The Return of Mummy by John Emms

It was on his fiftieth birthday that Frank’s mother began to haunt him. Which seemed a coincidence as it had been on her fiftieth birthday that she had died.

Frank had just undressed and got into bed. Which is the truth but doesn’t really portray the way in which he’d ripped his clothes off and leaped on the naked girl who was the latest in a long line of similar ladies who had been attracted to his bed by a combination of his money and his…well, just his money, to be honest. She screamed and sat up, shivering with fright. Not from Frank’s actions, though they had somewhat startled her, but from his mother’s ghostly appearance by the window. And Frank found her arrival a little disconcerting too.

“Mother!”

“Hello, Frank.”

The girl gasped.

“Is that your mother?”

“I’m afraid it appears to be, yes.”

“But she’s a…”

“Well, she would be. She’s been dead quite a few years.”

The girl screamed again, scrambled out of bed and, gathering her clothes, while avoiding going near the spectral apparition, scurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. A short while later the front door slammed.

Frank pouted.

“See what you’ve done?” he said. “I was looking forward to her.”

“Totally unsuitable,” said his mother. “Did you see her things?”

“Those were what I was most looking forward to.”

“I meant her clothes. No dress sense.”

“You never did have any care for me or my wants, did you?”

“Well, why should I? I never wanted you in the first place. As you well know.”

“Yes, you were always honest about that. Wedded to your career, you told me when I was four that you’d be happy if I left home. It wasn’t until I was ten, I think, that I learned about your night of passion with that other interior designer and the forgotten pill.”

“He was wonderful. Such a sense of colour. Or so I thought.”

She mused, reminiscing.

“We would have become business partners. The money we’d have made.”

“You made plenty without him. Thank you very much.”

Strictly speaking it was his mother’s money rather than Frank’s which had been attracting the girls.

“Yes, but…It was only that design in pastel blue and pale lemon which made me realise he was unsuitable.”

“You always did have an irrationally pathological aversion to any combination of blue and yellow.”

“It was not irrational.”

“Many of your fellow designers thought it was.”

“Yes, but none of them were as successful as I was. I could have conquered the interior design world if I hadn’t had you round my neck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s true.”

The slightly awkward silence which followed was broken by Frank.

“So – have you come back for anything in particular?”

“Only to disrupt your life.”

“I see. Well, as you may have noticed, you’ve already succeeded in doing that.”

“And I’m going to continue. Every time you have a girl here. It’ll actually be more of a pleasure than I anticipated. This room is very tastefully decorated. Congratulations.”

“Nothing to do with me. I used some of your money to pay someone to do out the whole place. Nigel Stansfield.”

“Really? Dear Nigel. He often ran a close second to me.”

There was another silence.

“It isn’t a coincidence, is it?” said Frank.

“What isn’t?”

“That this happens to be my fiftieth birthday?”

“Of course not. You brought my life to an end on my fiftieth. I thought I’d do something similar for you.”

“You know about that then?”

“Naturally.”

Frank was puzzled. His trip wire at the top of the stairs had, he thought, been undetectable. It had certainly succeeded in its purpose. Its subsequent removal had fooled both the police and the coroner. He had been enjoying the money ever since.

“How do you know?”

“You can find out anything on the other side. Recording angels and whatnot.”

Frank had a momentary frisson of apprehension about what might be awaiting him when he finally passed over. Then his mind returned to more immediate issues.

“Well, you’ve accomplished what you came for. You might as well go now and I’ll have the sleep I wasn’t planning for.”

“OK. Until the next time.”

She disappeared.

Frank mused, then murmured to himself. “Possibly…Or possibly not.”

The next day he visited a DIY shop and came home with a set of paint brushes, a large tin of royal blue paint and another of golden yellow.