Лорел Гамильтон - Strange Candy

She was out the door and locking it as fast as she could and still maintain some decorum. It wouldn’t help things at all if the neighbors saw the real estate agent running from the house. She forced herself to walk down the steps between the yellow flowers. But there was a spot in the middle of her back that itched as if someone were staring at it.

Abbie didn’t look back, she wouldn’t run, but she had no desire to see Brian Garner’s face pressed against the window glass. Maybe the cleanup crew had done the best they could. She’d have to find out if all the marks bled fresh.

The house would have to be re-blessed. And probably a medium brought in to tell the ghost that it was dead. A lot of people took it as a status symbol to have a ghost in their house. Certain kinds of ghosts, though. No one liked a poltergeist, no one liked bleeding walls, or hideous apparitions, or screams at odd times in the night. But a light that haunted only one hallway, or a phantom that walked in the library in eighteenth-century costume, well, those were call for a party. The latest craze was ghost parties. All those that did not have a ghost could come and watch one while everyone drank and had snacks.

But somehow Abbie didn’t think that anyone would want Brian’s ghost in their house. It was romantic to have a murdered sixteenth-century explorer roaming about, but recent victims and a child at that.. Well, historic victims are one thing, but a ghost out of your morning paper, that was something else entirely.

Abbie just hoped that Brian Garner would be laid to rest easily. Sometimes the ghost just needed someone to tell it that it was dead. But other times it took more stringent measures, especially with violent ends. Strangely, there were a lot of child ghosts running around. Abbie had read an article in the Sunday magazine about it. The theory was that children didn’t have a concept of death yet, so they became ghosts. They were still trying to live.

Abbie left such thinking up to the experts. She just sold houses. As soon as the car started Abbie turned on the radio. She wanted noise.

The news was on and the carefully enunciated words filled the car as she pulled away from the house.

“The Supreme Court reached their verdict today, upholding a New Jersey court ruling that Mitchell Davies, well-known banker and real estate investor, is still legally alive even though he is a vampire. This supports the so-called Bill of Life, which came out last year, widening the definition of life to include some forms of the living dead. Now on to sports.”

Abbie changed the station. She wasn’t in the mood for sports scores or news of any kind. She had had her own dose of reality today and just wanted to go home. But first she had to stop by her office.

It was late when she arrived and even the receptionist had gone home. Three rows of desks stretched catty-corner from one end of the room to the other. Most of the overhead lights had been turned off, leaving the room in af ternoon shadows. A thin strip of white light wound down the center and passed over Sandra’s desk. Sandra sat waiting, hands folded in front of her. She had stopped even pretending to work.

Her blue eyes flashed upward when she saw Abbie come in. The relief was plain on her face and in the sudden slump of her shoulders.

Abbie smiled at her.

Sandra made a half smile in return. She asked, “How was it?”

Abbie walked to her desk, which put her to Sandra’s lef t, and two desks over. She started sorting papers while she considered how best to answer. “It’s going to need some work before we can show it.”

Sandra’s high heels clicked on the floor, and Abbie could feel her standing behind her. “That isn’t what I mean, and you know it.”

Abbie turned and faced her. Sandra’s eyes were too bright, her face too intense. “Sandra, please, it’s over, let it go.”

Sandra gripped her arm, fingers biting deep. “Tell me what it was like.”

“You’re hurting me.”

Her hand dropped numbly to her side and she almost whispered, “Please, I need to know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I sold them that house.”

“But Phillip Garner played with the Ouija board. He opened the way to what happened.”

“But I should have seen it. I should have realized something was wrong. I did notice things when Marion contacted me. I should have done something.”

“What, what could you have done?”

“I could have called the police.”

“And told them that you had a bad feeling about one of your clients? You aren’t a registered psychic, they would have ignored you. And Sandra, you didn’t have any premonitions. You’ve convinced yourself you knew beforehand, but it isn’t true. You never mentioned it to anyone in the office.” Abbie tried to get her to smile. “And get real, girl, if you had news that important, you couldn’t keep it to yourself. You are the original gossip. A kind gossip, but still a gossip.”

Sandra didn’t smile, but she nodded. “True, I don’t keep secrets very well.”

Abbie put her arm around her and hugged her. “Stop beating yourself up over something you had nothing to do with. Cut the guilt off; it isn’t your guilt to deal with.”

Sandra leaned into her and began to cry.

They stayed there like that until it was full dark and Sandra was hoarse from crying.

Sandra said, “I’ve made you late getting home.”

“Charles will understand.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I have a very understanding husband.”

She nodded and snuffled into the last Kleenex in the room. “Thanks.”

“It’s what friends are for, Sandra. Now go home and feel good about yourself, you deserve it.”

Abbie called her husband before locking up the office, to assure him that she was coming home. He was very understanding, but he tended to worry about her. Then she escorted Sandra to her car and made sure she drove away.

IT was weeks later before Abbie stood in the newly carpeted living room. Fresh hex signs had been painted over the doors and windows. A priest had blessed the house. A medium had come and told Brian Garner’s ghost that it was dead. Abbie did not know, or want to know, if the ghost had been stubborn about leaving.

The house felt clean and new, as if it had just been built. Perhaps a registered psychic could have picked up some lingering traces of evil and horror, but Abbie couldn’t.

The kitchen door stood white and pure. There were no stains today, everything had been fixed, everything had been hidden. And wonder of wonders, she had a client coming to see it.

The client knew all about the house and its history. But then Mr. Channing and his family had been having difficulties of their own. No one wanted to sell them a house.

But Abbie had no problem with selling to them. They were people, after all; the law said so.

She had turned the lights in the living room and kitchen on. Their yellow glow chased back the night. Charles had been unhappy about her meeting the clients alone, at night. But Abbie knew you couldn’t sell to people if they didn’t think you trusted and liked them. So she waited alone in the artificial light, trying not to think too much about old superstitions. As a show of great good faith, she had no protection on her.

At exactly ten o’clock the doorbell rang. She had not heard a car drive up.

Abbie opened the door with her best professional smile on her face. And it wasn’t hard to keep the smile because they looked like a very normal family. Mr. and Mrs. Channing were a young handsome couple. He was well over six feet with thick chestnut hair and clear blue eyes. She was only slightly shorter and blond. But they did not smile. It was the boy who smiled. He was perhaps fourteen and had his father’s