Page 45 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“Fine.”

“Fine,” I replied and necked the rest of the soda.

I gasped and burped.

“Now what?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Is that all the questions you had?”

“I guess. Yeah,” Danny said. “You can’t really tell me anything else. Or won’t. Or can’t. Jeez, I don’t even know with you anymore.”

“Well,” I said, gesturing vaguely, “see yourself out. You got—or didn’t get—what you came for.”

I turned to go back into the kitchen, but Danny was suddenly behind me, his hands on my shoulders. Tensing under his grip, I did all I could to not physically react too obviously.

“You don’t want me to stay longer?” he murmured, moving his mouth close to my neck.

For a moment, I considered this.

“Go home, Danny,” I said. “Leave me be.”

“Why, though?” Danny kissed my neck.

I jerked away and stepped back to look at him.

“Your mother didn’t ask you to sit in on the session today,” I said. “We both know it. You came to try and prove me a fraud. In fact, I think that’s where everything was going to go…until I planted a seed of doubt in your head by telling you exactly what your grandmother was buried in. And you know I’d have no way of knowing if I couldn’t see ghosts.”

Danny’s jaw clenched and flexed as he stared at me.

“So,” I said, “you’ve got what you needed. Go home. Drive back up to Dubuque. I’m sure you’ve been leaving all of your work to your foremen lately. You’re always down here. Go take care of your actual business and stay out of mine.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” I said, pointing at the door. “Go.”

Danny considered me for a moment, his cheeks going red.

“For how long?” he asked. “How long do you want me to stay out of your business?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Danny reddened, but he said nothing. He opened his mouth to argue, but he quickly shut it. Finally, he gave up and turned to leave. He ripped the front door open and turned to look at me. His mouth opened again, but his jaw just ended up hanging there briefly before it was shut again. He breezed out the door, closing it behind him.

I stood in the living room, crunching the can in my hand as I listened to the footsteps on the gravel outside. Then the sound of a truck door opening and closing. I refused to dash out the door and stop him. Then his truck started up, he revved the engine, and I heard him turning his truck to leave. I forced myself to stay in spot there in the living room, waiting until the sound of his truck dissipated down the driveway.

Once I was certain he was gone, I angrily threw the crushed can into the kitchen, hearing it clattered against the cabinet. Then I stomped over to the sofa and threw myself into it, mirroring Danny’s position from before, my head in my hands. Mirroring his previous actions, I rubbed my palms into my eyes, growling with frustration as I dropped my hands to my lap and stared out at nothing.

Though I always did my best to not make it my first thought every time I was in my house, my mind went to the ghost. It was hiding somewhere in the house. Ghosts, as most people who believe in them know, are often unseen by the world around them. However, many mediums, such as myself, can see them everywhere. Even with the abilities I possess, ghosts can hide themselves from me quite well if they so choose.

Most ghosts don’t expend their time or energy hiding, though. Humans already can’t see them. They’re dead. Nothing can hurt them to the point of destroying them that I know of; they can hurt temporarily and be trapped. So, why bother hiding? Though most ghosts can’t be trapped forever. They eventually will find a way out of anything, but traps can last a very long time if done well.

Houses, protected from ghosts, can keep them out indefinitely. Trapping ghosts out of something is much more effective than trapping them in something. Ghosts want to get out and roam. They don’t want to find their way inside a place they may not be able to get out of again. It’s why protected houses generally stay safe for long periods of time. Generations.

“So,” I said out loud as I stared and my eyes glazed over, “who trapped you?”

Obviously, the ghost didn’t saunter in from the kitchen with a can of beer, ready to talk.

“And why?”

I thought about this for what seemed like forever.

“How long were you trapped?” I thought out loud once more.

It occurred to me that a ghost would have no reason to want to hide from me in my own house. Unless it was afraid I’d put it back in the box. It would only be afraid enough to hide itself from me for that reason if it had been in the box long enough to have grown to hate it.

How long were you in there? I thought.

My eyes landed on the teal cupboard sitting alongside the opposite wall.

Months?

A niggling thought entered my head. My vision unblurred and I rose from the sofa like a robot, thoughts swirling through my head. On autopilot, I went to the front door, shrugged my coat and scarf on, and headed out.