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CHAPTER1
“You’re doing it wrong.”
I stopped hammering long enough to cast a sharp eye at the apparition behind me. “I know how to use a hammer.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Your grip looks weak. You need to strengthen your wrists.”
With a deep sigh, I set the hammer on the table. There’d be no peace until I let this one feel useful; I could sense it. “Go on then, Roy. Dazzle me with your insight.”
“I told you, the name’s Ray. I’m not trying to mansplain or anything disrespectful like that. It’s just that I spent years as a carpenter, and it’s downright painful to watch you work.” The ghost drifted to stand opposite me. He was a burly man in dungarees and a red plaid shirt. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’d been buried with his beloved toolkit.
“And how many years ago was that?” Ray looked to be in his early eighties.
“Carpentry isn’t like technology. Nothing much changes.” He tried to lift the hammer, but his hand swiped through it. “You’ll have to pretend I’m holding it.”
I watched as the ghost demonstrated his technique, which, to be perfectly honest, wasn’t very different from the way my grandfather had taught me. I could’ve given him hints on how to make contact with physical objects, but that would only encourage him to hang around. “Thank you. That’s helpful, Roy.”
“My name is Ray. Sweet Nellie, I swear you’re saying Roy on purpose.”
He wasn’t wrong, and I was willing to do a lot worse to preserve my peace. When I first moved in six months ago, I helped the majority of the residents in the adjacent cemetery cross over, except for two that declined so respectfully, I couldn’t bring myself to force them. Personally, I didn’t see the appeal of sticking around. The sleepy town of Fairhaven was hardly a hotbed of excitement, not that they could travel beyond the gate anyway—which was probably the reason this ghost had taken a keen interest in my chores.
“Thank you, Ray.” I picked up the hammer, keeping my gaze fixed on the ghost. “You realize you’ve broken the first rule, right?” After helping the other spirits cross over, I’d given the remaining stage five clingers my rules. Rule 1: No entering the house without permission.
“I know, but it gets dull as dishwater out there,” Ray complained.
“Then cross over.” Whack! The nail slid into place.
“Don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
Ray fell silent.
I twisted to look at him. “Listen, I don’t know if you realize this, but I can make you leave here.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because I believe you’re entitled to free will and bodily autonomy, even in your current state.”
“You’re one of those feminists, huh?”
“I am, indeed.”
“I’ve got a few of them in my family. Strongest Black women you’ll ever meet.” His chin lifted. “My grandbaby Alicia is…”
I put on a set of headphones, hopeful Ray would get the hint. When I looked up a few minutes later, he was gone.
I continued hammering until my eyes blurred. This task was one of about two thousand. It was my own fault, of course. I bought a house that had a date with a wrecking ball until I stepped in. If only I had no scruples, I’d have a team of ghosts operating heavy machinery to renovate this house in no time.
But patience was a virtue, I reminded myself. And I valued peace and quiet more than painted walls.
I took a lunch break, frying up eggs and bacon in the one pan I owned. I’d seen a few on the shelf in the local housewares store, but I decided to wait for a sale. There’d be one soon enough. Sales seemed to be the lifeblood of the American economy. I’d forgotten the regularity of them during my time abroad.
I felt a presence behind me and knew without looking that it was the old lady in the bubblegum pink robe, whose name I’d also deliberately avoided remembering, despite her valiant efforts to tell me. We weren’t roommates, no matter how many times they drifted into the house without an invitation.
“I like my eggs poached,” she said.
“Congratulations.” I slid my food onto a plate and ate it at the counter.
