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Synopsis

Just an ordinary day in Grandview with customers at the Village Java looking for that perfect caffeine fix and lookylous being transformed into buyers by the eclectic assortment of antiques at Same As It Never Was. But there's nothing ordinary about the blur of activity at Jack's Dry Cleaning, where shirts are spinning on the racks and dresses are dancing without their owners.

A spirit has taken up residence in the store, and although Melinda Gordon usually can sort out what's keeping a spirit from crossing over, this particular one is frustratingly uncommunicative. After a week of trying, the store owner is convinced that Melinda will never succeed.

Then self-acclaimed spiritual consultant Wendy King comes to town, guaranteeing success in moving spirits to the afterlife... for a fee. But Wendy's methodology involves trapping and forcing spirits into the light. And she pays no heed when Melinda tells her that what she is doing is wrong and dangerous.

After a young couple inherits the old Ray mansion and asks for help selling the antiques that fill the house, Melinda pushes aside her concerns about Wendy. But the old house holds a terrible secret and a spirit that Melinda cannot budge. The frightened owners turn to Wendy King, who forces the spirit to cross over, despite Melinda's pleadings. But Wendy's actions release an evil, unyielding spirit, one who promises to release a flood of disease and terror on the town, starting with the people closest to the Ghost Whisperer.

Excerpt

1

A white dress shirt whipped through the air. Melinda Gordon ducked. The shirt missed her and wrapped itself around Jack Perry's head. He gave a muffled scream and clawed at his face, trying to pull it off. Melinda leaped forward to help him. She hooked her fingers under the collar and pulled.

"Stop this!" she shouted at empty air. Her heart pounded with fear and exertion. "You have to stop!"

The shirt blurred Jack's features, making him look like a Halloween ghost. Melinda yanked hard. The shirt came away with a soft tearing sound, a bandage coming off an old wound. Jack sucked in a deep breath. Behind him, racks of plastic-wrapped clothes rustled and sighed among themselves, filling the dry cleaning store with angry whispers. Melinda tensed, wondering if any more of them would fly out at them. Her fingers clutched at the shirt. A red dress lifted from the rack in a ghastly parody of a dance, hissing in its plastic wrapping. Melinda grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and brandished them, but the dress staggered and collapsed in stages to the floor, the plastic billowing out like a half-dead balloon. The dry cleaning store fell silent.

Jack, his face pale, leaned panting against the service counter. He stared at Melinda for a long moment. Shreds of white cloth hung in his curly brown hair. He had a slight build that combined with pointed, boyish features and green eyes to give him an air Melinda could only think of as elfin.

"You said you can help."

"Usually I can." Melinda set the scissors down and brushed back a lock of long dark hair. Her features were smooth, and her chin came to a rounded point that her husband Jim assured her was extremely cute. She wore a flowing white blouse that set off an almost porcelain complexion. "Are you sure you don't know anything about the ghost? I can't help a spirit cross over until I know what's keeping it here. It would help if I even had a name or a gender."

"If I knew anything, I'd tell you," Jack said in exasperation. "It's been like this for a month now, and I have no freaking -- hello!"

Melinda blinked at him, then realized he was looking at someone behind her and turned around. A tall, redheaded woman was standing in the doorway. She wore a low-cut yellow blouse, and a matching embroidered skirt of raw silk clung to her thighs. No one would have called her beautiful -- her face was a little too long, her eyes a bit too small, and Melinda thought she really needed to wear her hair down instead of in that French twist. But the look Jack gave her was the same look a hungry artist reserved for a Botticelli painting or a Michelangelo sculpture. Or the one Melinda sometimes gave Jim when he wasn't looking.

"Hello, Jack," the woman said, stepping into the store. Her voice was startlingly low, a wax comb dripping with honey. "Is my party dress ready?"

"Yeah! Sure thing, Polly." Jack eagerly thumbed a switch, and the rack moved its load of clothes smoothly through the area behind the counter. Melinda held her breath, waiting to see if anything would leap free. She half hoped something would -- she might see the ghost responsible -- even though she knew it would be hard to explain to Polly.

Jack plucked a plastic-sheathed black dress from the rack and held it up. "Here it is. All set."

"I'm impressed," Polly said with a small smile. "You didn't even ask to see my ticket."

"I -- I remembered your number," Jack said. He looked oddly flustered. His face colored, and his gaze darted nervously down to his hands, then back at Polly. "Anyway, it's all set. Oh -- one of the buttons was coming loose. I sewed it back on for you. No extra charge."

Polly cocked her head. "Thanks. Service like that will keep me coming back."

"It's why we -- I -- do it," Jack said with a painfully shy smile. Melinda, standing in the corner, flicked her gaze around the shop, watching, waiting. The spirit was around here somewhere. It had to be. She could feel its cold, confused eyes staring at her. It was afraid and it was angry, and that made it dangerous. Living people did terrible things out of fear and anger. The dead were less restrained and often did much worse.

Polly took a pink leather wallet from her pocket and paid the dry cleaning check. Jack fidgeted during the transaction. He clearly wanted to say more, but felt too shy. Polly accepted her change, and Melinda saw her hand brush Jack's. His eyes widened just a little.

"Is there something else?" Polly asked. Her expression was open and guileless, inviting. Even hopeful.

Jack swallowed. He seemed to have forgotten Melinda entirely. Polly waited, holding the dress folded neatly over one arm. Melinda, for her part, found herself getting caught up in the drama unfolding before her. She watched from her corner, trying to remain the unobtrusive outsider.

"I... I..." Jack said.

Polly leaned forward. Melinda held her breath. "Yes?" Polly asked.

"I... forgot to give you your change." Jack slapped the cash register and it opened with a bang. Quickly he counted out a few coins and dropped them into Polly's hand. "Sorry."

"Oh," she said, her disappointment clear. "Thanks."

Polly turned to go. Melinda started to speak up, then caught herself. Anything she said would only embarrass both of them. But Jack looked so unhappy and Polly so disappointed. It didn't seem fair or right. Except there were times when it was best to interfere and times when it was best to bow out. The trick was telling the difference between the two.

"Hey, Polly," Jack called out suddenly.

Polly turned, holding the dress before her like a shield. "Yes?"

"I... I..." Jack seemed to lose his nerve for a moment. Then words burst out of him in a rush. "I'll bet you look great in that." He flushed deeply. Melinda could see how much the words had cost him, and she held back a little sigh of relief. They were talking again. Things could only get better from here.

"Thanks," Polly said. "I just wish I had a good place to wear it. I don't get out much." Part of the revolving clothes rack extended along the right wall of the store, outside of Polly's view. The plastic stirred, and to Melinda's horror, a leather jacket slid free.

"Really?" Jack said, apparently gathering his courage. "There's a -- a dance. At the Veteran's Hall. On Friday. Maybe you and I could -- "

The jacket glided toward Polly's back, empty arms outstretched. Jack saw it and the words died in the air before him. Melinda dashed up behind Polly and snatched at the jacket. It wriggled and struggled, the dry leather sliding through her hands.

"Stop it!" she hissed at the empty air. "Leave him alone!"

Polly spun in surprise and stared at Melinda. Melinda clutched at the jacket, trying to hold it still. It twisted and squirmed, as indignant as a child. Melinda forced a smile to her face and yanked the jacket closer to her body.

"Just bringing this in," she said. "It's all stiff and dirty. Can't do a thing with it."

Polly continued to stare. "Oh. Sure."

"Um, Friday?" Jack said hurriedly. "I was thinking before the dance, we could get a bite to -- "

The jacket leaped from Melinda's grasp and shot up to the ceiling. It slapped the tiles with the sound of dry bones, then slammed back down to the floor. Polly's mouth fell open.

"Now how did I do that?" Melinda said with a patently fake little laugh. "I swear, I can trip over a smooth floor."

The jacket's sleeves reached up, a caricature of a baby reaching for its mother. Polly clutched her dress and fled the store, trailing a scream. The customer bell jingled merrily as the door slammed behind her.

Cold breath washed over Melinda's neck and a voice whispered, "<em">Underneath." Fear trickled over Melinda's skin, a combination of fear and longing, and neither emotion was her own. She felt them nonetheless. The fear was thin and shrill, tinged with unfairness, a cook locked out of her own kitchen while a stranger lit it on fire. The longing ran deep and familiar, like a child looking for a lost blanket. Melinda turned, hoping to get a glimpse of the spirit who felt this way. Nothing behind her but empty air.

"Dammit!" Jack hurried around the counter, intending to go after Polly. He tripped over something Melinda couldn't see, stumbled, caught his balance, and gave up. "Shit!"

Melinda picked up the jacket and laid it on the counter. It lay motionless. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You're sorry?" he snapped. "My customers are being driven away, I'm barely staying afloat, and the one time my mouth actually works around Polly Whitehall, this... thing shows up and scares her away. I thought you were supposed to help."

Anger rose, and a retort popped into Melinda's mouth. She wanted to snarl that she wasn't causing Jack's problems, that she didn't get anything out of helping spirits cross over. It wasn't as if Jack were paying her. She was doing him a favor, for heaven's sake. But she took one look at his pained, angry face and swallowed the retort.

Most living people will get angry when you try to tell them a spirit is hanging about, Grandma always said. They get angry because they don't want to believe you or because they feel guilty about something or because telling them rakes up painful memories. Just remember that they aren't angry at you, and yelling back at them never helps. It might make you feel better for a few minutes, but it won't help the spirit cross over, and it won't help the living deal with their pain.

Jack wasn't angry at her. He was angry at the ghost who was haunting his shop. He was angry at the situation. And he was angry at himself for not asking Polly out sooner. Melinda was just the closest target for all of it.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I know it's hard."

"You bet it's hard," he said. "I have a business loan and bills to pay and a father who's just waiting for me to fail so he can say 'I told you so.' Please, I just want to be alone, okay?"

Melinda nodded and left the store.

Sunlight washed over her as she st...

Copyright © 2008 by Steven Piziks

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