Read Chapter One of The Girl Who Speaks To The Dead

Chapter One

Evie the Enigma

Late August, 1990.

‘Well I’m sure glad you’re finally moving in, your mom and you,’ Evie said. ‘It’s about god-darn time.’ 

The old woman sat on the bed that was pushed to one side of the attic room. She had dark eyes and a big mane of frizzy gray hair. Her lips were painted purple. She wore a plum dress, decorated in damask patterns. Her nails were purple, too. Her fingers were laced together and her hands sat in her lap.

Astrid smiled as she carried an overstuffed cardboard box across the floorboards. She set it down at the foot of the empty bookcase that stood beside the bed her grandmother was sitting on.

Astrid had not long turned thirteen. She had bright green eyes and blonde hair that came down to her shoulders. She wore denim dungarees and a white t-shirt. 

‘I’m glad we’re here, too.’ 

‘Gave your mom the house, and what does she do? Rents it out for eight long years. That guy was weird, too, I tell ya.’ 

Astrid laughed. ‘Weird how?’ 

‘Well that’s not for your young ears. Strange habits, late at night.’

‘You’re not meant to spy on people, you know.’ 

She lifted open the flaps of the box and started to unload its contents onto the shelves of the bookcase. First came her collection of old horror comic books from the fifties: the likes of Phantom Tales, The Grim Reaper’s Well of Ghouls, and Spine Tinglers Weekly. She’d pick them up whenever her mom would take her to a flea market. She’d read them all dozens of times, cover to cover, and the staples were hanging on for dear life. 

Next out of the box came her collection of troll dolls. She’d given them all terrible haircuts as a kid, and had tattooed their vinyl skin in marker pen – it was enough to make any diehard collector faint. But Astrid thought it gave them more character. She gave the trolls their own shelf, and stood them up beside one another. 

Last out of the box came her trophies for gymnastics, from when she was younger. There were seven in total. She’d attended after school, twice a week for three years. That was probably the last time she felt normal.     

‘So why’re you putting yourself away in the attic?’ Evie asked, looking around the loft space. 

The floorboards were dusty, cobwebs hung from the beams overhead, and if it wasn’t the height of summer, you’d feel the icy draught that swept through the room. 

On the far side of the attic, which was half-dark as it sat away from the glow of the bulb that dangled above the bed, were various boxes and trunks, stacked high. Beside them stood an old black Christmas tree, made of goose feathers, from the fifties. 

‘I like it up here,’ Astrid said. ‘It’s quiet.’ 

‘It’s a dumping ground,’ Evie said. 

Astrid laughed. She stood up and looked over at the boxes and the trunks and the tree. 

‘Well, if you weren’t such a hoarder,’ Astrid said. ‘Surprised the tenant didn’t throw this stuff out.’ 

‘Don’t think he ever came up here,’ Evie said. ‘It was only him, and there are plenty of bedrooms downstairs. Nice, warm, decorated rooms. With carpets and wallpaper – and no spider’s nests.’ 

Astrid rolled her eyes playfully. She stepped across the floorboards towards the mass of old belongings. Among them sat a large domed object, covered over by a sheet. She tore the sheet away and dust shot up into the air. Beneath it sat a large golden bird cage, from back when Evie had kept a macaw. 

‘Is that – Mr Peanuts’ cage?’ 

‘Sure is,’ Evie said. Suddenly, she was standing beside Astrid, and it made the girl jump. ‘You remember him?’ 

‘I do, just about. It’s hazy. How old was I when he was alive?’ 

‘Three. Maybe four. You know – you used to pronounce it, Mr Penus. Much to your mom’s horror. You’d be out at the mall and you’d see fruit and you’d shout out, ‘let’s get that for Mr Penus,’ and, ‘I love Mr Penus.’’

Astrid smiled. Her mom had embarrassed her with that story before.  

As she studied the cage, she saw that there were dents in the bars. She reached out and touched them, and an image came to her, vivid and vibrant. 

It was a hot day and the back door was open. A ginger tabby cat wandered in. It was called Samsung. No. Samson. And it belonged to Mr Adelstein, who lived three doors down. Samson was curious what was hooting and hollering and singing inside the house. So it wandered in because the door was open to let a little breeze through. He crossed the kitchen floor tiles and they felt cool against its paws. He went into the lounge, and he saw the birdcage, up on its stand. Saw Mr Peanuts. And Mr Peanuts saw it. And the old bird screamed and fluttered and flapped, in panic – so violently that the cage toppled over, and smashed onto the little table beside the sofa, and it dented the bars. Samson scurried out of there as fast as he could. 

Astrid looked up at her grandmother. 

Evie wore a big, proud smile. 

‘It’s getting stronger, that gift of yours,’ she told her granddaughter. ‘Lot of times, it fades out. Gets weaker. Fogs up and goes away. Your mom had it for a short while. Faded when she hit four or five. But you, girl. You’re flexing it – building it – like a muscle.’ 

‘Thanks.’

‘Be careful, though.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sometimes, it’ll lie.’ 

‘It can lie?’ 

‘Sure can.’ 

‘It wasn’t lying about my dad.’ Her eyes met the floor. 

‘Leave him in the past,’ Evie said, sternly. ‘You and your mom are here now. Fresh start.’ 

Astrid gave a sad little nod. 

‘You don’t blame yourself, do you?’ 

Astrid shrugged. 

Her eyes moved to some large A2 frames that leant up against the stack of boxes and trunks. There were six in total, all standing on their ends, and resting against one another. 

‘What’re these?’ she asked, stepping over to them. 

She picked one up and blew the dust off it. Behind the glass was an old poster from the thirties. It was an illustration of a séance. Terrified faces were gathered around a table, clutching each other’s hands. In the center of them, at the head of the table, was a beautiful young woman. She wasn’t scared like the others, though – she looked perfectly calm and in control. She wore a black dress with white polka dots, and her black hair was fashioned into a beehive that towered high above her. Circling the table, green phantoms were sweeping around the room. Across the bottom were the words, ‘Evie the Enigma contacts the deceased wife of Lord Barrington.’

She knew her grandmother had been a famous clairvoyant back in the thirties and forties, but she’d never seen these illustrations before. 

‘I like your hair like this,’ Astrid said. 

Evie smiled. ‘So did I.’ 

Astrid set the poster down atop the trunks, and she picked up the next frame and blew off the dust. This one showed her on stage at the Presidential Theatre. The lettering read, ‘Evie the Enigma delivers messages to the rich and famous – 1938.’  

She set that down and looked at the next, and then the next – more posters of Evie the Enigma performing stage shows or private séances for celebrities and politicians and the aristocracy. 

Then she picked up the final frame. This one was different. It was from the war and it read, Calling all diviners, mediums, soothsayers, mystics, clairvoyants, psychics, seers and prophets. Your country needs you! Write to: The Council of Premonitions, Stamper Building, Washington D.C., 20091, with your credentials and your address.

‘The Council of Premonitions?’ Astrid asked. ‘What’s that?’ 

‘The less said about that, the better.’ 

Astrid placed her hand in the middle of the glass, closed her eyes, and concentrated. 

‘Don’t!’ Evie barked. 

Astrid’s eyes snapped open. 

‘Okay. I’m sorry.’ 

Evie let out a sigh. She studied her granddaughter.

‘So when do you start at the school here?’ 

‘Tomorrow,’ Astrid said. 

‘You’re nervous about it.’ 

The girl nodded. 

‘Well, it’s not like the city. The school’s small. Two classrooms. Two teachers. Old kids, young kids. That’s the split. Probably fifty students, tops. Not much to worry about. You’ll make friends.’ 

‘I doubt it,’ Astrid said. 

Evie smiled. ‘You will.’ 

The old woman raised her wrist and snapped a look at her watch. It was almost time to go. 

‘I have a piece of advice for you, girl,’ she said.  

Astrid raised her eyes to meet her grandmother’s. 

‘Your mom wants Chinese takeaway tonight. Wants to see if the local place is any good. Order the Beef Ho Fun. You won’t regret it.’ She gave a warm smile. 

The staircase that led up to the attic started to creak. 

‘Hon?’ Astrid’s mom called, as she climbed up into the room. 

Jennifer was forty-two. She was a short and slight woman with curly brown hair, and dark eyes. She was wearing her ‘scruffies,’ as she called them. Battered jogger bottoms and a loose-fitting sweatshirt, both of which were all speckled in paint. She’d been hauling dusty boxes off the truck all weekend, and didn’t want to ruin her good clothes. 

In her hand, she clutched the menu of The Shanghai Palace.

 She looked over at Astrid, who stood alone in the dark reaches of the attic. 

‘You okay, hon?’ Jennifer asked. 

Astrid nodded. 

Jennifer glanced over at the bookcase and the bed. 

‘You’re really setting up shop up here?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Hmm. Okay. If you’re sure. But I’m gonna give it a good clean first. Maybe get a rug down.’ 

She looked at the frame Astrid was holding. 

‘That one of your grandma’s posters?’ 

‘Yeah.’ She set it down on top of the others. 

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. ‘How is she?’ 

‘Chatty,’ Astrid said, with a smile. 

‘That’s good,’ Jennifer said. 

Her mom had passed away eight years ago. 

At the time, Jennifer lived in the city with Dan – her husband – Astrid’s dad. And they hadn’t needed the house she’d inherited. She couldn’t bear to sell it, though – she’d enjoyed too many memories there – so instead, she rented it to a tax man with a scruffy mustache and greasy hair. But now, eight years on, circumstances had changed, so she’d served the taxman his notice. And there they were. Back in her childhood home. Her childhood town. And it hadn’t changed a bit. Just as small. Just as sleepy. And after what Dan had put them through, that was exactly what they needed. 

‘I picked up this menu,’ Jennifer said, holding it up. ‘Thought we could check out the local Chinese. See if it’s any good. Come and pick something.’ 

‘I’ll have the Beef Ho Fun.’

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