This is something of a continuation of a story from two years ago – here’s a link – it’s not too long and just introduced us to a pair of inadvertent ghost housemates who suddenly found themselves having to share their space with a living family. Two years later and everyone is still in the townhouse together…

Tony and Janine sat on the top step watching Maggie trying to get little Theo to sit still and pay attention to his kindergarten class on Zoom.

“You know, Tony, this is crazy,” Janine started. “I mean, when I died and realized I was stuck with you…”

“Hey!” Tony objected.

“Sorry, when I died and realized you and I were ghostmates… well, I guess I figured it’s some kind of karmic thing, ya know? I mean we died, right? No one knows what happens after you die. So, this?” she pointed between the two of them, “I mean, it beats getting reincarnated as a gopher, right?”

“That happens?”

Janine shrugged, “I don’t know… maybe? But I’m sure there’s worse situations for our fellow ghosts or spirits or earth-bound entities – whatever you want to call us.”

“You’re probably right…” Tony nodded as the kindergarten teacher’s voice came out of the speaker.

“Theo, you need to mute your microphone when it’s not your turn…”

“But this…” Janine gestured to Maggie trying to split her time between her work laptop and keeping Theo in his seat and largely failing at both. “This pandemic thing is worse than death! How long have they been bottled up like this?”

“Five long years,” a voice came behind them. “Make room, ghosties.”

Tony slid over with part of him disappearing into the wall and Janine scooted towards the banister enough so that Suzie could sit next to them. “Hey Suzie,” Janine said. “Seriously, though, you guys have been locked up here, what? Seven? Eight months?”

“It just feels like five years,” Suzie let out an enormous sigh.

“Suzie!” Maggie called from downstairs. “You’re working on your classwork, right?”

“Right mom!” Suzie called back without moving.

“How…?” Janine asked.

“Told them my video cut out and I’m trying to get it back. It’ll be fine. What are guys up to?”

“Janine’s just bumming me out about how we’re forced to be stuck here, but you guys being stuck here is just as bad,” Tony summarized.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Suzie agreed. She looked at his stained Van Halen shirt and frowned.

“What? Don’t approve of rock’n’roll?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you Eddie Van Halen died the other day.”

“Nooooooooo!” Tony yelled towards the ceiling.

“Theo! Get back here!” Maggie called as Theo bolted from his chair. In her effort, she knocked her mug of tea which fell off the desk and crashed on the floor. “No, no, no, no!” she said. “Theo!”

“This is a living nightmare,” Janine shook here head, “By which I mean, a nightmare for the living…”

“Maybe we can, I don’t know, do a séance and try to contact Eddie. I mean, if he’s on our side now…”

“What are you talking about?” Janine asked.

“Eddie Van Halen!”

“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Suzie said.

“No,” Janine, said, “We do not need Tony and some rock guitarist in the same place.”

“No,” Suzie said. “You guys are stuck here, we’re stuck here. I can talk with you, but maybe if we had a séance Mom and Theo could at least communicate with you. Maybe it’d make life a little easier…”

“Hmm,” Janine thought, “That might work. Like you said, since we’re all stuck here…”

“Can we try to contact Eddie?”

“No,” Janine and Suzie said at the same time.

That night Suzie cleared the dinner dishes without being asked. Her mom marveled at the act, while Theo just played with his Yo-Kai medals, inserting them one by one into his Yo-Kai watch.

After she put the dishes in the dishwasher, she took out a folding chair and set it up next to the empty fourth chair.

“To what do I owe the honor of you clearing the table?”

“Mom,” she said seriously as she sat in her own chair. “We live in a haunted house.”

“Suzie,” she sighed, “We’re not getting into this again. There’s no such thing as–”

“Mom, listen to me, please?”

Maggie took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, Suzie.”

“We’re going to have a séance tonight–”

“Suzie, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Mom, we’ve been stuck in this house for the last nine years….”

“…It’s been seven months….”

“Might as well have been nine years, mom! Look, I think they can help us. We’re all sharing the same space. We might as well all be on the same team, right?”

“Do you think it’s appropriate for Theo to be here?”

“He’s a kid, mom, Theo probably already knows they’re here.”

“Knows what?” Theo said looking up from the oversized plastic watch making obnoxious electronic noises.

“Do you see the ghosts that live here?”

“You mean zebra man and the black woman?”

“See?” Suzie said to her mom.

“Fine,” her mom rolled her eyes. “I guess we can do this.”

“Great!” Suzie got up and dimmed the lights in the kitchen , then took her seat. “Mom, take my hand and take Theo’s hand.” She did, while Theo tried to squirm away to give his watch attention. “Please, spirits of this house, make yourself visible for everyone at this table.”

Nothing happened.

“Are you sure, Suzie?” Her mom started before sitting back shocked as the forms of an overweight young man in a Van Halen shirt and zebra Hammer pants sitting next to a casually dressed black woman about her own age came into view.

“So formal!” Janine said with a laugh.

“I know, right?” Tony said. “’Spirits of this house’” he imitated. Then he noticed Maggie staring open-mouthed with bulging eyes. “Oh, uh, hello ma’am,” he stammered.

“Hi, Maggie, is it?” Janine said. Maggie didn’t move or give any indication of comprehension. “Yeah, well, my name is Janine. This is Tony,” she gestured to Tony. “We’re, uh, well, we’re the ghosts that live here.”

“Hi lady!” Theo said.

“Hey, Theo,” Janine said with a big smile. “Good to talk to you finally!”

“What’s up, big guy?” Tony said, waving.

“Hi Zebraman!” Theo said back.

“Zebraman?” Tony said, then looked at his pants, “Oh! Well, yeah. They’re comfy!” 

Theo giggled.

“Mom, are you okay?” Suzie asked.

“Ghosts,” she finally managed. “We have ghosts…”

“Mom, they have names.”

Maggie blinked rapidly trying to get her senses back. “I… I’m sorry. Tony? Janine? This is a lot to take in, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, try waking up dead,” Janine said. “That’s real mind scrambler!”

“I… I imagine it is,” Maggie said.

“Your daughter had the idea that since we’re all here together maybe we can try to help you guys out a little. Now that you know we’re here! I don’t know if you’ll be able to see us or whether we can have a conversation like this on the regular – it seems kind of silly, but your daughter genuinely can see and communicate with us and this allows her to kind of extend her ability to everyone in the circle. But we’re here and we can hear you.”

“And we can let you know we understand,” Tony said, picking up some heavy chains out of thin air and shaking them loudly.

“That was you?” Maggie asked accusingly. “Those damn chains scared the crap out of me!”

Tony dropped the chains and they disappeared. “Chains? What chains?” He said blushing.

The next day Maggie was on her laptop while Theo attended his Zoom kindergarten. Out of her peripheral vision she could see Theo losing focus and starting to edge away from the screen.

“Janine?” she called, “Could you keep an eye on Theo? I have to get this spreadsheet together.”

Janine crouched next to Theo who saw her and immediately stopped. She pointed at the screen and Theo grudgingly turned his attention back to the screen.

..

Tony stood on the stoop over the Amazon package that had just been delivered. “Keep moving, dog lady,” he said to the woman walking her Pomeranian. She couldn’t hear him. Between cars a teenage boy looked left and right to make sure no one was looking then he moved as deliberately as he could towards the package. “This isn’t good,” Tony said to himself. The kid reached down to grab the package and Tony concentrated, materialized as a rotting zombie with his melting flesh face an inch from the face of the boy. The boy’s eyes met his and Tony just said, “Boo.” The kid fell back on his butt before scrambling to his feet and sprinting away. “Heh, I like this,” Tony said to himself.

..

“Tell her!” Janine insisted.

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to!”

“Tell me what?” Maggie asked as she fixed the tuna casserole.

Suzie rolled her eyes. “Janine wants to know if you’d put TLC’s ‘Crazysexycool’ on again.”

“Oh, I’d love to! Good taste, Janine!” Maggie said opening Spotify on her phone.

“Ugh! I don’t know if this was a good idea,” Suzie said.

“Rona!” Tony said staring out the window. “That dude’s totally got the ‘Rona!”

“Thanks, Tony,” Suzie said. “I don’t think you need to alert us to everyone walking by.”

“Oh, she definitely has the ‘Rona! Don’t even slow down, lady! Keep walking!”

Suzie appealed to Janine. “Don’t look at me,” Janine said. “He thinks he’s being helpful. We’re all trapped here together!”

No, it’s not the podcast I keep threatening to do. But it is about a podcast…

“Okay, so we’ve got our notes…” the man with the beard said, then looked up to the webcam and said, “You ready to start?”

Just then, the doorbell rang. “Shit, DJ, hang on – someone’s at the door.”

“No worries,” DJ said. “Trace, make sure to tell that pizza guy he’s got shitty timing!”

“Heh, will do,” Trace said standing up and hurrying out of the office where he recorded his side of their podcast. He opened the door to a man and woman in dark suits.

“Trace Kehler?” The woman asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Detective Allen,” the man said holding open an ID and badge from Los Angeles Police Department. “This is Detective Simmons,” he gestured to the woman who held out her own ID and LAPD badge. “You record the true crime podcast ‘The Cold Case Collective?’”

“Umm,” he stammered. “Yeah, me and DJ. What’s this about, detectives?”

“Do you mind if we come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?” Trace replied instinctively.

Detective Allen smiled to himself, “No, we don’t. We’re cold case investigators. We just want to ask you some questions about your friend, DJ.”

“DJ?” Trace asked. “What’s up with DJ?”

“Well,” Simmons asked, “We’re not sure he is who he says he is. And if he is who he says he is, then we’ve got some bigger questions.”

“Look, Trace,” Allen said, “No one’s in trouble. We’re just trying to figure out something of a mystery.”

“Well, we were just about to record next week’s episode. DJ’s waiting–”

“He’s here?” Simmons asked in astonishment.

“What? No, we have each other up on webcam while we record locally. Seeing each other makes for a lot more natural interaction.”

“Do you know where he’s calling from?” Allen asked.

“His home studio.”

“Have you been there?” Simmons asked.

“No. He lives in LA. Pandemic, man, come on.”

“You guys have been recording The Cold Case Collective for more than a year now. You didn’t visit him before the pandemic?”

Trace shrugged. “No. Look, it’s not that odd. I’ve been doing various podcasts for years and it’s not unusual not to meet someone in real life. Sometimes it’s geography, sometimes it’s just a scheduling thing. We see each other when we’re recording and that works. Mutual friends introduced us.”

“You guys have built a decent following,” Simmons started, “You haven’t done any live shows or anything?”

“Like you said, it’s been a little over a year since we started. We’ve only really started getting recognition for the last six to eight months. And like I said: pandemic. No one’s doing live shows.”

“Hey Trace,” DJ’s voice came out of the monitors in the office. “Quit shagging the pizza dude and let’s get this show on the road!”

“I’ve got to go,” Trace said uncomfortably. “Look, I can put the stream up on the TV in here if you want to stick around until we’re done.”

Allen looked at Simmons and then said, “Sure, that’d be great.”

Trace led them inside his apartment, turned on the TV then used his phone as a remote to bring up a split screen with DJ looking impatient on one side of the screen and an empty mic – presumably Trace’s webcam. “I’ll be out as soon as we’re done.”

As he went back into the office and appeared in front of the webcam DJ quipped “You clean up quickly!”

“Heh, you think this is my first rodeo?”

“Giddy-up!” DJ said with a faux-southern accent. “Hit ‘record’ let’s start this shit!”

“Alright,” Trace said, “I’m recording…”

“Okay… me too,” DJ said. Then he affected his podcast voice and said, “Welcome to the Cold Case Collective!”

“That’s right, DJ, welcome to another episode where we look to thaw out a case that a police department has let go cold. I’m Trace Kehler…”

“…And I’m DJ Peterson, and, boy do we have a good one for you this evening.”

“You’re not lying, DJ. This case takes us to Saint Paul, Minnesota where police responded to a 9-1-1 call and found an apartment full of bodies and came away with a lot of questions and not a lot of answers.”

“First, though,” DJ said, “we need to thank our sponsor, Dreamy Mattresses who make the best foam mattress on the market…”

Watching from outside the closed door of the office, detective Simmons was struck at how odd just hearing the voices of these two men whose podcast she’d listened to for so many hours. She realized they’d put the music in during post production but it still struck getting to watch how the proverbial sausage was made.

…

“Thanks for joining us for another episode of the Cold Case Collective,” DJ wrapped up.

“We’ll be back next week with another case plucked from the crime fridge,” Trace said.

“Count on it… and… that’s a wrap. Do you want to go over ad copy for the post-roll?”

“I’m exhausted,” Trace yawned – a genuine yawn, Simmons thought. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll clean up my audio and get it uploaded for you. Want to call same time tomorrow?”

“Works for me,” Trace said. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“Cool, man. Get some rest,” and DJ’s screen went blank.

A moment later the office door opened, and Trace came out and sat in a loveseat opposite the detectives. “Okay, so what’s this about? You guys are cold case investigators?”

“Are you familiar with the deaths of the 2013 murder of the Peterson family in Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, DJ keeps pitching that one to cover.”

“And you haven’t” Allen asked.

“Nah,” Trace said. “There’s better cases. I mean, DJ literally brings it up every time and it’s kind of become like this joke – not that the case is a joke, but that he mentions it so often. I don’t know, we’ll likely get to it, we just haven’t yet. Why? Are you guys re-opening it?”

“So, you haven’t done any research on that case?” Simmons asked.

“No. I’ve got enough research, production work, and ad sales on my hands. Honestly, DJ does most of the preliminary work of finding cases and pitching them. Once we have a case we’ll both dig into it together, but I don’t have time to chase these down until then.”

“The husband, Daniel Peterson, his wife, Amelia Peterson, and their three kids, Simon, Taylor, and Eliot were killed in their house in San Fernando Valley.”

“Right,” Trace said, “Neighbor called it in when they noticed none of the cars had moved for a few days. I know the outline – like I said, it’s been pitched relentlessly.”

Simmons opened a leather folio and took out a picture. “Does the man in this picture look familiar?” She handed it to Trace. The picture was of a smiling couple.

“Yeah, that’s DJ. I don’t know the woman… ex?”

“You could say that,” Allen said.

“That’s Daniel and Amelia Peterson,” Simmons said.

“Wait, what? No, that’s DJ.”

“Daniel Jacob Peterson,” Simmons confirmed.

“What the hell?” Trace said. “You’re saying DJ is involved with those murders?”

Allen looked at Simmons and nodded. She sighed and took out another picture, started to pass it to Trace but stopped. “This one is pretty graphic,” she said.

Trace rolled his eyes, “I’ve seen my share of crime scene photos.” But when he looked at the picture he felt a rush of cold from his head to his feet and he wasn’t sure he could breath. The picture was classic crime-scene: bodies and blood on a floor in the living room of a house. But what chilled his blood was the man in pool of blood with the bullet hole in his forehead that stared sightlessly at the camera. “Jesus,” he said, “That’s DJ. What the fuck? He’s… dead there? But I just got off a call with him where me most certainly wasn’t dead.”

“Now you understand why we have questions?” Allen asked.

“Daniel Peterson did not leave that apartment on his own, so we want to know who is this DJ Peterson,” Simmons said. “Do you think you could get him back on the line?”

“I.. I…” Trace stammered. “…yeah, I think so.” He pulled out his phone and sent DJ a text asking, “You up? Chat?”

The response came back almost immediately: “Yeah, at the computer. Call when ready.”

“He’s there. I’ll go bring it up.” Trace stood up slowly, unsure of his own legs. He walked into the office, sat down, and brought up the video conferencing software and double-clicked the entry for DJ Peterson.

DJ’s smiling face filled the screen and all Trace could think of was the crime scene photo and the bullet hole in the forehead. DJ’s smile dropped immediately, “Whoa, Trace? Are you okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, man, I… shit…”

“What’s up?”

“DJ, that wasn’t the pizza guy earlier.”

“Who was it?”

“Guys?” Trace called to the detectives who crouched to get into the webcam image.

Allen showed his badge, “Daniel J. Peterson?”

DJ froze. Trace thought for a moment that the connection literally froze up, but he saw DJ blink and realized he was just speechless. Finally. “Yeah… yeah, that’s me.”

“The same Daniel Peterson who was married to Amelia Peterson?” Simmons asked.

“And who lost three beautiful children,” DJ added. “That’s me.”

“How…?” Trace asked.

“Trace, buddy… does it make more sense why I kept pitching the Peterson killings?”

“That’s your cold case,” Trace said through numb lips.

DJ nodded. “The one I want solved the most,” he said smiling sadly. The image cut to black as the video call disconnected.

I’d spent way too much time writing a ghost story and, to be honest, I might have freaked myself out a little bit. Home alone, well past midnight. The Airbnb next door is empty. Neighbors upstairs are on vacation. It’s just me and my cat, Kiki.
I come out of the office and realize the hallway is dark. My room is dark. It doesn’t look welcoming. Kiki rubs against my leg, then looks down the dark hallway, gets really still and then says, “Meow?” Facing down the hallway.
It’s quiet and I listen hard because I swear I heard something, but beyond Kiki’s inquiring meow it’s silent.
I realize technology can get me out of this spooky stalemate.
“Alexa, turn on bedroom lights.”
There’s the bong sound indicating Alexa heard her name, then a pause. Then, “What are you afraid of?”