The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders

Alex poured himself another cup of coffee. Catching himself before he offered one to Henry, he hid his embarrassment by asking, “If you knew it wasn’t your wife, why did you let her into the house?”

“She was and yet she wasn’t.” Henry rubbed his face. “I don’t know how to explain. It was the body of my wife. She held the same memories, yet she was not the same temperament.” Alex’s face betrayed his confusion, and Henry looked embarrassed. “When she returned she seemed pale and frail. I feared she had fallen ill. When we arrived home she was …” Henry loosened the transparent collar of his shirt. “She was more … aggressive when it came to being amorous.” He looked away. “At first I was thrilled.”

“What man wouldn’t be?” Alex confirmed before he could stop himself.

Henry nodded, a slight smile on his face. “It was not long lived. She was with child within a month of her return. That is when things began to change. The further along she was, the less of my dear Amelia was there. In fact, there was less of anything there.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was as if the child was draining all of who my wife was. By the time Emily was born, the frail creature who had been my Amelia was mostly skin and bone. I had many doctors in to help her. But it wasn’t just her body that was seeping away; it was her mind too.” He began to pace. “Then she began to heal. I was so thrilled.” Pearl tears slipped from his eyes, disappearing into his beard. “But she never came back. She would barely leave Emily, and she never spoke to me. I would look into those eyes and I saw nothing. There was nothing alive behind those eyes.” He broke down entirely.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand what you’re saying. Was she a zombie?”

“She’s never been to the Caribbean.” Henry looked up, puzzled.

“No, I, um … No, I mean, was she an undead?” Alex explained.

“I, I think it was Amelia’s body, but her soul was gone.”

“Oh, so she was possessed.” Alex was on his feet. If he had been paying attention, he would have seen he was walking through the cat as it tried to wind its way through his legs. “You think it was this friend she was writing to you about? Constance was it?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned another woman with red hair that she encountered, but she was never specific.” Mournfully, Henry returned his face to his hands. “I was a fool to let her go alone. I was a fool not to believe in all of this.”

“If you had not allowed her, she would have ended up despising you,” Alex soothed. “As far as all of this …”His gesture took in the room and the man in front of him. “I would have laughed in your face. Well, not yours, but someone’s, if they told me I would be seeing, talking to, and even living with a ghost … well, a former ghost.”

“Ah, yes, so would she be one of these zombies then?” Henry met Alex’s gaze.

“What? No. Well, maybe. No,” Alex stammered. “I, she was a ghost. She was killed and her soul was hidden away.” He scratched his head. “I-I don’t really know how she came back. All I know is I want her back again. I need her back,” he finished in a whisper.

The cat at his feet meowed loudly, and Alex and Henry both looked at it. The cat stared at the French doors leading out into the yard. Alex noticed nothing at first, but as he watched, two green dots appeared. Gasping in shock, Alex jumped back—right into Henry. The feeling was familiar yet unpleasant. Outside the door the glow disappeared, replaced with a dull thumping against the glass.

“Eyes!” Alex breathed, trying to figure out how best to get out of Henry. Jumping forward, he reached for the door.

He stopped to check the ghost cat, who seemed to say, “Well, hurry up.” The door opened, letting in the night air and a midnight black cat.

The vision of the live cat and the ghost cat purring and rubbing against each other was not lost on Alex. He looked over at Henry, who looked back. Both held the same bemused look upon their faces. Alex noticed something in the jet black fur—a tuft of white. When he bent to pet the new arrival, he realized what he thought was a tuft of fur was actually a bit of paper. The cat shook its coat and the paper fell free. The cat looked from Alex to the paper, meowed, turned, and holding its tail high, disappeared back out through the open door.

An odd sound brought Alex’s attention back from the darkness of the night. The ghost cat was pawing at the scrap on the floor. With shaking fingers Alex opened the folded bit of paper. It expanded impossibly with each fold undone. His eyes read over the words several times.

“What does the missive say?” demanded Henry.

Alex looked up at the specter. “Remind her of my gift.” He said, confused. He held the note so Henry could see it. “What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.