No Such Thing as Ghosts (Challenge #142) -- PG-13
Posted: Thu Oct 25, 2012 10:28 pm
A little Halloween something...for Champagne Challenge #142, "Something with Ghost in It." My thanks to Allegrita, who sparked the idea!
No Such Thing as Ghosts
Emily Turner sighed and pushed the heavy shopping cart forward between the towering walls of boxes in the discount store. She hated shopping here, but it was what she could afford. And she hated dragging Bethie along—at four years old, the girl was getting too big to ride in the cart, but she was still too small to walk along for the distances they needed to cover to find all the variety of supplies needed for the household. Her little legs dangled from the back of the cart, as she looked around her, pointing at various products, whenever a brightly colored package caught her eye.
“Mommy, can we get that? Can we get that?” She kicked her feet, in her favorite red sneakers, banging against the silver rods of the cart. One foot accidentally caught her mom in the side; she didn’t notice, but Emily was reminded of how the girl had kicked in the months before she was born. Beth had been tirelessly active in the womb, and nothing had changed.
“We don’t need it, Bethie.” She sighed. No need to tell the girl that they just couldn’t fit luxuries into a budget that barely covered necessities. She looked down and consulted her list. Maybe they could afford a bag of Halloween candy, after all. Not the good stuff, but some of the cheap hard candy. She maneuvered the cart around, and headed for the seasonal aisle. Last year, Bethie had loved Halloween. She’d held Emily’s hand as they walked around the neighborhood, adorable in her little princess outfit, complete with a shiny tiara, twinkling with rhinestones.
This year, the neighborhood where they were living wasn’t as nice, and she’d have to make Bethie a costume, from whatever she could turn up in her closet. She sighed again. Divorce was tough enough, but it had been particularly hard, trying to keep the sheer economic effects from hitting the child too badly.
“Bethie,” she said, “what do you want to be for Halloween this year?”
“Halloween?” Beth frowned.
“You remember—how we went out trick or treating last year, and people gave you candy?”
Beth nodded, enthusiastically. “I had a pretty dress!”
“That’s right.” Emily pushed on, they were almost to the right aisle, and Beth was chattering excitedly. She leaned hard, to turn the cart. Laundry soap and cleaners, shampoo and flour, as well as a four year old, made it unwieldy.
The store had gone all out, showing off their holiday wares. Black and orange crepe paper streamers adorned arches, and plastic skeletons and cheesecloth ghosts floated over rows of specially packaged candy, costumes, and decorations. A pile of black witches’ cauldrons teetered next to a bin of fake pirate swords and a box full of shaggy polyester wigs. Overhead, a ghostly figure floated, draped in an ethereal white, ragged dress. Emily thought it was all a little cheesy, but Beth, twisting around to see what new delights she could find, took one look at the figure of the woman in white, and froze.
Intent on finding the cheaper bags of candy, Emily didn’t notice that Beth had gone still, until the little girl pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a yell. Bethie threw her hands up over her eyes, screaming, “No, Mommy! Mommy, no, no, no!” She curled down, trying to hide from the horrible sights around her, sobbing.
Emily jumped in shock, then threw her arms around her child. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? What is it?” She could feel the girl’s hot tears against her skin, as she clutched at Emily’s shirt. Beth’s nails were sharp enough to scratch painfully, even through the polyester of Emily’s blouse. “Honey, honey, everything’s all right!”
“Don’t let her get me, Mommy!”
“Who, baby? No one’s going to get you,” Emily soothed.
“The scary lady!” Beth sobbed. “She’s a bad lady. She’s a gh-gh-ghost!”
Emily pointed up at the Halloween decoration. “She’s not real, Bethie. It’s just a big doll.” She was wondering where Beth had even heard about ghosts…certainly not from her, and she was so careful about what she let the child watch on TV. It had to be Mrs. Ramirez. The damn babysitter was filling Beth’s head with who knows what sort of nonsense. If she could afford real daycare…but that was an old complaint. She couldn’t, and she was having to rely on an old woman who told her baby terrible stories. Next year, Bethie would be starting kindergarten. And maybe by then, things would be different.
But right now, Bethie was screaming, and she had to get her away from the Halloween aisle. It was awkward, maneuvering the cart while she held her child, but she managed. She wanted so badly to pick up the girl, but at four, she was just getting too big.
Once they’d gotten safely out of the Halloween merchandise display, and into a deserted row of notebooks, paper, and pens, Emily felt safe pausing to talk to her daughter. “Beth? Bethie? Can you talk to me?”
The child sniffled, but nodded, still holding tight to her mother.
“Now, what’s all this about?”
Beth wiped at her nose with a small fist. “It’s the scary lady, Mama. She comes in my room at night, and sniffs at me.”
Emily stroked her baby’s hair, the blond tresses fine as cornsilk. “Bethie, how could she get in your room?”
“She comes in through the window, Mama.”
“Bethie,” Emily sighed, “you sleep on the second floor. No one could get into the window.”
“She’s a ghost, Mama,” Beth said earnestly. “They can fly.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, sweetie. And even if there were, they couldn’t hurt you.”
Emily thought she’d never seen her bright, happy little girl look so solemn and sad.
“I think this one can,” Beth replied, and a shiver went down Emily’s spine. How could a four year old sound so mature?
“Snicklepuss,” Emily said, deliberately using a baby nickname Beth had already outgrown, “can you be brave for Mommy?”
“You won’t let her take me away, will you, Mama?”
Emily gave her a fierce hug. “I’d like to see your scary lady, or anyone else, try it. You’re safe, sweetie.” She knew it was a lie, the way the world worked, but at least, she thought, no imaginary ghost could harm the girl. “Now, let’s go check out, and go home. I’m making macaroni and cheese for supper. Your favorite!”
&&&
The next day, Emily was almost stumbling with exhaustion when she stopped by to pick Beth up after work. She was determined, however, to have a private word with the older woman. This ghost nonsense couldn’t continue; she’d been up most of the night before trying to comfort a crying child who’d crawled into her bed.
Before she could speak, however, Mrs. Ramirez gave her a knowing nod, and sent Beth out into the backyard to play. She gestured Emily to sit in one of the threadbare, sagging chairs in the front room, where the children played all day amidst a clutter of worn toys. In one corner, an ancient tv with rabbit ear antennas was tuned to a fuzzy Spanish language channel. Emily thought the program might be a soap opera, but she wasn’t sure.
“Ms. Turner, your Beth, she’s upset. She didn’t want to go down for her nap, with the others.”
Emily frowned. “Why was that? I thought she’d be tired today.”
The other woman shrugged. “All I know is that she told me she was afraid if she went to sleep, the ghost would get her.”
This was worse that she’d imagined. “Señora Ramirez, have you told Beth any ghost stories?” Emily asked straight out. “Or is she hearing things from the other children?”
“I thought perhaps you had told her something. Or maybe she saw it on the TV.”
“No.” Emily shook her head firmly. “I don’t tell my child stories that would scare her. And I watch what television she sees. No scary stuff. She’s too young for that.” She glanced over at the television in the corner, unconsciously.
Mrs. Ramirez regarded her impassively. “I tell the children folktales, but nothing scary.” She drew herself up with considerable dignity. “This place may not look like much, but I’ve been dealing with children for many years, Ms. Turner,” she said.
Emily rubbed at her eyes, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This just has me turned upside down.”
She was absurdly comforted to see a look of sympathy cross over the daycare lady’s face.
“Tell me what Beth has told you.” Mrs. Ramirez’s face creased in a wry smile. “Just because I don’t tell the children ghost stories, doesn’t mean I don’t know them.”
Emily bit her lip. “She says—she says there’s a woman in a long white dress, long dark hair, who comes into her room at night, and sniffs at her. She says the lady says she’s going to take her away, some night. Then, then Bethie says she hides her head under the covers, and the lady goes away.” She sighed. “It’s—I’ve never seen her like this.”
Mrs. Ramirez crossed herself, sighing in her turn. “Si, si, I know this story. La Llorona.”
“What’s that?”
“The—the weeping woman. She is as little Beth describes. And she carries away children, to replace the ones she lost, long ago. You can hear her in the night, sometimes, as she wanders, seeking her niños.”
Emily felt a chill run down her back. “Mrs. Ramirez,” she said, trying to sound sensible and stern, “stories are fine, but everyone knows, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Mrs. Ramirez shook her head. “Do you know for sure, Ms. Turner? Do you really know for sure?”
&&
“I tell you, Cathy, I just don’t know what to think,” Emily said, putting her glass of white wine down on the coffee table. “Beth was terrified. It’s not like her, at all.”
“She really thinks there’s a ghost in her room?” Cathy asked. “Where would she get such an idea? It seems so morbid.”
“I know. The only think I could think of, was that maybe the daycare lady had been frightening her with nonsense. I asked her about it, and she denied it, but then she did said what Beth said sounded like a story she knows. She never would admit that she’d told Bethie the story about this, this La Llorona. I just—I don’t even know what to think.”
Cathy snorted. “I’ve heard that one. That must be where Beth got it.”
“Oh?”
Cathy nodded, her dark bangs falling around her face. “The white dress, the threats to carry Beth away…it all squares with the story, and Beth wouldn’t make up something like that.”
Emily grimaced, and topped up her wine glass. “I suppose so, but it’s all just so weird. I’d swear she didn’t tell Beth any of this.”
Cathy stretched and yawned, putting her own glass aside. “Maybe she heard it from another kid. The older ones love to scare the little ones, and they’re just so impressionable at Bethie’s age. I expect once Halloween’s over, she’ll forget about it.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. The last two nights, she’s ended up crawling in bed with me.” She took a swallow. “I should sleep soundly tonight, though. Thanks so much for coming over—and bringing the wine. I really needed to talk to someone about it.”
“Any time, sweetie. Change of subject, but I overheard the wildest conversations the other day at lunch.”
“Oh?” Emily smiled. That was what she needed, something else to take her mind off Beth and her ghost.
“Yeah,” Cathy said, “so I was sitting by myself, picking at another salad—geez, but diets suck, don’t they?—and there were these two women sitting at the next table. This was downtown, right, and they were seriously L.A. cool. One of them—ice princess blonde and made up like there’s no tomorrow—says, ‘So how did that private detective you hired work out?’ I mean, seriously, who talks about stuff like that over lunch?”
“So what did the other one say?”
“The other one, and oh my gosh, but she looked like a real femme fatale—all dark hair and expensive clothes, and super-sexy—says, ‘Well, you know I hired St. John because he’ll do whatever it takes. And it was so true.’ “
“That sounds like something out of a movie.”
“I know, doesn’t it?”
Emily laughed. “I guess I’ll have to file away that name for when I need a P.I. that will do anything to solve a case.”
“Because we have so many uses for that!” Cathy laughed back.
They chatted a bit more, office politics, movies, tv…Cathy was bubbling about the costume she had planned for an upcoming Halloween party. Emily was jealous, a little, that she’d be stuck home that night with Beth, but chided herself mentally. Beth was a treasure, and she couldn’t imagine being without her precious little girl. It was just that…sometimes…she wished she wasn’t so alone. She showed Cathy Beth’s latest school pictures, the ones that had just come in that week. It was a nice evening, all in all, and just what Emily needed. A little reassurance, a little wine, a little random conversation.
When Cathy finally declared she was about all in, Emily sat down to finish the last of the wine in front of the television. No sense in letting that last half-glass go to waste, right? She could go up to bed after the news.
The television was droning on with an ancient black and white monster movie when Emily came out of her doze. On the screen, she noticed a woman scurrying through the darkness, pursued by an improbably caped figure in white tie. A quick glance at her wristwatch showed her it was after 2 am. Shutting off the television, and carrying the wine glasses and the empty bottle to the kitchen, she decided to leave them sitting in the sink, rather than do anything with them at that time. If she stumbled up to bed, she could still catch a good few hours of sleep before her alarm went off.
The house seemed extra quiet, and spooky, as she turned the downstairs lights off, and made her way to the upper floor. She laughed to herself. Spooky indeed. She must still be feeling the aftereffects of a few glasses of wine.
At the top of the stairs, she turned right to Beth’s room, taking care to open the door as quietly as she could. In the light spilling in from the hallway, the first thing she noticed were the white curtains blowing in the draft coming in from the open window.
And Beth’s little bed, the big girl bed she’d only been sleeping in for a year, was empty, the covers spilled down onto the floor.
Emily sank to the floor, weeping, overcome with terror. The ghost, or whatever it was, had been there. Bethie was gone.
No Such Thing as Ghosts
Emily Turner sighed and pushed the heavy shopping cart forward between the towering walls of boxes in the discount store. She hated shopping here, but it was what she could afford. And she hated dragging Bethie along—at four years old, the girl was getting too big to ride in the cart, but she was still too small to walk along for the distances they needed to cover to find all the variety of supplies needed for the household. Her little legs dangled from the back of the cart, as she looked around her, pointing at various products, whenever a brightly colored package caught her eye.
“Mommy, can we get that? Can we get that?” She kicked her feet, in her favorite red sneakers, banging against the silver rods of the cart. One foot accidentally caught her mom in the side; she didn’t notice, but Emily was reminded of how the girl had kicked in the months before she was born. Beth had been tirelessly active in the womb, and nothing had changed.
“We don’t need it, Bethie.” She sighed. No need to tell the girl that they just couldn’t fit luxuries into a budget that barely covered necessities. She looked down and consulted her list. Maybe they could afford a bag of Halloween candy, after all. Not the good stuff, but some of the cheap hard candy. She maneuvered the cart around, and headed for the seasonal aisle. Last year, Bethie had loved Halloween. She’d held Emily’s hand as they walked around the neighborhood, adorable in her little princess outfit, complete with a shiny tiara, twinkling with rhinestones.
This year, the neighborhood where they were living wasn’t as nice, and she’d have to make Bethie a costume, from whatever she could turn up in her closet. She sighed again. Divorce was tough enough, but it had been particularly hard, trying to keep the sheer economic effects from hitting the child too badly.
“Bethie,” she said, “what do you want to be for Halloween this year?”
“Halloween?” Beth frowned.
“You remember—how we went out trick or treating last year, and people gave you candy?”
Beth nodded, enthusiastically. “I had a pretty dress!”
“That’s right.” Emily pushed on, they were almost to the right aisle, and Beth was chattering excitedly. She leaned hard, to turn the cart. Laundry soap and cleaners, shampoo and flour, as well as a four year old, made it unwieldy.
The store had gone all out, showing off their holiday wares. Black and orange crepe paper streamers adorned arches, and plastic skeletons and cheesecloth ghosts floated over rows of specially packaged candy, costumes, and decorations. A pile of black witches’ cauldrons teetered next to a bin of fake pirate swords and a box full of shaggy polyester wigs. Overhead, a ghostly figure floated, draped in an ethereal white, ragged dress. Emily thought it was all a little cheesy, but Beth, twisting around to see what new delights she could find, took one look at the figure of the woman in white, and froze.
Intent on finding the cheaper bags of candy, Emily didn’t notice that Beth had gone still, until the little girl pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a yell. Bethie threw her hands up over her eyes, screaming, “No, Mommy! Mommy, no, no, no!” She curled down, trying to hide from the horrible sights around her, sobbing.
Emily jumped in shock, then threw her arms around her child. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? What is it?” She could feel the girl’s hot tears against her skin, as she clutched at Emily’s shirt. Beth’s nails were sharp enough to scratch painfully, even through the polyester of Emily’s blouse. “Honey, honey, everything’s all right!”
“Don’t let her get me, Mommy!”
“Who, baby? No one’s going to get you,” Emily soothed.
“The scary lady!” Beth sobbed. “She’s a bad lady. She’s a gh-gh-ghost!”
Emily pointed up at the Halloween decoration. “She’s not real, Bethie. It’s just a big doll.” She was wondering where Beth had even heard about ghosts…certainly not from her, and she was so careful about what she let the child watch on TV. It had to be Mrs. Ramirez. The damn babysitter was filling Beth’s head with who knows what sort of nonsense. If she could afford real daycare…but that was an old complaint. She couldn’t, and she was having to rely on an old woman who told her baby terrible stories. Next year, Bethie would be starting kindergarten. And maybe by then, things would be different.
But right now, Bethie was screaming, and she had to get her away from the Halloween aisle. It was awkward, maneuvering the cart while she held her child, but she managed. She wanted so badly to pick up the girl, but at four, she was just getting too big.
Once they’d gotten safely out of the Halloween merchandise display, and into a deserted row of notebooks, paper, and pens, Emily felt safe pausing to talk to her daughter. “Beth? Bethie? Can you talk to me?”
The child sniffled, but nodded, still holding tight to her mother.
“Now, what’s all this about?”
Beth wiped at her nose with a small fist. “It’s the scary lady, Mama. She comes in my room at night, and sniffs at me.”
Emily stroked her baby’s hair, the blond tresses fine as cornsilk. “Bethie, how could she get in your room?”
“She comes in through the window, Mama.”
“Bethie,” Emily sighed, “you sleep on the second floor. No one could get into the window.”
“She’s a ghost, Mama,” Beth said earnestly. “They can fly.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, sweetie. And even if there were, they couldn’t hurt you.”
Emily thought she’d never seen her bright, happy little girl look so solemn and sad.
“I think this one can,” Beth replied, and a shiver went down Emily’s spine. How could a four year old sound so mature?
“Snicklepuss,” Emily said, deliberately using a baby nickname Beth had already outgrown, “can you be brave for Mommy?”
“You won’t let her take me away, will you, Mama?”
Emily gave her a fierce hug. “I’d like to see your scary lady, or anyone else, try it. You’re safe, sweetie.” She knew it was a lie, the way the world worked, but at least, she thought, no imaginary ghost could harm the girl. “Now, let’s go check out, and go home. I’m making macaroni and cheese for supper. Your favorite!”
&&&
The next day, Emily was almost stumbling with exhaustion when she stopped by to pick Beth up after work. She was determined, however, to have a private word with the older woman. This ghost nonsense couldn’t continue; she’d been up most of the night before trying to comfort a crying child who’d crawled into her bed.
Before she could speak, however, Mrs. Ramirez gave her a knowing nod, and sent Beth out into the backyard to play. She gestured Emily to sit in one of the threadbare, sagging chairs in the front room, where the children played all day amidst a clutter of worn toys. In one corner, an ancient tv with rabbit ear antennas was tuned to a fuzzy Spanish language channel. Emily thought the program might be a soap opera, but she wasn’t sure.
“Ms. Turner, your Beth, she’s upset. She didn’t want to go down for her nap, with the others.”
Emily frowned. “Why was that? I thought she’d be tired today.”
The other woman shrugged. “All I know is that she told me she was afraid if she went to sleep, the ghost would get her.”
This was worse that she’d imagined. “Señora Ramirez, have you told Beth any ghost stories?” Emily asked straight out. “Or is she hearing things from the other children?”
“I thought perhaps you had told her something. Or maybe she saw it on the TV.”
“No.” Emily shook her head firmly. “I don’t tell my child stories that would scare her. And I watch what television she sees. No scary stuff. She’s too young for that.” She glanced over at the television in the corner, unconsciously.
Mrs. Ramirez regarded her impassively. “I tell the children folktales, but nothing scary.” She drew herself up with considerable dignity. “This place may not look like much, but I’ve been dealing with children for many years, Ms. Turner,” she said.
Emily rubbed at her eyes, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This just has me turned upside down.”
She was absurdly comforted to see a look of sympathy cross over the daycare lady’s face.
“Tell me what Beth has told you.” Mrs. Ramirez’s face creased in a wry smile. “Just because I don’t tell the children ghost stories, doesn’t mean I don’t know them.”
Emily bit her lip. “She says—she says there’s a woman in a long white dress, long dark hair, who comes into her room at night, and sniffs at her. She says the lady says she’s going to take her away, some night. Then, then Bethie says she hides her head under the covers, and the lady goes away.” She sighed. “It’s—I’ve never seen her like this.”
Mrs. Ramirez crossed herself, sighing in her turn. “Si, si, I know this story. La Llorona.”
“What’s that?”
“The—the weeping woman. She is as little Beth describes. And she carries away children, to replace the ones she lost, long ago. You can hear her in the night, sometimes, as she wanders, seeking her niños.”
Emily felt a chill run down her back. “Mrs. Ramirez,” she said, trying to sound sensible and stern, “stories are fine, but everyone knows, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Mrs. Ramirez shook her head. “Do you know for sure, Ms. Turner? Do you really know for sure?”
&&
“I tell you, Cathy, I just don’t know what to think,” Emily said, putting her glass of white wine down on the coffee table. “Beth was terrified. It’s not like her, at all.”
“She really thinks there’s a ghost in her room?” Cathy asked. “Where would she get such an idea? It seems so morbid.”
“I know. The only think I could think of, was that maybe the daycare lady had been frightening her with nonsense. I asked her about it, and she denied it, but then she did said what Beth said sounded like a story she knows. She never would admit that she’d told Bethie the story about this, this La Llorona. I just—I don’t even know what to think.”
Cathy snorted. “I’ve heard that one. That must be where Beth got it.”
“Oh?”
Cathy nodded, her dark bangs falling around her face. “The white dress, the threats to carry Beth away…it all squares with the story, and Beth wouldn’t make up something like that.”
Emily grimaced, and topped up her wine glass. “I suppose so, but it’s all just so weird. I’d swear she didn’t tell Beth any of this.”
Cathy stretched and yawned, putting her own glass aside. “Maybe she heard it from another kid. The older ones love to scare the little ones, and they’re just so impressionable at Bethie’s age. I expect once Halloween’s over, she’ll forget about it.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. The last two nights, she’s ended up crawling in bed with me.” She took a swallow. “I should sleep soundly tonight, though. Thanks so much for coming over—and bringing the wine. I really needed to talk to someone about it.”
“Any time, sweetie. Change of subject, but I overheard the wildest conversations the other day at lunch.”
“Oh?” Emily smiled. That was what she needed, something else to take her mind off Beth and her ghost.
“Yeah,” Cathy said, “so I was sitting by myself, picking at another salad—geez, but diets suck, don’t they?—and there were these two women sitting at the next table. This was downtown, right, and they were seriously L.A. cool. One of them—ice princess blonde and made up like there’s no tomorrow—says, ‘So how did that private detective you hired work out?’ I mean, seriously, who talks about stuff like that over lunch?”
“So what did the other one say?”
“The other one, and oh my gosh, but she looked like a real femme fatale—all dark hair and expensive clothes, and super-sexy—says, ‘Well, you know I hired St. John because he’ll do whatever it takes. And it was so true.’ “
“That sounds like something out of a movie.”
“I know, doesn’t it?”
Emily laughed. “I guess I’ll have to file away that name for when I need a P.I. that will do anything to solve a case.”
“Because we have so many uses for that!” Cathy laughed back.
They chatted a bit more, office politics, movies, tv…Cathy was bubbling about the costume she had planned for an upcoming Halloween party. Emily was jealous, a little, that she’d be stuck home that night with Beth, but chided herself mentally. Beth was a treasure, and she couldn’t imagine being without her precious little girl. It was just that…sometimes…she wished she wasn’t so alone. She showed Cathy Beth’s latest school pictures, the ones that had just come in that week. It was a nice evening, all in all, and just what Emily needed. A little reassurance, a little wine, a little random conversation.
When Cathy finally declared she was about all in, Emily sat down to finish the last of the wine in front of the television. No sense in letting that last half-glass go to waste, right? She could go up to bed after the news.
The television was droning on with an ancient black and white monster movie when Emily came out of her doze. On the screen, she noticed a woman scurrying through the darkness, pursued by an improbably caped figure in white tie. A quick glance at her wristwatch showed her it was after 2 am. Shutting off the television, and carrying the wine glasses and the empty bottle to the kitchen, she decided to leave them sitting in the sink, rather than do anything with them at that time. If she stumbled up to bed, she could still catch a good few hours of sleep before her alarm went off.
The house seemed extra quiet, and spooky, as she turned the downstairs lights off, and made her way to the upper floor. She laughed to herself. Spooky indeed. She must still be feeling the aftereffects of a few glasses of wine.
At the top of the stairs, she turned right to Beth’s room, taking care to open the door as quietly as she could. In the light spilling in from the hallway, the first thing she noticed were the white curtains blowing in the draft coming in from the open window.
And Beth’s little bed, the big girl bed she’d only been sleeping in for a year, was empty, the covers spilled down onto the floor.
Emily sank to the floor, weeping, overcome with terror. The ghost, or whatever it was, had been there. Bethie was gone.
This is so great! 
I love the way you've woven so many loose ends together--the floaty image in the white dress, the "accidentally" overheard conversation about a P.I. who'll do anything to get the job done, the sniffling... 
This "ghost" of Beth's is definitely dangerous. My gosh, no wonder the poor little thing was scared to death! 
I think I'm glad I didn't read this late at night. I got chills at 5 in the afternoon!
My first take is that Emily's friend Cathy is actually Coraline, who befriended Emily. And she made up the story about overhearing the women discussing a PI so she could drop Mick's name, thus assuming/assuring that Emily would call on him to investigate Bethie's disappearance. Yes??
What a great idea for this challenge. 
