My So-Called Christmas Carol

By
Tamsyn Murray
 For you. Yes, you.
Enjoy!

Text copyright © Tamsyn Murray

All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Tania Hebel
Table of Contents

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
Elvira de Montfort was a hater. She had a mean, pinched-up
personality and, as often happens in these cases, her sour
attitude had stamped itself across her looks. So alongside her
straggly purple hair and many piercings, she had a mean,
pinched-up mouth and sharp, piggy eyes. The only time she
was even vaguely nice was when there was something in it for
her. In short, if Elvira friended you online, you’d hit that block
button in a heartbeat.
Her real name was Peggy Johnson but it had been years
since anyone called her that. She was about forty years old and
lived alone in a one bedroom flat in South London, with her
cat, Lucifer. As she hated everyone, she didn’t have mates or a
social life. But before you go writing Elvira de Montfort off,
there is something you should know; Elvira had a remarkable
talent. She heard ghosts.
From a very early age, Elvira had been aware of the voices.
For a long time, she didn’t understand what she was hearing –
sometimes it was laughter and chatter, other times it was
shrieking and crying. And sometimes, if she was in the same
room, she heard her mother reply. What Elvira didn’t realise
until a few years later, was that her mother saw the ghosts to
go with the voices. Her mother was psychic and she had
passed part of her gift onto her young daughter.
The voices terrified Elvira. Often, she would lie awake all
night, listening to the anguished scream of a ghost who was
struggling to cope with their change in circumstances. Other
times, she’d be forced to cover her head with a pillow to
drown out maniacal laughter. Occasionally, they simply spilled
out their problems, unaware that she could hear every word.
As soon as her mother realised Elvira could hear them, she sat
her down and explained what was happening but the damage
had been done. Elvira hated ghosts.
 Blaming her mother for everything, Elvira got out as soon as
she could. She took the first job that came her way, mindless
gruesome work in a meat-processing factory but at least there
were no disembodied voices to haunt her. Until the man
working beside her fell into the mincing machine and returned
as a ghost. She ran screaming from the factory. For a long
time, she hid herself away, watching TV with the sound up
loud to drown out any spirits who happened to find her. Then,
one day, she caught the end of a new show called The Ghost’s
The Host and it was a revelation. The presenter claimed to be
seeking out lost souls so that they could ultimately find peace
but what Elvira saw was a way to get her revenge on the lost
souls who had tormented her for so many years. She applied to
be a junior researcher, making up an impressive-looking past
career and throwing into the mix her psychic ability. The lies
won her an interview. Persuading the gullible producer that
she had the gift got her the job.
And so it was that Elvira found a way to make hundreds of
innocent ghosts miserable. She soon became well-known for
discovering psychic hotspots, where the show’s resident expert
attempted to exorcise the spirits they found. Nine times out of
ten, this resulted in a painful end to the ghost. Elvira didn’t
know where they went when the screams abruptly stopped and
silence reigned. She didn’t really care. What mattered was that
the ghost had gone. And that they’d suffered. Because making
the dead suffer was pretty much all Elvira de Montfort got out
of bed for.
Chapter Two
“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
remember Christ our saviour was born on Christmas Day!”
Elvira scowled at the rosy cheeked choir as she shoved her
way through the hordes of Last-Minute Lennies on Regent
Street. An enthusiastic carol singer rattled a charity tin
underneath her nose and she sent him scurrying with a death
stare.
“Bah bloody humbug,” she muttered, elbowing her way
along the pavement outside Hamley’s with barely a second
glance at the toy-stuffed windows. Christmas Eve was bad
enough without being mugged by a moron in novelty flashing
antlers, she decided. Carolling should be outlawed too; any
minute now, they’d launch into Rudolph the Red Nose
Reindeer and Elvira would be forced to strangle someone with
their own pudding-shaped earmuffs.
She reached the pedestrian crossing and stabbed the button
with a furious gloved finger. Above her, ice-blue illuminations
snaked between the lamp-posts, chasing the early evening
darkness away. Elvira’s scowl deepened. The sooner she got
home and slammed her front door on the relentless festive
cheer, the better.
A voice in her ear made her jump. “Like ants, aren’t they?”
The breath caught in Elvira’s throat but she didn’t turn
around. There was a faint crackling underneath the words, as
though the voice was coming from an ancient radio set. She’d
heard it many times before and she knew that if she did look,
there’d be no one there. Her eyes narrowed.
“Go away,” she muttered, willing the traffic lights to turn
red so that she could escape. “Just get lost.”
The speaker let out a loud tut. “Is that any way to treat your
favourite teacher?”
 Elvira exhaled sharply, her breath misting in the frozen air.
Now that she came to think about it, the voice did have a
familiar ring to it. The only teacher she’d ever liked had been
Miss Chester but that had been in a sleepy Devon village about
thirty-five years ago. She’d been old then, Elvira remembered;
surely she must have been dead for years. So if this was the
ghost of Miss Chester, what was she doing so far from home?
The lights changed to red and the green man icon appeared.
Elvira shrugged off her curiosity. “Fine,” she snapped over her
shoulder. “Get lost, please.”
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out into the road.
The blare of a horn made her look up. A red double-decker bus
was bearing down on her, headlights flashing frantically. Her
eyes locked with the driver’s, his face a mask of terror as his
hand pounded the horn. Then a clutch of bony fingers dug into
her shoulder and hauled her backwards to the safety of the
pavement. A nanosecond later, the bus thundered past in a gust
of diesel-fumed air.
The man nearest to her shook his bobble-hatted head. “That
was close,” he said, his expression a mixture of shock tinged
with stunned amusement. “You might want to wait for the
green man next time.”
Confused, Elvira peered up at the column of lights. They
were unquestionably green and the traffic was flowing freely
along the road. What had she been thinking? Wide-eyed, she
turned to her saviour. “Th-thank you,” she stuttered gratefully.
He blinked. “What for? If it’d been up to me, you’d have
been a goner. You saved yourself.”
“But –” Elvira began, her gaze roving the faces around her.
Someone had definitely pulled her out of harm’s way. But
who?
The frosty air crackled. “It’s a fine line between the living
and the dead, isn’t it, Peggy? A single careless step and you’d
be one of us.”
The words chilled Elvira to her core and she knew with
horrible certainty who her rescuer had been. Above her head,
the lights flicked to amber, then red. The Christmas crowds
shuffled around her. Still she didn’t move. It wasn’t until the
traffic started to trundle along the road again that her gaze
flickered sideways and she realised there was someone stood
next to her. Someone she vaguely recognised, as though from
a half-remembered dream. Someone with a faint blue glow
around her neatly curled grey hair and cardigan-clad
shoulders. Someone Elvira shouldn’t be seeing at all.
She let out a strangled scream and turned away, pushing
through the fresh batch of shoppers waiting to cross the road.
They grumbled and glared as she fought her way through but
she didn’t care; the single, all-consuming thought in her head
was to get away.
The ghost of Miss Chester was fast, much faster than an
elderly lady had any right to be. Then again, elderly ladies
didn’t usually float six centimetres off the ground. She kept
pace with the panting Elvira as she ducked down a crooked
alleyway between the shops.
“There’s nowhere to run, dear,” she called, zooming past
Elvira to face her. “I mean you no harm. I’m only here to give
you a message.”
Forcing her terror aside, Elvira slowed and made herself
look at her old teacher. “And then you’ll leave me alone?” she
quavered.
Miss Chester’s face was solemn. “I promise you’ll never see
me again.”
Elvira hesitated. Now that she came to think about it, seeing
her first ghost wasn’t so bad; apart from the faint blue outline,
Miss Chester looked reassuringly solid and had hardly
changed a bit. With a shuddering sigh, Elvira nodded.
Miss Chester looked satisfied. “Good girl.” She waved a
hand at an iron fire escape snaking its way up the side of the
alleyway. “Why don’t we sit down and have a nice chat? My
bunions are killing me.”
Chapter Three
Elvira stared at her former teacher and resisted the urge to
pinch herself. She dealt with the paranormal every day but this
was weird even by her standards. “Am I dreaming?”
Miss Chester tutted. “Sloppy thinking. You know the answer
to that already.”
She had a point, Elvira decided. She never dreamed about
ghosts and the last person her subconscious would have
dredged up was her childhood teacher. The chances of this
being a dream were slim. “But I can see you.”
Her teacher smiled. “A near death experience will do that
sometimes.”
Which explained the incident with the bus, Elvira
concluded. She pictured the driver’s terrified expression and
shivered. “Why are you doing this?”
Pursing her lips, Miss Chester shook her head. “You’ve
been a bad girl, Peggy. You’re selfish and mean and deeply
unpleasant to any ghost unlucky enough to cross your path.” A
deep frown creased her wrinkled forehead. “I’m afraid the
afterlife looks very dark for you, my dear.”
The disapproving tone transported Elvira right back to the
classroom, where she would have done anything to avoid
being called a ‘bad girl’. But she wasn’t six years old anymore
and its effect had worn off over the years, although the words
still stung. She took refuge behind a sneering laugh. “Am I
supposed to be scared?”
The teacher’s face twisted with sudden fury. Her nostrils
flared and her eyes became flame-filled slits as she grew until
she filled the entire alley. She towered over Elvira. “You
should be scared!” she bellowed. “You have used your gift to
inflict misery on hundreds of innocent souls. When your
worthless life is over, a fate beyond your worst nightmares
waits for you!”
 She clicked her fingers and the air was filled with a
thousand screams, all begging for help. The noise got louder
and louder with each passing second as more voices joined in.
The air grew unbearably hot and the alleyway was filled with
the stench of sulphur. Elvira sweated and cringed against the
metal stairs, torn between wanting to tear her coat off and the
desire to thrust her fingers into her ears. Was the teacher trying
to tell her she going to Hell? She wanted to say that she didn’t
believe it really existed but from the looks of things, she didn’t
need to; all that mattered was that some kind of Hell believed
in her.
Miss Chester’s burning eyes glared down at her for a
moment longer, then she clicked again. The screaming stopped
as abruptly as it had started and the temperature plummeted
once more.
“It’s not too late to escape this fate, you know,” she said,
shrinking back to her normal size and patting her grey curls as
though she expected them to have shaken loose. “You can
change, if you really want to.”
But I don’t want to, Elvira thought, mopping sweat from her
forehead. She liked being spiteful and nasty; it was easy and
fun. Then she remembered the voices and trembled. That
hadn’t been fun. “How?”
“You will be visited by three spirits,” Miss Chester said.
“Listen to what they say and look into your heart. They have
much to teach you.”
Elvira scowled. Why did there always have to be ghosts?
“Can’t I just promise to be nicer?”
The teacher threw her a pitying look. “I think you’ve
forgotten how, Peggy. The first ghost will appear on the stroke
of midnight.”
Elvira opened her mouth to make a comment about
predictability and closed it again. Maybe it would be useful to
know what time her unwanted guests would be arriving. “Go
on.”
 “The second will come at two o’clock and the last will
arrive when the clock strikes four. Once all three have visited,
you will know what to do.”
Elvira gnawed her lip. “What about you? Will I see you
again?”
Miss Chester stood up and sighed. “My part in this is over.
You’re on your own.” She reached out and patted Elvira’s
hand. “Do try to get yourself a hat, dear. It’s a bit nippy to be
out with a bare head.”
She faded away until she was nothing more than a memory
again. Blinking, Elvira peered around the alleyway. When she
was sure that she was alone, she passed a shaky hand over her
eyes. Had she really just met the ghost of her old teacher? And
did it mean she was always going to see the ghosts behind the
voices now? Ugh, she hoped not; it was bad enough hearing
their pathetic whining, without seeing their miserable faces as
well.
She sucked in a long breath and puffed out hard into the
cold air. I’ve been working too hard, she thought, that’s all it
is. I’m hallucinating. Almost convinced, she got unsteadily to
her feet. With a final, uncertain glance around the empty
alleyway, she set off to the nearest pub. It would be heaving
with ghastly Christmas revellers but she’d never felt more in
need of a stiff drink. Somewhere nearby, there was a glass of
whisky with her name on it and woe betide anyone who got
between her and the bar.
Chapter Four
It was eleven o’clock before Elvira staggered up to the door
of her flat and focused blearily on the lock. The pub had been
every bit as full as she’d expected but she’d found a table in
the corner and had set about drinking as much whisky as she
could before closing time. Her internal jury was still out on
whether she’d imagined the whole Miss Chester thing, but
even the most determined Christmas ghost couldn’t trouble her
if she was drunk as a skunk, she reasoned. Then she’d
wobbled her way home, hardly aware that she’d acquired a
bright red Santa hat from someone along the way. It took three
attempts and all of her concentration to get the key into the
lock, so she wasn’t paying much attention to the iron door
knocker just above her head. Until it spoke, that was.
“Don’t forget, my dear, it’s not too late to save yourself.”
Elvira’s gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, Miss
Chester’s face replaced the lion that normally hung there. With
a hic of surprise, Elvira blinked and everything was as it had
been.
“Shtupid ghostsh,” Elvira muttered, twisting the key and
pushing the door open. “Trying to bosh me about.”
Dropping her bag in the hallway, she swayed gently from
wall to wall until she reached the living room. She flicked the
light switch and landed on her sofa with a grunt. There was no
sign of Lucifer; he must be out maiming something, she
decided. A single bare bulb swung overhead, revealing in stark
detail the sad nature of Elvira’s everyday existence. The walls
were plain; no family photos broke up the whiteness, and the
furniture was old and shabby. There wasn’t a single
decoration, card or present in sight, no sign at all that it was
almost Christmas.
Reaching sideways, Elvira grabbed the remote control and
pressed the power button. The TV crackled into life and an old
black and white film appeared on the screen. Scowling, Elvira
switched over. The same film was on that channel too. She’d
seen it before – some ancient rubbish about a suicidal man
rescued by an angel – and decided she’d have let the miserable
moron jump. Watching it again wasn’t going to change her
mind. She stabbed at the remote control again and her
expression became bewildered; the film was on the next
channel, and the next, and the next. In fact, there seemed to be
absolutely nothing else on. Confused, she stared at the screen
for several long seconds before switching it off with an
impatient growl.
The clock on the wall struck quarter past eleven and Elvira
yawned. Between her near-death experience and several
rounds in the pub, it had been a long evening. She leaned back
and rested her head against the sofa. Her eyes drifted closed
and she didn’t even try to fight sleep. Soon, she was snoring
loudly enough to wake the dead.
She awoke with a jolt just as the clock chimed the final
stroke of midnight. The room was black and cold. Elvira
pulled her collar up around her chin and blinked in the
darkness; hadn’t the light been on when she’d dozed off?
Shaking her muzzy head, she stood and felt her way to the
door. Her fingers groped for the switch and light filled the
room again. Standing underneath the naked bulb was black-
clad, wild-haired ghost.
Elvira couldn’t help herself – she screamed. The ghost
pointed a dirt-encrusted finger her way. “Well ye might
scream, foul creature,” she roared. “For I am the very essence
of thy unholiest nightmares!”
The warm fuzziness from the whisky evaporated, leaving
Elvira stone-cold sober. Clearly she hadn’t dreamed that
encounter with Miss Chester after all. “Who are you?”
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” the ghost rasped
mournfully. Then she coughed and cleared her throat. “Thou
canst also call me Mary.”
Elvira’s gaze slid to the bookshelf. There was a book of
exorcism spells there; could she grab it and reel one off before
Mary realised what was going on? Her fingers flexed and she
licked her lips. The ghost looked ancient; she had to be slow.
But hadn’t she thought the same thing about Miss Chester. She
eyed the spirit’s forbidding expression and decided to wait
until Mary’s back was turned. “What do you want with me?”
Mary drifted closer and Elvira saw that her teeth were little
more than rotten black stumps. “Thou knowest the answer
already – I am here to remind thee of all thou hast lost.” She
paused and stared critically at Elvira’s pierced eyebrows and
purple hair. “Which would seem to include thy mirror.”
If that wasn’t a case of pot calling the kettle black, Elvira
didn’t know what was; Mary’s bird’s nest hair was
significantly worse than her own. Raising a defiant chin, she
tried not to look intimidated. “What if I don’t want to
remember?”
The ghost let out a hollow laugh. “Thy future depends on it.
Thou hast no choice.” She held out a grimy hand. “Come.”
Elvira eyed the warty fingers and dirty nails warily; could
you catch the bubonic plague from a ghost? She wasn’t about
to find out. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Mary shrugged. “Then I shall bring thy past here.” She
gestured and the room swam in front of Elvira’s eyes.
“Behold!”
The light-bulb exploded, showering fragments of glass
everywhere and plunging them into darkness again. The floor
of the flat dropped from under her feet and Elvira jolted as
though she was falling, even though her brain insisted she
hadn’t moved a centimetre. She bit her lip and swallowed a
queasy moan. After several seconds of gut-wrenching vertigo,
a scene began to crystallise and wrapped itself around them, as
though they had left her flat and beamed to another place. It
was another white-walled room but very different to the sparse
impersonality of Elvira’s home. This room was filled with
homely warmth. The scent of baking and cinnamon hung in
the air. A roaring fire burned in the hearth. Tinsel trailed along
the mantelpiece and two stockings hung from it. A Christmas
tree stood in one corner, festooned with decorations. Beside it,
sat a pale-faced, dark-haired girl of around six years old,
playing with a doll.
“Does thou knowest this place?” Mary asked, studying
Elvira.
Elvira swallowed and gave a reluctant nod. “This is my
mother’s house.”
Mary nodded. “And the child?”
“That’s me,” Elvira whispered, staring at her younger self
with a mixture of fascination and pity. “What a pathetic little
scrap I was.”
A woman’s cheery voice rang out. “Peggy, come and help
me taste these cookies!”
The girl’s face lit up and she scrambled to her feet, tossing
the doll to one side. She left the room and soon the combined
laughter of mother and daughter floated through.
“Why are you showing me this?” Elvira demanded, forcing
down the wave of nostalgia the scene was unleashing. “It’s
hardly breaking news that I was a kid once.”
“Watch,” the ghost said.
Fidgeting, Elvira did as she was told. For a moment, the
scene didn’t change. Then a movement caught her eye and she
saw a small hand reach around the Christmas tree for the
discarded doll. She gasped as it slid out of sight. “Who’s
there?”
Mary didn’t speak. Instead, her gaze stayed fixed on Elvira,
as though daring her to investigate. After a moment’s
hesitation, Elvira stepped forward and peered around the tree.
Seated on the ground was a girl of maybe seven or eight. She
was stroking the hair of the doll and crooning a lullaby.
Around her head there was a faint but unmistakeable blue
glow.
“Does thou knowest her?”
Elvira let out a long shuddering breath. “There was a girl,”
she said, her voice slow as though discovering a long scabbed-
over memory. “Her name was Alice, we used to play together.
I never saw her, though, only heard her.”
“Wouldst thou call her friend?” Mary asked.
Elvira frowned. “I think so. But one day she stopped coming
to play.”
Mary nodded. “Thy mother gave her peace.” She waved a
hand and the scene began to dissolve.
“Wait!” Elvira said, sending a longing gaze to the door
which led to her mother and younger self. “Do we have to
leave?”
“Come,” Mary replied but her tone was softer than it had
been before. “Another Christmas awaits thee.”
And Elvira had no choice but to let the memory go.
Chapter Five
At first, Elvira thought the ghost had brought her back
home. The room they stood in was dark and silent but
gradually her eyes adjusted and she realised it was a bedroom.
Lying in the bed was a child, slightly bigger than the last one
they’d seen and Elvira saw enough to guess that they were still
in her mother’s house, but at a different time. The girl in the
bed must be her – who else could it be?
“What are you, some kind of pervert?” she whispered to
Mary in outrage. “This is my old bedroom!”
Mary scowled and drew back her gums in a sneer. “Hush, or
I may yet abandon thee to thy fate!”
Elvira opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she
heard the sound of desperate sobbing. It wasn’t coming from
the bed, though. It was coming through the wall.
The girl in the bed sat up suddenly and switched on the
bedside lamp. Elvira saw herself aged twelve, overflowing
with sullen fury. With a muffled scream of anger, the girl
threw herself back down on the bed, lifting the pillow up and
jamming it violently down on her head. As the sound of crying
got louder, she curled up into a tight ball and lay there, eyes
squeezed shut and the pillow wrapped around her ears. Elvira
noticed a single tear roll down her cheek and vanish into the
sheets.
The sobbing reached maximum pitch and Elvira resisted the
urge to grab the pillow from her younger self and cram it over
her own ears.
“I really don’t need to hear this!” she hissed at Mary, who
merely placed a warning finger against her lips.
After what felt like forever to but was actually only a few
minutes, another voice joined the cacophony but it wasn’t
crying. Elvira couldn’t quite make out the words but they
seemed to have a soothing effect on the crier. Gradually, the
sobbing subsided until only the soft voice remained. With a
flicker of surprise, Elvira realised that it was her mother.
Mary beckoned her forwards and vanished through the wall.
Elvira stopped; she wasn’t a ghost – how was she supposed to
follow? Then a hand reached back through the wall and
yanked her forwards. She felt an unpleasant dragging
sensation and had a confused impression of bricks, and then
she was standing in the hallway beside Mary. In front of them
knelt her mother, talking earnestly to a middle-aged woman
outlined in a delicate blue haze. Whatever Mrs Johnson was
saying seemed to work, because the woman wiped her tears
away and stood up, a tentative smile on her face. There was a
flash and a blizzard of tiny golden lights cascaded down from
nowhere to rest upon the woman. When the lights cleared, she
had gone. Silence reigned.
Mary turned and Elvira realised they could see through the
wall as though it was no longer there. Lying in the bed, young
Peggy opened one eye cautiously. She lifted the pillow from
her ears and listened. Apparently satisfied that it was over, she
reached over and snapped the lamp off. Every now and then, a
sob escaped, until eventually she slept again.
“My mother helped the ghosts,” Elvira said. “That’s why the
screaming used to stop after a while. But she couldn’t do
anything for me.”
Mary held up a hand. The door to the bedroom opened and
Elvira’s mother crept in. She perched on the edge of the bed
and reached out to tenderly stroke her daughter’s hair. “Sleep,
my little one,” she whispered. “No more visitors will trouble
you tonight.”
Elvira was surprised by the rush of emotion that engulfed
her. All these years she had hated her mother for doing
nothing to get rid of the ghosts who tormented them, when the
truth was she’d been doing the best she could to protect her
daughter. Elvira swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump
in her throat. “Can you show me more?”
Mary shook her head. “The hour is almost up. We must
return to thine own time and place.”
 Reluctantly, Elvira dragged her gaze from her mother. “Who
should I expect next?”
“The Ghost of Christmas Present,” Mary answered. “More
than that, I cannot say.”
“Thank you for showing me this,” Elvira said, surprised by
how much she meant it.
The ghost smiled sadly. “Do not thank me, for darker
visions lie ahead. But now my time is gone and I must bid thee
farewell.”
Before Elvira could protest, the air shimmered and she
found herself back in her own flat. Above her, the light-bulb
was unbroken. The clock on the wall pointed to one o’clock.
Dazed, Elvira slumped onto the sofa and tried to take in
everything she’d just seen. Now that she was alone, the
wonder of seeing her mother again ebbed away. Memories and
emotions she’d kept locked away for decades swirled around
inside her, triggering another, and another; it wasn’t a
sensation she liked. If Mary was to be believed, her next
visitor would only make things worse. She set her face grimly
and forced the jumble of feelings under control. What time had
Miss Chester said to expect the second spirit? Two o’clock?
This time, she’d stay awake for her guest’s arrival. And maybe
she’d have the exorcism book close at hand.
Chapter Six
“Hey, Human Pin Cushion. Wake up!”
Elvira felt a finger prodding her in the shoulder and stirred.
Either she’d been having the weirdest nightmare ever or –
Her eyes snapped open. Standing over her was another
ghost but this one wasn’t old; in fact, she looked like she’d
stepped straight out of an MTV reality show. She had glossy
dark hair and emerald green eyes and a seriously unimpressed
expression on her face.
“Glad you decided to join us,” she drawled, and gave a
humourless laugh. “And they reckon teenagers are hard to
wake up.”
Elvira’s gaze slid to the clock: two AM – so much for
staying awake. Her fingers snaked sideways, groping for the
book she’d placed within easy reach. It wasn’t there.
The ghost held up a hand.
“Looking for this?” She flicked through the pages of the
book, tutting, and stopped on a diagram on an inverted
pentagram. “I hope you weren’t planning to use this on me.
Not very friendly, is it, considering I’m doing you a favour by
even being here?”
“Of course I wasn’t,” Elvira mumbled, looking away. “Are
you the Ghost of Christmas Present, then?”
The ghost rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’m the Tooth Fairy.” She
folded her arms and glared at Elvira. “Of course I’m the Ghost
of Christmas Present. And let me tell you, I’m not exactly
thrilled to get this gig, so don’t try anything stupid.”
Pushing herself off the sofa, Elvira puffed out a long breath
and tried to get a grip on her sleep-muddled thoughts. The
ghost leaned back sharply.
 “Whoa, someone needs a Tic Tac,” she said, pinching her
nose in disgust. “You do know that you shouldn’t really brush
your teeth with a bottle of Jack, right?”
Elvira stared at her, wondering if someone had sent the
Ghost of Christmas Stroppiness by mistake. “The other ghost
was much nicer than you.”
The girl scowled. “That’s because she doesn’t know you
like I do. And can I just say that I think your headgear is
spectacularly inappropriate?”
“Know me?” Elvira repeated, her hand flying to her head to
touch the Santa hat. “How could you possibly know me?”
“Let’s just say we’ve got a mutual acquaintance,” the girl
replied. “A ghost called Kimberly Jones?”
Elvira cast her mind back. She’d listened to a lot of
whinging dead people over the years, very few of them stood
out of the crowd. Then a faint memory stirred, a jumbled mix
of terrified screams and howling wind. “The girl from the
toilets on Carnaby Street?”
A flicker of amusement crossed the ghost’s face. “Sort of.
The point is, I know what you do to my kind. Save the ‘poor
me’ routine for the next ghost, OK?”
Remembering how easily Miss Chester had lost her temper,
Elvira decided to play nicely. “What should I call you?”
“Lucy,” the ghost snapped. “Now, enough chit-chat. Let’s
get this over with.”
She pointed at the floor and a gaping hole opened up. Elvira
felt herself tipping forward and waved her arms in a desperate
attempt to stop herself falling. The ghost grabbed her hand.
“Relax. I won’t let you fall.” She fired a humourless smile
Elvira’s way. “Not yet, anyway.”
Just like before, an image began to form in front of them. It
looked like some kind of church; row upon row of wooden
pews stood to attention as they faced the red-carpeted altar.
Candles flickered on stands along the aisles and, by the soft
light of their flames, Elvira made out two seated figures deep
in conversation.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“The Church of the Dearly Departed,” Lucy answered,
gazing around her. “It’s a spiritualist church in North London,
where the dead talk to the living through psychics. The kind of
place you’d hate.”
“Then why have you brought me here?”
Lucy gave a short-tempered sigh. “This isn’t supposed to be
a fun-fest. You’re here to learn, so stop with the questions and
watch.”
Elvira didn’t push it. Turning her attention back to the
figures, she saw one of them bow its head. The other put an
arm its shoulders. She glanced at Lucy, as though asking
permission to move closer. The ghost made an impatient
shooing motion.
As she drew nearer, Elvira could see that the figures were
both women. Neither were ghosts. The one doing the
comforting was young and blonde; Elvira didn’t recognise her.
The one with the shaking shoulders was old, with grey hair
and a careworn posture. Something in Elvira’s memory shifted
and a horrible suspicion began to dawn. She looked at the
ghost, who gazed impassively back.
“Recognise either of them?” she asked.
“Not the younger one,” Elvira replied, hesitating. “But the
older one is…familiar.”
Lucy gave a snort of amusement. “I should hope she is. The
blonde woman is called Celestine. She’s one of the psychics
here. Now listen.”
Her mind whirling, Elvira did as she was told.
“I’m sorry to have come here but I didn’t know where else
to go,” the grey haired woman said, sounding very much like
she’d been crying. “After I left the hospital, I walked around
for a while but I couldn’t quite face catching the train back to
Devon. You do understand?”
 Celestine nodded, her eyes full of compassion. “Of course I
do,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.
Don’t you have any family I can contact for you?”
The old woman’s head drooped even lower. “Not really. I
did have a daughter but it’s been years since we spoke.” A tear
splashed from her chin. “I think she’s forgotten I’m alive.”
Feeling an accusatory stare from the ghost, Elvira’s cheeks
began to burn.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Celestine soothed. “Why don’t
you give me her number?”
More tears fell onto the woman’s coat. “That’s the thing – I
don’t have it,” she whispered brokenly. “I don’t even know
where she lives.”
Sympathy etched itself across Celestine’s features. “Then
you’ll come and stay with us. It’s Christmas Eve and you’ve
just been diagnosed with cancer. No one should be alone at a
time like that.”
And just like that, Elvira’s world imploded.
Chapter Seven
Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and she heaved in a
long, steadying breath, waiting for her vision to clear. Her
insides were tight and aching, as though she’d been kicked in
the stomach. Her mother had cancer? A million questions
crowded into her mind and she turned to Lucy, slack-faced
with shock. “Is this real?”
The ghost nodded. “Sadly.”
“When is this?” Elvira demanded, waving an arm around.
“Today?”
Lucy shrugged. “Earlier this evening. But don’t pretend to
care. As far as you’re concerned, she’s already dead.”
Elvira opened her mouth to deny it but deep inside she knew
it was true. She’d closed her heart to her mother a long time
ago and, before tonight, had barely given her a moment’s
thought. Now she realised how much pain her bitter
indifference had caused. She hung her head and said nothing.
“Please don’t worry,” her mother said, drying her tears and
smiling at Celestine. “I’ll be fine. My cat will miss me if I
don’t go home.”
“Seen enough?” Lucy cut into Elvira’s thoughts. “Because
time’s getting on and, boy, have I got another treat lined up for
you.”
Still reeling, Elvira threw the ghost a stricken look. “But –”
Something of her inner turmoil must have shown in her
face, because the ghost’s expression softened. “If it helps,
she’s got home safely and right this minute, she’s sleeping like
a baby. Now we really have to go.”
Reluctantly, Elvira accepted the reassurance but she didn’t
believe for one second that Lucy had a treat for her. She
watched with nervous apprehension as the church dissolved,
taking the image of her mother with it, and another scene
materialised around them. It was a pub, heaving with party-
goers. The windows were steamed up and the atmosphere was
cheery. Elvira gazed around in confusion, then spotted a work
colleague weaving his way unsteadily to the bar. She started to
wave, before remembering he couldn’t see her and dropped
her hand.
Lucy pointed to an especially high-spirited group in the
corner. “That is your work Christmas party,” she said. She
caught Elvira’s look of surprise and chuckled. “Don’t tell me –
you didn’t get the memo. You really are Miss Popular, aren’t
you?”
Once again, the ghost was uncomfortably close to the truth.
Elvira scowled. “I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s
eavesdrop, shall we?”
It was actually the last thing Elvira wanted to do; the Ghost
of Christmas Present didn’t seem to like her very much and
Elvira doubted she’d brought her here to join the party. But
she also knew she was at the spirit’s mercy. With a heavy sigh,
she followed where Lucy led and listened.
“No sign of the Wicked Witch of the West tonight, I see,”
said a red-haired woman, with Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
on her t-shirt and berry-laden deely-boppers on her head. “I
hope she wasn’t invited.”
The man next to her shuddered so hard his paper hat fell off.
“God, no. If anyone can kill the party stone dead, it’s Elvira.”
Mistletoe woman giggled. “Yes, but at least she’d be able to
lead you to its ghost.”
Wiggling his fingers, the man adopted an expression like a
constipated camel. “My special spooky powers sense a spirit
presence nearby,” he intoned. “Quick, pass me my crystal
ball!”
Elvira heard a snort of laughter from Lucy’s direction,
which hurriedly turned into a cough. “You don’t sound like
that really,” the ghost reassured her. “Well, not much,
anyway.”
 Mistletoe woman cackled. “She’s such an old scrooge – I
saw her take her donation to the children’s hospital back out of
the tin yesterday, when she thought no one was looking.” She
let out a loud hiccup. “Do you suppose she knows what we
think of her?”
Her companion shook his head. “She can’t be that stupid.”
Holding his glass up high, he raised his voice so that the whole
table could hear. “Merry Christmas to the Queen of the Dead,
wherever she may be. As long as it’s nowhere near us!”
A loud cheer rang out and everyone laughed. Wooden-faced,
Elvira ignored the splinter of hurt his words had caused. So
what if no one liked her, she decided stiffly – it wasn’t as
though she actually cared about any of them. But again, in
some dark corner of her soul, she knew she wasn’t being
honest. They’d always been nice to her face-to-face; she’d
never suspected that it was all an act.
She became aware that Lucy was staring at her. “What?”
The ghost frowned. “Did you really take your donation out
of the charity tin?”
Elvira thought about lying. Then her shoulders slumped in
defeat. “Yes. I get it, OK? I’m a horrible human being.”
Lucy sighed and batted the paper hat off the nearest reveller,
who frowned in tipsy confusion. “You are. But there’s hope for
you yet, or I wouldn’t be here.” She glanced at the watch on
her wrist. “As enjoyable as this has been, we’d better head
back.”
The pub vanished and they were back in Elvira’s living
room once more. It seemed even emptier after the warmth and
noise of the pub and Elvira realised for the first time how
bitter and miserable her existence had become. No wonder her
work colleagues hated her.
“Right, my shift is up,” Lucy announced, dusting her palms
together. “It’s been emotional. I’d tell you to have a nice life
but from what I’ve seen, it could go either way, to be honest.”
Elvira barely heard. Her mind was spinning with everything
she’d seen so far – her childhood friend, her mother’s illness,
her colleagues’ disdain and the cold, hard knowledge that her
heart had become a shrivelled lump inside her. The reality of it
all weighed heavily upon her and, for the first time in her life,
she didn’t want to be alone. “Must you go?” she burst out.
Lucy seemed taken aback. “Blimey, you must be desperate
for company if you want me to stick around.” She eyed Elvira
with something close to pity as she faded away. “Don’t worry,
someone else will be along shortly.”
Lucy’s glow melted into nothing. The only Christmas left to
be seen was her future, Elvira realised, and the thought gave
an involuntary shudder. Seeing her life for what it was had
been difficult enough. She had a very bad feeling about what
was coming next. A very bad feeling indeed.
Chapter Eight
No matter how feverishly Elvira searched her flat, the
exorcism book was nowhere to be found. Too late, she
remembered that Lucy had been flicking through it earlier; no
doubt she’d taken it to stop Elvira from unleashing any nasty
surprises on her final visitor. With sick dread in her heart,
Elvira watched the clock creep slowly around to four o’clock
and squeezed her eyes shut as it chimed the hour. What
horrors did the last spirit have in store for her?
Once the fourth chime had faded, she opened her eyes,
expecting to see the ghost in front of her. But the room was
empty. She sucked in a shallow breath and gazed around. Then
she looked behind the sofa, because it wouldn’t surprise her if
the next spirit was a child. There was no one there; she was
quite alone. A sigh of relief escaped her. Maybe the last ghost
had decided she was a complete waste of time.
The thud of the knocker slamming against the front door
made her jump out of her skin. Three times it pounded and
then fell silent. Quivering, Elvira forced her reluctant feet
along the hallway and opened the door. Standing before her
was a boy of seventeen or eighteen, dressed in midnight-black
robes. His hair was a mop of light-brown curls and a faint scar
curved across his cheek towards his mouth. Elvira almost
smiled – apart from the weird outfit, this ghost could easily
pass for the kind of fresh-faced pop star young girls were
always fainting over these days. Maybe the future wasn’t so
bleak after all. She met his gaze. And let out a shrill scream of
terror.
Instead of eyes, his sockets were filled with a writhing black
oily substance. Every now and then, a flicker of fiery red rose
to the surface and sank again. Elvira gripped the door frame
and shivered. What was he?
“Wh-who are you?” she stammered.
 His voice creaked as he held out a hand. “I am the Ghost of
Christmas Yet To Come.”
Panic took hold of her. She slammed the door in his face,
then backed off as he stepped through it and into the hallway.
“Go away!” she yelled, reaching the living room and
shutting that door too.
The ghost followed, passing through the wood as though it
wasn’t there. “There’s an easy way or a hard way to do this,”
he rasped. His disturbing black gaze fixed upon her. “The hard
way will most likely kill you.”
Elvira hesitated; as scared as she was, she wasn’t ready to
die. None of the other ghosts had suggested it was an option.
Then again, none of them had looked like this one.
Swallowing her fear, she lifted her chin. “OK. We’ll do it the
easy way.”
He tipped his head. “Good choice.”
His fingers swirled the air in a circular motion, as though he
was stirring a cauldron. A red-tinged whirlpool opened up at
their feet and Elvira was caught in its grip before she could
even think about jumping clear. She screamed as she spun and
picked up speed. Just when she thought she might pass out, the
whirlpool spat her out and she landed in a crumpled heap on a
cold tiled floor.
She got up, concentrating hard on keeping the last remnants
of her liquid supper from gracing the white tiles. The ghost
floated down to stand beside her, as though it was the kind of
thing he did every day. Which it might be, she realised.
Looking around, she saw they were in a long, high-ceilinged
corridor. The walls were a sterile beige colour and she guessed
it must be some kind of institution – a school, perhaps? Then
she sniffed; judging from the combination of disinfectant and
stodgy food, it was definitely a hospital. Her heart sank. There
could only be one reason the ghost had brought her here.
Unwilling to feed her sense of dread, she waited for some
kind of direction from the ghost. He stood silent and still,
however.
 “I didn’t catch your name,” she ventured.
His head turned towards her. “I used to be called Owen, but
that was before. Now I don’t have a name.”
Before what? She wanted to ask but the doors at the end of
the corridor opened and a pair of nurses in blue scrubs came
towards them. As they passed by, the ghost drifted after them.
He beckoned to Elvira.
One of the nurses turned through a door and into a small
room. Elvira stared nervously at the bed and the multitude of
wires attached to the wizened figure occupying it. She’d been
right when she’d guessed the reason the ghost had brought her
there but the knowledge didn’t help her with what she saw.
The patient was her mother and it was obvious she was dying.
“Hello, Mrs Johnson,” the nurse called. “How are you
today?”
The frail-looking woman opened her eyes and struggled to
focus. “Mustn’t grumble, dear.”
The nurse checked various read-outs and noted the results
on a clip-board at the end of the bed. “How’s the pain?”
Elvira’s mother gazed out of the window. “Hardly there at
all. Has my daughter been in touch?”
“Not yet,” the nurse looked up with an encouraging smile.
“But I’m sure she’ll come soon.”
Tears prickled in Elvira’s eyes when she saw the hopeful
look on her mother’s face. She still hadn’t given up on her,
even though Elvira had been a terrible daughter.
“How far in the future is this?” she whispered.
The ghost shook his head. “I can’t say.”
Helpless, Elvira watched as her mother coughed and fought
to catch her breath afterwards. “Will this definitely happen?”
He shrugged. “Death comes to us all, some sooner than
others. But this particular future could be changed.”
And that was all it took to break Elvira. “I can’t bear this.
Please can we go?”
 The ghost’s black eyes rested upon her. “You know that she
does not have long left?”
Fresh tears poured down Elvira’s face. “But I can’t help her
now. She doesn’t even know I’m here! If you have the tiniest
scrap of compassion, you’ll take me home.”
Her plea seemed to touch the ghost. “I have more to show
you.”
He summoned up the whirlpool again and the hospital room
became an empty church. A coffin lay before the altar, with a
lone wreath upon it. Elvira felt her heart tear in two.
“No!” she cried, pushing past the ghost. “Tell me it isn’t
true.”
The ghost followed her in silence. She hurried forwards and
knelt in front of the coffin. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she sobbed.
“Please forgive me.”
The ghost laid a hand on her shoulder and pointed towards
the vicar, who was heading towards them with another
clergyman. His voice carried through the empty church.
“It’s unheard of,” he said, staring about in a bewildered
fashion. “I’ve never conducted a funeral service where not a
single mourner turned up.”
His companion shook his head. “She had no family and, it
seems, no friends. A sad way to live.”
“And a worse way to die,” the vicar agreed. “But we’ll do
what we can for the poor soul.”
The words brought even more guilt crashing down on
Elvira. No one had cared enough to come to her mother’s
funeral. She had lived alone and died lonely. The knowledge
that she could have changed her mother’s final days burned
Elvira like a brand.
“I’ve seen enough,” she told the ghost, with a wretched
shake of her head. “Please, take me away from here.”
“Wait,” the ghost commanded.
 The vicar took his place on the altar and the other clergyman
stood at his elbow. Spreading his hands, he addressed the
vacant pews.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to commend
the soul of our sister, Peggy, to her maker.”
A sudden roaring filled Elvira’s ears. What name had he
used? Peggy? But that meant –
With a wild cry, she dashed forwards and snatched at the
wreath on the coffin. Her fingers slid right through it but a few
petals moved aside long enough for Elvira to see that the
simple brass plate bore the name Peggy Johnson. The truth
came crashing in; this wasn’t her mother’s funeral – it was her
own. And not a single person had come.
Chapter Nine
“Is this really how my life ends?” Elvira asked the ghost.
He nodded. “Death comes to us all.”
“Stop saying that,” she cried, slamming her fists into the
plush carpet. “Am I really so despicable that no one will come
to pay their last respects?”
The ghost looked stern. “Respect is earned. What have you
ever done to make people care about you?”
Elvira’s shoulders slumped as the truth dawned on her.
“Nothing.”
“This is only one possible future,” he said, a soothing note
creeping into his raspy voice. “It may not come to this, if you
are prepared to change for the better right now.”
She seized the sliver of hope with both hands. “You mean
my mother won’t die and I’ll have some mourners at my
funeral?”
He shrugged. “Everyone dies eventually.”
Elvira took a deep breath and swallowed her impatience.
“Yeah, you said. What I mean is, I’ll get the chance to put this
right.”
The ghost tipped his cowled head. “If you change for the
better tonight.”
She stared gratefully up at him and punched the air. “Yes!
Oh yes, I will!”
A faint smile crept over the ghost’s face. “I’m pleased to
hear it. Do you promise to stop tormenting the souls of the
dead?”
“Torment them?” She leapt to her feet. “How could I
torment them when you’ve all done so much for me tonight?
Seriously, I could kiss you!”
 A look of alarm crossed his face. “Please don’t,” he said,
backing away. Regaining his composure, he threw her a severe
look. “Promise me you will change, or I will make sure that
me and my three companions will haunt you for the rest of
your days.”
Elvira nodded so fast her head hurt. “Of course – I promise
I’ll never hurt another ghost as long as I live.”
“And you will make peace with your mother?”
Again, she nodded. “Of course.”
The ghost seemed satisfied. “Then I’ll leave you to it. Merry
Christmas, Peggy Johnson!”
His gazed searched hers and Elvira could have sworn she
saw a flash of steel grey tinged with gold at the centre of his
creepy oil-filled sockets. Too late, she remembered his earlier
words and wondered again what had happened to him. But she
had no time to ask; with a barely audible sigh, the robes
collapsed, leaving nothing behind. The church around her
vanished too, and was replaced by the shadow-filled alleyway
where she’d sat with Miss Chester what felt like a lifetime
ago.
Elvira peered around her in confusion. “How did I get
here?”
Stumbling along the alley, she emerged onto bustling
Regent Street. The carol singers were still singing when they
should have been long in bed, Hamley’s was brightly lit when
it should have been in darkness. Elvira gaped, open-mouthed.
What the Chocolate flipping Orange was going on? The spirits
had seemed so real – for ghosts, anyway. But they’d left her at
home in the early hours of Christmas Day, and here she was
back on Regent Street a full twelve hours earlier. She pinched
herself and let out a yelp; she was definitely awake now. As
unlikely as it seemed, she must have nodded off in the
alleyway and dreamed the whole thing. Except –
Her hand flew to her head; the Santa hat she’d picked up
during her lonely hours in the pub was still there. It couldn’t
have been a dream. She stood still amongst the bustle of
scurrying shoppers, trying to absorb what she’d been through.
A white flake swirled past her nose, landing on her bottom lip.
It melted in a heartbeat and was replaced by another, and
another. Her gaze flicked upwards as more snowflakes
spiralled down, dancing and twinkling in the ice-blue lights
until they filled the night. Elvira spread out her hands and
laughed. Suddenly, everything was simple. She’d been given
the ultimate Christmas gift; a glimpse of the future and the
chance to put right her mistakes before it was too late.
A sharp rattling dragged her out of her dream-like state. She
looked down to see a charity tin was being rattled under her
nose. Her gaze met that of the man holding it and he jumped in
recognition, hurriedly looking away with a mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Wait!” she cried, fumbling with her purse. Scooping out
the contents, notes and all, she crammed it into the opening of
the tin. “Merry Christmas!”
She whirled away, leaving him to peer through the snow at
her in grateful amazement. “Bless you!” he called. “Merry
Christmas!”
She waved a hand and sped off in the direction of Oxford
Circus. There was only one place she wanted to be and if she
could beat the weather, she might still be able to get there.
The concourse at Paddington Station was heaving with
people on their way to start their festive celebrations.
Somewhere, a brass band was pumping out well-worn carols.
Elvira weaved her way through the crowds, accepting the
inevitable bumps from bags and cases with uncharacteristic
good cheer and apologising as she went. She queued without
complaint and beamed at the man behind the ticket window
when she reached the front.
“Merry Christmas!” she said, pulling her credit card out.
“I’d like a ticket to Starcross in Devon, please, leaving as soon
as humanly possible.”
The man consulted the screen and pressed a few buttons on
his keyboard. “Returning when?”
 The events of her incredible night replayed in Elvira’s mind.
Why she’d been chosen for a second chance she couldn’t say
but she felt like a completely different person to the mean,
flint-hearted creature she’d been twelve hours earlier. Her eyes
twinkled with warmth as she winked at the man. “Tell you
what, why don’t you make it a single? I think I’m going to be
there for a while.”
 Enjoyed My So-Called Christmas Carol?

You might also like to meet the characters in their own

stories:

My So-Called Afterlife

My So-Called Haunting

My So-Called Phantom Lovelife

You can find out more and read the first chapters of each
book at
Tamsyn Murray Online!
 Author’s note

I first read Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol when I was

about eight years old. It was an abridged version and there was
probably a lot I didn’t understand but I still loved the story. So
when I was thinking about writing a Christmas story featuring
some of the Afterlife characters, it seemed like the most
natural thing in the world to adapt the story Dickens wrote to
fit around my ghosts.
And it’s been fun spending time with them. I know authors
aren’t supposed to have favourites but if I had to choose one
character to spend eternity with, it would be Lucy Shaw, from
My So-Called Afterlife. When I first had the idea for the book,
Lucy arrived in my head fully formed, stamping the wee from
her Uggs (this makes sense if you’ve read My So-Called
Afterlife) and demanding that I tell her story. She made me
laugh and drove me insane and I liked her a lot. I’m glad she
was my Ghost of Christmas Present.
Mary is another favourite – I mean, what’s not to like about
the ghost of a sixteenth century witch? She first appears in My
So-Called Haunting and although she comes across as a bit of
a banshee, she’s a pussycat underneath that grubby exterior.
She was the perfect choice for the Ghost of Christmas Past. I
think she might even have liked Elvira in the end.
Lastly, we have Owen, from My So-Called Phantom
Lovelife. I feel kind of bad about how I left things with him.
People have asked me about him a lot so I wanted to bring him
back to show that maybe there’s still a chance for him, in the
future. He is my Ghost of Christmas Future because if there’s
a chance for Elvira, there’s certainly hope for Owen.
 So I hope you enjoyed reading My So-Called Christmas
Carol. Remember, ghosts are all around us and, just like Santa
Claus, they know if you’ve been good or bad…
Merry Christmas!

Tamsyn Murray
 My So-Called Afterlife

Tamsyn Murray

“I knew it was time to move on when a tramp peed on my

Uggs.”

Lucy Shaw is a ghost with problems. First, she’s stuck

haunting the men’s toilets on Carnaby Street, not the best place
to spend eternity. Second, no-one can see or hear her. And
third, the man who killed her last New Year’s Eve is still on
the loose. Is it any wonder her mood is blacker than a tramp’s
fingernails?
So when a lighting engineer called Jeremy walks into the
toilet and asks her what she’s doing there she’s not exactly
Miss Congeniality. But given that he’s the only person who
can see her, she decides to overlook the fact that he’s drippier
than a toddler’s nose and accepts his offer of help. Before she
knows it, she’s out of the toilet and meeting other ghosts,
including the emotionally unstable Hep and the lip-smackingly
gorgeous Ryan.
Together, they track down Lucy’s killer, encountering
meerkats, exorcists, and the world’s stroppiest tattoo artist
along the way. Will their efforts to catch Lucy’s murderer
succeed? What happens if they do? And just how do you go
about snogging when you don’t actually have lips anymore?
Read My So-Called Afterlife to find out more!

Highly Commended – Booktrust Teenage Prize

Runner Up – Portsmouth Book Prize
 “Boy meets-girl but so refreshingly different.”– The
Bookseller
Buy here
 My So-Called Haunting

Tamsyn Murray

“How many times do I have to ask you to knock?” I yelled

at Mary as she drifted through the door of my room and
looked me up and down.
“Thou resemblest a strumpet,” she said, staring pointedly at
my thigh-skimming skirt.
Sometimes I had trouble understanding Mary’s weird
babbling, but in this case I was getting her loud and clear.
Suddenly, my mood was blacker than a vampire’s soul.
Skye, a fourteen-year-old psychic, is stressed out.. Not only
is the ghost of a sixteenth-century witch giving her fashion
tips, but she’s struggling to settle into life with her aunt, and is
developing a crush on the most unattainable boy in the school,
Nico.
When her aunt asks for her help with a troubled teen ghost
called Dontay, she’s glad of the distraction. But then Nico
starts paying her attention, and she’s soon facing a battle to
keep her love life and her psychic life separate.
As things get ever more complicated, it looks as though
Dontay’s past might cost Skye her future...

‘Scarily good… and spookily sassy! A fab, fun read…’ -

Cathy Cassidy
Runner Up – Bolton Book Award
Buy here
 My So-Called Phantom Lovelife

Tamsyn Murray

I knew the boy was different when I saw him walk on

water…
You think you’ve got relationship problems? Try dating a
ghost!
When fourteen-year-old Skye Thackery meets Owen Wicks,
it’s not exactly love at first sight. She’s getting over a broken
heart and he’s – well – a ghost. But as Skye gets to know him,
she can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
Their relationship isn’t easy, and things get worse when Owen
declares he’s found a way to stay with Skye forever. His plans
make her uneasy – the shadowy organisation which claims to
be able to help him is bad news, and it seems Nico, her ex, is
involved too.
As Owen prepares to risk his afterlife, Skye begins to
wonder if she really has a future with him, or if his desire to be
more than just a ghost will cost them everything.

Shortlisted for the RNA YA Romantic Novel of the Year

2012
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