There was a creaking noise that made Hannah feel a little sick, especially when she was sure that she could hear the faintest of snapping sounds spring out from within the groaning wood. Ruby, however, did not seem to notice. She was too busy beaming at the set of brand-spanking new books that had been stuffed into the shelves.
“Ohhh,” she breathed in wicked delight, “you are but a true saint!”
Hannah managed only a weak smile as there was another loud creak, and the book-shelf shuddered.
“What else could I do? I mean after you were so gracious as to let me spend the night, I had to repay the favour.” Hannah was slowly making her way to the door while Ruby flitted from one side of her case to another with an eager hunger in her eyes, trying to decide which of the delicious new digests she was going to devour first.
“Yes, yes, thank you!” She was running her fingers over the textured spines; taking in deep breaths of the scent of old books, or at least what she remembered it to be, and not really paying any attention to Hannah at all. This light-hearted and jovial mood of hers would of course change once she found herself suddenly surrounded by her precious collection all tattered and torn and no-longer in alphabetical order. Hannah did not want to be there when that happened.
“Well, I’ll guess I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself,” she said as she opened the front door and slipped out, “Have fun. I’ll see you later!”
.::.
Not one for working long hours, the sun had long since punched in its timecard and gone home, although whether then moon had taken up its shift over the night or buggered off for a drink somewhere instead, Hannah couldn’t quite tell. The sky was pregnant with clouds, low and heavy and dark, and already there were sheets of rain cascading down from on high.
She lifted up her face to watch, unblinking, at the droplets as they thundered down from the rumbling clouds and passed straight through her like the apparition that she was, puddling at the space beneath her feet. The pooling water cast no reflection of the woman that hovered, motionless, half an inch or so above its rippling surface.
The memories of rain began to rise along with a nausea in the pit of her stomach. No. No, she had neither the time or the patience to deal with those thoughts now but Hannah could already feel that crushing, suffocating, exploding pressure within her chest and—
A car roared past, sending up a wall of water to meet her. It carried none sensations that would have greeted the living, not the wetness, nor the sudden sharp shock of cold to the system. But it was enough to bring her attention back to there here and now, and out of the trance-like footpaths of yesteryear.
Hannah hurried along, pulling her coat tighter across her chest as her footsteps chattered over the glistening pavements. There was a short-cut through the park, and she half-ran across the road to reach it as each passing car sent up yet another surge of dirty water.
Here there were phantasms abound. They clung to the slick blades of grass and hung in the air in their hundreds, swaying to and fro and shimmering like glitter dust. Some of them settled on Hannah’s clothes as she made her way home, humming to both each other and themselves as their tiny insect minds scurried to avoid each droplet that fell from above; they would still twitch and shiver, instinctively, whenever a raindrop made what would have been a direct collision with their now un-dead, un-fragile bodies.
When Hannah saw her apartment, situated at the end of the park, she felt a surge of relief. This was soon followed by an even greater surge of fear when she remember why it was that she’d been avoiding going home in the first place. The relief though, yes, that was something to cling to and so Hannah did, forcing herself to smile in the hopes that it would help in convincing herself that everything was going to be okay. It didn’t.
“Hi Miss Hannah!”
Bobby Smith was the five year-old in the downstairs flat and whenever Hannah saw him he was sat in the bay windows watching everything that happened in the park outside. They’d had one conversation a long long time ago in which she’d asked him why he was always sat there, and his reply had been a wide happy grin and a single word:
“Dogs!”
Ever since, he’d been waiting there whenever she’d come home, calling out a muffled greeting through the glass and banging his tiny fists on the windows with a big, stupid smile on his face. Hannah waved at him, cautiously. She could see Bobby’s mother was stood behind him, wearing a mask of confusion and worry as she stared out into the rain as she tried to see who this mysterious woman was that her dear son insisted on talking to every day. Not even the promise of a real dog of his very own had been enough to dissuade him from talking to a person that just didn’t seem to be there.
As much as it both pleased and concerned her to see Bobby, his cheerful smile and honest joy as seeing her had not been enough to dissuade the growing fear that mounted as she climbed each stair-case. The stench of her land-lord’s breath was on the air but it was old, only an echo of his halitosis, but it still caused the gymnastics that were currently taking place in her stomach to up their ante and aim for gold.
Her breath caught in her chest as she took hold of the doorknob to her attic flat, not that it needed to be in there anyway, and she made a sort of wining noise as she pushed the door open to—!
Silence. Quiet. Dark.
Hannah could have cried with happiness, but decided not to on the off chance that such a noise would alert him to her presence should her landlord still be in the vicinity. She stepped inside, flicked on the lights, and saw that a couple of letters had been slipped under her door while she’d been out. Peeling off her coat and hanging it on the back of a chair, Hannah stooped to pick them up, before throwing herself onto her bed with a ‘plumf’ and taking a gander at the mail.
One of the letters had her name written in large capital letters on the front and she was sure that she could even feel it trembling in what must have been rage given the angry vitriol that had been scrawled on the letter it contained.
HANNAH, (it read)
PAY YOUR BLOODY RENT. FOR SIXTH MONTHS YOU’VE BEEN FEEDING ME WITH “Oh I promise I’ll have it by next week!”S AND“I’m so sorry! I’ll pay everything I owe you next weekend!”S, IT IS NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF FILTHY LIES AND I HAVE COME TO THE END OF MY ALREADY STRECHED TEATHER. YOU HAVE BEEN STRINGING ME ALONG FOR LONG ENOUGH AND THE TIME HAS COME TO END THIS: PAY UP OR FACE EVICTION. THE GENTLEMAN I RENT THIS PROPERTY FROM IS NOT AT ALL PLEASED, AND HAS BEEN HARRASSING ME REGARDING LATE PAYMENTS. FURTHERMORE—
Hannah stopped reading there. It had never occurred to her that the old coot has been sub-letting illegally, and if that was the case, then she was sure that she could somehow morally justify keeping him hanging on just a few weeks more for the missing money.
Tossing his letter onto the bedside table, Hannah moved onto the next. It was in a thick cream envelope, watermarked, and even though it had evidently been slipped under the door by hand her address had still been written out in full, and in the most wonderfully ornate cursive that Hannah wasn’t sure she could have copied even if she’d been forced to at gun-point, or holy-water-point? She still hadn’t quite worked out what the afterlife equivalent was for things like that.
She found herself sitting up straight with the attention that it silently demanded, tearing it open with the upmost of case before tipping its contents onto her sheets. There was a monochrome photograph of aging gentlemen, a letter, and a stack of bank notes.
Hannah stared at the money. She gave it a prod with her finger, half-expecting it to vanish off into smoke like some cruel practical joke, but instead all she did was shift it along the bedsheets a little. Soon she had it cupped tight in her hands, thumb running over each note, mouth moving soundlessly as she counted. That was… In a flash, Hannah had opened her bedside draw and thrown the money in there under a pile of socks. It was more cold hard cash than she’d ever had before and with it there just beside her she suddenly felt so vulnerable, as if local thieves and leprechauns would be able to smell it and target her apartment once they realised what was there.
The letter was written in the same beautiful looping script as her address, and Hannah read over it in thinly veiled desperation as to who had sent her such a volume of money.
Miss H. Corliss,
I am aware that you are unemployed and in something of a financial predicament with regards to your rent, and lack of payment thereof. At present I have a vacancy that I have been trying to fill without success, and it has been brought to my attention by a little birdie that you would be an apt apparition for the job.
While it may come as some surprise to you, I feel confident in how well suited you would be to the task at hand and I do not consider it necessary to conduct any frivolous formalities such as interviews.
Should you wish to take this offer, you will be charged with the care of a certain client of ours. He is, as you will discover, but only recently deceased and so has not yet a strong grasp on the ways in which the afterlife operate. Having been in the same position yourself only some few years ago, I am sure that you can appreciate how delicate a procedure this is, and will treat his concerns with the upmost of sensitivity and consideration.
Enclosed you will find a picture of the individual in question, as well as a small token sum to ensure you that this is genuine paid employment. Should you choose to meet with our client we will consider this an acceptance of our job offer, and commence payment of your salary post-haste.
Yours Sincerely,
Lucy
The letter shared the same watermark as that of the envelope and Hannah held it up to the light, squinting a little, as she tried without luck to decipher what it was. She didn’t know a Lucy, or at least none that both liked her and were dead themselves.
She did know a little birdie though. Three years ago Ruby had bought her a little parrot spirit called Oscar, but the thing had never shut up and had driven Hannah two straws short of crazy and so, in the end, she’d released him into the park where he could still occasionally be heard terrorising local children. He’d only really been able to say two things though so he probably wasn’t the bird in question, she decided. Not unless he’d somehow landed her a job armed only with the phrases “Bloody shut up” and “Sugar? I’ll take two.”
Spoiler
The first part of this, with Ruby, I'm not sure if it's entirely needed or if I should if anything extend it, so opinions on that would be greatly appreciated! Also I'm not sure whether I should just cut out the section with Bobby too (I think it feels a little too much just like padding).
I feel like this chapter is slower and more melancholy and generally messier. It ends up being a little related to how Hannah died in the first place but I was trying to not-be-too-obvious and perhaps may have ended up being confusing instead in my aims to avoid it being quite as sad as it could have been. In any case, the next chapter should be much more fun :D
I feel like this chapter is slower and more melancholy and generally messier. It ends up being a little related to how Hannah died in the first place but I was trying to not-be-too-obvious and perhaps may have ended up being confusing instead in my aims to avoid it being quite as sad as it could have been. In any case, the next chapter should be much more fun :D
Bobby's paragraph was nice. I wouldn't get rid of it. It's a gorgeous touch.
