Tamsyn Murray-My So-Called Haunting Read Online Free PDF Page B

online. One or two friends from Edinburgh were on MSN, though, and we chatted for a while, but Megan’s name didn’t pop up in my chat
window before Celestine demanded I log off. I swallowed my frustration; Mystery Boy’s identity would have to wait.
    It had been dark a full hour by the time we got to the Dearly D, but the chilly February night didn’t put anyone off coming to the service. As usual, there was a crowd outside the
entrance, but to the average passerby, the pavement looked pretty empty. I nodded to a few of the regulars, both the living and the faintly glowing dead, as we went inside. Sometimes we saw the
same faces for months on end before we found a way to help them, sometimes they were gone much more quickly. But even the newest arrivals soon learned to respect the privacy of the psychics who
worked there and never approached them outside of the service for help. So, although there were plenty of waves and nods as we made our way down the aisle to the front of the church, no one stood
in our way. I didn’t see anyone matching the description of the ghost I was there to help.
    ‘Where does he usually sit?’ I asked Celestine once we’d greeted the other psychics and taken our seats at the bottom of the altar steps.
    ‘It varies,’ she said. ‘He’s sat in the middle pews once or twice, but most of the time he stays at the back.’
    When I’d been younger, I’d wondered why ghosts didn’t just sink through furniture. Celestine had explained that the habits of their physical existence were so engrained that
most people stuck with them even after their death. So they tended not to zoom around the ceiling and treated the world pretty much like they had when they were alive. They regularly walked through
walls, of course, but who wouldn’t? It had to be easier than opening doors. ‘And he never speaks?’
    ‘Not even to the younger ghosts. I’m hoping that he’ll spot you and feel able to open up.’
    It was as likely as hell freezing over, but I nodded and scanned the church. The pews were filling up but teenagers were few and far between. Maybe Celestine was right and all Mr Distrustful
needed was a friendly face his own age to talk to. I didn’t have much else to offer him.
    It wasn’t until the service was in full swing that I felt Celestine nudge me. I glanced over and she tilted her head fractionally towards the left of the church. My gaze roved along the
rows of the living and the dead until it came to rest on one ghost in particular. Younger than most of the congregation, he was slouched in an empty pew, his hood up and arms folded. Even from a
distance I could see the look of sullen distrust on his black face. If he’d still had an aura it would have screamed, ‘Get lost’.
    He caught me staring. Feeling as though I’d somehow been intruding, I fought the instinct to look away and instead offered him the tiniest of smiles. He didn’t return it, just stared
back at me and raised his chin in mute challenge. So, that was how he wanted to play it – a staring match, the first to blink or look away being the loser. Without breaking eye contact, I
settled back in my seat; I’d played this game a hundred times before at my old school, although admittedly never against a ghost, who wouldn’t have the disadvantage of feeling their
eyes turning into pickled onions. But he was offering me a way to win his respect so I ignored the twitching in my eyelids and matched his dead-eye stare.
    Seconds ticked past and turned into minutes. Then, just as I reached the point where I thought my eyes were going to burst out of my head with the pressure, he looked away. I slumped in my seat
and blinked frantically, while the service carried on oblivious around us. When I opened my eyes again, the ghost was heading towards the back of the church. I shifted in my seat but Celestine laid
a discreet hand on my arm.
    ‘We’ll be breaking for individual consultations in a minute,’ she