Where The Apple Tree Dies Part 5
By: P.G. Barnett
Tags: Short Story, Fiction, Fiction Series, Later Henry, Short Fiction

My name is Henry James, and I’m a writer for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Sometimes when you’re talking to someone from the spirit world, you have to understand they often are just as confused as you are. Not as scared to death as you are, mostly because they’re dead, but certainly confused. Especially a ghost who’d been buried alive under a slab of concrete in the backyard of Eunice Richardson’s home for twenty to thirty years.

“Okay, This lady to my left is Ms. Eunice Richardson. She and her family own the house you’ve uh, been visiting. To my right is my partner Sally Peters. My name is Henry James. Do you understand where you are, uh? I don’t know your name. You have a name, right?”

“What’s she saying, Henry?”

“Not a damn thing Peters. She’s just floating there staring at us.”

“Wait, remember you asked me to do a deep dive in public records? The original owner of the house bought it back in sixty-three. The bill of sale was to a Mr. Tobias Wilson.”

“What about her name?”

“Not on the deed.”

“Damn, okay, let me go at this another way. Mrs. Wilson? That’s your last name, isn’t it? You and Tobias used to live here, didn’t you?”

At the mention of the man’s name, the single lightbulb affixed to a small curved carriage light exploded, showering us with tiny bits of glass, instantly plunging the three of us in darkness.

“What in the hell just happened, Henry?”

“Not sure, but I think the mention of that name pissed her off.”

“Can you still see her?”

“Yeah, Peters, I can still see her. As a matter of fact, she’s on the ground and standing right in front of me.”

As if coupled together at the hip, both Sally and Eunice took three steps backward.

“I’d suggest you don’t mention his name again, Henry.”

“Ya think Peters? Look miss thing. We’re here to help, but you have to work with us. What’s your name?

“Nancy. Look in my chest.”

“Her name’s Nancy. She says to look in her chest.”

“Perhaps that’s why she continues to open my steamer trunk, Mr. James. She thinks it belongs to her.”

“Nancy. What chest. Where’s your chest?”

“He thought I was dead, but I wasn’t. I tried so hard to get out. I had to get out, I had to get out! Out!”

“Shit, we were right. Whoever did this to her thought they’d killed her, then buried her and covered her with concrete right where you tried to grow those trees, Eunice.”

“Oh, dear Lord. The poor thing.”

“Nancy. If we find your chest, will it lead us to who did this to you?”

“Yes. Please find my trunk. I had beautiful blankets. So beautiful.”

“Henry?”

“Just give me a minute, Peters, will ya? Where is your trunk, Nancy? Eunice, she’s pointing, oh damn her hands are totally messed up, she’s pointing at your house.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, Mr. James. The house was empty when we purchased it. The closets bare, not a stick of furniture in it. The only trunk in my home is the one in my bedroom. The one my mother gave me.”

“Okay, hang on. What Nancy?”

“My beautiful blankets. Beneath my beautiful blankets.”

“Beautiful blankets. Right. Okay, we’re going to go inside and find your trunk and your blankets. You’re free to pass over now.”

“No. He must be punished.”

“Ah, damn. I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“What did she say, Henry?”

“She ain’t going nowhere until we track down who did this to her.”

“Which means what?”

“That she’s going to pop in on us from time to time until we put this shit to bed. Where the hell are you going, Peters?”

“Into the house. The sooner we find what we need, the better I’ll be. This stuff may be right up yours and Shaundrika’s alley, but it sure as hell isn’t mine. This stuff is making my skin crawl.”

“You think that’s bad? At least you can’t see her. Her hands look like she stuck them one at a time in a garbage disposal.”

“Thanks for the visual, James. Are you coming inside or not?”

“Nancy. We’re going to go find your trunk. Why don’t you make yourself, er uh, comfortable, doing your ghost thing out here for a bit? Hold up, Peters. I’m coming.”