Ghost House

by Alexandra Adornetto

  “And that means…?”

  “Sorry.” He smiled. “I forgot you’re a Yank. It means university next year, if everything goes according to plan.”

  “I bet I can guess what you want to do,” I said.

  “Go on.”

  “Veterinary science?”

  Joe raised an eyebrow and looked impressed. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  Joe nodded. “And what about you?”

  I gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Not a clue anymore.”

  “Well, there’s no rush, is there?”

  Joe was the real deal; cool without having to try. I found myself wondering what he’d say if I told him about the ghosts I’d met at Grange Hall. I’d debated telling Sam and Natalie about my ghosts on a few occasions, but had never gone through with it. They weren’t receptive to anything that didn’t fit into their insular little world. I could picture it now. They would both nod along and make sympathetic noises, but they’d never really understand. So consequently, there’d always been distance between us that couldn’t be bridged. Joe, on the other hand, didn’t seem the type to scare easy, but I still decided to hang off revealing anything that might make him question my stability. I didn’t want to risk alienating my only potential friend in this forbidding place.

  I could feel a dull headache starting behind my eyes that could only mean one thing—caffeine withdrawal. I’d never gone without my daily dose of Starbucks, and the watery brew that Gran served up in her dining room had proven to be undrinkable. I was used to flavored coffee and a barista who knew what you meant when you said double tall skinny cinnamon dolce latte with drizzle. But as it turned out, actual straight-up coffee was pretty gross.

  “There wouldn’t happen to be a Starbucks around here by any chance? Coffee Bean? Peet’s?”

  Joe frowned. “Caffeine is a highly addictive and dangerous drug. You should give it up immediately.”

  “Um…I don’t think it’s all that bad… .”

  “Relax, I’m just taking the piss.” I assumed that meant he was joking. British humor was going to take some getting used to. “Actually, there are a couple of places close by. I’ll take you later on if you like.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “Are you two just gonna stand around talking?” Rory sounded annoyed, maybe because I was monopolizing his new friend.

  Joe and I walked over to the stall where he was brushing down a chestnut mare.

  “Who rides the horses?” I asked.

  Joe shrugged. “Just me, this time of the year. Sometimes over the summer you get people with kids wanting trail rides.”

  I tentatively reached out a hand to stroke the horse’s nose but pulled back when she snorted and tossed her head. Great, even animals didn’t want to hang out with me.

  “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Yeah, she does,” Rory replied. “Betsy’s just head shy around strangers.”

  I turned to Joe with feigned outrage. “Okay, what have you done with my brother?”

  Joe grinned. “Try offering her the back of your hand first. Like this…”

  I mimicked his movement, and the horse responded by sniffing me cautiously. Joe rubbed his hand along the length of her nose, and she butted her head into the palm of his hand.

  “Hello, darlin’,” he murmured in a soothing voice. “This is Chloe. Give her a chance. You might like her.” He guided my hand to the horse’s neck and moved it up and down in slow, even strokes. I felt her tension ease beneath my fingers.

  “Hey, that worked.” I tried not to sound too excited.

  “See? Her ears are pointing forward now,” Joe said. “That means she trusts you.”

  I noticed Joe considered his words carefully, as though they carried too much power to be thrown around casually. “Let me show you something.” He picked up an apple and demonstrated how to offer it to Betsy on my palm. The horse demolished it in one clean bite, spraying my face with juice and apple fragments.

  Joe laughed and turned to Rory. “How about we give the gang some exercise?” he suggested. “Feel like tagging along, Chloe?”

  “Sure,” I agreed readily. It wasn’t like I had much else to do.

  I hadn’t been horseback riding since middle school when my friends and I had joined the Malibu Equestrian Club for the summer. I’d wanted to keep going, but Sam and Natalie insisted we all quit and take figure-skating lessons instead. As it turned out, the skill hadn’t entirely deserted me. I was a little rusty, but the worn leather reins felt familiar in my hands and the rhythmic movement of the horse’s body lulled me into a sense of peace. I’d always thought horses were majestic and powerful creatures that commanded respect. Even Rory, who was a beginner and had been assigned the smallest horse, looked comfortable following prompts from Joe. Riding through the winding country roads surrounding Grange Hall was the most fun I’d had in a long time. After a while, I didn’t even notice the cold.

  At one point Joe veered off the road, leading us single file along a dirt track. All sound was obliterated by the canopy of trees save for the soft thud of hooves on damp leaves. I looked up to see an expanse of droplets clinging to the branches above my head. They glittered in the watery sunshine, lending an otherworldly air to the place. As always a fine mist hung over everything, dampening my hair and clothes, but it transformed the woods into a fairy-tale kingdom, so I could hardly complain about it. For a second I thought I saw a black-clad figure ahead of us moving through the trees, but as we drew closer I realized it was only some blackened tree trunks.

  By the time we got back it was already early afternoon, and I wondered how so much of the day had slipped by unnoticed.

  “Ready for that coffee?” Joe asked as he helped me dismount. I couldn’t answer right away because I was too distracted by my brother making heart shapes with his fingers behind Joe’s back. A glimpse of the old Rory was back. Before our mom died, he’d been a prankster. Only last summer I remembered he’d sneaked down to our basement with my nail-polish remover to try to melt Styrofoam as part of a chemistry experiment. Another time, he’d set a trap for my friends by hiding his pet gecko, Plato, under the pillows on my bed. It was hard to forget the enjoyment plastered across his face at seeing the girls’ hysteria.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What about you, Rory?” Joe added politely. Rory looked embarrassed and shuffled his feet.

  “Gran’s making me go get a haircut.” I noticed that his curls were growing at odd angles around his ears, like twirls of spun cotton.

  “Ah, next time, then,” promised Joe. He turned to me. “I need to wash up first. I’ll meet you under the old oak in fifteen minutes.”

  I was surprised by my own enthusiasm for the outing. Maybe solitude was overrated. Maybe distraction was a far better antidote to pain.

  I hurried back to the house with Rory dragging his feet, obviously in no hurry to accompany Gran to the local barber. In my room I changed into a clean pair of jeans and attempted to fix my windblown hair. I hesitated a fraction before opening the wardrobe, ready to spring back in case the mud woman showed up again. But everything was as it should be. I even found a coat that I decided to borrow, though it smelled like it hadn’t seen the light of day in years. I gave it a few squirts of perfume to try to mask the mustiness.

  I found myself wishing I’d packed more carefully. There had to be department stores in England, right? Maybe I could ask Gran to take me shopping.

  The thought triggered a wave of self-loathing for thinking about shopping at a time like this. What was the matter with me? I knew my mom well enough to know she’d want me to get on with my life, but it felt disrespectful all the same. I rummaged through the drawer of my dresser for the only wool sweater I’d bothered to pack. As I pushed things aside, I caught a glimpse of th
e photograph I’d hidden there. Maybe it was time to put it on display, I thought to myself. I couldn’t go on living in denial forever. Besides, repressing memories of my mom wasn’t exactly working for me. In fact, it almost made things harder, because when a memory did sneak through unexpectedly, it caught me completely off guard and made the pain more acute. Maybe I needed to just let it in and allow myself to feel it. But I was scared. I knew how bad it was going to hurt, and I just wasn’t ready yet.

  The photo was lying facedown. I turned it over and found the glass shattered. I felt sick, like someone has desecrated holy ground. It wasn’t just an insignificant crack but more like the person had taken a hammer to it. A splinter of glass stabbed my finger, causing me to drop the photo altogether. How could this have happened? Could Miss Grimes be responsible? I didn’t think she hated me that much, but she was the only person I’d ever seen come up here. Had she dropped it while nosing around and was too ashamed to fess up? Or did this have something to do with the woman in the wardrobe? Maybe she was trying to let me know I hadn’t seen the last of her. I cast a glance at the carved wardrobe doors. I felt like she was watching me right now through the keyhole. If I listened very closely, I could hear her breathing. Stop it, Chloe, I told myself sternly. There’s nobody there.

  From my window I could see Joe waiting in the garden in a battered leather jacket and a charcoal scarf. Behind him, to my surprise, was a thrumming motorcycle. There was no time left to ponder the mystery of the photo, so I picked it up and placed it carefully on top of the dresser, vowing to find and expose the culprit when I got home.

  “Is everything okay?” Joe asked when I hurried outside, slamming the front door behind me. “You’re freaked out by the bike, aren’t you? I thought it was supposed to be sexy.”

  I couldn’t help smiling a little. “Relax, I’ve always wanted to go for a ride.”

  “Good,” he teased. “I can’t stand girls who worry about messing up their hair. Let’s hit the road.”

  He tossed me a helmet with bold red stripes and readjusted it without comment when I tried to put it on backward. I hoisted myself up behind him and wound my arms around his waist. He felt reassuringly strong and solid. The physical proximity was a little awkward at first, but once the bike was purring beneath me like an animal, I tightened my grip.

  After heading out the front gate, Joe steered the bike onto a narrow country lane. The trees had grown thick and fast, so it felt like we were roaring through a lush and leafy tunnel.

  “Don’t worry!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m just taking a shortcut, not trying to abduct you.”

  “Who’s worried?” I yelled back.

  He took a slight detour to show me his school. We came to a halt outside an imposing stone building that looked more like a museum with its pointy spires and looming gates.

  “Welcome to Bearwood Academy,” Joe announced. “Where dreams come to die.”

  “Jeez, it looks like it was built for Dracula.”

  “It’s the oldest school in the county. Founded in 1832.”

  “Sounds exclusive.”

  “It is. There’s no way I’d be here if I wasn’t on a scholarship.”

  “Does that mean you’re a genius?”

  “You know what Edison said about genius, don’t you?” I shook my head. “It’s 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration. That means we all have a shot.”

  “Right, and who said ‘You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it’?”

  “J. M. Barrie.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know your literary greats, I see. Did you dream of being Wendy when you were growing up?”

  “Actually, I dreamed of being Peter.”

  “Of course you did.” Joe chuckled as I peered up at the cheerless windows of Bearwood Academy.

  “Met any nice girls in this place or do they all fly around on broomsticks?”

  “Strictly no girls allowed, I’m afraid,” Joe said, making a glum face.

  “No way!”

  “Sad but true. The rationale being that the presence of females would interfere with the process of nurturing genius.”

  “Well, that’s archaic.” I felt a shiver ripple through me. The school was grandiose, but there was something cold and indifferent about it, too, like it shut out everyone who didn’t fit inside its paradigm of success.

  We rode on until we found ourselves in the midst of a cobblestone village. Christmas decorations lent a festive air. There were fluffy trees in the shop windows and tinsel draped around the lampposts. It looked like a toy Christmas village. The houses were so perfect I thought they must be made of paper and the wind might blow them over. Best of all, the holiday smell of pine and sugar permeated the air.

  The coffee shop was a converted bluestone building on a corner. Joe helped me off the bike, then sprinted to hold the door open. For a moment, I wondered if he was trying to impress me. Then I realized it was just how he’d been raised. Good manners came naturally to him. It made a comforting warmth spread through my chest. Now that taking care of the family had fallen on my shoulders, it was nice to have someone take care of me, just for an afternoon.

  Joe ordered our drinks and found us a table by the window that looked out onto the street. The rain had stopped at least, washing off the dust and making everything look as vivid as a picture postcard. I peeled off my coat and noticed my phone buzzing in my pocket.

  “There’s reception here!” I exclaimed. “Thank God.”

  For the next few minutes my phone was inundated with a deluge of text messages asking how I was doing and when I was coming home and if I’d met Prince Harry yet. I shook my head and smiled before shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Sorry,” I said. “My best friends want details.”

  “What are their names?” he asked.

  “Samantha and Natalie.”

  “They sound like Real Housewives in the making.”

  “You shouldn’t judge people on that basis,” I told him, wagging a finger.

  “You’re right,” Joe agreed. “I’m sorry. What are they like?”

  “In this case you were pretty much right.” I laughed. “They don’t give a damn about climate change, but they do have great hair.”

  “I get the feeling you don’t really miss them—am I right?” There he went again, exhibiting that strange intuition.

  “Not as much as I thought I would,” I confessed. I felt a little twinge of guilt but it was the truth. I’d hardly thought about my life back home since I arrived. Without Mom, it wasn’t really home anymore. “In fact, I don’t miss them at all. God, I must sound like a total bitch.”

  Joe cupped his chin in one hand before answering, “No. You sound like you haven’t met the right people yet.” He flashed me a flirty little smile. “Maybe that’s about to change.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On the street, Joe turned to me awkwardly, something obviously on his mind.

  “You know…the Winter Ball is coming up in a few weeks.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I answered drily. “Gran won’t shut up about it.”

  “It should be a pretty good night.” He hesitated a moment. “Why don’t you come along?”

  “Well, I currently live at Grange Hall, so technically I’ll be there.”

  “Allow me to rephrase. Why don’t you come downstairs?”

  “I dunno,” I hedged. “It’s a long walk.”

  Joe grinned and rolled his eyes toward the stormy sky.

  “Let me try this one more time, Chloe. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Damn it, he was asking me out. I’d been hoping to sneakily change the subject, but no such luck. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Joe. But the idea of any large social gathering terrified me right now. The old Chloe would have come up wit
h a plethora of flimsy excuses not to hurt his feelings, but today I decided to give honesty a shot.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for something like that right now,” I told him. “It might be a bit…much.” I was surprised at myself. Usually, I was a people-pleaser, always going out of my way to avoid awkward situations. But I felt I owed Joe the truth. If he was disappointed, he hid it well.

  “Of course.” He nodded. “I understand. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  “Sure.”

  Pewter clouds were scudding across the tenebrous sky as we made our way back to the bike, but the rain held off just long enough for us to pull into the driveway of Grange Hall. Then it really started pelting down. There was something about the rain that always put me in a reflective mood. Maybe it had to do with the fact that rain was pretty much nonexistent in Southern California, to the point where you woke up some days wishing the obnoxious sunshine would just give it a rest.

  Joe declined my invitation to stay for dinner because he had to study for some upcoming test, but he did say “See you tomorrow,” as if suggesting our relationship would be ongoing. From any other guy, I might have found that arrogant, but with him, it just worked.

  I stood in the doorway, watching him pull out of the driveway until the sound of muted voices from inside drew my attention. I followed the sound into the dining hall, where I found two women I hadn’t seen before. They were sitting by the fire, sipping tea and deep in feverish conversation. Both wore long, knitted cardigans and had silver hair held in place by bejeweled combs, the kind little girls might wear when playing dress-up. Their eyes were bright and animated as they talked. In front of them, among the crumbs and crockery, were notebooks scrawled with calculations and elaborate symbols. They had to be the maverick sisters Gran had spoken about.

  I walked over to the table where Gran and Rory were seated, noting that my brother looked a lot more presentable now with his unruly curls trimmed back so they weren’t obscuring his vision.

  “They’re professional ghost busters,” Rory whispered through a mouthful of toast covered in a dark paste that bore a strong resemblance to tar.