Chronicles of The Craft - vol 3 [COMPLETE]

White Feather

She had been following me around all day. I hadn't seen her yet, but I could feel her presence, sometimes hear the words she whispered. They were vague and incoherent; mumbled rather than spoken.

Wherever I went, she tagged along, as if surprised she had found someone to connect with and so couldn't let them go. This was nothing new to me; I'd met many spirits over the years. And yet, from the get-go, I knew she was different. Sometimes you just know.

I think she latched on to me as I crossed the churchyard on my way to work that morning. I was running late and needed a shortcut. Looks like I got more than I bargained for. It wasn't until I got on the bus that I realised she was there, sitting in the seat behind me, staring at the back of my head. When a spirit stares at you for a prolonged length of time, it creates this tingly energy that runs up and down your skin. It like being tickled with a feather if said feather had the capacity to fire off hundreds of low-powered electric shocks every minute. It's not a pleasant experience and I'd had to endure it all day.

She was there when I went to the supermarket to get milk for the office; when I dropped off my books at the library on my break; when I was in a meeting with a new client – she thought they were boring too (yes, I heard those words clearly enough) – and when I sat down in the empty booth of the diner after getting caught in a downpour. I don't think she left me alone for a single minute.

'Who are you?' I asked quietly from behind the large, over-sized menu. I didn't want anyone to think I was one of those crazy people that talked to themselves.

'Who are you?' the ghost asked back.

I sighed. Great. It was going to be one of those conversations. I dropped the menu only to realise that the ghost had actually manifested on the seat opposite me. And I wasn't the only one who could see her.

One minute the padded bench was empty, the next a translucent figure, with long dark hair and grey pallid skin was sitting there, a strange half-smile on her face. She knew the reaction she was about to cause, and she either found it amusing, or was pleased with her efforts, or both.

Screams went up from the diners as they fled the building. Staff, on hearing the commotion, came from out back, only to stare at my booth in disbelief. The older waitress fainted. Slowly, the workers, gathering their fallen comrade, retreated back into the kitchen, pretending nothing unusual was happening out front. I was grateful for that.

'You've got 10 seconds to tell me what you want.' I wasn't in the mood to deal with a show-off spirit. And, personally, I wasn't particularly impressed by her display. Manifesting out of thin air, in front of a room full of un-attuned and unsympathetic witnesses was never cool.

'I have a message for you.'

'A minute ago you were asking who I was. Now you have a message for me? What are you playing at?'

She shrugged her shoulders. 'Got to have a little fun some time, don't I?'

I conceded that in her position she was probably right, though I was still annoyed with her. She could have tried harder to pick a better time and place for such theatrics. 'So the message?' I prompted.

She lifted her thin, greying arm and dropped a small white feather on the Formica table in front of me. Not that she glanced at it, not once. She was still staring at me. The half-smile had gone.

You've got three days,' she whispered gravely. 'Make them count.'