Karma Moon—Ghost Hunter

by Melissa Savage

  And was I surprised.

  Side note: Nyx is totally sitting next to me on the couch right now and it feels like we may be having another moment.

  Nothing’s touching or anything like that, but it’s a definite carpet shock kind of feeling anyway.

  But, you know…in a good way.

  Sitting next to Mags is Jeremy Kelly. It turns out that once he got his chapped lips in check, Mags gave him another shot, and the fireworks didn’t dud out the second time.

  The only person who should be here and isn’t is Mom.

  But it’s her choice to live her other life without us. And as much as it still hurts my heart when I let myself really think about it, I try to focus on other things instead.

  Like Dad, for one.

  Me and him are solid as concrete. Nothing will ever break that. I know that now and so do my what-ifs.

  Dad and I have even been busy fixing up our place a bit too. After getting special permission from the owner, Dad laid a new floor in the kitchen, and grumpy Mr. Drago helped him do it, too. I oiled the windows, which now open even when it rains, and there’s a new coat of paint in all the rooms. I chose bright green for my room to match my mood ring, which has never turned mud brown again. As long as we paint everything white again if we ever move out, we could pick any colors we wanted. And when Dad said we should order something special for our spaces to make them our own, I chose a new poster for above my bed.

  Criss Angel.

  Dad chose a spanking-new seventy-two-inch flat-screen with Dolby Surround Sound for the living room. He said for a proper premiere you always need Dolby Surround Sound.

  There is one big thing that hasn’t changed.

  Huge, really.

  The old-fashioned yellow phone.

  We were in total agreement about that one.

  It’s a part of our story (even though it doesn’t have Wi-Fi).

  Oh, and get this one…on the credits of our docuseries, Dad promoted me to full-on editor. That’s my exact title, too. So it actually looks like this while the credits roll on the screen…

  Karma Moon Vallenari, Editor

  How cool is that?

  I’m definitely walking a little taller because of that one. I even got involved in the video production group at Immaculate Heart of Mary K–8, and everyone in the group thinks it’s the coolest thing ever that me and my dad make documentaries together.

  I’ve officially decided I’m going to be just like Dad when I grow up. With the exception of a little woo-woo mixed in. Because I will always stand by my mantra.

  KARMA’S MANTRA: WOO-WOO ISN’T CUCKOO AND WITHOUT IT YOU’LL HAVE BAD JUJU.

  With all the footage we got on film in the ten days we were at the Stanley Hotel, we were able to edit the show into ten full episodes. The Netflix people were beyond thrilled in the end, especially because of the footage me and Nyx got in the tunnel on that very last day.

  Still no confirmation about a season two yet.

  But I’m keeping my eye out for a sign to tell us it’s coming. And I know Dad is too—even if he won’t admit it—because ever since we got back from Estes Park, he actually reads the fortunes in his cookies.

  But tonight? Tonight is all about celebration, friends (new and old) and of course takeout food from Noodle King of New York City.

  Dad even let Alfred Hitchcock have some moo goo in his bowl, the one I painted for him at Color Me Mine in Tribeca three years ago. I drew his full name on it. And even though there’s a chip on the A from when Mom dropped it on the peeling linoleum floor, you can still read it just fine. Hitchy’s out cold right now in a moo goo coma underneath the glass coffee table, and I bet if he had a doggie mood ring, it would surely be a satisfying green.

  I watch Dad while I nibble on an egg roll and he chats it up with everyone, making good and sure that each person has something to drink or enough food on their plate. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.

  And I am too, in a way.

  If I had to put my finger on it, I’m not sure where my finger would be. Maybe it’s because we’ve finally accepted something we hadn’t wanted to accept, just like the ghosts stuck in the in-between need to do. Maybe we learned through the lost spirits that sometimes things don’t go our way but we still have to keep on the road that’s ours. And find ways to be happy about it.

  And we definitely have.

  I’ve actually learned to think rather than worry so much lately. Ever since we got home, me and Dr. Finkelman haven’t played Uno once. Maybe he took a class at the Institute of Paranormal Studies and Professional Ghost Investigation of Boulder, Colorado, after all (although I haven’t seen any badge pinned to his front). Or maybe it’s me being open to new things. But whatever it is, it’s working way better than Uno ever has. We do activities now that help me see things differently to calm my what-ifs way better than ever before. Dr. Finkelman has even helped me feel better about Mom and her leaving us the way she did.

  Not great, but better.

  And like Dr. Finkelman, MD, PhD, LP, says, sometimes that’s enough.

  And for now…I guess it is.

  I also learned you can’t predict what will happen, no matter what woo-woo you use, and you also can’t change your fate, no matter how hard you try.

  And I’d like to add…never…ever…doubt the almighty fortune cookie.

  It’s never wrong.

  Crystal Mystic isn’t either, it’s just off-line sometimes.

  CRYSTAL MYSTIC

  YES, ALL YOUR STARS ARE ALIGNED!

  Dad is setting up the television for our Netflix premiere party right this minute while I’m cracking open my fortune cookie.

  Mags puts her chin on my arm. “Mine said, Doing your best at this moment puts you in place to do your best in the next moment,” she says. “I decided that’s going to be my new mantra.”

  “I knew I would change your mind,” I tell her.

  I pull the tiny slip of paper out of my cookie pieces and turn it upright.

  “What does yours say?” she asks.

  FORTUNE COOKIE

  The best road to a happy future…eat more Chinese food.

  She laughs and so do I.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” I say. “Everyone who’s anyone knows that the almighty fortune cookie is never wrong.”

  “I think that might be the rightest fortune ever,” Mags agrees.

  I show Nyx and he nods, chewing on a mound of pan-fried noodles trying to escape between his lips.

  “Okay,” Dad calls out. “Is everyone ready for A Paranormal Disturbance at the Stanley Hotel to start?”

  “Yes!” everyone shouts, settling into their spots for the viewing.

  T. S. Phoenix and Tally are on the kitchen chairs set around the television, Mr. Drago brought his own ratty lawn chair that he uses out on the front stoop, and Mr. and Mrs. Bogdonavich are on the floor right in front.

  Everyone is here to celebrate with us.

  “Here we go,” Dad says, aiming the clicker and pushing Play from his spanking-new La-Z-Boy leather recliner.

  We all watch as the fancy-dancy new intro plays. Big John chose this really cool, plinky music that’s both scary and exciting at the same time, with images of Dad and T. S. Phoenix, and Tally and even me, Mags and Nyx with serious faces as we search for ghosts.

  “I totally feel like a movie star right now,” Mags gushes. “I can’t wait until Darby Woods sees this. She’s going to be so jealous.”

  Dad turns to me and gives me a big grin. “I wonder if Cecelia is here with us,” he says, his chin on his hand.

  “She has to be,” I say. “This is her premiere too.”

  “Cecelia?” Nyx asks.

  “Yeah.” I take another bite of cookie. “That’s the name of the ghost,” I te
ll him.

  His eyebrows go up. “How do you know that?” he asks.

  I point in Mags’s direction. “Mags said she heard the ghost say her name during the kitchen sighting.”

  “You heard Cecelia?” Nyx says.

  “Yep,” she tells him.

  “We knew it because she was trying to spell it out to Tally, first on the piano in the Music Room and then in room 332 with the dress. We think it was the woman Chef Raphaël saw in the dining hall, too,” I say.

  “You never told me her name,” Nyx says.

  “Oh.” I shrug. “I guess I forgot. Why?”

  “So you’re telling me that Cecelia was the spirit we were chasing in the tunnel on that last night?” Nyx says.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “And that’s who we got on film?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say again. “Why? What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is…you never told me her name,” he says.

  “Do you know her or something?” I snort.

  That’s when Dad pushes Pause on the clicker and I notice everyone’s eyes are on Nyx.

  And so are mine.

  “I—I think I do,” he tells us.

  I wide-eye him and say, “What do you mean? How can you know Cecelia?”

  “Do you remember when I told you about Harry Houdini?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Remember when I told you he performed there and that people still do Halloween séances every year to try to make contact at the hotel? Even me?”

  “Yeah,” I say again. “After his wife stopped trying, many years after his death…oh,” I gasp. “Cecelia is Houdini’s wife? No…wait, her name was Bess, not Cecelia.”

  “Right,” he says. “Bess was his wife. But Cecelia Weisz”—he swallows—“was the name of Harry Houdini’s mother.”

  Mags lets out a “Whoa.” I throw my hand over my mouth, Big John chokes on his moo goo and Dad drops the remote.

  “Houdini’s mother?” I say. “Her name was Cecelia?”

  Nyx nods a slow nod.

  “So the séances you’ve been doing at the Stanley on Halloween all this time to bring up the spirit of Harry Houdini have brought up his mother instead?”

  “It’s possible,” Nyx says. “And maybe she’s not the only one. What if Houdini and Bess are there too and we haven’t made contact yet?”

  “And they’re all looking for each other,” I breathe. “An actual intellectual haunting, just like you said, Dr. Phoenix, attempting to make contact on this plane of existence from the beyond.”

  “It could have been the Houdinis all along,” T. S. Phoenix says.

  “It was Ms. Lettie who said it was the Honeycutts,” Dad says. “I guess we just went with that theory.”

  “Wow,” Nyx says to no one in particular. “The Houdinis’ spirits in the Stanley Hotel. That would be epic.”

  I turn to Dad and watch the slow grin spread over his face. That grin. The one that says everything is going to be okay. But this grin says something else, too. And he doesn’t even have to tell me what he’s thinking, either, because when our eyes meet, I already know.

  This is our sign.

  The one we’ve been waiting for. And we didn’t need a cookie or Crystal Mystic to find it, either.

  It turns out we needed a Charlie Brown.

  Even Dad knows it’s true, and I know that for sure, because at that very moment he reaches to grab a fortune cookie off the coffee table.

  He cracks it open and lifts out the message.

  First he reads it to himself.

  Then our eyes lock.

  And then his grin spreads even wider.

  “Well?” I demand. “What does it say?”

  He reads each word aloud, slow and sure.

  FORTUNE COOKIE

  An extraordinary opportunity is on the horizon.

  I can feel my eyes grow as wide as water walking balls, and Dad is grinning bigger than I’ve ever seen him grin, and then, at the very same time, we say it. Because that’s how it is with true blue.

  I point to him and he points to me and together we shout, “Season two!”

  I am incredibly fortunate to have worked with the same talented team at Penguin Random House’s Crown Books for Young Readers for my fourth book, Karma Moon—Ghost Hunter. What a supportive group you have been! Thank you, Emily Easton, for continuing to be my editor, my writing coach, the perfect word finder in the eleventh hour and so much more. There are many other people who have worked on my books that I don’t get the pleasure of meeting, but having you behind me has made this experience more amazing than I ever could have imagined. My name may be on the front of each book, but it’s only because of you and everything you do to make it happen. Thanks also to my agent at Fuse Literary, Laurie McLean, who is always in my corner.

  To all the wonderful teachers and librarians who have graciously shared my stories with your students, it’s an incredible privilege to have my words be part of your lesson—I cannot thank you enough for that honor. And to my readers of every age, thank you for all your kind words—and for choosing to read the stories I write. I hope you love Karma Moon, Mags and Nyx, too.

  To my friends and family for sharing in my excitement at every juncture of the process—thank you for celebrating my victories and lending a shoulder when it gets difficult. I couldn’t do it without you. I love you all. A special thank-you to Alaina Hayes, my junior consultant and editor for this story. I appreciate your expertise in all things Catholic and explaining why you would never, ever use a Ouija board.

  For those who also struggle with a bad case of the what-ifs, don’t give up. The voice may continue, but there are ways to turn down the volume. Reach out for help; it’s there waiting for you.

  I wish to express my gratitude to the historic Stanley Hotel for the amazing tours and fascinating stories of the many families who delighted in spending time there. A special thanks to Aiden Sinclair (aidensinclair.net), paranormal illusionist extraordinaire, for enlightening me on very important Houdini facts and for sharing your deep passion for the human experiences of the passed. Everyone deserves to have their story told and forever treasured. There will never be a time I walk through the double doors of the Stanley Hotel that I won’t think of Lillian. It was an honor getting to know her. Thank you for introducing her to us all.

  And finally, Tobin Scott, you are my heart and my inspiration in every story I write and every adventure I dream. They are stories we live together on the pages of each book. You are in the mix as usual, T. S. Phoenix—and you always will be.

  Your story…forever treasured.

  Melissa Savage is the author of Lemons, The Truth About Martians, and Nessie Quest. She is also a child and family therapist. Although the idea of a ghost being defined as a cryptid remains the fuel of a raging controversy, Melissa loves writing cryptozoological mysteries of any kind for kids—including the paranormal kind. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona. To learn about the real mysteries of the historic Stanley Hotel, visit stanleyhotel.com. You can follow Melissa on Twitter at @melissadsavage or visit her at melissadsavage.com.

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