Chapter 4: Dead Kids Can Talk

“Did you meet Kitty?” Eleanore’s hands are in a perpetual motion over tea leaves and biscuits.

“Were you spying?”

“Spying has such negative connotations. I think of it more like there is no TV and an impromptu seance was much more interesting than my book. How is she? Did she do the shoe thing?”

“What’s with the name?”

“The family has a thing for Jane Austen.”

“Elanore.”

“Are you just now getting this? What did your school teach you?”

“I brought hematite.”

“I would expect so but also not necessary. She’s not harmful just…”

“Disappointed. ”

“I hadn’t thought of it before but yes. I think she was and lonely. If you read the articles you would know.You’re both about the same age. She should be some company for you. Unless you would like to get a pet frog.”

“That was unkind.”

“I am your mother unkind is the bargain we make while you’re a teenager.” Mel leans her head on her mother’s shoulder.

“Do you know what happened to her sister?”

“Yes,”

“Are you going to tell me?

“It’s not my story to tell. A confidence can’t be forced especially with the dead.”

“Does that mean you won’t tell me how Kitty died?’

“That is in the paper clipping you have.”

“Was she the one that fell asleep?”

“A bunch of people did at that time. They went to bed and just didn’t wake up it was an entire thing. I bet if you paid attention in school they would have talked about it.”

“If it wasn’t a war I promise you it wasn’t in history class.”

“ It was a mystery at the time. She was unwell went to bed and slept for decades. All sorts of foul things were considered.”

“She said something about a dollhouse. She seemed pissed about it. She said it used to be in my room.”

“The doll house is in the study which you would know if you ever went up there.”

“When are classes? Aren’t you suppose to be teaching me?”

“To teach one must have a student interested in learning.

“The entire U.S. education system disagrees with you. Anyway Kitty was super into that dollhouse. “

“Classes are when you come to the study. You can even have a look at the doll house when you come up in between reading. Besides there a bunch of ghosts around with very little to do ask them to help with some lessons. I bet Kitty’s idea of geography would be a trip. She died in 1920 something. I bet she knows about countries that don’t even exist anymore.  Lots of dead people lots of ghosts, and most of them family. You know I was kidding before about the unkind thing.”

“No you weren’t”

“No, but do you forgive me?”

“Always.” Mel could feel her mother sinking into a chair stirring her tea with Bastet slinking under her wrist. Her mother’s attention a quicksilver thing always flitting around her and never on her for long.

The night wore on and as much as Mel avoided doing anything asked of her or even insinuated the boredom made her restless. The papers her mother had given her should have been fragile. Some should be yellow at least or even dust but they were all crisp and sharp. They could have been delivered today on the front porch.

It reeked of her mother’s magic. She fingers the oldest. Big gothic font with the story in a print small enough to cause a migraine. The house in the photo looked mostly built except the tower. That was still timber and hope. The most expensive house to ever be built in the county trilled the type. A light tug at Mel's attention. {rebuilt?}

“My dad built that.” The girl stands just to Mel's shoulder. Pinafore touching the boards hairs in glowing braids.

“You made me jump.”

“You should put a salt circle if you don’t want company. Besides its’ my story. I could tell you. Do you want me to tell you? It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to.”

“You’re just a kid what do you know about everything that happened?”

“Kid’s see more than grownups. You should know that, and I’m not really just a kid. I’m more like 105.”

“Then why this?” Mel motioned over lace and curls.

“It’s comfortable. It’s mine and it is a bit hard for me imagine myself grownup.”

“So you died when you were…”

“About eight.”

“You know how you died?”  The girl shifts from foot to foot.

“It was really my fault.”

“That can’t be true .”

“You know better than that and I have had over a hundred years to remember it.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“On second thought, no. You could always go into the woods.” Mel couldn't tell if this was Ghost speak for get lost or if it was a suggestion. Either way the girl was gone.

“Brat.” .

Bastet came in under Mel's hand purring and arching. “Are there cat ghosts? Are your ancestors here?” The purr turns to a chirp that to Mel sounded as if it could have been a cackle. “Would you go and haunt the mice?” Bastet squints at Mel and she knew exactly what Bastet’s ancestors were doing. Mel’s sleep is much better that night when Bastet joins her on the pillow. Bastet makes a neat jump on her bed stretches taking the entire pillow for herself in a long slow stretch before curling tightly allowing just enough space for Mel’s profile.

The next morning she finds her mother in the kitchen bleary eyes and  saw Mel's bounce into the as an affront. “Sit. Brush hair.” Mel expertly makes coffee just the way her mother liked, strong enough to qualify as moderately illegal with a pinch of cinnamon to bring luck to the day. Mel grabs the brush from her mother’s hand and begins to carefully unknot what was woven in intricate weavings.

“Did the kid visit you last night?” Her mother throws her head in her hands. Just missing removing a chunk of hair with Mel’s quick removal of brush from head.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot there were ghosts in this house?”

“No, I forgot how long kids could talk for.”

“Poor mom. Aren’t you glad you only have me.” Mel put her mom’s hand around the mug.

“That was no accident.” Bastet came in head butting her mother’s sleeve. “And you Miss where were you last night?”

“On my pillow.”

“Traitor.” Scratching under Bastet’s ears, “You’re forgiven. Go find Mel someone to watch her. I know you have the ear of the garden. Just make sure it’s not a….”

“Mother. I made you coffee.” Her mother’s eyes are large and shining. “I put cinnamon in it!”

“Ribbit.” 

Bastet turns from her seat on the sill ears perked towards the garden whiskers quivering. She gives a long stretch before jumping to the ground chirping at Mel and Eleanore before walking to the door and disappearing out the path. It takes them a few moments before both humans realize the door was closed and locked.