Graveyard Slot

by Michelle Schusterman

  “Would you mind explaining what you saw?” Jess shouldered her camera. “Hopefully we can save your footage, but I’d like to hear about it in your own words, too.”

  “How about this,” Dad said, before I could respond. “Just tell me about it.” He gave Jess a little nod, then smiled at me. “So, Kat. Wandered off again, hmm?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I was with Brenda the whole time. Except for when she was peeing, because, ew. Privacy.”

  Dad laughed. “Fair enough. So tell me about what you saw.”

  I WANT OUT. I saw it in my mind, three words carved all over the interior of the cave. But I didn’t want to tell Dad, or anyone, about that. Not when there was a good chance I’d lost those photos forever.

  “I was by the waterfall,” I said slowly. “I thought I heard something in the bushes, so I turned on my camera. And I felt . . . afraid. Like I felt their fear.”

  “Their?”

  “The campers,” I explained, feeling stupid. “It’s like it wasn’t my fear I was feeling.”

  Jess stepped closer, and I cringed. My skin started doing that crawly thing again.

  “And then you dropped your camera?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, I . . .”

  I didn’t want to say anything about the ghost, the girl who’d looked at me. It didn’t make any sense. This was a residual haunting. A memory. But this ghost had waved at me; there was nothing residual about her. Without my camera, I didn’t have proof. I’d sound like I was either making it up or so spooked that I’d started seeing things.

  “I slipped on a rock,” I said at last. “That’s when I dropped my camera. So I found Brenda and we came back here.”

  “Anything else?” Dad asked encouragingly, and I knew he wanted me to give Jess a little more to work with. Oscar probably would’ve told this story in a much more entertaining way than me.

  I shrugged. “Nope. That’s it.”

  Jess lowered her camera. “Thanks, Kat.”

  “Sure.”

  Dad put his arm around me, and the three of us headed down the trail to find the others. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl ghost, and I WANT OUT carved all over the cave. The same words from our Ouija séance in the graveyard. Why would the same message appear in two different . . .

  I inhaled sharply, then disguised it as a cough when Dad glanced at me. When we reached the rest of the crew, I pulled Oscar aside.

  “Do you swear you didn’t fake the Ouija thing?”

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “For the hundredth time, I didn’t. Why?”

  “Because, I . . .” Trailing off, I studied Oscar for a second. Part of me really wanted to tell him my theory so he could tell me if I sounded like a nutjob. But he’d probably drag me over to Jess so we could talk about it on camera. More air-time for him.

  “Never mind.”

  Too early the next morning, I woke up to find a massive mosquito making a meal out of my elbow. “Away, tiny vampire,” I muttered, flicking it. Next to me, Dad let out an extra-loud snore. After swapping the Halloween shirt I’d slept in for a clean Night of the Living Dead, I crept quietly out of the tent.

  Yawning, I squinted around our campsite. We’d finished our investigation around 2:30 a.m. and agreed there was nothing wrong with getting a late start in the morning. It looked like almost everyone was still asleep. No sign of Oscar, but I spotted Brenda up on the ledge we’d used as a diving board yesterday, laying with her legs dangling off the edge as she read a book. Roland and Sam were sitting on a rock on the other side of the pool. At the sight of their thermoses and the cooler, my stomach rumbled loudly.

  “What’s for breakfast?” I asked when I reached them, climbing up to sit next to Sam. Roland took a long swig from his thermos before responding.

  “Coffee.”

  “And?”

  “And more coffee.” He held out the thermos, and I wrinkled my nose.

  “And granola bars,” Sam said, handing me the box. “There’s fruit in the cooler, too.”

  “Thanks.” I unwrapped a granola bar, thinking. I needed to tell someone what I’d seen last night. Normally, I’d go to Dad. But last night as I pretended to sleep, I’d realized I couldn’t tell him. He would probably be pretty freaked out that I was seeing things. He was already worried that I was traumatized from the whole Emily experience. What if he thought I couldn’t handle ghost hunting anymore, and he sent me back to Ohio? To live with Mom?

  Nope.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, here’s the deal. Something happened last night, and I need to tell someone. But you cannot tell anyone else. Especially Jess or my dad.”

  Roland leaned away, cradling his thermos. “This isn’t girl stuff, is it?” he asked, eyes wide with mock horror.

  I snorted. “No. Ghost stuff.”

  Sam perked up. “We won’t tell anyone. Go ahead.”

  So I told them everything: the message in the cave, the ghost across the pool. How I could tell she was a girl. How she waved at me.

  “So do you think it’s Ana Arias?” I finished, crumpling my granola-bar wrapper. “Is it possible she followed us here after Oscar and I contacted her?”

  Sam studied me thoughtfully. “That does seem to be the most likely explanation. Although I have to admit, I’ve been puzzling over Ana’s message since I watched your video. She’s at rest next to her mother . . . I don’t understand what she could mean by I want out.” He gazed over at the cave, frowning slightly. “If she followed you all this way, she must feel truly unsettled to leave her mother behind.”

  “Well . . .” I’d given this a lot of thought last night, but I couldn’t decide if it sounded stupid or not. “When we went to the graveyard, there were lots of flowers at Flavia’s and Ana’s graves. Fresh ones. Ever since people found out about Ana, they’ve been visiting. Maybe . . . maybe Ana doesn’t like the attention. I mean, she hated dealing with reporters because of her mom being a celebrity, and Flavia’s death has made her famous all over again. So I want out could mean Ana just wants to get away from all that.”

  Sam blinked a few times, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Kat Sinclair,” he said. “You’re really getting the hang of this. Perhaps you have a future as a medium.”

  “Er . . . thanks, I think.” I glanced at Roland, whose face was scrunched up all weird. “What?”

  Sam turned to Roland, too. “You have to admit her theory is plausible.”

  “Mmmf.” Roland shook his head, lips pressed together even tighter. I sighed.

  “You think I’m nuts?”

  Exhaling loudly, Roland screwed the lid back on his thermos. “No. It is a good theory. But it’s not the most likely one.”

  I waited. “Well?”

  “You’re not gonna like it . . .” When I just glared at him in response, he shrugged. “All right. First of all, there are no words written on the cave walls. You saw them briefly, then they vanished. That’s your brain at work, not a ghost.”

  “I saw them on my camera,” I said loudly. “I had proof before I dropped it. Maybe . . . maybe Ana messed with my camera, like Levi did.”

  “Levi didn’t alter photos, he sent you messages.” Roland opened the cooler and pulled out a tangerine. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right, and Ana somehow added those words just in the photos. I want out, because she wants to get away from the media attention. But based on the story you told, Ana wasn’t the one who hated the media. Flavia was.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it.

  “Flavia was the one who got angry with reporters harassing her daughter. Flavia was the one who became a recluse. Flavia was the one who kept Ana’s illness a secret.” Roland eyed me as he peeled his tangerine. “I don’t recall you or Oscar ever mentioning how Ana felt about it. And I think it’s very telling that you interpreted I want out to mean Ana’s de
sire to get away from unwanted attention, all things considered.”

  My face grew warm. “What do you mean?”

  “Because that’s what you want.” He popped a slice into his mouth. “It’s pretty obvious you hate the cameras, Kat.”

  “So . . . wait.” I sat up straighter, my palms suddenly sweaty. “You think I’m making this up?”

  Roland shook his head. “No. I think your mind is tricking you into seeing things that aren’t really there.”

  “So you do think I’m nuts,” I said, stung. “Look, I wasn’t faking that Ouija message. And I had pictures of the words in the cave and of that ghost.”

  “Right—that ghost you convinced yourself was a girl,” Roland said. “Just like you convinced yourself Ana hated media attention, despite never having actually read that about her. When I say you only thought you saw Ana, I don’t mean you’re making this up on purpose. I think your brain is occupied with your own situation, and it projected your issues onto the idea of Ana. It tricked you into imagining her.”

  “Like you imagined Ellie?” Sam said with a smirk.

  Roland dropped his tangerine. I tried to hand it back to him, but he was gazing at Sam, mouth slightly open. I’d never seen Roland actually, genuinely speechless before. It was pretty funny, but also kind of unnerving.

  “Who’s Ellie?” I asked. Roland didn’t respond. He and Sam just stared at each other, and I had the weird sense that some sort of silent conversation was going on that I couldn’t hear. “Hel-lo?” I said, louder. “Who’s Ellie?”

  “Kat, check it out!”

  I tore my eyes off Roland’s still-shocked expression to see Mi Jin hurrying toward us, waving my Elapse. All thoughts of the mysterious Ellie momentarily flew from my mind.

  “Is it working?” I asked eagerly, hopping off the rock.

  Mi Jin beamed. “Yes! I mean, it turns on, at least.” She handed it to me, and I flipped the power button on immediately. A message began blinking on the screen:

  No memory card in slot.

  “It’s right here,” Mi Jin said, showing me the card. “But it’s useless. I had to take it out to get the camera to work. Sorry you lost those photos.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. Now I had no way to prove to Roland that I wasn’t imagining any of that stuff last night. I glanced over at him, expecting a smug comment. But he was staring blankly at the waterfall, completely oblivious to the rest of us.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DON’T SIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SCREEN

  From: EdieM@mymail.net

  To: acciopancakes@mymail.net

  Hi, KitKat,

  Stage fright, hmm? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal to feel a little awkward on camera. Did I ever tell you about my first day shooting The Monster in Her Closet? I didn’t think I was nervous at all when I got to the set. Sat down at the kitchen table with my movie parents. Director yelled, “Action.” Opened my mouth, and . . . puked Cheerios all over the tablecloth. I still live in fear that they’ll release those outtakes one day.

  My advice: Practice! Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. That snazzy camera I got you takes video, right? Lock yourself in a room, turn it on, and record yourself. Dance, recite a poem, sing “All the Single Ladies”—whatever you want. No one’s going to see it; this is just for you to get used to being YOU on camera.

  Have you and your dad found out any more about the show’s schedule over the next few months? Lots of wedding planning going on here, and your mom really wants you to be a part of as much as possible!

  Love you,

  Grandma

  AS far as I could tell, Sam and Roland kept their word and didn’t tell anyone my Ana Arias theory. Roland didn’t even tease me about it, although I suspected that had less to do with believing me, and more to do with Sam bringing up Ellie, whoever she was. Either way, I was determined to prove Roland wrong. It was just stage fright. And stage fright didn’t include hallucinating ghosts and messages on cave walls. Ana had followed me, and I wanted to figure out why.

  I felt guilty for not telling Oscar. Back in Rotterdam, I’d confided in him about seeing Sonja Hillebrandt’s ghost, and he and I didn’t even like each other then. But I still just didn’t trust him not to go straight to Jess to try to get us even more screen time.

  What made me feel even worse was that this whole Ana thing probably would be good for the show. Emily might have been the reason the last episode got so much publicity, but viewers were interested in the Red Leer part, too. If another ghost was “haunting” the show, the fans would eat it up. That’s why I kept telling myself that as soon as I got my stupid stage fright under control, I would go to Jess and tell her everything.

  In the meantime, Oscar was spending more and more time on the P2P message boards. He gave me constant updates about anything and everything that the fans said about either of us, despite me repeatedly telling him I didn’t care. If there were any rude comments about me, Oscar didn’t mention them, and I resisted the urge to look. Because when I checked my last post the night we got back from camping, I’d found another comment from the same troll.

  kbold04: deleting my comment doesnt change the fact that ur UGLLYYYYYYY

  I deleted it, of course. But not before taking a screenshot. Then I’d gone to my blog settings and changed it so that no comments would be published until I approved them. It would be kind of annoying to keep up with, but better than everybody seeing everything this person said about me.

  On our last night in Salvador, Dad and the rest of the crew went out for a celebratory dinner after three intense days of editing the waterfall episode. Oscar and I had opted for celebratory pizza and ice pops at the hotel after three intense days of cramming in schoolwork.

  “How much do you think we’ll actually be in the episode?” Oscar asked, grabbing another maracujá ice pop from the freezer. I made a face.

  “Hopefully not much.” I’d secretly been hoping Jess would edit us out completely, but no such luck. Yesterday she’d even stopped by after lunch just to tell me and Oscar how great we were. Even Roland seemed pleased with how the episode was turning out.

  Oscar ignored my comment. “I hope they use the part where Roland and I found that cold spot. I don’t think you were there for that—you went off with Brenda.”

  “Yeah.” I tossed my ice pop stick in the trash can next to the bed. “Did I tell you I checked out that cave behind the waterfall?” I said it as casually as possible, even though the memory caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I WANT OUT. I wanted to tell Oscar about it. I had to. Maybe he was all caught up in this TV stuff, but he was still my friend. I could trust him.

  “Really?” He sat up. “Oh man, we should’ve tried the Ouija board there.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “In the cave.” Oscar pointed his ice pop at my camera sitting on the desk. “We could’ve shot another video.”

  “Why would we do that?” I said, trying not to sound too irritated. “The Flavia video was just so Jess could see if we’d be okay on the show.”

  “Yeah, but think about it.” Oscar leaned forward eagerly. “Everyone loved it, even Fright TV. We could make it like a web series! A new video before every episode.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “My blog’s enough work already,” I said shortly. “Not interested.”

  Oscar sighed. “Look, if it’s that you’re afraid of being on camera, I’ll do that part and you can just do the research.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I snapped, standing up and grabbing my camera. “For your information, that research takes a lot of time. Besides, you’re already going to be on TV. Do you really need a web series, too?”

  Oscar rolled his eyes. “It’s not about me, Kat. This would be good for the show. But if you don’t want to do it, fine.”
>
  “I don’t want to do it.”

  “Fine.” He opened his laptop without another word. I left him glued to the fan forums and stalked back to my room, fuming the whole way. Afraid of being on camera. That had stung, because it was true. Apparently everyone could tell. If I was going to get over my stage fright, I’d have to take Grandma’s advice.

  “Okay.” Carefully, I set my Elapse on top of the TV so it was about eye level, and flipped it on. Taking a few steps back, I attempted to smile at it. But my skin was already starting to crawl, and my stomach squirmed unpleasantly.

  “No one’s going to see this,” I told the camera. “Ever. This is just for practice. You’re going to burn this memory card. You’re going to break it in half and throw it into the ocean. You’re going to put it in a blender then flush it down the toilet. No one will ever see this, no one will ever watch you talking to yourself, so just. Freaking. Relax.”

  But it wasn’t working. If anything, my anxiety doubled. Scowling, I reached out and flipped the camera off. Almost immediately, my pulse began to slow. I took the Elapse and sat on the edge of the bed to watch the video.

  “No one’s going to see this. Ever.”

  Once again, I found myself scrutinizing my appearance. My hair was pulled back in its usual super-short ponytail. I wondered what sort of “stylish” cut my mom envisioned. I wondered what she’d say about my Creature from the Black Lagoon shirt (probably “Do you have to wear that to the dinner table?”). I wondered what she’d say about my blotchy, bug-bite-covered skin and the sunburn that was the result of all the hiking and afternoons on the beach. I wondered . . .

  . . . why there was someone in the mirror on the video.

  I shot to my feet, turning to glance at the mirror before hitting replay. This time, I ignored myself and stared hard at the mirror behind me. For a few seconds, all I saw was the reflection of the Elapse on top of the TV. I squinted harder as the clip came to an end.

  “Just. Freaking. Relax.”

  There. Right when video-me said, “Relax,” there was movement—something, someone, passing between me and the TV in a lightning-fast blur. Goose bumps broke out all over my arms, and I spent at least a full minute staring at the real mirror before watching the video again. And again. And again.