Friend of the Dead

By Rich Cole

Charlotte is a friend of ghosts. They smile at her, joke around, and are otherwise good fun… Until one day, she realizes that there is something a lot more sinister going on. The police dig up the bones of a child buried in a circle of smiling dolls, and a vision of a terrified little girl appears to Charlotte, hands choking herself and eyes begging for help. Friend of the Dead is a horror-thriller with twists at every turn, uncovering secrets of long-buried pasts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223850717

Book preview

Prologue

Sunset is Charlotte’s favorite time of day, even if her storybooks all make it sound sad. The hour is full of light and shadows and daydreams the color of tangerines. As the sun slides behind the clouds, it lights them up from behind and makes the heavens glow. The whole sky roars red, and Charlotte imagines that is a sea - a beautiful sea upon which cotton candy clouds sail proudly home -

Just for a few moments, before cool blue spreads itself over the world again, and the light dims. The sun sinks behind the mountains, far away.

Shadows spillover from the trees, over the house in which Mommy is cooking. They dance across the little bushes in the garden and settle over Charlotte like a blanket.

Charlotte flops down onto her back, picks Ana up by the hand, and holds her up to her face.

What do you think we’ll have for dinner later?

Ana doesn’t respond. But it’s alright because Charlotte doesn’t expect her to. Ana and Stacy are girls, but not real girls the way Charlotte is. And that’s fine because they are still Charlotte’s best friends. It’s not like the girls in school, who are indeed real girls, befriend Charlotte or talk to her at all.

Sometimes Charlotte herself does not want to be a real girl. (Sometimes she wonders if she even is.)

She picks Stacy up too and adjusts the strap of the pink dress that is sliding off her plastic shoulder.

Brussel sprouts are horrible, she tells Stacy, very seriously. "Mommy says they are healthy but they are hoooooorible. If Mommy cooks them again I’m giving all of it to you."

Stacy’s bright blue plastic eyes stare back at her unblinkingly. Charlotte fancies that she looks almost reproachful. Feeling a little guilty, she hugs Stacy to her chest, smoothing her hands over the hard edges of her little arms.

Sorry, Stacy. I’ll give some to Ana too. We’ll eat them together, the three of us.

Careful not to neglect Ana, Charlotte releases Stacy from her arms and sets her down to her left, squeezing her little plastic hand. Then she sets Ana down on the grass to the right of her and picks her hand up too. With both her best friends by her side, Charlotte lies down again onto the grass and smiles into the sky.

A gentle shadow leans over her, and Charlotte opens her eyes to see an old man standing above her. A smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, and his outline shimmers in the dim evening light. He gives Charlotte a slow wave and settles onto the grass next to her.

She thinks he looks a little familiar. A bit like Daddy, perhaps.

Hi, says Charlotte.

A few shadows dance across the old man’s shimmering face and the edges of his body glitter. He moves without making a sound. His smile widens gently, but he does not respond, and Charlotte gets the odd feeling that perhaps he, like Stacy and Ana, cannot respond after all. Even though he isn’t small and plastic and picked up from a shop, maybe he isn’t a real man either. And maybe he can be Charlotte’s friend, too.

Charlotte turns to her best friends.

Say hi to him! she scolds reproachfully, holding Ana up. This is Ana, she informs the old man. Stacy is less shy. Stacy! She shows him Stacy, and vigorously waves her little plastic hand.

The old man reaches out and touches his finger to Stacy’s. Charlotte grins.

Ana and Stacy are my best friends, she tells him, firmly. We have sleepovers every day. Mommy doesn’t let me go for the ones that the girls in school have, but that’s fine because Ana and Stacy are more fun, anyway.

The man’s kindly eyes make Charlotte feel very safe. She decides that she likes him.

Sometimes Mommy and Daddy try to confiscate them. The thought makes her chest twist. But I protect them. They get scared when Mommy puts them in a cupboard. But I keep them safe when we go to sleep together.

The old man throws his head back a little, seeming to laugh. He gestures to Charlotte’s friends, looks up at Charlotte again, and gives her a thumbs up with both hands. You keep them safe, he seems to be saying. Good job, Charlotte.

Charlotte grins proudly.

Of course I keep them safe. I love them!

The old man does not speak, but Charlotte fancies that she can still hear him. Of course, you will, his smile seems to tell her. Of course, you will protect them. Brave Charlotte.

The dimming shadows of the sunset are cool against her cheek. Her best friends’ hands are secure in hers. The shimmer of the old man’s form feels very mesmerizing to her eyes.

Charlotte smiles until it melts into a happy haze.

She is special. Of course, she is.

Lottie! Dinner is ready!

Mommy’s voice pierces the air like a knife, and Charlotte feels like she has been jerked back into her body after a dream. She scrambles to her feet, dusting her clothes to get rid of the bites of grass. (Mommy would be angry if she dirtied the dining chairs.) Picking Stacy and Ana up, she turns back to the old man, and wonders if she can ask him to come along with her.

Watch over her like a guardian angel.

But when the old man stands up too, he simply gestures at the house and beckons for Charlotte to go. And so Charlotte bites her lip, hugs Stacy, and gives him a final wave.

The wind rustles the trees, and a few leaves fall softly onto the ground between them. Shimmering in the breeze, the old man’s eyes twinkle in the gentle light.

Charlotte blinks.

When her eyes focus again, he has melted into the evening, as though he has never been there.

Charlotte turns and runs indoors.

The light in the dining room feels oddly bright after the soft shadows in the garden, and Charlotte has to squint to allow her eyes time to adjust. Mommy and Daddy are already seated, so Charlotte hurries to wash her hands at the kitchen sink before Mommy gets cross with her.

Mommy did not cook Brussels sprouts after all. In fact, she has made chicken pie, Charlotte’s favorite, and even opened a bottle of blueberry smoothie—which she usually never, ever allows her to drink.

It would have been your grandpa’s birthday today, Mommy tells her, ladling gravy onto her plate. Daddy smiles over at them too, but his eyes look a little sad. He would have been... Seventy-five this year?

Yes, Daddy says. It’s a pity that he never got to see you, Lottie. He would have liked you."

Daddy pulls a piece of paper out from his wallet—a photograph. He looks at it fondly, tilting his head to one side.

Mommy and I took this photo with him when we got married. Look, Lottie. Recognize us?

Charlotte peers over. It is rather faded, but she can still see the faces of the three people inside it. There is Daddy, with flowers sticking out of his long formal shift. There is Mommy in a long white dress, looking prettier than Charlotte has ever seen her. And there, on Mommy’s other side, is the old man that Charlotte saw in the garden.

The photograph is a little crumpled on his side, but Charlotte fancies that she can still see the smiley crinkles beside his eyes, feel the kindliness of his presence.

Her heart leaps.

I saw him in the garden! she cries excitedly, pointing. That’s grandpa, right? He visited me in the garden just now! I talked to him about Stacy and—

She notices her parents’ faces and trails off.

Mommy, frowning, picks the ladle back up from the bowl with more aggression than really necessary, and it knocks against the side with an ugly sound. Daddy is looking at her with that half-smile that adults wear when they are trying to pretend as though they are listening, even though they actually find her silly. Charlotte swallows and looks away. Something hot rises in her chest. She wishes she has not spoken.

Daddy just shakes his head a little and tucks the photograph back into his pocket.

Ah, Lottie. He died even before you were born, you know. I too wish he’d come back too.

Don’t be silly, Lottie, Mommy says, more harshly. It isn’t good to keep thinking up stories like these. I don’t want to take away your dolls again.

The light in the room suddenly feels too bright. Charlotte blinks. She misses the comfortable twilight of the garden, the soft dance of shadows. Being with Stacy and Ana, girls but not real girls—the best girls, her best friends. And grandpa, shimmering against the darkening blue sky. Real, but not really. There, and then gone.

She was sure she had seen him though.

I love them. I will protect them.

Of course, you will, Charlotte. Brave, Charlotte.

That would be nice, she thinks. That would be very, very nice.

Chapter 1

Charlotte pushes past the rush-hour workers gathering around the gantries, and races toward the exit, cursing herself.

She has always managed to be up just early enough to avoid the morning crowd. Not today, though. Today, she is going to be bloody late, and Marian Jacobson, the grumpy supervisor, is going to have a go at her yet again, and this time it is going to be way worse than the time she was two minutes late for some stupid meeting because one of her patients had asked more milk.

It’s Eugene’s fault, of course. If it were not for Eugene, she would not have been up at three in the morning, would not now be wheezing her way up the stairs in a stuffy Tube station, and would not be bloody late for work.

She is sweating through her blouse, and the hot air clings onto her like a surly beast. She dashes up the stairs and the sheer blast of the cool air that hits her as she emerges onto street level makes her gasp, catching her breath.

Get your act together.

She can still hear Eugene’s voice. The nasal tones twist their way through her head and she rolls her eyes. The asshole really thought that the two of having dinner together semi-occasionally meant that she owed him every thought that has ever run through her head.

This is why she should never have deluded herself into dating.

Things had been just fine at dinner. She