We sit in the shade on the patchy grass next to the house, and I start to sketch. Coop strikes a pose, his face pinched and serious.
“Do I need to stay still?” he asks, trying not to move his lips.
“Nah, you’re okay. Just be normal. If you can manage that.”
“Normal. Right.” He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue, making me laugh.
“Beautiful. Great look on you.”
Finally, Coop relaxes. “It’s kind of weird being here…I mean, in this house,” he says, shredding a blade of yellowing grass. “I wasn’t really old enough to know Kaitlyn, but my sister…” He pauses, and before I can ask him anything, he continues. “I remember my dad talking about Kaitlyn and her family and studying her file. It kills him he never found out what happened to them.”
“That must have been hard on you.”
“Yeah, like I said, it’s just weird.”
“It’s weirder next door,” I tell him without thinking, concentrating on my drawing. “Mrs. Franz is a total hoarder.”
“Really?” he asks. “I watched a show on hoarders once. Pretty intense.”
“She let me and my mom inside,” I tell him. “We promised to help her find her dog.”
“That mutt is older than dirt. It’s probably better off dead.”
I close my eyes and sigh.
“I just went back to being an asshole, didn’t I?” Coop asks.
I nod and get back to my drawing.
“My shrink thinks I say shit like that to get attention.”
“Do you?” I ask, trying to duplicate the line of his cheek.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t sound wrong in my head, but when it comes out of my mouth, people look at me like I’m…”
“An asshole,” I finish for him. I put the finishing touches on my sketch. It’s super rough, but I flip it around to show Coop.
“Oh, that is really good.” He takes the book from my hands and admires himself. “I look great.” He makes his face mimic the expression I gave him in the sketch, smirking, with one eyebrow up. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”
I’m happy he likes it.
“Do you ever do self-portraits?” he asks suddenly.
“Oh, well, I don’t really…” I’m unsure of what to say. Fortunately, Coop seems to have the attention span of a gnat and looks past me.
“What’s he doing?”
A kid is running across the yard to the swing set. He puts something on the seat of the swing, then takes off at top speed.
“Chris!” Coop yells after him.
“Why would he run away from us into the forest?” I ask him.
“Forest?” Coop laughs. “That’s not a forest, city girl. That’s like, twenty trees.”
“Whatever. Why wouldn’t he just come say hi?”
“He’s not supposed to be over here.” He shrugs. “I love my brother, but even I have to admit he’s a weird little dude.” Coop jumps up. “Let’s see what he was up to.”
I stand too and trudge over to the swing set, the seat and chain creaking back and forth. The thing Chris left looks like a wad of newspaper. I pick it up and feel something solid inside. I unroll the paper, and colored pencils fall out and rain on the ground. I bend to pick them up. Some are half used, some worn down to a stub.
“I think it’s a present for me,” I say, touched.
“Aww…little guy has a crush,” Coop says.
It’s so sweet of him to give me supplies for my art. I feel like I shouldn’t take them, though. Aren’t you supposed to refuse presents from kids? Don’t they give away their stuff and regret it later?
“Looks like I have competition,” Coop says thoughtfully.
I stand, the bundle of pencils in my hand. “Who says you’re in the running?” I ask.
“Oh, come on. Look at all this.” He motions up and down his body.
“God, you are just…”
“Irresistible?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Unbelievable,” I tell him.
“I’ll take it!” He grins, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Don’t tease Chris about this,” I tell him.
“You think I would do that? I’m hurt.” He puts his hand over his heart. “You must not know me at all.”
“I’ve known you about twenty hours, and I think you absolutely would.”
“Okay, Scout’s honor.” He leans forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. Then I hear my dad calling my name from inside the house.
“You should probably go now,” I say, moving back.
“Okay,” he says. “But maybe we can hang out again sometime.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I wave to him as he walks across the yard to the trees that separate our houses. When I turn to go inside, Shannon is blocking my way.
“New boyfriend?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I tell her.
She shrugs.
“Dad nearly had a heart attack when I told him you were in your room with a boy.”
“Thanks for that, by the way. Did he also send you out here to check on us?”
“He sure did.” Shannon smiles. “But you seemed to scare him off all on your own.”
I feel kind of giddy as I follow her inside and go up the stairs. Coop is definitely dateable…totally boy-next-door cute. I have to text Raina.
When I get to my room, the colored pencils fall noiselessly from my hand to the orange shag carpeting. All my drawings, the ones I put up today, have fallen down. The Sticky Tack I used must not have worked on the old walls. I bend down to pick up one of the drawings.
But I was wrong.
The paper didn’t fall down.
It was ripped.
LATER THAT DAY, I walk through the twenty trees in the not-forest to the yellow house. Their yard is as big as ours but a lot nicer, the grass actually green. I stop. What am I going to do? Knock on their back door? And then what? Ask to talk to a ten-year-old? I’ll look like a freak. Especially if Coop is home.
Except this same ten-year-old told me he saw girls who weren’t real. That could absolutely mean ghosts. Freaking ghosts. He’s lived here his whole life, so he must know something. Anything. It’s worth a try.
Maybe I could ask for Coop and, if he isn’t home, introduce myself as the new neighbor to his parents, ask if they need a babysitter. I should have brought muffins. Don’t people bring things like muffins when they meet neighbors?
I’m trying to decide if I should walk around the block or sneak by the side to the front, but I don’t have to make the decision because I see Chris’s face through a window. He holds up his pointer finger to indicate I should wait a moment. So I stand awkwardly in the yard for what seems like forever until he comes rushing out the back door. When he gets a few feet from me, he slows.
“Hi, Haley,” he says. He’s wearing basketball shorts that are bulging at the hips and a different superhero tank top.
“Hi, Chris.” I try to smile reassuringly. “I got your present. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But I don’t know if I should keep them.”
He shrugs. “I don’t use them so much anymore, but since you like to draw, I thought you’d like them.”
“That was very nice of you. But if you ever want them back, just let me know, okay?”
“Yeah. Here.” He reaches into his pockets and pulls a can of cola from one and a juice box from the other. “I didn’t know which you would want,” he says.
I reach for the juice, and he pops the tab on his soda and takes a big gulp, letting out a small burp. He looks mortified. I smile and unwrap the straw, stabbing it into the foil circle in the box. I take a polite sip, the sickly-sweet watermelon-strawberry concoction washing o
ver my tongue.
We stand there, drinking, until I finally ask, “Is Coop around?”
“Nah, he’s at the hospital.”
I sputter on my juice. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. He volunteers there sometimes.”
“Oh.” I let out a laugh. “I thought he was hurt or something.”
“Is that why you’re here?” He looks disappointed. “To see him?”
“No. Actually, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you something.”
“About the girls?” He looks up at me.
I nod. “About the girls.”
“Have you seen them?” he asks, not exactly eager, more like impatient.
“No,” I say, and his face falls. “I don’t know. Maybe. Weird stuff keeps happening.” God, I’m talking to a ten-year-old about a possible haunting at my house. “Like things moving around,” I add carefully, “or getting wrecked.”
He nods knowingly.
“I’m frightened.”
“It can be scary. But I don’t think they want to hurt you.”
“Then what do they want? I was locked in a chest in the basement. I thought I was going to die.” I can’t help the panic in my voice.
“But you didn’t die,” he says. “They didn’t hurt you, right?”
“Not really.” I rub my bruised elbow. Though to be fair, I did that to myself when I freaked the hell out.
Chris takes another gulp of his soda. “I think they want to tell you something.”
“Like what?” I ask, trying not to freak out again. “What do they want to tell me?”
“I don’t know.” He glances back at his house, then walks past me, into the trees. I follow, and he leads me to a big tree with massive roots. Action figures litter the ground. He sits on one of the roots, and I sit across from him. A plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle digs into my leg, and I toss it to the side.
“So you believe in them?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I admit, and his little face grimaces like I just punched him. “But I’m definitely starting to. You say you don’t know what they want….What do you know?”
“I see them, sometimes,” he tells me. “The girls that went missing. They’re stuck.”
“In my house?”
“No. They’re stuck here.” He motions around himself, at the world.
“Here? Instead of…?”
“Who knows where dead people go?”
“I thought…I mean…This kind of proves that people die and become spirits or whatever, right?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think you’re supposed to become a ghost when you die.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Last year my grandma was sick in the hospital, and we all had to go see the doctors turn off the machines and say goodbye to her. But when the beeping stopped, Grandma wasn’t gone. She was standing right next to me, even though Mom and Dad were crying over her hospital bed.”
Coldness creeps up my spine. “And she just…stayed with you?”
Chris shakes his head. “She smiled at me, and then there was this really bright light behind her. It kind of looked like a doorway. Then she turned to it and was gone. I told my mom, and that’s when she took me to see the doctor.”
“I bet,” I mutter.
“Mom says Grandma went to heaven, but I don’t know if that’s true. I didn’t see where she went. I do know she’s not around here anymore.”
“But these girls in my house—they didn’t find the light…and move on?”
He shakes his head again. “They must have gotten stuck. I’ve always seen them,” he tells me. “When I was a little kid, I could see them peeking out your windows, and sometimes in the yard. They looked lost and sad.”
I nod, waiting for him to continue.
“They look different now from when I was little, though.”
“Different how?” I hope they’re not skeletons, or rotting flesh.
“Lighter…” He stops and thinks about it. “Kind of like how one of my old shirts is supposed to be the same color as my new shirt, but they don’t look the same.”
“So they’re washed-out?” I prompt. “Faded?”
He smiles. “Yep. Faded.”
“Do you think they’re dying?” I ask.
“Haley, they’re already dead.”
I sip my juice. “Maybe they want me to help them,” I say. “Maybe I can find out what happened. Someone must have killed them.”
Chris nods solemnly. He looks so young. And we’re sitting here talking about teen girls being murdered and haunting his neighbor’s house.
“Sorry to get you involved. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“It’s okay,” he tells me. “I can’t really talk to anyone about it either. Kelly won’t…” He pauses, looks mortified.
“What do you want to say about Coop?” I ask.
“Nothing. He says I shouldn’t tell people I see ghosts. He says they’ll think I’m a freak.”
“So he doesn’t believe you?” I ask.
“He didn’t say that. He just says I shouldn’t talk about it.” He shakes his head. “My parents think I’m projecting because of…things that happened when I was little.”
“What happened?”
“My sister died.”
So that’s why Coop didn’t want to talk about her when he mentioned her.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I was real little, but I remember her. She would look after me a lot. My parents think I make this stuff up to feel closer to her. But I think it’s something else. I know I can see the dead girls, and I think I know why.”
“Why?”
“I was born dead.”
For a moment I can’t breathe, and my chest goes cold.
“The cord thingy was wrapped around my neck and I came out all blue. The doctors saved me.”
I swallow. “I died once too,” I tell him, sucking in air. “When I was eight, I drowned in Lake Michigan.”
He nods. “Maybe that’s why we can sense them. I thought I was the only one.”
“Well, now we have each other,” I say, trying to sound cheerier than I feel.
I hear a woman call his name. She sounds desperate. Chris looks terrified. “I better go. That’s my mom.” He hops up and rushes away. I sit for a moment.
I hope I’m not just feeding into his crazy. But I really am starting to believe that ghosts are real. And I’m going to do everything I can to help them move on.
INSTEAD OF GOING home, I stand at the tree line and survey the back of the house. I already thought it was creepy, but now that I know what I know…it looks menacing. How could my parents move us here?
Was Chris right? Do we have some connection to the dead because we both almost died? No, we both were dead. But a lot of people have had near-death experiences. If they all could see ghosts, it would be documented. Maybe only a few can, or maybe our brains changed just enough to make us different. I shake my head. Or maybe Chris and I are just damaged enough to play into each other’s delusions.
A motion to my right catches my attention. The nosy neighbor is peeking out his window at me. I stare him down, but he doesn’t even flinch. I hope he’s just a busybody and not a predator.
I shudder and walk toward my back door, but at the last moment, I veer, deciding to pay a visit to Mrs. Franz. I knock for a few minutes before she answers. She only opens the door about a foot.
“There’s no news, dear. Trixie is still missing,” she tells me curtly.
“I’m sorry about that.” She’s about to close the door in my face, so I quickly add, “But I was hoping we could talk. Maybe have some tea?”
She looks me up and down, then nods. “Okay.” She stands aside and I squeeze in.
�
�Would you like me to make it?” I ask.
“That would be nice.” She sits at the kitchen table and I skirt boxes of canned food. At least I know where everything is from last time, so it doesn’t take me long to get the water going.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting in silence at the table, sipping our tea. How do you ask someone about their missing grandchild? How do you tell them that you think their grandchild may have some connection to your house? Might be…haunting that house?
Mrs. Franz sighs. “You’re here because you want to know about Brandy?”
I nearly choke on my tea.
“When you asked about those girls,” she continues, “I knew it was only a matter of time before you were back, wanting to know more. It’s a small town, and gossip goes around.”
“I…Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re not the first to come asking, and you won’t be the last. Usually they’re reporters or people obsessed with serial killers or hobbyist detectives. Once there was a woman who claimed to be a medium. Said she could communicate with the dead.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I don’t let any of them through my door.”
“But you let me,” I say, hopeful.
“You’re not just morbidly curious,” she tells me. “You live here now. I can tell you want to know what happened.”
“I do,” I tell her.
“Well, so do I, girl. So do I.” Her face is stricken. “One day you have a beautiful granddaughter, so full of life, ready to take on the world. And the next day you have nothing. It’s all gone.”
“Tell me about Brandy,” I say. “Was she friends with Kaitlyn?”
Mrs. Franz’s head snaps up. “Brandy was a good girl.”
“I didn’t mean anything….”
“Brandy was friendly with everyone, but I told her not to get involved with Kaitlyn. She was too wild, always out late with boys. Brandy knew better.”
Because teenage girls always listen to their grandparents about who they should hang out with.
“They did run together, though.”
I’m confused. “Like, in a gang?”
Mrs. Franz looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No, on track. Brandy ran the mile. I think Kaitlyn was a sprinter. Those other two missing girls ran too. At track meets, everyone thought they were all sisters. They looked so similar.”
The Fade Page 6
