle, but the over-varnished surface was bare. Behind the table, another chair, and then a curtain which presumably veiled another door to the rear.

They sat down, but they didn’t have to wait very long. They heard the sound of a door opening, and then closing again, and finally the curtain parted. Dan had to force himself not to roll his eyes.

The woman was in her mid sixties, but seemed to be wearing makeup to accentuate her age rather than conceal it. Her eyeshadow in the dim light made it look like her last two clients had punched her, each choosing a different side. Her clothes were the kind of thing you’d see in a pantomime, and not on the characters who got to sing the good songs.

“Welcome,” the woman said, taking a seat with a swish of cloth and a rattle of beads and charms.

She sounds like a Christmas tree when you bump into it, Dan thought, suppressing a grin by clenching his jaw.

Rebecca didn’t notice the movement, as her eyes were fixed on the older woman across the table. She really seemed to be buying into the dressings of pop-culture paranormal, and Dan wondered if she’d noticed that the door they’d entered from the street was between an all-day laundry and a closed pizza place. It wasn’t like they were in a tent in the middle of the Sahara.

“You are here to speak to a loved one you recently lost,” the older woman said, speaking only to Rebecca, who nodded eagerly and opened her mouth to respond, but the other woman waved a hand to silence her.

“I sense that it is your father you wish to speak to,” the woman said, and Dan had to give her due credit.

They hadn’t specified anything when booking the session, and there was at least a fifty-fifty chance when it came to dead parents. Some people no doubt visited to try and contact siblings or friends or unrelated people too, so there must be some kind of subtle tell that the woman was picking up on. Dan couldn’t think of what it might be, but he knew there would be a trick to it. He settled back in his chair, interested despite himself.

The woman reached out and took both of Rebecca’s hands, then closed her eyes. Dan watched Rebecca’s face, and saw that she closed her eyes too, but her shoulders were tense. He knew that she must be feeling conflicting emotions.

Her father had mostly been a miserable, angry, old bastard. Blamed other people for all of his self-made misfortunes, and never stopped complaining no matter what the situation was. Nothing was ever right, or good enough, and that included Rebecca herself. Hence she was a timid little thing on the few occasions she’d taken Dan to visit her father during his long period of ailing health. His temperament worsened alongside his condition, and he had an ugly way with words. For the last seven months of his life, she hadn’t visited him at all, and on the two occasions she’d intended to go, she had a panic attack before they got into the car.

Which is what this crap is all about, Dan thought. Misplaced guilt, and the illusion of a second chance to make it right. Just what these fakers and liars capitalise on.

He was getting angry again, and told himself that no good could come of it. The only reason he was there was to support her, and make sure she didn’t get taken advantage of beyond what was necessary to visit a so-called spirit medium. Then get her out of there afterwards, hopefully never to return, and try to figure out how the experience would affect her.

“I sense something in the room,” the older woman said, swaying in her seat a little. She still had her eyes closed, but her head was tilted back as if she was looking up into the space above the table, just beneath the low ceiling.

The ghost of Elvis, Dan thought.

The woman twitched her head in his direction as if she’d heard the thought, and Dan shifted in his chair. There was silence for a few more seconds, then the woman spoke again.

“We are in the presence of the dead,” she said, and then she made a dramatic intake of breath.

Dan was about to glance over at Rebecca again when the older woman’s eyes suddenly snapped open. They were light-coloured now, but he was sure they’d been appropriately dark when she walked into the room. Her face was different too, and it took Dan a moment to realise that her expression had twisted into a snarl.

“Why didn’t you visit me, you little bitch?” she suddenly roared, her voice far deeper than it had been before, and Dan flinched in surprise.

The shock he felt gave way to fury after a couple of seconds, and he pushed his chair back and stood up, ready to take Rebecca’s arm and lead her out of the place. But then Rebecca turned to him, and he saw the tears in her eyes, and the thin, uneven smile on her pale face. When she spoke, there was wonder and joy in her voice.

“It’s really him,” she said.

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

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