All Hope Lost (3 page)

“Steve! Yo Steve, you feel that?”

The man named Steve looked
over his shoulder, his shaggy hair flicking into his eyes. “Dude, don’t be
perverted!” and stuck a finger up in response.

“Ah man I aint! You sure you
can’t feel that? It’s weird, like cold. Makin’ the hair on me arms stand up!”

Steve turns back round to face his housemate. “Mike, it’s
probably just a draft, that’s all. And go order us a pizza or summat, I’m
starvin’.”

Michael sighed and grabbed the
phone, speed dialling their favourite pizza delivery service and ordering two
large, one pepperoni and one meat feast with double bacon. He put down the
phone, and walked over to the windows, checking they were closed tight, looking
for a draft. Finding none there, he headed into the hallway and walked to the
kitchen to check the windows and backdoor, but as he neared he stopped
suddenly, squinting at the kitchen table. He shivered as cool air floated
around him, enticing him closer. Reaching the table, he looked about, confusion
on his face. Checking the windows and doors, and finding them closed, he calls
Steve over. As Steve walks towards the kitchen, an involuntary shiver goes up
his spine.

“Damn that’s cold” he pointed out needlessly. Michael
nods in agreement. “Everything closed here?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s weird” Michael replies.

“I’ll go check upstairs, could be from there” Steve said
but he sounded unconvinced himself. He turns and heads upstairs, leaving
Michael in the kitchen.

The underside of the kitchen
table once again greets me as I reappear on the floor. I moan.
What on earth
happened just then?
I looked about to see a pair of feet.
Surely the
police and paramedics have finished by now?
My eyes registered that the
feet didn’t have shoes on.
Ok, not them then…. Oh god, not my murderers!
I
slid out from the table and stood slowly. The man before me had his back to me.

“Ok mister, who are you and what are you doing in my
kitchen, hm?”  The man spun around, his eyes widening as they fixed on me.
What the hell?

I stepped back, shocked by his
reaction. Maybe it was a coincidence he had turned at that moment, after all no
one could see me. Could they?

“Wh- wh- who are you?” the man spluttered. “Why are you
in our house?”

I quickly looked behind me,
just in case someone had walked in through the door, but that was all there
was. A closed door. I turned back to face the man.

“Your house? This is my house! I should be asking you the
same question!” I replied, hands on hips, my brow furrowed giving him a
questioning look. The man crossed his arms. “We’ve lived here for a month
already, lady. You must have the wrong house! Get out!” And he pointed
exaggeratingly to the door.

“Who’re you talking to Mike?” a voice sounded coming down
the stairs.

“Steve, there’s a woman in our kitchen, stating we’re in
her house. She’s clearly mental!” Michael replied, and stepped to the side for
Steve to join him in the kitchen doorway.

“Michael, have you forgotten to take your meds again?”

Michael looked shocked. “No dude, I took it this morning
like always! Tell her this is our house!”

Steve looked towards me, his gaze searching the kitchen.
“There is nobody here Mike! You’re talkin’ to yourself again!” He turns and
heads back to the living room. I look at Michael, who appears to be wrestling
with some inner turmoil.

“Are you ok?” I ask sincerely.
This guy really doesn’t
look well.

Michael stares at me, and starts hitting the sides of his
head with his hands. “Get out, get out, get out, you’re not here, leave me alone!”
His eyes clench shut and he starts to mumble.

Sighing, I move to the table
and sit on it, whilst he has a nervous breakdown, swinging my legs back and
forwards, waiting. I stare at my nails in feigned boredom, my eyes focused on
the strange man in my kitchen. The mumbling stops abruptly and, the man named
Michael, releases his head from his hands and opens his eyes.

“FUCK!” he proclaims. “That normally works, why haven’t
you gone?”

“’Cos it’s my house?” I reply. Though I didn’t think he
was expecting one by his reaction.

“I wasn’t asking you! You’re not really here! Arghhhh,
seriously these meds mess me up more than they help! Fuckin’ doctor my ass!” He
grabs a chair and drops down into it hard. “Please go, please, I’m not crazy,
I’m not fuckin’ crazy” he starts to tear at his hair.

Uh oh, not good,
I decided.
The first person,
who actually can see you, is a fruit loop. Nice. Do something, Sharon!
I
reach out to his hands with mine, the cold brush of my deathly shroud startles
him, and his eyes once again focus on me, wide with confusion or fear, I
couldn’t be sure.

“Snap out of it Michael. You’re not crazy! I am really
here, it’s just….”
What do I tell him? It’s gonna freak him out even more,
surely?

Blinking at me, Michael finds his tongue. “Just what? I
must be crazy. Steve can’t see you, so it’s me!”

Frowning I recall his previous
statement about living here. “How have you lived here for a month without my
knowledge?” I ask him.

Scratching his chin, he replies. Why should I tell you?”

“Well technically you would be telling yourself if I’m
not really here, eh?” I pointed out.

“Mmmm. I guess that’s true,” he mused. After a few
moments, he began. “Well, to start with, this house was given to us by the
council a month back or so. We had been on the housing register for ages, and
couldn’t afford anywhere private; we were living on the streets. They got us
this place. Rent’s pretty decent. Council wouldn’t tell us why but we found out
in the local paper about this area, that something bad had happened to a lady
and she was murdered, and the old lady next door told us much of it.”

I nodded slowly and sighed
heavily. Michael continued. “Apparently this place was her house, or so the
locals here tell us. So this can’t be your house. Besides, you ain’t real. Why
the fuck am I still talkin’ to you!?” Standing quickly, he starts to leave the
kitchen.

“Because that lady was me!” I cried out to his back.
Lowering my voice, I continued. “It’s me they were talking about, Michael! I’m
a ghost, a spirit, and no one has been able to see me until now! I’m fuckin’
dead, dammit!” My fists clenched at my sides as he turned back to face me. “But
I died a few days ago, not a month.”

Michael looked at me, his eyes
lighting up as the realisation of what I just said dawned on him. “Lady, that
murder was three months ago. This place was up for let for two months before we
got a chance at it. No one would live here ‘cos of what had happened. Me n
Steve though, we had no choice. T’was ‘ere or the streets for us.”

“Michael!” Steve shouted from the other room. “Pizza’s
here. Get in ‘ere and stop talking to yourself dammit!” The doorbell rang as
the pizza arrived, Steve answering the door, and swapping his money for the hot
pizza boxes.

“Look,” Michael spoke, “I don’t know why you’re here, but
I’m hungry, Steve is getting pissed at me, and if that was you that was
murdered, it was three months back. Maybe time is different for you. But why
appear now?” He headed off to the living room, me following right behind him.

“Dammit, not too close”, Michael chastised me. “You’re so
cold!”

“Sorry. Pizza smells good though!”

“Well you can’t have any!” he replied.

Steve raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Seriously dude,
you need your meds looking at again.”

Placing the pizza boxes open
on the coffee table before them, the 42 inch TV showing reruns of Top Gear,
Michael looks at me. “He don’t believe you are here lady. Can you do something
to show him I ain’t crazy?”

Steve paused, a pizza slice
half way to his mouth. “Ok, I’ll play. Let’s see this imaginary being then?
Come on then, do something!” he urged.

What to do, what to do?
I thought, and then my
eyes fell upon the pizza.
Well I can’t eat it obviously, but I can
manipulate objects.
I reach for a slice of pepperoni, my ghostly hand grabbing
the crust and pulling, the melted cheese stretching as I pulled a piece from
the box.

“HOLY SHIT!” Steve shouted, and dropped his pizza,
leaping off his chair and backing off. His eyes were glued to the floating
pizza slice. “WHAT THE FUCK DUDE?!”

Michael stood, careful not to walk into me and my cold
aura. “I told you Steve, I told you, but you don’t listen to me! I ain’t
crazy….”

Steve shakes his head. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it,
it’s fuckin’ creepy.”

Michael moves over to Steve and points at me and the
pizza. “That ain’t me dude. It’s the dead lady. Check for yourself if you don’t
believe me!”

Steve tried to look defiant.
“Fine. Probably a piece of string or summat anyway. I’ll figure it out!” His
walk towards me is cautious. Eyes scanning the pizza for any sign of
illusionary trickery. Seeing none, he reaches out towards the pizza, passing
his hands over and under and around it trying to find a string or something
that could be making it float.

Michael sucks in his breath,
as Steve’s hands move through mine. “Shit that’s cold there.” He moves around
the coffee table, and is suddenly standing right inside me. My form shimmers,
and Steve hugs himself, shivering.

“Steve move away, you’re standing in the lady!” Michael
exclaims. Steve jumps to one side; the pizza knocks from my hand and falls to
the floor.

“Jesus H Christ, Michael! I don’t get it. What are you
seeing that I can’t? How did that pizza float like that, and just what the hell
is going on?” He flops down into a chair, automatically reaching for another
slice of pizza, and quickly devours it.

“Dude, not so fast. You’ll choke. I don’t want two ghosts
in here. One’s enough!”

Steve eyed Michael. “You’re serious ain’t ya? There is a
ghost in our house?!” Michael nods, silent. This new information sinks slowly
into Steve’s head. Michael watches as I bend down to sniff the delightful pizza
smell. He laughs at me. “What?” Steve asks, confused, his brow scrunched
causing his smooth forehead to wrinkle up.

“Our ghost appears to like pizza.” He explained to Steve.

“I love pizza, though mine tends to have pineapple on
it.” I reply.

“Ugh, pineapple? That’s sacrilege! You can’t have fruit
on a pizza!” Michael makes a horrified face, and sticks a finger down his
throat, feigning to be sick.

My laughter tinkled around the
room, causing Steve and Michael to both hug themselves as the chill settled
around them. “What was that?” Steve asked.

“She laughed.” Michael replied.

“Heh, let’s not make her laugh again, its bloody freezing
in here now!”

“Sorry!” I spoke. Michael shrugged and Steve looked about
the room, as if somehow the more he searched the more he might see me. “Ah,
don’t worry. Hell you’re dead, you got nothin’ to apologise for. Anyways, why
you haunting us, isn’t there anything else, anything after all this shit to
move on to?”

I glance at my hands, and
recall my death in snapshots. Shaking my head I reply, “I don’t know. All I
know is I’m here for a reason. Maybe to avenge myself, to bring my murderers to
justice? I don’t know. I’m new to this whole, ghost thing too!”

Michael sat down. “I’m pretty sure you don’t need to find
your murderers. What’s your name anyway?”

“Sharon. Sharon Hartman.”

Michael grabs a laptop from a
small table next to his chair and boots it up. “Let’s see what we can find on
here about you, Sharon.” He grabs another pizza slice and munches on it whilst
the load up screen flickers to life.

I move closer, but the laptop
flickers again. “Sorry, forgot about that.” I step back. “For some reason
electrical items don’t like me much.” I explained. Michael nods and logs
himself in, and immediately hits his browser icon, a search engine appearing on
his homepage. He types in my name.

There were plenty of hits.
Most to do with social networking sites, but another popped up to do with the
local news. Michael clicked on it and a page appeared with three men in cuffs,
being taken from what looked like a courthouse. Further down the page, was a
photo of me. 
Crap, they could have used a nicer one,
I thought.

Michael looked at my photo
then at me. “Well, they could have used a nicer one of you. Certainly doesn’t
do you justice, Sharon.” I grinned.

“So, what’s happened? Why is there a picture of my
attackers on here already? It’s hardly been enough time to catch them already
has it?”

“Well, like I told you, it’s been three months since your
murder. Check the date here. See?” I leaned over and saw he was right.

“But I don’t understand. How has it been three months
already? It doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head in frustration.

Steve was watching Michael
with interest, not hearing both sides of the conversation but getting an idea
what was being talked about. He tries to contribute. “What is the last thing
you remember, Sharon?” he asks.

I think a moment. Zipping
along through energy currents springs to mind. I speak to Michael, who relays
my reply. “She remembers going into her blog on a forum site, and going to one
of the other forum users’ houses to find out what was happening with them. She
then made herself explode, shutting down the electrical machinery that was
causing distress to the forum user.” Michael nods as he listens. “She then felt
tired, and came back here, and went to sleep. Then she woke up here. That’s it,
she says.”