Twenties Girl

The girl’s face blanches with shock, and I watch in discomfiture as she starts fading to a weird, pale, translucent state. It almost seems as if she’s fainting-but even more so. For a moment I can almost see right through her. Then, as though making some inner resolution, she comes back.
“No.” She shakes her head. “That can’t happen. I need my necklace. I need it.”
“Sorry,” I say helplessly. “Nothing I can do.”
“You have to stop the funeral.” She suddenly looks up, her eyes dark and glittering.
“What?” I stare at her. “I can’t!”
“You can! Tell them to stop!” As I turn away, trying to tune her out, she appears at my other side. “Stand up! Say something!”
Her voice is as insistent and piercing as a toddler’s. I’m frantically ducking my head in all directions, trying to avoid her.
“Stop the funeral! Stop it! I must have my necklace!” She’s an inch away from my face; her fists are banging on my chest. I can’t feel them, but I still flinch. In desperation, I get to my feet and move back a row, knocking over a chair with a clatter.
“Lara, are you all right?” Mum looks back in alarm.
“Fine,” I manage, trying to ignore the yelling in my ear as I sink down into another seat.
“I’ll order the car,” Uncle Bill is saying to Aunt Trudy. “This should be over in five.”
“Stop it! Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!” The girl’s voice rises to the most penetrating shriek, like feedback in my ear. I’m going schizophrenic. Now I know why people assassinate presidents. There’s no way I can ignore her. She’s like a banshee. I can’t stand this any longer. I’m clutching my head, trying to block her out, but it’s no good. “Stop! Stop! You have to stop-”
“OK! OK! Just… shut up!” In desperation, I get to my feet. “Wait!” I shout. “Stop, everybody! You have to stop the funeral! STOP THE FUNERAL!”
To my relief, the girl stops shrieking.
On the downside, my entire family has turned to gape at me as if I’m a lunatic. The vicar presses a button in a wooden panel set in the wall, and the organ Muzak abruptly stops.
“Stop the funeral?” says Mum at last.
I nod silently. I don’t feel quite in control of my faculties, to be honest.
“But why?”
“I… um…” I clear my throat. “I don’t think it’s the right time. For her to go.”
“Lara.” Dad sighs. “I know you’re under strain at the moment, but really…” He turns to the vicar. “I do apologize. My daughter hasn’t been quite herself lately. Boyfriend trouble” he mouths.
“This is nothing to do with that!” I protest indignantly, but everyone ignores me.
“Ah. I understand.” The vicar nods sympathetically. “Lara, we’ll finish the funeral now,” she says, as though I’m a three-year-old. “And then perhaps you and I will have a cup of tea together and a little talk, how about that?”
She presses the button again and the organ Muzak resumes. A moment later, the coffin starts moving creakily away on its plinth, disappearing behind the curtain. Behind me I hear a sharp gasp, then-
“Noooo!” comes a howl of anguish. “Nooo! Stop! You have to stop!”
To my horror, the girl runs up onto the plinth and starts trying to push the coffin back. But her arms don’t work; they keep sinking through.
“Please!” She looks up and addresses me desperately. “Don’t let them!”
I’m starting to feel a genuine panic here. I don’t know why I’m hallucinating this or what it means. But it feels real. Her torment looks real. I can’t just sit back and witness this.
“No!” I shout. “Stop!”
“Lara-” Mum begins.
“I mean it! There’s a just cause and impediment why this coffin cannot be… fried. You have to stop! Now!” I hurry down the aisle. “Press that button or I’ll do it myself!”
Looking flustered, the vicar presses the button again, and the coffin comes to a standstill.
“Dear, perhaps you should wait outside.”
“She’s showing off, as usual!” says Tonya impatiently. “‘Just cause and impediment.’ I mean, how on earth could there be? Just get on with it!” she bossily addresses the vicar, who bristles slightly.
“Lara.” She ignores Tonya and turns to me. “Do you have a reason for wanting to stop your great-aunt’s funeral?”
“Yes!”
“And that is…” She pauses questioningly.
Oh God. What am I supposed to say? Because a hallucination told me to?
“It’s because… er…”
“Say I was murdered!” I look up in shock, to see the girl right in front of me. “Say it! Then they’ll have to put off the funeral. Say it!” She’s beside me, shouting in my ear again. “Say it! Say-it-say-it-say-it-”
“I think my aunt was murdered!” I blurt out in desperation.
I have seen my family looking at me, gobsmacked, on a number of occasions in my time. But nothing has ever provoked a reaction like this. They’re all turned in their seats, their jaws hanging in incomprehension like some kind of still-life painting. I almost want to laugh.
“Murdered?” says the vicar at last.
“Yes,” I say forthrightly. “I have reason to believe there was foul play. So we need to keep the body for evidence.”
Slowly, the vicar walks toward me, narrowing her eyes, as though trying to gauge exactly how much of a time-waster I am. What she doesn’t know is, I used to play staring matches with Tonya, and I always won. I gaze back, perfectly matching her grave, this-is-no-laughing-matter expression.
“Murdered… how?” she says.
“I’d rather discuss that with the authorities,” I shoot back, as though I’m in an episode of CSI: Funeral Home.
“You want me to call the police?” She’s looking genuinely shocked now.
Oh God. Of course I don’t want her to call the bloody police. But I can’t backtrack now. I have to act convincing.
“Yes,” I say after a pause. “Yes, I think that would be best.”
“You can’t be taking her seriously!” Tonya explodes. “It’s obvious she’s just trying to cause a sensation!”
I can tell the vicar is getting a bit pissed off with Tonya, which is quite useful for me.
“My dear,” she says curtly, “that decision does not rest with you. Any accusation like this has to be followed up. And your sister is quite right. The body would have to be preserved for forensics.”
I think the vicar’s getting into this. She probably watches TV murder mysteries every Sunday evening. Sure enough, she comes even farther toward me and says in a low voice, “Who do you think murdered your great-aunt?”
“I’d rather not comment at this time,” I say darkly. “It’s complicated.” I shoot a significant look at Tonya. “If you know what I mean.”
“What?” Tonya’s face starts turning pink with outrage. “You’re not accusing me.”
“I’m not saying anything.” I adopt an inscrutable air. “Except to the police.”
“This is bullshit. Are we finishing this or not?” Uncle Bill puts his BlackBerry away. “Because, either way, my car’s here and we’ve given this old lady enough time already.”
“More than enough!” chimes in Aunt Trudy. “Come on, Diamante, this is a farce!” With cross, impatient gestures, she begins to gather up her celebrity magazines.
“Lara, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at.” Uncle Bill scowls at Dad as he passes. “She needs help, your daughter. Bloody lunatic.”
“Lara, darling.” Mum gets out of her seat and comes over, her brow crinkled in worry. “You didn’t even know your great-aunt Sadie.”
“Maybe I didn’t, maybe I did.” I fold my arms. “There’s a lot I don’t tell you.”
I’m almost starting to believe in this murder.
The vicar is looking flustered now, as though this is all getting out of her league. “I think I’d better call the police. Lara, if you wait here, I think everyone else should probably leave.”
“Lara.” Dad comes over and takes my arm. “Darling.”
“Dad… just go.” I muster a noble, misunderstood air. “I have to do what I have to do. I’ll be fine.”
Shooting me various looks of alarm, outrage, and pity, my family slowly files out of the room, followed by the vicar.