The Ghost and Miss Mitford

[Lucy Mitford]

The world was lost. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't feel anything. Life continued on around him, but it was blurry and distant, as if he were surrounded by a thick fog. He couldn't see anything. Anything but her.

All he could see was her.

He knew that he was dead. The way that he had once known the difference between waking and dreaming. But this wasn't much of an afterlife. Away from her there was nothingness. He seemed to only exist at her side. Time was infinite. Infinitely slow. Infinitely fast.

He could remember his life. He had scrabbled out a living, working the rough as a laborer. He spent his meager wages at the pub, dulling his aches, his desires, so that he could stomach another day.

He couldn't remember his death. He tried concentrating on it, but it was as much a fog as his current existence. Like the worst hangover he had ever had. He could recall nothing.

In the least, he wished he could remember her. The beautiful redhead. The only one he could see clearly. Had he loved her once? Had he mistreated her? Who was she?

He didn't know how long he had been watching her. It felt like forever. It was boring for the most part. He watched her eat, he watched her sleep, he watched her brush her teeth. He watched her fix her little bird-like meals, and her strange communal exercise routine. He watched her smile at nearly everything. Until she was alone and she wasn't smiling anymore. Until she was crying from a depth of sadness he didn't think he could ever understand.

He could hear her speak, but almost nothing else, listening to half conversations. At times, something other than her would cut through the fog---her lover's arms, one of her drinking companions, her dog---but he had long given up his attempts to connect with anyone but her. No one could reach him but her.

There was only her. His entire world was her.
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Originally posted on Sun Jul 13, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

It was almost laughable. She was the architect of her own destruction.

The city had worked her into a frenzy of fear. The strange, the unknown, the supernatural, all clawing at the gates of her life. But together with Colin she thought she had created a safe place, a retreat, where she could come and go and pretend that there was nothing different about Rhy’Din. That Rhy’Din was like any other city. Even when she knew that it wasn’t.

The ghost was past the gates now.

It was her own fear that had created him. So desperate to be safe and protected. And now there was nowhere safe. It was with her all the time. He was with her all the time.

And they all wanted to help. Strangers and friends alike. Alec, Cris, Dair, Jack, Gem. Making offers she wanted no part of. As if her ghost were a door that needed to be unlocked. But he wasn’t a door. He was a secret. And she wanted to keep him hidden. She wanted to keep him quiet.

Dair was right about one thing. She had to do something. She couldn’t keep ignoring him. Just not for the reasons they all thought. She had to do something because she had to get to him first.

The ghost wasn’t a threat to her.

She was a threat to the ghost.
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Originally posted on Tue Jul 22, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

“Go away.”

He knew the words were meant for him. He could see her blind eyes trying to look at him as she said it, trying to see him. Go away. The words echoed around him, as if she had shouted them into the desolate canyon of his existence. Go away. If he had a heart, the words would have made it ache. Go away.

There was no where to go.

He followed her still, though he tried to keep his distance. Given the choice between nothingness and exile, he would choose exile every time. So he lingered at the edge of her aura, close enough so he could still feel his own presence, but far enough so that perhaps he wouldn’t be a bother.

Yet he felt her reaching out to him, heard her trying to speak with him, as if she wanted to connect. And he wanted so desperately to connect.

Go away, she said.

Help me, he whispered back.
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Originally posted on Wed Jul 23, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

She was relatively certain that everything was set up correctly. Two white pillar candles, incense, a brass bowl of red wine, and a charcoal drawing of a crescent moon, all inside an unbroken circle of salt on the hardwood dining room floor. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle, her hands rubbing her knees. She was still nervous. The salt was supposed to protect her. But how did she know it would work? How did she know any of this would work?

Lucy rested the book in her lap, reading over the instructions and her handwritten notes one more time. Then she looked up, peering into the shadowy corners of the empty, candlelit room, as if in this last moment, she might still see him, making the whole ritual pointless. But he wasn’t there.

She took another deep breath, and whispered into the dark. “I hope you’re ready for this.” Then with more confidence than she felt, she began reading aloud.

“O, Great Mother, Queen of Jackie, Audrey, and Diana,
From whom all life flows,
I come powerless before you,
begging favor.

Grant me a window
through which I may see the spirit world,
and through which the spirits may see me.

Grant me the words
so that I may speak my story,
and so that they may speak theirs.

And grant me protection from evil,
Great Mother,
for I mean no harm.”

When Lucy finished, she looked up again. Nothing happened. She felt nothing. She looked at the book one more time for the instructions. Right. The last bit. She picked up the bowl and spilled some wine onto the charcoal moon. Then she extinguished the candles by pressing their wicks into the puddle. The candles hissed in protest, then went out. Still nothing happened.

Lucy whispered into the dark. “Hello?”

The ghost faded into view. He was sitting in the corner, details filling in as her eyes adjusted. He looked exactly as he had that night. Lucy gasped, lifting her hands to cover her mouth.

He jumped in surprise, his absent expression transformed into one of disbelief as he stared at her. “Oi, lovely! You can see me?”

Lucy nodded.

He leapt to his ghostly feet. “You can hear me!?”

Lucy nodded again.

“Say something!”

“Hello?”

“I can hear you. I can--” The ghost tipped his head back, his arms out towards the heavens, and he shouted with joy. “I'M HERE!”
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Originally posted on Thu Jul 31, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. He still felt dead. He knew he was dead. But she could see him! She could hear him! “I would hug you if I could, love, really I would!”

“You--would hug me?” She looked confused

“I near gave up trying to talk to you. Been so bloody bored. Oof, you got no idea.” He laughed again, his ghostly body pacing back and forth in front of her.

She tried to interject gently. “So, look--”

“I can’t figure why I’m here with you. I been racking my mind about it, and I got nothing.” Now that he had someone to talk to, he couldn’t stop talking.

“You don’t--you don’t remember me?” She raised a brow, looking up at him in the darkness with her clear blue eyes.

He shook his head. “Nah. Should I? Do you know me?”

She stared a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’ve never met you before.”

He stopped his ghostly pacing and turned to look at her. “What’s your name, lovely?”

“It’s Lucy. Lucy Mitford.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t jog the noggin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Can’t remember that either.” He made a move like he was going to put his hand in his coat pockets. “Last thing I remember is getting pissed on a cold night.”

“So--so--so you don’t remember--how--how--” She couldn’t even get the words out as she watched the ghost.

“How I kicked the bucket? Nah, no. It’s bloody blank, really.” He gestured to his head and then shrugged.

Lucy still stared. “You don’t remember.” Her eyes filled with tears.

He frowned looking at her. “Are you crying? Oh no, love. Don’t cry. Don’t--” The ghost moved towards her trying to cross the circle of salt as if his ghostly body could reach for her. But all he could do was kneel before her, outside the circle of protection, and whisper quietly in an attempt to soothe her. “It’ll be alright. We’ll make it right. We’re partners in this aren’t we? We’ll make this right. Shush now, love. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”
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Originally posted on Mon Aug 04, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

“Don’t you ever stop talking?!” Lucy shouted it at the ceiling, laying on her back in bed. The ghost was somewhere in the room, but she didn’t care where. She’d finally begun to fall asleep, and then he started yammering away again. She dragged a pillow over her face and screamed into it.

They’d been at it for days. At first, she’d been so relieved that he didn’t remember her, that she didn’t mind listening to his prattle--what it felt like to be dead, what he could remember of his life, why they were tied together--and on and on. But once they were able to communicate, they started the harder work of trying to help him move on.

It took only a day to realize that this was going to be harder than expected. They worked through the two beginning spell books to no effect. Of course, it didn’t help that some of the spells required things she couldn’t or wouldn’t provide, like the manner of his death, or dirt from his grave, or any other thing that would force her to reveal her secret to him. And she simply wouldn’t do that. So for the time being, they seemed to be stuck with each other.

“How much sleep do you need, twit?”

“I was asleep for like five minutes!”

“Well, pardon me! I told you I don’t have a keen sense of time.”

She threw the pillow across the room at him, then pouted as it passed through him and landed on the floor.

“Excellent form. I give it a ten”

“Hrmph.” She rolled over onto her side and reached for a pillow from Colin’s empty side of the bed, dragging it back to her. “At least tell me something interesting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love, am I boring you? Imagine that!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. That she lived a boring life had been a regular complaint of his since they started speaking. And now, in spite of herself, Lucy found herself fighting off a smile. “Shut up.”

“Let’s have one of them girly things--a whatsit--a slumber party!” His ghostly body made to hop onto the bed and he tried to flop down beside her, but without the help of gravity, it looked more like he floated into place. “We could run round in our knickers, and I’ll play with your hair and do up your toes, and later we can turn off the lights and practice kissing boys with each other.”

Lucy laughed and rolled her eyes. “Sadly, most of that requires touching.”

“Fair point.” He propped his head on his hand and looked at her. Then he motioned to her pajamas. “You could still show me your knickers.”

Lucy laughed. “I think you’ve seen enough of my knickers.”

“Love, no man could get enough of your knickers.” The ghost grinned.

Lucy picked up the pillow as if to toss it at him again. He lifted his ghostly arms like he was afraid of getting hit, then he laughed. Lucy dropped the pillow, rolling her eyes. “When do I get to see your knickers?”

“You don't know what you're missing, love.”
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Originally posted on Tue Aug 05, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

He wanted to hold her. To wipe the tears from her cheeks and brush the damp strands of hair from her face. To wrap his arms around her and keep her steady while she sobbed so hard that she couldn’t breathe.

He could remember his arms. How strong they once were. His muscles made thick from years of labor. But they were useless now. Useless when he finally needed them most. He could offer her no physical comfort.

But he could comfort her in other ways. Whispering quiet reassurances to her. Reminding her to eat, to go out, to keep living in spite of her sadness. Watching over her while she slept. Making sure she wasn’t alone.

His whole life was just a preamble to this. He had no direction before. No purpose. He worked and he drank. And he drank some more. His life, such as he could remember it, was empty. He didn’t care about anyone, and no one cared about him. He had never been needed before. Never been close to anyone, let alone a woman.

She was nothing like the women he'd known in his life. Women willing to put their backs up against the wall for a drink or a few bob. He’d had no use for women before. Pretty pieces to look at, and warm holes to put his dick. He wondered with shame what he would have said to a woman like her. He’d been a vulgar and useless man.

But in his ghostly form his physical desires were gone. He could see that she was beautiful, but he felt no lust for her. He could remember the relief that liquor provided, but he had no thirst. He could remember the weariness of a long day, but he needed no rest. All of his earthly desires had been stripped away.

He had only one purpose now. To take care of her. Lucy.
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Originally posted on Mon Aug 11, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

“How come you remember your life but you can’t remember your name?” Lucy pushed another empty, unpacked box towards the door of her New Haven loft, sliding it along the floor with her foot.

The ghost sprawled on the couch, still taking in the details of their new digs. “Don’t know.”

“We should pick one.”

“If you want, yeah.”

Lucy stood up from another box and put her hands on her hips looking at him. “Well I can’t keep calling you ‘the ghost.’”

“Mmf.”

“Let’s go through the alphabet and see if anything rings a bell.” Lucy started calling out letters, nice and slow while she pulled knick-knacks out of a box and arranged them around the loft.

The ghost stopped her. “R.”

“R? That’s familiar?” At his nod. “Okay, an R name. Richard? Robert? Ryan?”

He shook his head. “No, no. I want something smart, something’ll make me sound important, right?”

Lucy laughed. “Wait, are we figuring out your old name or picking a new one?”

“Does it really matter, love?”

She sighed, and then shrugged. “I guess not.” She picked up another empty box and carried it to the door, trying to come up with snooty sounding names. “Roland. Roderick. Roddy. Reginald.”

“Reginald!” He pointed at her. “I like that.”

Lucy raised a brow. “Reginald? Are you serious?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just--kind of old-fashioned.”

“I like it. Makes me sound like a right toff.” He grinned, then he tipped his head at her. “Call me Reg if you like.”

“Alright.” She moved around to flop beside him on the couch. She surveyed all that there was left to do to be fully moved-in. It felt like a lot. Though, considering how unaccustomed she was to work, it didn’t take much for her to feel overwhelmed.

“Gotta say, love, there isn’t much space in this bit.” The ghost looked around with her. The loft was small, to be sure. Just one big open space that flowed from one area to the other, kitchen, living room, bedroom. Only the bathroom and closet were walled off. The big windows at least gave an illusion of space.

“I like it.” Lucy pouted, then she looked at him. “It’s cozy.”

“Not gonna be able to give you much privacy here.” He grinned. “Specially when you start bringing Dair about.”

Lucy blushed. “Who says I’m gonna be bringing Dair here?”

The ghost just gave her a look.

She tried not to smile. “You can hide in the closet.”

Reg glared at her. Lucy grinned.
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Originally posted on Wed Aug 13, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

It scared him just thinking about it. Lucy, prettied like a princess, late at night in the WestEnd. She was like one of those little Wonderland cakes with an ‘Eat Me’ sign hanging round her neck. “What would have happened if Dair hadn’t been there?”

“I don’t--I don’t know.”

She was hungover. Reg watched her as she took a tentative sip from her bottle of water. “You got to bloody think, love. Use your noggin.”

“I was drunk.”

“You were thinking about Dair.” He couldn’t keep the accusation from his tone.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing. He could tell she was uncomfortable, but she wasn’t scared herself, and he didn’t know why. He could still hear the catcalls from the night before. ‘Hey pretty pretty’ they’d said. ‘Hey sweet thing.’ Even with Dair beside her. It filled him with a fury he could barely contain.

She got up from the couch. “We’re done talking about this.”

“Like bloody hell, we are.” He followed her towards the bathroom.

Lucy rounded on him in the doorway. “Look, this may be the first time you’ve contemplated what it’s like to be a woman alone in this city, but it’s not my first time.” She stared at him. There was something in her eyes he’d not seen before, something he couldn’t read, and he took a step back from her while she took a step forward. “So you don’t need to lecture me--again--about what I did last night. I got it. Okay?” She looked at him a moment, then slammed the bathroom door in his ghostly face.

Reg lingered there, on the other side of the door, a boundary he promised not to cross. “Well, bloody alright then.” He murmured it half to himself. From his side of the door, he could hear Lucy breathing hard, as if each breath were a strain. He frowned having never heard such sounds from her before. Then he heard the squeak of the bath faucet, and the sound of her was lost.
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Originally posted on Sun Aug 17, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

“You can’t even talk to anyone, and that’s the second yoga studio you’ve gotten me kicked out of. All you have to do is wait patiently in the corner--but no--you’ve got to go making rude faces and gestures. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be asked to leave because of you? Because I can’t keep my freaking ghost in check?” Lucy’s heels click-clacked ferociously along the cobblestones as she ranted at Reg.

Reg shrugged his ghostly shoulders. “It’s a waste of time, love. Fannying about, bending this way and that.”

“A waste--” Lucy cut off as she turned to look at him. Then she shook her head and walked on a few more feet before turning down a secluded alley so she could face Reg without passersby thinking she was a crazy person talking to herself. At the end of the alley, she rounded on him. “A waste of time? You spend half your day staring at my butt. How do you think it gets like that? You think it’s magic? I work hard to look like this!”

“Och, stop being so dramatic you silly bit. You’re not gonna go all blubbery if you miss a day or two of whatsit.”

“It’s called yoga.” Lucy’s body trembled with fury. “You think you’re so--you think you’re so clever. But you’re not.” She shook her head. “I’ve got maybe ten years of looking like I do--ten years of being young and pretty.”

“And it’s so important to be pretty?”

“Yes, it is!” She cried, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You think you know me, but you know nothing about me! I’m not smart--or--or funny--or useful. I don’t even know how to make a freaking cup of tea! People only like me because I’m pretty. Pretty is all I've got.”

“You mean Dair. Dair only likes you because you’re pretty.” Reg folded his ghostly arms across his chest. “He’s not good for you, and if you can’t see it, you really are a silly bit.”

“Shut up!” She screamed at him, the narrow alley crackling with a sudden heated energy, a metallic scent filling the air. Reg backed away, looking down at Lucy’s hands. Little pops of electric current snapped between her fingertips, licking out dangerously towards him. Lucy stared into the space between them, momentarily mesmerized. She could see the charge in air, the atoms slowing down and organizing themselves into magnetic patterns.

Lucy gasped and stumbled back. She shook her hands, her fingers still tingling. But there was no more charge. The spell was broken. Whatever it was, it was gone.
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Originally posted on Mon Aug 25, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

“Can you tell me?” Reg watched as Lucy went about the business of cleaning up another failed spell. She returned the spell book to the kitchen counter, and doused out the incense.

“Whatever it is, love, you can tell me, can’t you?” Reg followed as Lucy went to the bathroom and started the water running in the sink.

“Is it about me?” He watched her reflection in the mirror. She dampened a white washcloth under the running water and started to wipe the blood from her face and chest.

“I won’t be upset.” The pig’s blood turned the washcloth and the water pink, as the water circled around the drain. Lucy kept her eyes on her own reflection as she washed herself clean.

“I’m sorry. About Dair. Truly, I am.” He watched her for a reaction, but got none as she bent over the sink, splashing water on her face.

“Listen. Lucy. I can help you, maybe. I can--I can listen. At least. At least, let me do that.” He pleaded, quietly. She dried her face on a clean towel, and again looked at her own reflection in the mirror.

“You can’t ignore me forever.” He followed as she returned to the kitchen, opening the back window to air out the scent of incense. On a rooftop across the narrow alley, a crow sat watching, its head tipping to one side.

“Lucy.”

She looked out at the crow.

“Please.”

“Lucy. C’mon.”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy.”
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Originally posted on Fri Aug 29, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

She had to tell him.

“Turn.”

Lucy glanced up at Reg, then reached across the table to turn the page of the book he was reading. She watched him a moment as he leaned over the book, his eyes moving back and forth across the pages.

She knew it was selfish. She knew she was being unfair. They had finally started speaking to each other again. Finally become friends again. She didn’t want to tell him.

“Turn.”

She reached across the table and turned Reg’s page for him again, then looked back down at her own reading. The book on necromancy was so complicated that she had to keep a dictionary next to her for every word she didn’t understand. She shut the book and pushed it away.

She knew she couldn’t keep it from him forever. People knew. Cris knew. Dair knew. Well. Maybe Dair knew. She assumed everyone knew, really. It was only Reg who didn’t know. It was only him.

“Turn.”

Lucy flipped his page for him and then leaned back once more.

It would tear him apart. It would turn him from a friend to an enemy. But he had a right to know. He could never truly be her friend until she told him. He could never let go unless he knew.

“Turn.”

She had to tell him.

“Turn.”

She just didn’t know how.

“Turn.”
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Originally posted on Tue Sep 09, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

Rage.

He was rage.

He was not physical, he had no sense of himself. No sense of being anything or being anywhere. It was worse than before. He was nothingness. No. He was rage.

He had so many questions. Why? Why had she done what she did? Why did she leave him like that? Why did she lie about it? Why didn't she tell him? Why? Why? Why?

He knew she was calling him. He could feel her pulling at him. Begging him.

But he wasn't ready.

Let her stew in it. Let her be miserable. Let her suffer.

His killer. His betrayer. His friend.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Wed Sep 17, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat.

She arrived at the Inn early. Left late. Then she went looking for another bar, somewhere no one knew her. Where she could drink in obscurity. Drink to oblivion. Every night the same.

She tried to stop. She would tell herself that this would be the night. This would be the night she’d drink water. She would only have a couple rounds. She would go home after the Inn.

She never did.

Some mornings she couldn’t remember how she had gotten home. She woke up hungover. Sick. She would shower, clean up. Fix her face. Fix her hair. And then get to work.

She mixed herbs and oils and blood. She marked her face in ash, spilled candle wax on her palms. Chanted in Latin. Chanted in Spanish. In Romanian. In languages she had never even heard before. She begged the gods and goddesses of so many names.

But Reg resisted. And there was no power, no deity willing to force him back to her. All she could do was beg. And he, day after day, refused.

So she was alone. Fulfilling the prophecy of all those voices. Of Cris who still called her ‘mundane.’ Of Helena who, even in her apology, maintained that she had failed. Of Mesteno who, while giving her more credit than some, still suggested that she could not do it on her own.

She felt tired. She felt weak. So she drank. Until she was drunk. Until she couldn’t remember her life. Until she couldn’t remember who she was. Until she couldn't remember anything.
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Originally posted on Fri Sep 19, 2014

[Lucy Mitford]

The rage was gone. Like a storm that had blown itself out. Fast and fierce. And then suddenly silence.

He could feel her spells, seeking him out. But he resisted them. Even though it was she who had restored him. It was she who put him back together. A full spirit, back in the world of the living. Lucy’s ghost, once more.

But he kept his distance. He never showed her that she had succeeded. He left her alone.

Her suffering was painful to him. So painful that at times it was almost physical. Whatever she had done that night had released him. It had severed the connection that had kept him at her side. But he could still feel her. Like a twin heart inside of him.

He tried not to think of that night. That first night in which fate had brought them together with its chilling hands. He tried not to remember it. For as long as he could, he held onto his rage, focusing only on her, on what she had done to him, on her sins. But eventually the truth came calling.

His memory was clear. He could remember the numbing feel of the snow beneath him. The smell and heat of his blood. The fire of the blade in his belly. The way the night sky had looked above him.

He had been drunk. He could remember the sight of her. How stunning she had looked in the lantern light, with her glowing red hair, her legs in those high heels, her gold jewelry catching the flames. He had never had a rich girl before. And she was alone. He pressed his face into the scarf she had dropped and smelled her scent. He wondered what a rich girl would smell like, what a rich girl would feel like, what a rich girl would taste like. He was hungry. And her very aloneness was an invitation to him. An invitation to a feast.

He wanted to think he was innocent. He wanted to pretend that all he intended to do that night was return her scarf. But the memory was too strong. He couldn’t know what he would have done had she not brought the blade to bear. Maybe he would only have flirted. Maybe he would only have tried, and accepted failure with a genial smile. Or maybe he wouldn’t. He couldn’t know what he would have done. And he was glad that he didn’t.

He knew where she was now. He knew why she was there. He watched her from afar and felt her from within. The prisoner and her ghost.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Tue Nov 25, 2014