MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 4– Page 32
“Dad!
How was the meeting?” I’m
being quite mature about all this by speaking up first.
“Could
have been better.”
“Want
some iced tea?”
“No
thanks. I’m hitting the shower.
By the way, Gia, I told Mrs. Gustafson that you’ll be happy to pay for
the cleaning of her chair that I sat in – the one with the muddy velvet upholstery.
She’ll send you the bill.”
My
dad looks weary and when he’s like this, I worry.
“Close
up the house for the night, will you? I’m
going to read a little before bed. Tell
Alex I’ll see him at 6am. sharp! Good-night,
Gia.”
Dad must be really mad. He doesn’t normally go to bed this early. He’s probably so mad at me he can’t talk about it. We always talk stuff over. Maybe he’s not feeling well. Maybe there was a problem at the meeting? Maybe it has nothing to do with him biking – a little mud on a designer chair isn’t the end of the world! Maybe Dad’s tired from working hard today – all the yard work.
I
wish Dad would yell at me. It’s
better than him being so totally together and cool.
I’d feel better if he yelled, and I bet he’d feel better too. He would get everything off his chest. Then, I’d apologize and we could forget about the car –
move past this. Dad
never stays angry long. It’s
the house rule. I wish Mom were
here. She always makes things better. She’s
prettier than Mrs. Macdonald is and she’s younger.
I’m glad we don’t have five kids in this family.
“Shakespeare!
Shakespeare! Time for bed. Come
on, little fellow. Come,
Shakespeare…That’s
a good puppy. Lay down…
Good boy… Good night,
Shakespeare. May the moon’s
light fill you with dreams that are gentle and kind so that you wake up in the
morning knowing you are loved.”
I
better tell Alex about the morning. I
wonder what he’s doing up there? I
don’t really want to speak to him – I’ll write him a note.
A note is better for his small brain anyway.
Then he doesn’t have any excuses for not getting up in time.
“Alex,
there’s a note from dad – under your door.”
He’s probably got his CD headset on, or he’s not going to answer me. Whatever!
I
don’t like closing up the house for the night. That’s
parents’ work. Why should I have
to do it? Everything is different
at night, especially when Mom’s home.
She doesn’t mind being the last one to bed. 
I think Ethan will have to put our children to bed.
I’m going to set that 
as
a rule when I get married. Ethan.
Our children will be so beautiful and smart, and we’ll have perfect
flowers for our wedding and I think Ethan will look great with gray hair…I
wonder if he’ll love me when I’m old? Sure
he will. I won’t drink coffee or smoke, so I’ll never have
wrinkles and I’m going to exercise every day so I’ll always look young, even
at forty! And I’ll always study
something so my mind will be great, right up to the day I turn sixty. Then, who cares? That’s
so old, it won’t matter anyway. I
just need to be perfect until sixty. That’s
a reasonable goal.
It’s so quiet here at night. Sometimes I miss hearing the sounds of traffic or an ambulance, but generally, it’s better on this farm. I won’t be here for long anyway. Next year, I’ll be in Pakistan or Montreal, unless Dad grants me pardon. Then, I’ll go to the city where Ethan is and we’ll be in university. We could walk hand in hand to all of our classes. And we could stay out as long as we want. I wouldn’t have a curfew. Then, after I graduate and have a career so I can make my own money, we could get married . I want to work, like Mom did, before I’m stuck in a marriage. And then we’ll have kids. It would be nice to travel with Ethan and not have to worry about children right away.
It’s
so quiet here…The city seems a long ways away…I can hardly wait until
Sunday…Ethan and me, investigating…investigating what?…I’m so tired…I
wish I could remember what we were going to invest…
“Dad!
Dad! Did you hear that?
It’s her, Dad! It’s her!
Wake-up, wake-up. Gia! I heard
her. She’s out there…It’s the
ghost. She’s singing!”
MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 5 – Page 35
“She’s
out there!”
“Who?”
“The singing ghost!
I wired up this…”
“Where?
What did you hear?”
“She’s
in the garden.
I wired up my…”
“In the garden?”
“Hold
on, Gia, I’m trying to tell you that I…”
I can’t lose a minute or I’ll miss her.
Where’s my tape recorder?
Why can’t I find it when I need it most?
I don’t believe this – of all the times to rip my pajamas.
I’ve told Dad to fix that drawer for me.
Now these PJ’s are probably ruined. Rags!
I can’t believe this.
They’re my favorites too.
I’ve gotta get out there.
It’s her!
I hear her!
That’s her singing.
Where is that tape recorder?
I'll
do an eyewitness account.
Journal.
Pen. Shakespeare.
Why isn’t Shakespeare barking? Maybe
he doesn’t hear the singing.
I hear it.
It’s so plain.
Maybe dogs don’t hear ghosts.
Maybe ghosts can decide who will hear them.
But, then why did Marti hear her?
There’s
Marti, afraid to go into the garden.
“Scared, Marti?
Ghost got your tongue?”
“Sshh!”
His
sign language leaves a lot to be desired.
“What?”
“There
she is. Look,
over there, kneeling down in the grass by the bench.”
My
eyes aren’t adjusting well to the light.
“Where?”
“There,
stupid.”
Marti
shouldn’t be out here.
This is my ghost.
“Don’t call me stupid, stupid!”
“Sshh!”
“Are
you sure that’s her?”
“Sure
I’m sure!”
“I
don’t see anything…wait, I saw something move.
There is something there.”
“Quiet,
Gia! I’m
recording the sounds.
I’ve got the video machine running from my bedroom window.”
“That’s
my cassette recorder.
How come you have it?
Give it to me!”
“Quiet!
You’ll ruin everything!”
“Stop
telling me to be quiet.
I’m whispering!”
“You’re
yelling!
Just shut-up, will ya?”
“How
dare you tell me to shut-up!”
“Look,
she’s leaving.
She’s afraid to stand up.
She’s disappearing…Gia!
You and your big mouth.
Now look what you’ve done.
Even the ghost can’t stand your yapping.”
“It
had nothing to do with me.
It’s your stupid equipment…I mean, my equipment.
Give me that recorder right now, Alex.”
“What’s going on down there?”
“Now
you’ve wakened Dad.
Try explaining this away, Marti.”
“Dad,
I heard the ghost.
I got her on the tape!
I might even have her on film.”
“You
mean, I have her on tape.
That’s my tape recorder, Marti, and probably my tape that did the
recording. Therefore,
the ghost sounds belong to me.”
“Lighten
up, you two! Alex,
whose tape recorder?”
“Gia’s.
I borrowed it.”
“You
stole it!”
“I
did not. I
was gonna give it back!”
“Cut
it out – both of you!
Gia, did you lend Alex your recorder?”
“Definitely
not!”
“Alex?”
“I
didn’t say that she loaned it to me.
I said I borrowed it.”
“Dad,
see how he twists the truth.”
“That’s it.
I’ve had enough.
It’s after midnight.
Get to bed – don’t wake me up again.”
“See
what you’ve done?
You’re such a moron, Marti.”
“Me?
You’re the one who started this whole thing.”
“Get
a grip, Marti.
I’m the mature one around here.
You’re the one who bellowed to the hilltops that you heard the
ghost.”
“I’m
warning you two…”
“Okay
– sorry Dad.
Sorry. We’ll
stop. Good-night.”
“Good-night,
Alex. Good-night,
Gia.”
“Night,
Dad.” Pause.
“Okay, jerk, give it back to me – now!”
“Here’s
your stupid tape recorder… Sisters!”
The
ghost is on tape.
Wait until Ethan hears this!
And Jenny – she won’t believe it!
I can’t believe it.
The moron actually had the brains to tape record the ghost.
This is hard evidence!
Let’s see what she sounds like…Wait… there’s nothing but static
on here. Alex,
you jerk! You
screwed up! I
don’t believe this – of course I believe this.
Why would I expect Marti to get anything right?
You can’t trust him to know anything.
What a waste.
What a waste of tape and human creation.
To think he’s allowed to exist at such a cost to mom, dad and society,
and he doesn’t apply himself.
It’s so unfair.
There are people in this world who would love to have everything Marti
has and yet, he blows it – all of the time!
Well, like the
saying goes, if you want anything done, you have to do it yourself.
His stupid video’s probably a washout!
If he can’t make a simple tape recorder work, I doubt the video machine
was even turned on.
So,
where do I go from here?
I guess the best thing is to set this machine up for tomorrow night and
then, sit and wait until she sings.
That’s it.
I’ll get the ghost myself on tape.
I’ll stay up all night, if that’s what it takes.
She’ll come again.
Shakespeare – I still don’t understand why he didn’t bark tonight. Do ghosts and dogs understand each other?
MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 6 – Page 39
"I know why the ghost vanished – you two were acting like three year-olds the way you were yelling and carrying on!"
I don’t think Dad slept well.
"He stole my cassette recorder."
"Without it, I'd never have captured the sounds of the
ghost!"
"Enough! Both
of you act your ages for just for a minute so I can understand what’s going
on."
"I heard..."
"The video..."
"...the garden..."
"...got it all..."
“You got nothing! I
listened to the tape last night! There’s
nothing but static on it! Not only
do you take things without asking, but you can’t even use them properly!”
"Alex?"
"The tape will speak for itself."
While Alex sets up the equipment, I'll cool off a little.
It's probably because I am so tired that I’m upset about Alex having my
cassette machine. Normally, I
don't bother about such trivia. Dad's
right, We were both acting so
immature. But then, it's hard to be
mature when one is dealing with a little brother who is so very out of the norm!
Static. 
I knew he
didn’t … get…
"Listen! The
ghost – singing!"
“But how…?” I
feel like a fool. I guess I
didn’t play the tape far enough along. Me
and my big mouth. Marti will gloat
now for sure. He won’t let me
forget this one.
It's
eerie listening to the haunting voice of the ghost.
Her song is almost siren like – maybe similar to what Ulysses
heard. Unbelievable!
"There certainly was something out there – no doubt about
that. Whether or not it was a
ghost, you have managed to capture an unusual noise, Son.
Let’s take a look for tracks. I'd
like to listen to that tape again. Too
bad not much shows up on the video."
"So you agree, Dad? We
have a ghost in the garden?"
"I'm not saying we do, Alex.
I'm simply saying that there was something out there worth
investigating.”
My mind is swirling with possibilities.
We definitely saw and heard something.
I'll have to E-mail Jenny right away.
I’m glad my dad shows interest in my projects.
Here he is, first 
thing
in the morning, going on a ghost hunt.
"It rained! The tracks
are nothing but mud sliding in all directions!
How could this happen?" Only
an alien brother would ask a question like this!
"It's Saskatchewan, Alex."
Dad's voice sounds a bit deep, like it always does when he's still waking
up.
"But we lost our evidence!"
"OUR evidence? This
is my mystery. By the way, Dad, we
need to discuss why Marti has my cassette machine."
Wow, do I ever sound mature – so cool, so adult!
Not a trace of bite in my tone.
"Alex – how come you have Gia's recorder?"
"She borrowed it to me last week.
I guess I never unborrowed it."
"'She LOANED it – you BORROWED it."
Dad is in one of his no-nonsense moods.
"Are you finished BORROWING it?"
"When did I loan it to you?
You didn't ask me if you could use it!"
"You weren't around! I
needed it." Alex is a great mimic
and his impersonation of dad is perfect.
I can't laugh. It'll strip
me of my superiority.
"Alex, do you mean to say that you took the cassette machine
from Gia's room without asking her?"
"How could I ask her if she wasn't around?"
I don't like it when Alex whines and is logical at the same time.
It's an effective speech technique.
Hitler probably invented it.
"Gia, what's your input on this?" Dad's succumbing to Alex's whine.
"I suppose I'm glad that he got the tape of the ghost singing
last night. At least I have the
proof I need to continue on with MY INVESTIGATION.
I feel that a more important issue is that I've been on the ghost mystery
since day one. I never at any time,
invited Marti to join me, so I'm declaring officially that as of now,
he's out of my business."
"Alex, any comments?"
Dad needs coffee. His voice
is still croaky.
"I wasn't joining in on HER INVESTIGATION.
I was working on my own project. It
just so happened that I had the equipment ready for my stuff and luckily got the
ghost in the garden last night."
"Truce. I
need coffee. Let's get breakfast on the table. Maybe then we can iron this out."
When
dad calls a truce, we obey. It
means he's at his limit, and with him so upset over nearly missing his meeting
because of me, I'm going to be the first one to pacify him.
"Eggs?" I
love cooking eggs. I've always
thought that if I was really, really, really poor, I'd live on eggs from a goose
and on milk from a goat. Maybe one
day I could own a goose and a goat. I
wonder how Shakespeare would take to having other animals around.
I'll have to consider this thought further. After all, if the idea of living in the Middleofnowhere,
Saskatchewan is to improve our quality of life, my parents shouldn't object to
me having a goose, a goat and Ethan in my life.
"Sure, Gia. Alex, do
you want some?" Dad's really
tired. His voice is really croaky.
"Scrambled."
Sometimes I wonder if Marti will ever get past having his eggs
scrambled. I'll know he's matured when he asks for one of my omelettes.
I'm a terrific omelette maker. My
mom loves my omelettes. I've made
omelettes with low fat eggs, no fat eggs and farm eggs.
I've made two egg omelettes and three egg omelettes.
I've made vegetarian and meat and Spanish omelettes.
I can even flip the omelette in the pan.
I wonder if Ethan likes omelettes.
"Jenny's very excited about what happened last night.
She can hardly wait to get here."
I realize what I've just said. It's
only 6:45 am. Dad's going to be ...
"You've already talked to Jenny?"
Told you Dad would be curious.
"E-mail."
"This morning?"
"As soon as I got up. With the time change, she was already on line. Lucked out, huh?" Why can't I time eggs and toast? Either the eggs are done before the toast pops up or vice versa, and then the toast gets cold and the butter sits there and ...
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