Ghost Girl

By Jay Greenstein

Tug Cabot's new apartment has several unique features: first is an invisible roommate named, Brialla. More specifically, she's a smart, fuzzy alien teen with a sense of humor and a serious problem. Then, there's the lady across the hall who has her eye on him, and whose geneticist niece, Neilie, has plans for him.

That might be fun, except for the inconvenient fact that the people Brialla escaped from intend to subvert and conquer Earth without anyone noticing. At the moment, though, their goal is to find and kill her, Tug, and anyone else who learns of their existence.

Involved in a war that no one but him and his small band of friends is aware of, all Tug can do is run to the end of the world, and even to another world, to fight a war that he must win or die. And that's before he learns of Brialla's secret weapon: She can sing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Greenstein
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005101428

Jay Greenstein

I'm a storyteller. My skills at writing are subject to opinion, my punctuation has been called interesting, at best—but I am a storyteller. I am, of course, many other things. In seven decades of living, there are great numbers of things that have attracted my attention. I am, for example, an electrician. I can also design, build, and install a range of things from stairs and railings to flooring, and tile backsplashes. I can even giftwrap a box from the inside, so to speak, by wallpapering the house. I'm an engineer, one who has designed computers and computer systems; one of which—during the bad old days of the cold war—flew in the plane designated as the American President's Airborne Command Post: The Doomsday Jet. I've spent seven years as the chief-engineer of a company that built bar-code readers. I spent thirteen of the most enjoyable years of my life as a scoutmaster, and three, nearly as good, as a cubmaster. I joined the Air Force to learn jet engine mechanics, but ended up working in broadcast and closed circuit television, serving in such unlikely locations as the War Room of the Strategic Air Command, and a television station on the island of Okinawa. I have been involved in sports car racing, scuba diving, sailing, and anything else that sounded like fun. I can fix most things that break, sew a fairly neat seam, and have raised three pretty nice kids, all of who are smarter and prettier than I am—more talented, too, thanks to the genes my wife kindly provided. Once, while camping with a group of cubs and their families, one of the dads announced, "You guys better make up crosses to keep the Purple Bishop away." When I asked for more information, the man shrugged and said, "I don't really know much about the story. It's some kind of a local thing that was mentioned on my last camping trip." Intrigued, I wondered if I could come up with something to go with his comment about the crosses; something to provide a gentle terror-of-the-night to entertain the boys. The result was a virtual forest of crosses outside the boys' tents. That was the event that switched on something within me that, now, more than twenty-five years later, I can't seem to switch off. Stories came and came… so easily it was sometimes frightening. Stories so frightening that one boy swore he watched my eyes begin to glow with a dim red light as I told them (it was the campfire reflecting from my ...

Book preview

It’s a nice place, Mr. Cabot, the agent said. It’s a shame you can’t be in Philadelphia to see the place in person, but I know you’ll like it. The condo is in great shape and the neighborhood is exactly what you’re looking for. A trace of hesitancy showed in her voice as she added. But there is one thing I.... That was followed by a long sigh. Unfortunately, since the conversation was by phone, her expression was unknowable.

Into the silence that followed, Tug said, And that is?

Well, this may sound silly, but there are reports of.... Another pause, followed, by, Well...of ghosts in the building, and I thought you should—

He couldn’t suppress the laugh that interrupted her explanation. Ghosts? Seriously? Do they drag chains around, moaning, ‘Beware,’ all night? Have you—

No. A smile brightened her voice. No, not that kind of ghost, I’m glad to say. But the woman who owns a nearby apartment claims she heard a child weeping, and it appeared to be coming from the apartment you’ll be occupying. Others have reported odd events in the building, too. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I thought it best to disclose any potential defect, given that you’re buying the apartment. So....

There are no others available?

Not in that building. And, truthfully, not nearly as nice. Not for that price.

He thought that over. After the loneliness and isolation of the past year, and the events of the one before, a ghost might make for interesting company.

Decision made, he said, In that case, tell the broker to cash my check and keep moving toward settlement. If we can, I’d like to make settlement from here, and move in on the day I arrive.

That won’t be a problem. Just like the paperwork we’ve done so far, we can do it online.

As he ended the call, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Ghosts? That was certainly unexpected. Even though he’d yet to call the movers, life in Philadelphia was already more interesting than what waited for him each day, here.

° ° °

Thanks guys, Tug said, before closing the door behind the movers. And with that, the move-in was done and he was home in his two-bedroom condominium apartment, a new resident of The City of Brotherly Love, and perhaps at the beginning of a new life.

He turned and surveyed the place he’d be calling home. The video tour of the place showed what appeared to be a pleasant move-in-ready condo. It was nice to note that in person it was exactly what he’d hoped to find. Aside from a few dishes left in the sink, a pot, and some bedding left in one of the bedroom closets, the place was both clean and ready.

Now, boxes cluttered the living and dining room, and the furniture could use a bit of rearranging. But first, came the view from the balcony, then, a trip to the local market for groceries.

The visit to the balcony resulted in a mental note to pick up some outdoor furniture. All in all, the move had been both trouble-free, and busy enough to keep his mind from dwelling on the past.

For the next few hours, after stocking the fridge, he busied himself with unpacking and arranging, plus the first dinner prepared in his new kitchen.

Dinner and cleanup complete, he headed into the living room and the couch, to sit and ponder the question: Now what? It was way too early for bed. And given that he knew nothing about the neighborhood—or Philadelphia, for that matter—options were limited. The cable people wouldn’t arrive till morning, so a bit of time spent with a book made sense. But after the drive, and the stress of the day, an hour’s nap had greater appeal. To that end, he set a timer on his phone, reclined the sofa, and closed his eyes.

The sound of a toilet flushing woke him. Disoriented by the tones of twilight in the room, and the unfamiliar surroundings, it took a long moment before he was fully awake and functional. Apparently, soundproofing between apartments was inadequate. But then, memory said that couldn’t be. The floor below the sofa, and the ceiling above it, were concrete, not wood, and the powder room wasn’t near a wall he shared with another apartment.

Taking a mind-clearing breath, and frowning, he headed for the bathroom. Its door had been open. Now it was within an inch of being closed. When he opened it, two things became apparent: The toilet’s tank was still filling, and, based on a sniff of the air, someone had made use of that toilet recently.

That brought a frown. This was no ghost. And, given the time since the toilet flushed, his visitor was still inside the apartment.

Quickly, he moved to the apartment’s only door and secured the chain lock. Obviously, that wouldn’t stop someone from exiting, but might slow them if they tried to leave. And, if they did leave, the chain would no longer be in the track.

With a grunt of satisfaction that he would know if whoever it was left, he began his search.

Five frustrating minutes later, he stood by the apartment’s door. The chain lock was still secured. But whoever used the bathroom was no longer inside the apartment. Given that he’d done little unpacking, verifying that the closets were empty of both clothing and visitors was easy and quick. The apartment boasted no trap doors, compartments, or equipment rooms, and ghosts weren’t noted for having bowel movements, so he had a living intruder. The question was: how were they getting in and out of the place? And where—and how—were they getting food that resulted in a bowel that needed emptying?

That thought sent him to the fridge, and to the pot he’d placed there, containing the remains of dinner, and what would be tomorrow’s lunch.

Son of a bitch! His ghost had been nibbling at the leftovers. The etched logo on the bottom side of the pot lid no longer pointed toward the pot’s handle. Someone had removed, then replaced the lid, never realizing that he’d aligned the two, on a whim, as a ghost trap. Based on what they’d taken, whoever it was, wasn’t a big eater. A further check showed cookies missing from the package he’d bought, and opened, that day.

Given that the supposed ghost had been surviving without him and his groceries till today, they were probably taking food from other apartments. But how to enter and leave locked apartments without being seen presented an interesting challenge.

Taking a seat on the couch, he thought over the situation, and the possibilities. If they weren’t using the door of the apartment, and there were no removable panels, perhaps who, or whatever it was, used the heating vents? Crawling through vents was a staple of films—though in his experience such vents were far too small for a grown human, or even a child, to enter.

But that idea, possible or not, was irrelevant, in this case, because in this building, heating and cooling were done via chilled or heated water fed to a small radiator and fan unit below each window. A quick inspection said there wasn’t room in those cavities for anything but the equipment, no exit larger than a water pipe, and no way into the space once the front panel was in place. So, the only exit from the apartment, aside from the single door to the hall, windows, and the balcony door, was the bathroom exhaust vent, and that was far too small, even had the cover been easily removable.

That meant he’d either missed something, or his visitor could pass through walls. In short, a ghost, albeit unlike any ghost he knew of. Still, it seemed a benign ghost.

That decided, he announced, Okay, my ghost friend. Since we’re to be roommates, let me know what your favorite snacks are, and I’ll lay in a stock of them for you.

When several minutes passed without an answer, he searched through the cartons scattered around the apartment, laid a second refrigerator trap for his mystery visitor, and settled on the sofa with a book, to pass the time till sleep.

° ° ° °

Chapter 2

––––––––

Tug took a deep breath before knocking on the door to the apartment across the hall. They would probably think him an idiot, but....

The woman who answered, a trim and attractive woman who appeared to be in her fifties wore a questioning expression, which dissolved into a smile, as she said, Ahh.... our new neighbor. Welcome, neighbor. We saw you arrive, yesterday.

Uhh...yes. I’m Tug Cabot. You said, we?

My husband and I. But he’s never home on weekends. She said it as if he might find that useful information, but gave him no chance to respond, adding, So, you’re like, what, in your thirties?

This lady was a cougar on the prowl. But that was her husband’s problem, and he wasn’t going to be hunted. Still, his age wasn’t a secret, so he said, Thirty-four, and—

Ahh. So, it looks like you’re officially the youngest owner in the building.

I...what?

You didn’t know? At his confused headshake, she said, I guess they didn’t tell you. When they built this place, it was popular as an upscale living space for retirees. Kids and pets weren’t allowed. That’s changed, but so far, we have only a few families with children, and, it’s still mostly older people. She extended a hand for him to shake, adding, I’m Janet Scales. And with that, she turned and headed toward the kitchen, saying, Come, I’ll put coffee on. Call your wife if she’s home.

Bemused, he closed the door and followed. He suppressed the headshake that wanted to come in response to her eyebrow raise when he said he wasn’t married.

After politely sipping a cup of perfectly awful instant coffee, and listening to Janet blather on about the neighbors, and how badly her husband’s family treated her, he broke in with, So...maybe you can help me with a bit of a mystery?

Help you solve a mystery? Sure. I’d love to.

The way she said those words gave the feeling that she was talking about more than just information. He ignored that and said, I’ve heard stories about...well, about a ghost in the building. Can you tell me anything about it? He crossed mental fingers.

Oh, you mean, Annie, the building’s pet ghost. Have you met her yet? She may live in your apartment, you know.

Pet ghost? Apparently, the real estate agent hadn’t told him the whole story.

I may have...encountered her. So.... Annie? He held out a hand in question.

That brought a grin, as she leaned toward him to touch his hand and say, "I call her that, after the comic strip, ‘Little Orphan Annie.’ We all know about her, but no one has seen her, and I was the first one to notice her, earlier this year. Mrs. Rothchild, the lady who used to have your apartment, passed away, and the place stood empty for several months.

They were installing new windows all over the building, and as I understand it, the building’s owners let her kids skip the monthly fees while they squabbled over what to do with the place, in return for storing the windows there. They were the most—

The ghost? This lady obviously loved to talk.

Ohh...well, one day, about two months ago, I was coming home from the hairdressers, and I heard what sounded like a girl crying, in your apartment.

Young?

She shrugged. Who can tell? It wasn’t a baby, and she did say what sounded like, ‘Oh daddy,’ more than once. She thought for a moment. I’d guess, maybe twelve or so? After more thought she waved that away as unimportant, saying, Anyway, I knocked on the door and called, ‘Are you okay?’ The crying stopped, but she never answered. And when the maintenance man opened the door and checked, the apartment was empty.

And that was it? You didn’t hear her again?

She smiled. Oh, that was far from the last of it. No one’s heard her crying since, but she’s robbed almost everyone. And she made some people dizzy.

Dizzy? I.... That made no sense. In what way?

She shrugged. I don’t know because it never happened to me. But Sue Heller, down the hall, said she nearly fainted when she walked into her kitchen. And when she recovered, she’d been robbed, too.

He nodded. Dizziness made no sense. Nor did fainting. But robberies did.

Food, right? She takes food? It happened to me, too. The how of it wasn’t clear, but it was starting to make sense. Whoever this person was, she, or he, ate, and needed to use the toilet as a result of that.

Then you’ve met her! Janet said, hugging herself in her enthusiasm. What does she look like?

He could only shrug in response. I’ve seen evidence that she’s been in my place, but....

Now that he had his answer as to the girl—or whatever it was—existing, it was time to leave. To that end, he stood, saying, But that’s all I know, and though I’d like to stay, I have to get back to unpacking. It took another five minutes, and a promise to keep the lady informed on any ghostly activities, to get free. It was with relief that he closed her door behind him.

Time to go ghost hunting.

° ° °

First came using the door’s chain lock to secure it from the inside. If she was there and left she’d have to release the chain, so he’d know it happened. Next, came a check of the windows, though given that he lived on the seventh floor, someone entering and leaving that way seemed unlikely. But still....

Next, he verified that the balcony door was locked, followed by a full re-inspection of the apartment.

Again there was no one. But the small tuck-under he’d placed on the first sheet of the toilet paper roll was no longer there, and three cookies were missing from the opened package of sugar wafers. The trap he’d placed on the refrigerator door was still in place, though, which was a surprise.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something right in front of him.

Of more importance, he did have boxes to unpack, pictures to hang, and a bit of furniture shifting to do, to find the best position for them. The ghost could wait.

When he took a break for dinner, the buzzer-trap that should have told him she’d opened the refrigerator door was still in place, and activated, but the pot-lid was misaligned again, so she’d been at the stew—a complement to his cooking, he supposed. So his ghost had either reached through the refrigerator door and removed the pot without opening the door—which made no sense—or, turned the trap off before eating, and on again, afterward. And that meant she’d just thumbed her nose at him, and, wanted him to know it.

Interesting.

Finally, the last carton had been broken down and taken to the recycling container in the trash room, the last picture placed on the wall, and the late news was ending. Time for his second night’s sleep in the apartment, which now looked a lot more like a home.

Tired but satisfied, he headed for the bedroom, readied himself for bed, then lifted the sheet to climb in, only to jump back in surprise as his ears were assaulted by the shriek of the buzzer trap.

Cursing, he snatched up the little box and deactivated it. Obviously, she knew about the trap, and had figured out how to deactivate it—and, reactivate it after stealing lunch.

This though, was something else. She was responding to his laying the trap—saying, You didn’t catch me, but I caught you with your own trap. The odd thing was that the buzzer was still on the refrigerator door when he went into the living room to watch TV, and he could see the kitchen from where he sat, as well as the hall that led to his bedroom. Yet somehow, she’d moved that buzzer from the kitchen to the bedroom without his noticing. And if she was invisible, as spirits are supposed to be, he should’ve noticed the buzzer floating out of the kitchen and down the hall.

A most curious situation. And, a playful...ghost? Whatever she was, this was getting better and better.

He placed the buzzer on the night table by the bed, slipped under the covers, and made himself comfortable before saying, "Well done. I like your little joke. And if you want, the other bedroom is yours to use. If you like, lock the door while you sleep. I won’t pop the lock and peek in." The move to Philadelphia was becoming interesting in unanticipated ways.

In the morning, the buzzer was gone from the night table, so it was with care that he opened the medicine cabinet, and lifted the towel from the rack after he showered.

He found it on the kitchen table, which made for an interesting statement. Annie had just told him she could enter and leave his room without his knowing it, but at the same time wasn’t going to do more than tell him she was there in a way that teased.

Whoever this ghost was, she, or he, was both smart and interesting.

The bedding in the second bedroom didn’t appear to have been disturbed, but the spare blankets and pillows in the closet had been.

° ° ° °

Chapter 3

––––––––

Now who’s that? Crossing his fingers and hoping the knock on his door hadn’t come from his neighbor, Tug put down the schematic he was studying and headed for the door.

He managed to suppress the urge to blow out his breath in a sigh of unhappiness at Janet’s, Good morning, neighbor, but it wasn’t easy. The lady was nice enough, but for a habit of using four words where two would do, so he pushed his annoyance aside.

In any case, her expression fairly shouted her reason for knocking, which was to learn if he’d met the ghost she called, Annie.

Hiding a smile, he said, In answer to your question...yes. I have.

"I knew it!" After a moment of looking as if she was about to hug him, she recovered and motioned urgently toward her apartment, saying, Come. I’ll put coffee on and you can tell us everything...everything, her tone that of a child asking for a favorite story.

Unable to say no, he went and got the coffee he’d poured for himself, in place of the evil brew she’d be serving, and as he pulled the door closed behind him called, I’ll be back soon, Annie. Be good while I’m gone. Through the closed door, as he crossed the hall, he swore he heard laughter.

Expecting to meet Janet’s husband he stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, nearly slopping coffee over the rim of his cup. A giantess stood at the sink, drying her hands. No slim willow-wand of a woman was she. She topped six feet by several inches, placing her eye level a scant inch or so below his. Pale blond hair framed the face and accentuated the figure of a woman who reflected the best of the Scandinavian bloodline.

Since his surprise was too obvious to cover, he continued into the kitchen, placed his cup on the countertop, and said, Forgive my reaction, I expected to see Mr. Scales, so....

She shrugged, her smile perfunctory as she said, I’m used to being...unexpected. I’m Neilie...Neilie Clarkson.... And before you ask, no, it’s not a nickname. I’m named after my grandfather, Neil, whose name means champion.

Obviously, the lady was challenging him. But he had the perfect response to her challenge, inherent in his own name, so he said, I’m pleased to meet you, Madam Champion. He gave a small flourish of the hands as he added, I’m perfect.

Her mouth opened, wordlessly, for a moment, before she frowned. ... Perfect? I don’t.... She gave a little headshake. This lady had obviously been on the receiving end of many male reactions to her appearance, and had decided to use a take no prisoners approach to such meetings. Through the luck of his name, though, he’d bypassed that.

With a smile to show friendly intent, he said, Hi, Neilie, I’m Tug, which isn’t a nickname, either. My great-grandfather was Mongolian. And—

And it means perfect. Her smile turned real. I’m a champion and you’re perfect. She held out her hand, adding, I like that. Her accent suggested England as her birthplace, which tracked not at all with her appearance.

She shook hands like a man.

Thank you, he said, nodding. I have to say, you’re the first woman I’ve met who I can look in the eye without, well, looking down my nose at her.

Before he could say more, Janet broke in with, I’m glad you two like each other, but if you’ll save the flirting till later, I want to hear about Annie.

"Aunt Janet, we’re not flirting! And I.... She stopped and blinked for a moment, then reclaimed the hand he’d not realized he was still holding, before asking, Who’s Annie?"

It took time to sort things out, and a trip to his apartment to grab the French press and decent coffee, but they were finally seated at the kitchen table, sampling the Danish that Neilie brought with her, as Janet explained that she was on loan from a British university, would be teaching at the University of Pennsylvania, and till she could find a place of her own, would be living with her and her husband when the new semester began in two weeks.

Till then? The idea of having an attractive woman living across the hall, one who, presumably, would be interested in seeing the sights Philadelphia had to offer, appealed. Certainly, he wasn’t ready for a relationship. The wound of losing Anise and Roy was still raw, but a friend, especially one as interesting as she appeared to be, would be welcome.

Till then I’ll be at Brandeis visiting my sister, who teaches there. Surprisingly, she added, When I come back, we can explore Philadelphia. This lady certainly wasn’t shy.

Before he could respond, Janet, who’d been fidgeting in her chair, said, All that’s nice, but what about Annie? Did you or did you not see her? I heard her laughing when you told her to be good.

He’d been hoping she hadn’t. But whatever else he might think about Janet, she wasn’t stupid, and her remark had Neilie frowning, so after saying, Yes I’ve interacted with her, but no I’ve not spoken with her, or seen her, he brought Neilie up to date on the story, then described the events of the previous day and evening.

Blimey. Neilie said, when he finished, You’re serious? Because—

No lie. Neilie. I can’t tell you what, or who is haunting my place, but she, or he, is real.

In that case, and given that she apparently finds you funny, what will you do?

A good question. And the only answer I can give is to find out all I can, then try to open some sort of communications channel. He thought for a moment, and gave a, damned if I know, shrug before adding, Maybe write notes and leave a pencil and pad for her to reply with. I’m playing it by ear at the moment.

° ° °

Okay, lady, he said, closing the door to the apartment and heading for the den. It’s time to see if you can fool a camera, too. What seemed to be an air purifier in the living room contained a nanny-cam, designed to provide an audio and video record of how your child was treated, covertly. Unless his visitor was truly invisible, there should be a record.

As he waited for the computer to boot up, he remembered Janet’s remark about the visitor making people dizzy. To confirm the suspicion evoked by that remark, he started the stopwatch feature on his phone. Then, mentally counting seconds, and checking the reading, constantly, he searched the apartment again. This time, as he entered a room he closed the door, so he’d know if Annie left. And sure enough, several times during the search there was a moment of seeming disorientation. And when he looked back at the watch, it appeared to have registered more time between glances than memory recorded as having passed. There were also times when he felt the need to blink, to clear his vision, and look away from whatever area he’d been checking. So she wasn’t invisible. She had the power to turn him off, so to speak, or make him look away, while she avoided his gaze—or perhaps, his touch. And since human beings did not have the ability to do that, technology was involved.

So now, we’re playing on my ball field.

Setting the speed-of-play of the video he’d downloaded from the camera to show an hour’s recording in five minutes, he settled in at the computer.

There! he said, stopping the video. Someone was easing out of the middle bedroom. It wasn’t him, so.... Jumping forward a few frames, he found himself looking directly at his visitor.

Holy...shit! Two things were clear: First, she wasn’t human. Second, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She was also nude, but that was mostly irrelevant, because she was covered in fur.

Sagging back in the chair for a long moment, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and amazement, he tried to place what he was seeing into some semblance of reasonability.

First came an all-over impression: She was fully human in body proportions. And were she not covered in fur, he’d estimate her age at late fourteen, though a tall fourteen, with a trim, athletic body. The time-stamp in the corner of the screen said the shot was taken while he’d been across the hall, today. And her caution made sense. Not knowing when the door might open, she had reason to be wary.

But now, it was time to focus on what was screaming for his attention, her fur coat. To that end, he advanced the video till she both came closer, and, turned enough to see her back. What that revealed was amazing. Her hair, a dark auburn, rather than ending at her neck, as expected, crossed the back of her neck and continued, forming a narrow, horse-like, mane that ran down her back, ending several inches below the shoulder blades.

Dense fur, short, and much finer in appearance than an earthly monkey, adorned her face. It, too, was auburn, but lighter, with a narrow diamond-like shape of nearly blond fur decorating each cheek.

Her fur-covered body was that of a girl partway through adolescence. Small breasts adorned her chest, and her hips were still girlishly slim. Her body fur, too, was patterned quite attractively. In all, the only word that described her was, beautiful—though the terms, exotic, striking, and, holy shit came to mind, as well.

Despite her being in the apartment without clothing or footwear, this girl was accustomed to technology. Her trick with the buzzer box under his cover said that. And as a guess, the decorative aspects of her fur was more the