Free Stolen Dreams by Terri Reid Page A

one of the least frightening ghosts
she had ever met. “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here?” she suggested,
climbing onto a stool. “And then I can tell you if I can help you.”
    He turned towards her and Mary gasped.   His head was twisted grotesquely to one side
and was hanging limply on his shoulder.   And in order to see Mary, he had to turn to one side to speak with her.
“I think I might be dead,” he began.
    Nodding slowly, Mary sent him a sympathetic smile. “I think
you might be right,” she replied. “Do you remember when you died?”
    His eyes rolled up as he searched his memory and then popped
back to focus and widened. “Yes, I remember,” he said. “We were at the
house.   The haunted
house.   Sol and I were there,
looking for ghosts.   Then…” He paused for
another moment, allowing his eyes to roll up again.   But this time there was no popping or
widening.   This time there was just
grief. “That’s the problem. I can’t remember.   But I suppose I just died.”
    “You were at a haunted house?” Mary asked. “Mr.?”
    “Cannon. Marty Cannon,” the ghost
replied. “Yes, we were at our haunted house. Well, we were pretty sure it was
haunted.   But the ghost would simply not
cooperate with us.”
    “You wanted a ghost to cooperate with you?” she asked.
    He nodded his head, which actually caused his cheek to rub
against his own shoulder. “Yes, that was the plan,” he explained. “We were
going to have the most haunted house in the Midwest and people would pay good
money to spend the night and experience the supernatural.”
    “Ah,” Mary replied, understanding the situation. “And the
ghost refused to play along with the scheme.”
    “Exactly,” he said with a wide smile. “And me and Sol needed a ghost to show up pretty soon or we were
going to lose our investment.”
    “How long ago did you die?”
    “What month is it?” he asked.
    “October,” she answered.
    His eyes widened again. “Wow, I died in the summer. It was
June,” he said. “What have I been doing for all those months?”
    “That’s a good question,” Mary said. “And why did you
suddenly decide to come and see me?”
    “Oh, that’s easy,” he replied. “My business partner, Sol
Atkinson, came by to see you at your office. I tagged along with him.”
    “Mr. Atkinson,” Mary said slowly. “Oh, the man who wanted me
to verify he had a haunted house. That Mr. Atkinson?”
    Marty nodded again. “Yeah, he’s still trying to get his
investment back,” he said.
    “But, if you died at that house and you’re a ghost, why
aren’t you haunting it?” she asked.
    Marty started to speak, then stopped and shook his head.
“Why, I never even thought of that,” he said. Then he started to laugh. “Isn’t
that the damnedest thing? Here I could have been haunting the house all along,
but all I ever do is just hang around with Sol.”
    Mary studied Marty for a few moments before she spoke
again.   “Marty, do you remember your
funeral?” she asked.
    He paused for a moment, rubbing his chin with his hand. “No,
I can’t say I do,” he finally replied. “I don’t remember anything like that at
all.”
    “Would you mind if I did a little checking on your death?”
she asked.
    He shrugged, which caused his head to bounce on his shoulder
for a moment. Lifting one hand, he set it back in place. “No, I don’t mind at
all,” he said. “Do you think that’s my problem?   That I don’t remember my funeral and that’s why I’m still here?”
    She smiled at him and nodded. “Well, I think that might be
one of them,” she answered evasively. “But once I know about your funeral, I’ll
be able to fill in some of the other pieces of the puzzle.”
    “Yes. This is a puzzle,” he admitted. “And I’d really
appreciate any help you can offer.”
    She slipped from the stool and walked across the room to
him. “I’d be very happy to help you,” she said sincerely. “And I