Hollowmoor

Agatha waited for the large iron gates to open for a good five minutes before she remembered that she could just walk through them. A well-practiced ghost would know this but when one is freshly dead, the rules take some getting used to. She noted with curiosity that her heart was currently pounding in her very dead chest. The boys down at the pub would love that one. She could see Ernie now, slamming the table and laughing much too loudly about the prospect of ghosts with working hearts. Simon would lean in and chide Ernie for his ignorance.

“After all,” he would say. “There’s no evidence that ghosts do not exist, and to that matter, no evidence that they would not have some memory of their living selves. Perhaps the soul would remember such a reaction? We can not make light of that which we do not understand.”

This would then send Ernie into another fit of laughter. He always proclaimed that Simon looked like a little muskrat when he was on one of his rants and it would leave Ernie in stitches. Agatha smiled softly to herself. I do miss those boys. She could still remember the sounds and smells of the pub now, even forty years later. Would Ernie have been called here? Most likely not. Ernie had lived hard and happy. She could not think of a reason for him to stay behind. The iron gates creaked and swung inwards, breaking her out of her daydreams. An unnatural light blazed from behind the gates, obscuring the view beyond. The silhouette of a figure walked towards her out of the light. It was a woman in her mid-fifties, wearing nurses scrubs. She smiled wide at Agatha and held out a hand. 

“You must be Agatha. Welcome to Hollowmoor Estates. Rosemary told us you were coming. I’m Susan, the head caretaker here.”

Agatha hesitated and stared at the hand.

“I don’t want to be rude my dear,” she sighed. “But I believe my hand-shaking days are behind me.”

Susan laughed and walked closer. She hovered her hand inside of Agatha’s and moved it up and down in mid-air.

“We like to keep decorum here ma’am. I can not touch you but the simple effort of showing respect does wonders.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow and moved her hand up and down with Susan’s, feeling both amused and silly. Emotions that she thought would have left her by now. Susan nodded in approval and walked back towards the gates.

“I’m sure you have many questions. Let me show you the grounds.”

Agatha watched Susan disappear into the light and took a quick look around. How did I get here? A long, cobblestone road led back into grey nothing behind her. The gates were standing on their own with no visible walls holding them up. She searched her mind desperately for any memory of her arrival and all she found were the memories of the pub. Ernie, Simon, Clara, and Ben. A dark cloud formed on the horizon, sweeping up the road and swallowing the grey. She didn’t know what it was but she could say quite confidently that she wanted no part of it. She gripped her handbag tight, straightened her shoulders, and walked confidently through the gates. The bright light faded and she found herself in the middle of another pathway, this one made of red brick. It wound its way through a grove of rose bushes and cherry trees up to a modest house at the top of the hill. It was a simple, two-story brick home with wooden shutters, flower boxes, and a white picket fence. Not much of an estate. Clara’s gardener had had a bigger home. 

“E’scuse me m’arm.”

A gentle voice piped up next to her as an elderly gentleman with a cane slowly sidled past. He tottered his way over to a very ornate wooden bench and sat down with a loud sigh. Her eye caught a glimpse of silvery fog and a stern-looking military man with a large mustache appeared next to him. He was completely transparent and shouldering a rifle, standing at parade rest. The old man waved his hand and the ghost soldier saluted and sat on the bench next to him.

“Corporal Higgins,” the old man smiled. “Tell me another ‘bout ole Billy and the Iron Brigade. Was in Africa if I recall?”

“Ah! Yes, indeed lieutenant. We were surrounded by Jerries at the tail end of the Africa campaign. Rommel himself had spearheaded the attack, as we were told later. But ole Billy said To hell with those Krauts and we mustered up a bit of the renowned English ‘piss n’ vinegar’ as it’were and stormed through their lines with such class as would make the Queen dampen ‘er drawers.”

The old man nodded and smiled wide, knocking his cane against the wooden bench.

“Excellent, excellent,” he laughed. “Those Jerries ne’er did ‘ave the stomach for a proper fight.” 

“We should be moving along,” Susan said behind her. “The lieutenant is quite fond of war stories and I can assure you that they only get more crass from here on.”

Agatha followed Susan up the road. Turning back every so often to stare at the ghost and man talking on the bench. She looked around as they walked and noticed more pairs of ghosts and the living wandering the lawn. There was an old woman with a large sun hat feeding the ducks next to a tall, thin ghost of a man wearing a tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses. A group of old men played croquet as a crowd of several ghosts watched and applauded. An old woman laughed with delight as a ghostly motorcar careened its way across the lake. It was gliding above the water in silence but the woman had her hands to her ears as if she was being shaken by a powerful engine.

“That’s Wendy,” Susan said. “She had a husband that used to race. He passed when they were young and she never forgot him. She’s the only one who can hear the noise but we do have to remind her to calm down sometimes, her laughter disturbed the birds. Harold is driving. He died in a wreck as well. He says he will move on when it becomes tiresome but that won’t be soon. That boy sure loves to drive.”

She pointed at the rest of the lawn as they walked.

“The sun hat is Doreen. She’s with Howard. He was an amateur ornithologist who got caught up in the stock market. The recession hit him hard. Poor man took his own life and now he’s trying to make up for lost time with the birds. We have a contact who brings new ones in each week. The lads over there call themselves The Rabble Rousers, they're the sweetest men I’ve ever met. They drink and play all day. Sometimes croquet, sometimes golf. The crowd are all various folks taken in car wrecks on the way to sporting events. They never got that thrill. We get new crowds almost weekly. They get one game and they’re satisfied most of the time. The largest we had was a thousand at least. The boys still talk about that day.”

The world went dark for a moment and Agatha jumped back in fright. She came back into the light with a large door right in front of her, she had walked through it without realizing. Susan chuckled and opened the door. They walked through into a small foyer. The inside smelled of wood and cigar smoke. Agatha thought of The Rusty Fiddle again. She could see Ernie’s toothy grin, Simon’s snarky face, and Clara’s beautiful eyes. She remembered Ben standing in the corner, humming along to the jukebox with that gorgeous voice of his. They were her best friends, she couldn’t stand to leave them. I can’t leave them. I won’t leave. 

An icy cold sensation burned at her back and Agatha returned to her senses in an unfamiliar house. It was a fairly mundane house, nothing too exciting or unique about it at all. Except for the strange, creeping darkness that was drifting in from under the doorway. She noticed a woman in nurses scrubs to her left who was examining her with slight concern.

“Are you okay, Agatha?” The woman asked. “Do you know where you are?”

“How do you know my name?” Agatha stepped back towards the door. “Where am I?”

“It’s Susan, m’am. We just met moments ago. You’re fading fast. Please follow me.”

The woman turned and walked to a side door under the stairs. She pulled it open and released a bright, golden light out into the hall. Laughter and singing echoed up from below. The clinking of glasses and screeching of moving chair legs eased the cold from Agatha’s back. She slowly approached Susan. Susan held her hand out and smiled warmly.

“You need to pass, Agatha. If you stay you will only cause pain for others. The Rusty Fiddle has new owners now. It has new customers who can make their own memories.” She pointed down the stairs. “Everyone down there was lonely once. Both spirits and living beings. They can give you a home until you feel ready to move on.” She reached out and made the motions of clasping both of her hands around Agatha’s. “We haven’t lost a soul yet. I don’t plan on starting with you.”

She mimicked taking Agatha’s hand and lead her down the stairs. The pub below was exactly as Agatha had hoped. Every surface was old wood with a story to tell. The air was thick with smoke and laughter. Hundreds of ghosts milled about with around forty older living sitting at various stools and tables. The music of several different decades played on the jukebox. Each song played at once and yet remained distinct. Ghostly bartenders from centuries past and present told the same old jokes without a hint of boredom. And the listeners laughed as if they were hearing it for the first time. Susan directed Agatha over to a corner booth where several ghosts and three living beings were seated. Two very large ghosts were currently beside themselves with laughter as a third went to throw out their salt-filled glass. They all turned and smiled as Susan and Agatha approached.

“Hello everyone,” Susan said above the din. “This is Agatha, she’s from Cornwall and is a little nervous, so let us all give her a proper Hollowmoor welcome.” 

The residents of the booth all raised their glasses and cheered. A young, flapper ghost woman pulled a chair over and motioned for Agatha to sit. Agatha felt the cold leave her body completely. She passed a hand through Susan’s and mimicked grabbing it.

“Thank you, so much.”

Susan mimicked squeezing Agatha’s hand in return.

“You’ve got this. They are going to love you.”

Agatha smiled and settled into her seat. The ghostly man who had been pranked returned with two glasses and placed one in front of her. He sat down next to the flapper girl and cautiously shielded his drink from the two larger men. They both fell back into a hearty bout of laughter. Several of the living turned to Agatha and an older man with rosy cheeks spoke up.

“Ignore the two Garreth’s they’re an obnoxious sort but they’re good for a laugh when needed. Tell us about yourself, Agatha. What brings you here?”

“Oh, well that’s quite a long story.” Agatha blushed.

The group all chuckled and the older man smiled warmly.

“I think you’ll find that we have all the time in the world.”