“J’ai peur!” The sound from Joseph’s headphones changes abruptly to music that sounds rough, angry, jagged, and frightened. Shelly steps back, unsteady on her feet. “I’m scared, Little Shell. That’s why I’m here. I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what’s on the other side. I’ve been here forever and nobody can tell me what’s there for sure. I told Old Lady, I told her I was working my way up to it. That I’d leave when I’m ready, but right now I’m not.
“I don’t know why some people stay and some people go. I don’t know why I stayed, except I was less scared of being a ghost forever and being stuck here, alone, than of whatever comes next.” Joseph’s music isn’t even music now—it’s just harsh, clashing noise. Shelly didn’t mean to upset him this much, but she doesn’t feel bad about it either. She wants answers.
“Maybe your mom figured it all out. Maybe she wasn’t scared of death and she decided she’d had enough. Maybe she didn’t want to be a ghost—or she didn’t get a choice. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about ghosts!”
This isn’t what Shelly came to hear. Joseph was supposed to have answers. Joseph sits in a graveyard all day, watching people come and go. He’s been around for years. If there’s anyone who should know all the things Grandma doesn’t, it’s him.
Instead, Joseph is just a scared, uncertain ghost like all the other scared, uncertain ghosts she’s met. He feels as stuck and invisible as she does and it’s not fair.
Shelly lashes out and kicks her foot through Joseph’s immaterial body and he topples over from the force of it, coming uprooted from his spot on the ground by his grave. Joseph looks startled—at moving, at being suddenly unmoored, suddenly ghostly in a way he wasn’t before. He flickers, like the man who Grandma once dredged up from the river.
“Little Shell, what did you do to me?” Joseph asks, mournful as he twists in place and tries to claw his way back toward his grave, his spot. “Where have you put me?”
Panic claws at Shelly’s throat. She didn’t mean to—this isn’t what she planned. For all she’s been taking ghosts and bringing them home with her, she’s never taken someone who didn’t want to come—she hasn’t broken a rule like this before.
She doesn’t know how to fix it.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Joseph.”
Shelly does the only thing she can think to do and catches Joseph up in her hair. She turns and runs from the cemetery. She runs home, back to Grandma, who will know what to do.
20
When Shelly gets home, Grandma is sweeping the last of the ghosts out of the kitchen. Her hair is pulled up into a tight bun and she’s wearing an apron over her jeans and sweatshirt. Grandma clearing out her ghosts doesn’t seem so bad now. Not when panic is thrumming inside Shelly’s chest like a hummingbird trapped in a cage.
“Grandma,” Shelly says. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I just got so mad.”
Grandma takes one look at Shelly’s frightened face and Joseph in her hair and puts her broom down. She looks sad, tired. “There’s nothing to do, Joseph,” she says, voice gentle. “We’ll give you some milk and help you get to where you’re going.”
Shelly carries Joseph into the kitchen and sits with him at the table, trembling and quiet and sorry, while Grandma pours his milk. Grandma sticks the mug in the microwave and turns to look at them, rubbing a hand over her face. “How did this happen?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Shelly says quickly. “It was a mistake.”
“I made her mad,” says Joseph. “I told her I was scared.”
Shelly’s panic has calmed, but now all she feels is crushing guilt. Joseph wasn’t supposed to be uprooted. He was supposed to be allowed to stay until he decided to leave. Even if she and Grandma have both been breaking other rules, this one is going too far. Joseph isn’t an angry shade or confused wisp of a thing. He’s not floorboards full of mice or a raccoon in the chimney. He’s a person with thoughts and feelings and he’s scared—like Shelly’s scared—of the big unknown waiting for him.
Grandma sets the mug of warm milk in front of him. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” she says. “But you’ve been in the graveyard for a long time.”
“Yeah. Maybe this is a sign it’s time for me to go.” Joseph prods the mug with a finger. “I’d rather have music. I don’t need feeding.”
“You could stay here,” Shelly says, even though she knows Grandma won’t approve. “I can keep you here. You should only have to leave when you’re ready.”
Joseph looks up at Shelly. There’s no music coming from his headphones now, just his voice, and something about that is more distressing than if he’d been playing a sad song. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t think I can stay. We’re supposed to be friends, right? I don’t think staying is what a friend would do, Little Shell.”
“We carry our dead with us everywhere we go,” Grandma says, reaching out to touch Shelly’s hair. “The important people don’t leave us, even when their ghosts are gone. Even if they never come back.”
“Do I get to be important?” Joseph looks at Shelly, lips smiling nervously. “You’ll remember me, won’t you? I gave you a good tape. Introduced you to new music. Sat with you in a graveyard at midnight. That’s worth getting remembered.”
Shelly’s hands are shaking. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest and she wants to say no. She wants to tell Joseph he needs to stay around if he wants her to remember him. She wants to tell Grandma that memories aren’t the same as a person. That they fade. One day she won’t remember the sound of Joseph’s voice through his headphones. One day she won’t remember her mother’s face. Maybe ghosts aren’t the same as living people, but they’re better than nothing. She wants to wrap herself up in them and hold them close. She wants to keep everybody here, with her, instead of letting them leave.
“I don’t want you to go,” she says. She’s trying not to cry, but when she blinks a hot tear rolls down her cheek. “You don’t want to go.”
“I know,” says Joseph. “But I think I have to.”
“We’ll remember you,” Grandma promises. She takes a comb from her apron pocket. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t know,” says Joseph. “But I guess most people don’t get to decide, do they?” He cups the mug in his insubstantial hands, looking down at the milk inside it. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Joseph is right. Death is something that happens to everyone, but knowing when it’s going to happen, choosing when you make the transition from life to death, choosing whether or not you’ll be a ghost and stick around a little longer, isn’t something most people get the chance to do. Shelly’s mom didn’t get to decide when she died. And unless she comes back, Shelly isn’t going to get the chance to say goodbye to her the way she’s getting the chance to say goodbye to Joseph now.
It’s not much, but it’s a small comfort.
“I’m sorry.” Shelly reaches out to touch the mug in the same spot as Joseph’s cold hand. “I hope wherever you’re going is nice. I hope you like it.”
Joseph looks at Shelly and smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.”
Grandma combs Shelly’s hair and Joseph gets blurrier and blurrier until he fades away. Just before he goes, he tilts his head to the side, looking startled. “Oh,” he says, his voice like static. “I hear music.”
And then he’s gone. Shelly blinks hot tears off her eyelashes and Grandma keeps combing her hair until her tears stop falling.
“Do you feel better?” Grandma asks, handing Shelly Joseph’s milk, now just lukewarm.
“No.” The kitchen feels empty without Joseph. The house feels empty knowing she doesn’t have a crowd of ghosts waiting in her bedroom, but without their cold weight it feels warmer, too. The ache she’s been feeling from filling her hair and room with ghosts isn’t there anymore. Something has changed. Shelly’s not sure
if that’s good or bad.
21
Shelly and Grandma sleep in Mom’s room that night—or Grandma does, anyway. Shelly lies awake with her back to Grandma, staring at the shuttered blinds over the window and thinking about Joseph. Joseph said that staying with her wasn’t what a friend would do. Maybe he was right, but it’s still not fair. It’s not fair that Shelly’s mom died. It’s not fair that she hasn’t come back. It’s not fair that Shelly didn’t even get to say goodbye to her, like she did to Joseph.
If Shelly could have one last conversation with her mom, she’d tell her she should be a ghost. She’d tell her she should stick around and be here with Shelly. That this is where she belongs.
Shelly would say she misses her. She’d say she loves her.
Her mom would say she didn’t mean to leave so soon. She’d say she loves Shelly, too. And Shelly knows she’d say she wishes she could stay, but the dead aren’t meant to stick around.
Shelly rolls over so she’s facing Grandma, squeezing her eyes shut as she starts to cry. When she makes herself really think it through, it’s obvious—Mom isn’t coming back. Her ghost isn’t going to show up one day. Shelly’s been chasing her mother’s ghost, looking for her everywhere, even some places that didn’t make sense. But she’s moved on to whatever comes next and Shelly’s been chasing after something she’s never going to find.
Shelly’s mom didn’t like ghosts very much. In the photo Shelly has in her backpack, the one of her and her mom when Shelly was small, her mom even has short hair—hair way too short to catch the dead. Maybe Joseph and her mom have two things in common—their taste in music and thinking that haunting Shelly would be bad for her.
Shelly inhales shakily and wipes at her eyes. Her hair feels heavy, even without the ghosts. It feels like too much to carry. Like a burden.
Except her mom had it short before, in the photo. Shelly doesn’t have to have it long. If she cuts it, she won’t be able to catch the dead until it grows out. She won’t be able to help Grandma on jobs for a while. But suddenly, the thought of not having to deal with ghosts for a while just sounds . . . like a relief.
No more bringing the dead home. No more searching for her mom.
It’s a way to say goodbye.
• • •
In the morning, Grandma makes bacon and eggs for breakfast. Shelly thought she’d be in trouble if Grandma ever found her ghosts, but Grandma’s being kind about it. She serves Shelly and then sits down with her own food, watching Shelly pick at her plate.
“I know you’re upset about Joseph and the other ghosts,” Grandma says, “but they had to move on, Shelly.”
“I know.” Shelly looks up at Grandma. She’s upset, but she understands better now. Mostly she’s thinking about the decision she made the night before. This morning, she’s certain. “I want to cut my hair.”
Grandma pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Your hair?” she repeats. “Shelly, are you sure? That’s a big decision.”
Shelly is sure. Even just saying the words feels right. It’s time to cut her hair so it can grow out new and shiny, not tangled up with the dead, not dragging at her shoulders with the weight of the memories it carries. “Yes,” she says. “I need to.”
Grandma hesitates, then nods. “Okay. Do you want to wait? So you’re really sure?”
“I’m really sure,” says Shelly, because she is. She wants it gone. “Can we do it now? Please?”
Grandma sets her fork down. Her expression is a strange mix of pride and sadness as she looks at Shelly across the table. “Okay. Get the scissors from my sewing kit and we’ll get started.”
Shelly grabs Grandma’s little silver scissors and they go outside to sit on the front step. It’s late enough in the year and early enough in the day that it’s still kind of dark out. The sky is pink-purple-red as the sun comes up. It’s pretty, and Shelly watches the sunrise while Grandma combs her long hair out one last time.
Grandma gathers Shelly’s hair into little ponytails and cuts them off carefully, her touch gentle, and hands Shelly each lock of hair as she goes, until they’re all gone.
Shelly shivers when the evening wind brushes her neck, and shakes out her newly shorn hair, feeling the crisp ends brush against her skin. All the things she’s been carrying with her are still there, but they seem lighter now. Easier.
Shelly winds the strands of her hair around and around her hand. There’s so much that isn’t attached to her the same way anymore, and now she can’t fish for ghosts as she walks the street. She can’t load her shoulders with the weight of their lives. She can’t kidnap anybody from a graveyard. As much as she might want to, she can’t chase her mother’s ghost. She has to admit to herself now that her mom wouldn’t want her to.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she says, looking up at Grandma.
“You have your mother’s temper,” Grandma replies, smiling at her. “She’d be proud of you for telling me exactly how you were feeling. It’s okay, Shelly. I’m sorry I didn’t see what you were doing. I promise to listen better in the future.”
Grandma touches Shelly’s hair, brushing her fingers through it. “I used to cut your mother’s hair for her too, when she was little,” she says. “She never wanted to catch ghosts. She always said if she spent all her time hunting them, she’d never have time to do anything else. When she had you, she cut it short again. She said taking care of you was more important than taking care of the dead. She said she let it grow out again because keeping it short was too much trouble. I think she liked the idea of being able to help you if you needed her to.” Grandma’s voice is sad, but her hands are steady.
“Shelly, whether or not you catch ghosts, you’re still my granddaughter. You’re still your mother’s daughter. Part of the gift our family has is knowing when you can take care of ghosts and knowing when you can’t. I’m proud of you. Your mother would be proud of you, too.” Grandma leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Shelly’s head. “We took a lot off. What do you think?”
Shelly’s hair is gone, but all the feelings from before are still there. They just hurt a little less. She hasn’t seen what it looks like yet, but she knows the answer to Grandma’s question already.
She smiles up at her. “I like it.”
Epilogue
The day of the first snow of the season, Grandma and Shelly go to the thrift store and to Zhou’s. They buy a tape—The Smiths’ The Queen Is Dead—and get an order of sweet and sour pork with a side of fries to go. Then they get on the bus and head to the cemetery. They’re moving to a smaller apartment soon, but for now it’s the same route and the same number of stops as it was the first time Grandma brought Shelly here, when she met Joseph.
Shelly’s okay with moving. Her mom never liked the orange wallpaper anyway. Things her mom did like—like the posters she put up in Shelly’s room—are coming with them to their new apartment.
Shelly’s gloves are so thick she can barely bend her fingers, and she’s all wrapped up in her winter coat, but the air outside is cold enough that having the bag of takeout on her lap is nice—kind of like having a hot water bottle made of fried food and foil containers. She’s still getting used to the way her new, shorter hair leaves her neck exposed to the wind.
“It’ll have to be a quick visit,” Grandma says, as the bus pulls up outside the graveyard. “It’s too cold to stay out here long. I don’t want you getting sick.”
Shelly smiles at Grandma and helps her off the bus. “That’s okay,” she says. “I just want to say hello.”
The cemetery is deserted—no ghosts or other people lingering—and Shelly and Grandma follow the winding paths to Joseph’s grave first.
It’s small and flat. It looks empty without Joseph there. Shelly dusts snow off the little metal plaque that marks his final resting place and sets the tape Grandma hands her down beside it.
“
Grandma thinks you’d like this one,” she says. “She says my mom liked them, and you had the same taste in music. I bet it’s better than French tapes.” She reaches for Grandma’s hand. “I hope wherever you are now, you like it. I hope it’s nice after you waited so long to go.”
There are a lot of things Shelly wishes she could say to Joseph’s face. There are a lot of things she wishes she could say to her mother, too. There’s so much she wants to say, wants to know, and now every new thing she’s going to learn about her mom will be from moments like Grandma picking up a cassette and telling Shelly her mom liked The Smiths. She’s glad Grandma shared that, but Shelly still wishes she could have learned it from her mom. Maybe she understands, now, why her mom chose not to come back, but that doesn’t make it easier to accept that she’s gone. Even more unfair than not getting to say goodbye to her mom is that Shelly doesn’t get to share her life with her.
Ghosts are echoes of the person they once were. They fade away, slowly, personalities and memories eroding over time. And they’re invisible to most people. They can’t talk or touch unless something happened to make them exceptionally motivated to try.
Her mom wasn’t afraid of what came after death—she was afraid of being stalled, of being stuck in between the place she came from and where she was going. Her mom was afraid of being an echo of her living self.
Shelly gets that. She hoarded away people she didn’t even know—Shelly pulled Joseph from his grave and brought him home with her because she didn’t want to let go of things and she didn’t want to change. Shelly wanted to be a static, unchanging thing. She wasn’t a ghost, but Shelly let herself become a haunted place, gathering ghosts around herself like a safety net, like maybe they’d let her get closer to her mom, but that was the wrong choice.
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