Ghosters

by Corbitt, Diana;

  Tyson steps over to the door and wraps his fingers around the knob. “Okay, folks, this is it, the last door. The one Theresa and Kerry watched the little ghost pass through. The door the spirit wanted Theresa to open.” He stares, straight-faced, into the camera. “And we have no idea what’s behind it.”

  Well, somebody knows what’s behind it. I look up at Dad, who’s standing behind Joey. He looks tired. Heartbroken. I’ve seen that look before. At my mother’s funeral.

  CHAPTER 31

  THE DOOR OPENS onto a hallway lined on both sides by identical closets, drawers, and shelves filling both walls from floor to ceiling. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  I drag my chair even closer to Erin’s computer screens.

  A few spiders have set up housekeeping in this hallway too, and Billy and Tyson get busy knocking down webs before leading the crew through. The cameramen pan all around, making sure to show each of the little toys and books that sit on the shelves, abandoned in the gloom.

  “These toys must have belonged to a small child, obviously a little girl,” Tyson says.

  Billy Joe picks up a toy tiara from a shelf and brushes away the cobwebs. “From the looks of things, they’ve probably been here a few years.”

  The cameras miss nothing as they follow the Ghosters down the corridor. One focuses on a tiny plastic tea set and something clicks in my memory. A tea party. Another little girl. Wide-eyed, I look to my father. It’s too dark to be sure, but I think there’s a tear trickling down his cheek. Should say something? But what?

  My eyes ping pong from one monitor to the other as Tyson and Billy step out of the hallway and into a room. Tyson stands in the center, turning a slow circle. “This seems to be a playroom.”

  I jab a finger at one of the screens and squint up at Dad, still standing behind Joey. “Was that Mom’s playroom when she was little? Why didn’t you show me before?”

  He opens his mouth, chin trembling. “Theresa—”

  “Look.” Joey points. “Two toy kitchens, two paint easels . . .”

  Like everything else in the room, the easels are tiny. There are finger paintings still clipped to them, and the childish abstracts are cracked and flaking. So, if this was my mom’s room, why did she have two of everything? She was an only child . . . wasn’t she?

  Billy Joe crosses the dusty hardwood floor and disappears through a doorway on the far wall. After a few seconds, he’s back. “I found another room with two cribs.”

  I look at the others. “Did he just say there were two cribs?”

  Kerry shakes her head. “I am totally confused.”

  She’s confused. I feel like my head’s going to explode.

  “Let’s have a closer look at these.” Tyson heads for a pair of wooden rocking horses sitting in front of a wide curtained window. He motions for one of the cameramen to follow him over.

  Whose room is this? It’s like I’d been putting together a jigsaw puzzle and someone all of a sudden switched the pieces on me.

  I leap to my feet. “Okay, this is nuts. Unless Mom had a sister I don’t know about, this makes absolutely no sense.”

  Tyson leans down, hands on knees. “Looking closer, I see that each of the rocking horses has a name stamped onto the saddle.” He kneels beside the closest. “This one says Isabel.”

  Isabel? So Mom had a sister named—

  He turns to the other. “And this one says Theresa.”

  “Theresa?” I gasp. Then who’s Isabel? And why would she have all the same stuff as me?” All of a sudden, images of two small girls on red and pink tricycles flash through my mind.

  “Oh my God. Did I have a twin sister?” My legs give out and I stumble back.

  Dad grabs me and helps me back into my chair. I want to scream questions at him, force him to explain. But the Ghosters are still upstairs, and they’re excited about something.

  Both monitors show Billy grinning and holding the EMF meter up to the camera. “Look, we’re finally getting some readings. They’re strong, too. See? Five lights.”

  “Check to see if it’s caused by something electrical,” Tyson says as he gets back to his feet.

  Billy circles the room, but finds nothing to explain even a weak electromagnetic field.

  “Look.” He points at his arm and the camera zooms in. “The hairs are sticking up.”

  “The temperature is dropping fast,” Tyson says.

  He holds a thermometer for the Ponytail guy to zoom in on. Something off screen catches his attention.

  “Will you look at that . . .” His voice is barely a whisper as he stares across the room through his night-vision goggles. Both cameras swing in that direction.

  Something is forming over one of the rocking horses, like dust and light blending together. When it’s done, a small girl, no more than two years old, sits on the leather saddle. Not smoke, but not solid either. The toddler leans forward and grabs the handles with her chubby hands, and the wooden horse creaks as it begins to rock.

  “This is amazing,” Billy whispers. “It’s like she’s made of—”

  “—liquid glass,” Tyson finishes.

  I think back to the little ghost we recorded, the picture Kerry found in the shoebox from Grandma Carmen’s wardrobe. How stupid I’ve been. That little girl riding the pink tricycle . . . it wasn’t even me. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I keep my eyes on the screen.

  “That’s Isabel, isn’t it, Daddy? That’s my sister. How could you and Mom not tell me about her?”

  “We thought it was for the best,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “It was . . . complicated.”

  I wipe my tears away and turn to Erin. “Do you have any more infrared goggles?”

  “I think so.” Erin turns in her chair and points at the equipment boxes stacked against the wall. “They’re in there, somewhere.”

  I open the top one, shove the empty plastic case aside, and throw open the next. “I found some.”

  Joey runs over. “I want to go too. Is there a pair for me?”

  “Sorry, Jojo, these are the last ones.” I strap on the goggles and turn them on as I’d seen Tyson do earlier.

  Kerry tries to pass Joey a flashlight, but Erin grabs her arm. “No. No flashlights.”

  Joey nods, but I see the disappointment in his face.

  I squeeze his hand and run off into the darkness.

  “Be careful with those goggles!” Erin shouts after me.

  CHAPTER 32

  I GET TO the nursery, and the spirit of my newly discovered sister is still there, rocking away on her little wooden horse with the entire Ghosters crew watching. Is she waiting for me? I pull off the goggles and allow my eyes to adjust to the dark before tiptoeing into the room. Tyson was right. If Isabel wasn’t moving, you’d think she was sculpted out of glass. A soft shimmer radiates from her, and although she’s far from human, I feel a connection.

  The name sticks in my throat, but I push it out in a trembling whisper, “Isabel?”

  My little ghost-sister stops rocking and looks up at me.

  Teesa.

  I hear it, even though her lips don’t move.

  Leaning forward, she holds out a tiny hand. She wants me to come closer.

  The Ghosters move aside and I shuffle past them, heart beating through my chest. I kneel beside her, and she smiles.

  Tears spill down my face. I wonder what Joey thinks. Dad too, for that matter. “I don’t understand. What happened . . . ?”

  Isabel’s lips part. “It not you fault, Teesa. Talk to Daddy,” she says in a soft baby voice.

  Not my fault? What, my sister’s death?As I sit on my heels, puzzling over Isabel’s words, love radiates from her, warming me. I wish Joey were here to feel it. Boy, would he have questions.

  Sensing that we don’t have much time, I slide myself forward. Can you touch a ghost? Let’s find out. I reach out my hand.

  “Teesa . . .” Her voice is high and sweet and her giggle makes me chuckle. It’s jus
t like the one Kerry and I recorded back in Grandma Carmen’s room.She raises her hand, tiny and shimmering. Just as it seems we’ll touch, a burst of emotion surges through me. It’s love, painless, but I gasp all the same. A moment later there’s a dazzling flash of light and my sister is gone.

  For a moment, nobody moves. Then Billy steps to the door and turns on the ceiling light, eyes wide with wonder. “I saw it and I still can’t believe it.”

  Tyson steps in front of the cameras. “Tell me you guys got that.”

  “I had to change the battery twice,” the bald guy says, looking at his camera screen, “but yeah. I got it.”

  Like me, the ponytailed guy had been kneeling, and Tyson pulls him to his feet. “How about you? Did you capture the voice?”

  He plays some back and grins. “All of it.” He sets his camera on the floor and high fives everyone.

  “This has to be the best paranormal event ever recorded!” Billy Joe shouts. “Theresa, there’s no doubt about it . . . you won the . . .”

  I run past him, headed for the living room. Dad has some explaining to do.

  CHAPTER 33

  A RED-EYED DAD meets me at the bottom of the stairs. He grips my shoulders and promises to tell me everything once the Ghosters have said their goodbyes. Billy Joe and Tyson want Isabel’s story too, but Dad’s not sharing. The vans pull out of our driveway just as the grandfather clock chimes three times. It’s great that we won the contest, but right now I’m more interested in learning about my sister.

  Dad herds the three of us into the living room. Kerry and Joey sit on the sofa. I drop between them, body exhausted, mind whirling. Joey yawns. Dad heads for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I call after him.

  “To your grandmother’s sewing room. There’s something there you need to see.”

  Kerry squeezes my hand. “Your brain must be scrambled about now.”

  “You got that right. I had a twin sister, and they didn’t even tell me.”

  Joey bumps my leg with his. “If it makes you feel any better, they didn’t tell me either.”

  That’s right. Isabel was his sister too.

  I bump him back and nod, remembering the day I overheard Dad’s phone call with Tita Gloria. He was talking about a risk and not having any choice about something. At the time I thought he was stressing over the move and upsetting Joey with all the changes. But now, I’m not so sure. Dad’s been acting weird ever since we moved in, and now I know why. No wonder he didn’t want us snooping around the third floor.

  The three of us look toward the staircase, waiting for Dad to come back.

  After a few minutes, he does. He’s carrying what looks like an overstuffed binder.

  “Would you mind if I switch places with you?” he asks Kerry.

  “No problem.” Her gaze flashes from the binder back to me as she hops up and moves behind the sofa to peer over our shoulders.

  Dad squeezes in between me and Joey and rests the fat binder on his lap. “Isabel was right. It is time you know.”

  I stare as he pats the book with his hand. Poor guy, he looks like he’s aged five years since dinner.

  The first pictures are of the day we were born. There we lie, Isabel and Theresa, side by side, and as far as I can tell, identical. There’s one of Mom in her hospital bed, smiling, holding a baby in each arm. There are more of us as we leave the hospital, at home, being bathed, fed. Lots more with us sleeping, our arms wrapped around each other. The pictures show us taking our first steps and eating cake on our first and second birthdays. In others we’re gathering Easter eggs, fighting over Christmas presents, and even riding the pink and red tricycles around the big patio in Grandma Carmen’s backyard.

  “You know it’s funny.” I reach across and close the binder. “I’ve always had a feeling something was missing from my life. Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  Tears rim Dad’s eyes. “First of all, I want you to understand that your mother and I didn’t make this decision easily. We worried that if you knew the truth . . .”

  If I knew what? A knot grows in my chest. “Tell me, Dad. Tell me what happened to my sister.”

  For the first time since forever, Dad takes my hand. “Haven’t you ever wondered why your mom never visited or spoke to your grandmother for all of those years?”

  I shrug. “Mom said they had some sort of fight when I was little.”

  “That’s true, but before you . . .” He takes a deep breath and blows it out as he pushes a loose strand of hair from my face. “Before that, you two stayed with your grandparents quite a bit. They loved taking care of you, and your grandfather made you that amazing nursery upstairs. He also built you those two rocking horses.”

  I nod and sniffle, waiting for him to continue.

  “So one day your mom and I left you with your grandparents while we went to Lake Tahoe for the weekend. Your grandmother took you and Isabel out in the backyard.” He sighs again and smiles sadly. “You girls sure loved riding your tricycles around that swimming pool.”

  Tears flow down my face as I imagine what happened next.

  “From what Carmen told us, she was out there reading a magazine while you and Isabel were sitting in the grass playing with your toys. One of your grandmother’s friends was having surgery that day and the husband had promised to call afterward. When the phone rang, Carmen didn’t want to miss the call, so she went inside.” His forehead creases as he recalls the painful day. “She was only gone a couple of minutes, but that’s all it took. When she got back, Isabel was at the bottom of the pool, along with your red tricycle.”

  I squeeze his hand. “So, that’s why Mom wouldn’t talk to Grandma. She blamed her for Isabel drowning.”

  “Yes.” His gaze meets mine. “We both did. But we also thought you might have pushed your sister in.”

  “Why would I push my own sister into the pool?” I gasp. No wonder he’s always favored Joey. And I thought it was because of the Asperger’s.

  “You see, when you were little, you loved each other to death,” his voice cracks, “but you also fought like cats and dogs over anything you could get your hands on.”

  “Is that why the nursery has two of everything?” I ask, chest pounding.

  He stares across the room at the blank TV screen, eyes moist with tears. “You were our first kids. We should have taught you how to share, but having twins was wearing on us. Instead, we decided to take the easy way out. Identical dolls . . . two paint easels. That worked out fine with most of your toys . . .”

  “But not the tricycles.” Joey’s voice surprises me. All this time he’s been sitting there, not saying a word. Kerry too. I almost forgot they were there.

  Kerry comes around the sofa and drops onto Dad’s recliner. “It all makes sense now. That’s why Theresa remembered having a red tricycle. There were two . . . a red one and a pink one.”

  Dad nods and wipes his cheek with the heel of his hand. The more I hear, the more everything falls into place.

  “When your grandmother came back outside, you were alone, lying on the edge of the pool with your arm in the water, wet to the elbow. You were crying, and all you could say was, ‘Isa bad’ and ‘No, no. My trike.’ Isabel was at the bottom of the pool, and since your red tricycle was down there too, your grandmother assumed you and Isabel had been fighting over it.”

  “It was all your grandmother’s fault. Your mom couldn’t forgive her for leaving you two out there by yourselves. We never blamed you, Theresa. But we did worry that if you grew up knowing what happened you might hold yourself responsible someday. I’m sorry for all the secrets, honey, but we just didn’t want to take that chance. It could have ruined your life.”

  “Maybe you did blame me,” I mumble.

  “What? No. Why would you say that?”

  “You’ve always treated Joey nicer than me.”

  “No, I . . .” he looks at Joey. “Son, is Theresa right? Have I been nicer to you than her?”

 
; “I’m not sure what she means by nicer. Mom hugged Theresa all the time. She said nice words and smiled at her.” For the first time ever, Joey’s holding Dad’s gaze. “You smile at me a lot too, but you barely look at Theresa.”

  Dad shakes his head like he can’t believe it.

  “Joey’s right,” I sob. “I told myself it was because he needs you more since he’s got . . .” I look at Joey, then Dad, unsure how to go on.

  “My Asperger’s.” Joey leans across and surprises me by patting my hand. “That’s okay, Theresa. It’s not a secret.”

  Mouth open, Dad looks from me to Joey, then back again. “No . . . I wouldn’t.”

  The words spill out of me. “Maybe you blame me for Mom too.”

  Dad leaps to his feet as if he’s been shocked by a thousand volts. “No . . . no . . . !” He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Is that really what you think? That I blame you for your mother’s death?”

  I blink up at him through the tears. “Well . . . ?”

  “Honey, no. Teenagers ran that red light, not you. If I’ve been paying more attention to Joey, it’s because of the Asperger’s, not—”

  “When’s the last time you hugged me, Daddy?”

  For a while he just stares, tears trickling down his cheeks. Then, as if a light has clicked on in his head, he pulls me close and hugs me to his chest.

  “My god, Theresa. I’ve been so angry since your mother’s death, and you’re so much like her . . . strong, competent.” He takes my face in his hands. “I guess I got so caught up in my own misery that I didn’t realize you were suffering too, what with all the changes you’ve had to deal with, moving . . . starting a new school. And you never complained. You even volunteered to do the cooking. I’m not mad at you. I’m proud, and I apologize for not telling you sooner.”