The Cursed Hill (Rick Thane Series Book 1)

Chapter 1 Client #23

I groaned. "Yes, it's two weeks before Halloween." Edgar, an old World War Two warden who died during the London Blitz in 1940, had told me twice nearly every single day since the start of October that it would be his birthday on Halloween. "You won't let me forget it. Anyway, talking to spirits, especially you, makes me cranky. And I still haven't had my coffee."

"Be lucky you can speak to us!" Edgar called as I left the house.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my coat from the rack on the wall and walked out onto the street, thinking about his words. Was it really lucky? How could it be with the things that I've seen and felt on a daily basis? It was alright for him; he was dead. He'd been there and done that. He'd seen horrific things when he was a warden, but me? I was living a closeted life. I hadn't seen people die in front of me or pulled dead bodies from collapsed, burning buildings, but I had seen their spirits, and I had felt what they felt. I saw their crumpled, broken limbs and charred remains, and with it, I sensed their sadness and their anger at what happened to them,

I turned my attention to why I was in this situation in the first place. I saw my first ghost when I was seven though I didn't realise it was a ghost. To me, he looked like a normal kid. He had cropped brown hair and green eyes and always wore blue shorts and a white top with a t-rex on it. He said his name was Jeff. Jeff and I used to play on my swing in my backyard in Philadelphia, where I grew up. I would play with him from morning until night. But when Jeff asked me to get my dad to build a tree house, that was the beginning of the end. I'd asked my dad if he could build one for "us", and when my dad asked who this "us" referred to, I told him Jeff and me. My dad hit the roof. I'd never seen him so angry. He told me that Jeff did not exist and that if I saw him again, I was to ignore him.

I remember sobbing into my mother's pale pink cardigan that night. I'd tell her over and over again that he was real, that he wasn't imaginary. I told her that Jeff said he used to live here and loved the backyard. That's why he wanted to come back.

Then the following morning, it was a Sunday as I told Jeff I had to go to church. I remember my father speaking to his sister, Aunt June, at the end of the service. He'd asked her and my Uncle Jim, her husband, to come and speak to me.

When we got back from church, Jeff was still outside on the swing waiting for me. My parents were inside arguing about me. My Uncle Jim took me to one side and told me that I mustn't ever tell anyone that I could see the dead. I was confused and said that Jeff wasn't dead. That he used to live at the house. I then saw my Aunt June sit by the swing. She mumbled something then Jeff vanished. I cried and cried all day. My Aunt and Uncle left, and my mother was the only one to comfort me. My dad called me a freak. He didn't want me to see the dead, didn't want me to talk to them anymore. When I asked my mother why my dad was so angry that I could speak and see Jeff, she bravely told me that once, I had an older brother several years before I was born. He wanted my father to make him a tree house. But one day, my brother fell out of the tree house and passed away. My mother told me his name was Jeff.

The cold rain dripped down the front of my coat, pulling me out of my painful childhood memories. "Dad was such a dick," I spat. I saw the famous London red telephone boxes up ahead. I had some spare change and nipped inside. Stealing myself for a second, I wasn't meant to call but thinking about my past made me think of my mother. Picking up the phone, I threw in some coins and dialled the very long number for home. After the eight rings, it went to the answerphone. "Hey, mom, it's me." There was silence. "I know it's super early over there, but I just-" sighing, I stared outside the grimy window. "It's raining here. Not surprising, is it? I wish you were here, well, when the weather is nice. I'm doing well at college. Nearly finished my course. I wanted to hear your voice, but I hope you hear this anyway. I love you, mom." Heat flushed my face, and I could feel myself getting emotional. "I gotta go. Bye." Putting the phone down, I took three deep gulps of air and, leaving the telephone box, I tried desperately to ignore the images of the flowers, the family, the tear-stained handkerchiefs, and her coffin.