The Crypt Artist

The Crypt Artist by Deborah O'Toole was released by Club Lighthouse Publishing in June 2020.

A near-starving artist finds himself inspired by a group of long-dead classic painters in a rundown loft in SoHo, New York.

From Chapter Nine 

ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS the clever Malachy O'Leary learned as a ghost, of his own volition, was how to float upward as far as he wanted to go. His first try, a scant four months after his death, shot him up over the Empire State Building and back again. Over the decades, he learned to finesse the movement, his first tries being somewhat clumsy and out of control, by going around and down many times. After some time, he employed it as a form of entertainment when he was bored. Which was often, for all he really had was endless time on his hands.

Quite by accident, one late evening in late 1954, as he was floating above the Ramsey Building, he drew images of farm animals with his hands. It might have been a fruitless effort on any normal day as it produced no visible results. However, that night in particular, as he moved his hands in a drawing motion, blusish-white streaks followed his hands, glowing and leaving behind a faint sparkle. The sight amazed the Irishman. He was transfixed, and remained so for days afterward. He practiced over and over with variations and locations, to wherever or whatever struck his fancy.

One time, he drew the glowing light behind him for miles, only to hear on the radio the next day that several people had reported seeing what they believed to be a UFO. It was then that Malachy realized others could see his handiwork. Humans could see what he produced with ghostly hands.

Another time, he floated along Broome Street on a warm night in July, following random people and listening to their conversations. A young man was berating a woman as they walked along, calling her unmentionable names which made Malachy's blood boil. The anger built inside of him until he could stand it no longer.

He shoved at the young man with both hands, figuring it would be a useless gesture. Therefore, he was surprised when the dolt fell over to the sidewalk, laying on the ground with a look of horror on his face. The recipient of his verbal assault, the girl by his side, sized up the situation and quickly bolted.

Malachy laughed his way back to the Ramsey Building, satisfied he had put another ghostly power notch in his belt. But the force only worked on occasion, and only when his anger toward the eventual recipient was beyond surmountable.

Teaching Jeanne the basic nuances of ghostly maneuvers was not as difficult as Malachy thought it would be. She seemed determined, bent on acquiring the skills to help Luca. Her intense focus made it easier.

Jeanne was able to master the flowing glow by hand within an hour, but moving objects proved a tad more difficult. Malachy took her to the Pegu Club on Houston Street, where he positioned her near to some middle-aged men making graphic sexual comments. She became incensed in short order, using all her anger to ram into them as they sat on barstools. One of the men fell off the stool and landed on the floor, while the other simply plunked his head down on the bar.

"Now you get it," Malachy told Jeanne as they returned to the Ramsey Building. "It's time we made a plan."

She looked askance at him.

"We entrap Willie and be done with his nonsense once and for all."

"What do you suggest?" she wanted to know.

"Whatever I tell you, we must keep it to ourselves. No Howard, no John, no Philip. Can you imagine what Howard would be like if he knew about these particular skills?"

Jeanne laughed. "The man is already beyond insufferable. With abilities such as these," she paused as she gestured in the air with her hands, a small glowing trail in their wake, "he would be a menace."

Using her gossamer fingers, she crossed her heart. "I will not tell him, never speak an utterance of it. I give you my word."

* * *

HOWARD'S INITIAL YET PREDICTABLE REACTION  to Malachy's crazy story - after his instant irritation and incredulity - was to explode with an impatient roar.

"If what you say is true - which I highly doubt - why not tell us about it sooner, you poisonous little lucky charm?" he demanded angrily. "Our existence here is hell, pure hell I tell you. To have access to something to pass the time, or to at the very least entertain ourselves - and you just forget to tell us about it?" Howard's eyes were blazing. "You slimy mick bastard!"

Philip appeared bored by Malachy's revelation and the ensuing conversation, but paid close heed nonetheless. However, John was obviously highly curious over the matter, full of questions that he put on a temporary hold as Howard continued his tirade.

"It's not as easy as it sounds," Malachy cautioned, as usual unfazed by Howard's outrage. "Be that as it may, we don't have the luxury of learning everything right now. Luca is running out of time."

Howard rolled his eyes to the ceiling in disgust. "Everything continues to hinge on that loser, doesn't it? Our entire ghostly existence remains hinged on his every misstep. What do I care if he loses this place or takes a dirt nap? Maybe he'll join us in this cesspool, and I'll finally be able to give him a piece of what's left of my mind."

"Mon dieu!" Jeanne interjected, her soft voice uncharacteristically infused with anger. "Listen to Monsieur O'Leary, s'il vous plaît? When has he ever put you in the wrong direction?"

John starred at Jeanne, fascinated by her irritation. It somehow made her more alluring to him.

Howard glared at Jeanne. "And why Malachy introduced you to this new-fangled talent before the rest of us, I'll never know. You aren't exactly what I'd call a go-getter." He paused, a taunting gleam coming into his eyes. "Except when it comes to Luca Wolfe, if I'm not mistaken."

Jeanne lowered her eyes, but said nothing.

"Leave her be," Malachy warned softly, his eyes level with an unflinching Howard. Then he continued strongly: "All of this is moot, anyway. We need to keep an eye on the lad. Someone is very likely going to try and do away with him, and soon. It's much more important than trifles and fragile egos."

Surprisingly, Philip raised his hand, as if asking for permission to speak. "Agreed. I'll do my part. Whatever you need me to do. Luca is a nice young man, I do not want any harm to come to him."

Malachy doubted Philip had enough anger or passion to produce physical results, but he thanked the man anyway.

John spoke up. "Count me in as well," he said, his eyes on Jeanne.

Malachy looked at Howard. The old crosspatch was returning his stare, seemingly immovable. "And you?" Malachy asked.

Howard bristled slightly, then gave a great sigh as he mimicked shifting in his seat. "For what ghost could actually shift in a seat?" Malachy wondered to himself. "The man is a complete eejit."

"I'm outnumbered," Howard finally said, refusing to meet the eyes of his fellow ghosts. "I'll do what I can, whatever that may be. But then, surely, that will be the end of it. Can we live in peace then? Aside from living in this pit of hell?" He sighed. "Maybe, if we do as you said before - a good deed or two - we can be released from this infernal cesspit."

Malachy grinned. "Yes, indeed. So let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

IT WAS A COMEDY OF errors of sorts, Malachy felt, teaching three male ghosts the skills of celestial movement. Instructing Jeanne had been a breeze, she was a quick study, but her trio of male counterparts were another matter altogether.

They practiced on the roof of the Ramsey Building that night, when the sky was dark and overcast with heavy clouds. He showed them the same steps as he had done with Jeanne, but Howard was the only one who seemed to get the gist of it quickly. This despite his first attempt when he went shooting off the building and across the road to the adjoining roof. Malachy could hear his profane exclamations of frustration all the way across the street. However, he mastered it for the next go-round.

John and Philip took awhile longer to teach a few fine nuances. At one point, the two male ghosts pushed at the same time and stumbled as one head on, and then collapsed on top of each other onto the roof, laughing all the while. To see the staid Philip Padwick chuckling out loud - for that was the full extent of his uncharacteristic mirth - was a rare treat indeed.

"This is quite fun," Philip declared after they had practiced a few more times. "I think I'm going to enjoy pushing people about."

"And the best part is they can't see us," John pointed out with a grin. His eyes went to Jeanne when she laughed softly at his remark. She averted her eyes when she saw him looking at her.

Malachy sighed. The ongoing fascination Quidor had for Jeanne had not abated one bit, but at least the man had not acted on his impulses, and Jeanne did not seem even lightly interested in him. Rather, her focus was on Luca Wolfe and most importantly, the task at hand.

As it should be, for the time being.