Free Morgan James - Promise McNeal 01 - Quiet the Dead by Morgan James Page A

she disappeared across the creek, does the wall go all the way to the other side?”
    “I think it does. At least when I was a kid it did. I haven’t been down there in some time. Years ago, when the creek was low it used to be possible to walk across and not get your feet wet.”
    “What was it about the figure that made you think it was your grandmother?” I asked, seeing in my mind a clear black and white image of the cloaked figure moving slowly across the wall. It was a woman, a tall woman. She doesn’t look back at the house; she wants to get away. She has a purpose, a clear purpose. I felt my face flush hot and sweat bead on my forehead. Paul’s voice interrupted.
    “I told you, Dr. McNeal. Now, I don’t think I saw her at all. It was all just a play on shadows and my imagination. Mitchell and I stayed up many nights looking for her again; it was like a game for us. Exciting, you know, at first; of course I would usually fall asleep before him, but anyway, nothing else happened.”
    “When you thought you saw her, what do you remember about her?”
    He paused for a moment, hands pressed together and against his lips much like a child offering a prayer. “As I recall, she was tall, long hair, and possibly thin like Grandmother. It was hard to tell really because she was wearing some sort of cape thing around her shoulders. I had the distinct feeling the figure was a woman; no, it was more than a feeling. I’m sure it was a woman. I’ve been an actor long enough to know the difference in the gait of a woman and a man. And she moved carefully, controlled, like a dancer, like grandmother.”
    “Paul, you saw a lot of details in just a shadow.”
    “Well, she was very real to me at the time. In fact, I was pretty upset and called Papa. I’m sorry I called him; that was stupid. He got more upset than I did. It was immature of me to bring up his pain; I really wish I hadn’t. Oh, the conversation was awful. He rattled on and on in French. My French is pretty basic, and he was talking pretty fast, so I ‘m not sure what he was saying. I was glad to call him back later when Mitchell and I decided it was the limbs of the oak trees playing tricks with my imagination. I remember Papa said to me, ’you are a good boy, Paulie. Leave the dead; their debts are always paid.’ What ever that meant. We didn’t talk about the ghost thing again.”
    “What a strange thing to say, ‘their debts are always paid.’ What do you suppose he meant?”
    “I have no idea. He just seemed to feel better knowing I was not seeing ghosts, that was all I cared about.”
    “Umm, so it was Mitchell who helped convince you there was no ghost, just shadows?”
    “Well, him and my good sense. You don’t believe in ghosts, do you Dr. McNeal?”
    I wasn’t sure how I wanted to answer that question. Fortunately, the skinny gray cat took that opportunity to skidder out from under the bed and run towards the main part of the house. “You see how sneaky she is,” Paul called, as he ran after her, with me a step behind, “she’s inside again and she’ll disappear down the basement stairs before I can catch her. That’s what she does. When I catch her upstairs, she runs for the basement and somehow finds her way back outside.” As he reached the kitchen, Paul screeched and his arms shot upwards like Moses railing against the heathens. “And look, the evil animal has been in here eating the leftover chicken salad.”
    He was right, chicken scraps littered the counter top where the cat had picked through our plates. No doubt she was raiding the kitchen while we were eating our yummy chocolate dessert. I had to smile. “Perhaps you don’t feed her enough.”
    “Feed her enough?” Paul’s nostrils flared with anger. “She isn’t even my cat. She’s some scruffy stray who managed to have kittens out by the side of the house and I can’t catch her to take her to the county animal shelter. After this, you better believe I will get