Alina grabbed her phone. “We need to call the police.”
I reached for mine and it wasn’t there. “Dammit! My phone’s gone.”
Did I have it with me when Felicity attacked, or was it still back at the campsite next to the log? I couldn’t remember. I would have to check when we got back there.
“Yes. Police please.” There was a pause as they connected her. “Hi. My friend and I have found what looks like a fresh grave in the bush near the old church. St Joseph’s. Yes... No… We were at a Halloween party.” She looked over at me. “Yes. We will stay here. I can stay on the line till they find us.”
The ghost walked over to me. “Thank you.”
It was hard to look at him when his skin was completely burned — his clothes had been melted to his skin in places and the peeling skin looked like something out of a horror movie. Bile rose in my throat, but I managed to keep it down.
I crossed my arms as if that would somehow protect me from the horror. “What’s your name?”
“I… I don’t know.” He made a motion to run a hand through his hair, but stopped himself. “Why don’t I know?” He started to pace, breathing heavily. “What’s going on? Why don’t I remember?”
“It’s okay. It happens, especially when someone dies unexpectedly or violently. It will take you a while to remember, then you’ll be fine.” Unless you’re like Jackson.
I cringed. I hoped he didn’t end up like Jackson. I wondered if this ghost would cross over once they dug up his body. Or maybe he would be stuck here till they found who did this to him.
I was distracted by Alina telling whoever it was on the phone that we weren’t that far from the group that the police were already dealing with.
We heard footsteps approaching and could see the lights from their torches. We called out to them until they reached us.
It was a relief to see Parkinson and Martin were the ones assigned to come out and deal with this. They stayed at the edge of the clearing.
Parkinson gave a sort of half-smile. “Maddie. You seem to be where all the action is lately. Can you tell us what happened here?”
I was glad I could tell the truth instead of trying to cook up some story about why we were so far away from the others. When I finished telling him what happened, he took a closer look at the mound of dirt.
He looked directly at me. “Have either of you touched anything?”
“No. We haven’t really moved since we called you.”
“Okay, that’s good. Is the spirit still here like what happened with Sophie Vella?”
“Yes, but I don’t know who he is. He can’t remember his name.”
“What? How can he not know who he is?”
I thought of Jackson again. “It happens. Usually, if the death was violent or sudden, they get confused and forget things. They usually remember in time.” Usually.
That got me wondering — not for the first time — if Jackson’s death was violent or if he was murdered.
“Okay. Maybe if you describe his appearance, we can match it to our missing persons reports.”
I squirmed. “Um, I can’t tell you what he looks like.”
“Why not? You said that he is still here.”
“Um… The spirits I see, if they died recently, they still look like they did when they died. Every inch of his skin is burnt and he has no hair.”
“Oh… Okay. Can he describe himself to you?”
The ghost didn’t hesitate. “I have — I had — blue eyes and brown hair and I’m five feet, nine inches and I keep myself fairly fit.”
I told Parkinson what he said.
He wrote it down. “Thanks. This doesn’t narrow it down too much, but at least we have a starting point. How old is he?”
“I’m forty-nine next month. Well, I would have been.”
I told Parkinson what he said.
“Okay. What is his date of birth?”
“The fifteenth of November. I don’t remember the year… Dammit! Why is it so hard to remember certain things?”
“Don’t worry. It will come. And you did just say you were forty-nine.”
He relaxed a bit, but couldn’t stand still.
I relayed the message, thinking that his family will be sitting around on his birthday crying when they should be celebrating.
Parkinson scribbled some more. “Thanks. Now, what did you say they did to him?”
“He said that they tortured him and burned him alive.”
He cringed. “Can he give you more details?”
I looked at the ghost and he frowned, which looked hideous and was something I could never unsee. “They wore hooded cloaks and tied me up and did a lot of chanting and so forth. None of it made any sense to me. It was like they thought I was possessed or something. Like they were performing some kind of amateur exorcism.”
I told Parkinson what he’d said and he wrote it all down. “Can he tell you anything about his injuries?”
“They cut my palms and arms and chest and stomach. They burned me with candles. Then they set the wood underneath me on fire…” He doubled over.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “You don’t have to go on.”
Then I had to tell the police the details. I cringed and looked at the ghost. It must have been agony to go through that. What a horrific way to die.
I felt sick. Who would do such a despicable thing?
The ghost looked up. “I can’t really remember anything else. I don’t know where I was when they did those things to me. I don’t know where we are now. All I see is trees. I was surprised when you came running at me and that you could see me. I had to follow you so you could call the police for me.”
He looked different. Cleaner. Less burnt somehow. Maybe some of the injuries were fading. Like when Sophie was dry after her body had been found.
Martin gave instructions on his radio and asked Alina and I to move further away from the grave.
Parkinson turned the page in his notebook and wrote something across the top. “Now, we need to know what happened between you and Felicity Townsend.”
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Author's Note: I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Let me know what you think in the comments. I’m hoping there are a lot of questions in your mind about who killed the burnt ghost and about what really happened to Emily. Any ideas or theories?
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