Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete First Season (Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete Seasons Book 1) by Charity Tahmaseb Page A

he is, whether from shame or for other reasons, I don’t know. Then I see his fingers twitch. They twitch again, toward the hall that leads to the wing with the resident rooms, the wing from which all the crying still echoes. In that slight twitch, I discern a single message:
    Go!
    I crawl, knees scraping against the rough carpet. Before I vanish down the hallway, I hear Malcolm’s voice, so strong and steady, I wonder how he manages it.
    “I’ll tell you my secrets, Mistress Armand, but you have to tell me some of yours.”
     
    * * *
     
    The sobs and wails from the residents’ rooms weaken me further. I continue forward on hands and knees. Every time I try to push to stand, another cry assaults my ears. At last I reach Mrs. Greeley’s door and slump against it.
    “Mrs. Greeley? Are you in there? Are you okay?”
    “Katy, dear, is that you?” Her voice is anxious, but free of tears.
    “It’s me.”
    “I’m trapped. That witch jammed something in the door handle.”
    “Give me a moment,” I say. Oh, the handle is up so, so high. Can I stand up to reach it? How can I not try? I let my head thump against Mrs. Greeley’s door, the sound that of defeat.
    “Close your eyes, dear,” Mrs. Greeley says.
    “What?”
    “Close your eyes. They’re blinding you to the falseness of her voice. With them closed, you will hear her for what she is.”
    Certainly I’ve blinked since entering the facility, but I haven’t left my eyes closed, not for more than a moment, if that. I don’t want to fight ... blind. But that’s exactly what Mrs. Greeley is doing, and so far she’s the only one not caught in this web of sorrow and shame. I think about the séance and how Mistress Armand insisted Sadie keep her eyes open. To confront her personal demons? Or to let Mistress Armand feast on some shame?
    I shut my eyes. At first, nothing changes. The crying rings louder in my ears. But strength returns to my limbs. I reach up and open Mrs. Greeley’s door. It creaks, and Mrs. Greeley claps her hands together.
    “Well done!” The tap of a cane accompanies her voice. “Now, we must get down the hall and tell the others to shut their eyes.”
    A shriek echoes through the hallway, wretched and otherworldly. In it, I detect the barest hint of Mistress Armand. There is no seduction left, but an occasional musical tone breaks through, tempts me to open my eyes.
    “Don’t,” Mrs. Greeley says. “Yes, I feel the urge too,” she adds, “but I simply can’t comply. I’m certain Mistress Armand didn’t count on me.”
    Indeed she didn’t. I push to stand, then hold my hands out in front of me, fingertips straining against the air. I will crash into something on my trek down the hall, without a doubt.
    “Stop!” The command is robust, so much so that I do falter in my steps. That low, musical tone is stronger. My eyelids flutter before I squeeze my eyes shut again.
    “Go,” Mrs. Greeley urges.
    Yes, but where? I don’t dare open my eyes. Before I can move in any direction, something crashes into the backs of my legs.
    “Oh! Katy-Girl, is that you?”
    “Mr. Carlotta?”
    “Keep going,” he says. “You’re covered. Annabelle and I will guard your back.”
    “Old fool,” Mrs. Greeley mutters, but her voice is nothing but tender.
    I still don’t know which way to walk, not with my eyes closed. Then something cold and familiar brushes my cheek. The words Katy-Girl float into my mind. My grandmother. She’s here, and she’s showing me which way to go.
    Gingerly, I take a step, then another. My grandmother nudges my face, first the right cheek, then the left, helping me navigate around obstacles. Every few feet, I call out.
    “Shut your eyes. Don’t open them.”
    Bit by bit the sobs subside. Bit by bit, the care facility quiets. Despite the fact that Mistress Armand’s words now cajole and mock, they hold no power. Not over me, and not over anyone in the facility who has their eyes closed.
    Even so, or perhaps