Graveyard Slot

by Michelle Schusterman

  “You can see it?” My voice broke with relief. This wasn’t like in the bathroom or the cave. This wasn’t a hallucination.

  Oscar was giving me a weird look. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see it?”

  “Because, I . . .” I shook my head, touching the trunk again. “I thought maybe I was seeing things. And no, I didn’t do it.”

  “It looked like you were.”

  “No, I was just touching it.” I glanced around the clearing, wiping the blood from my finger on the hem of my shirt. “Did you come by yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You left while they were still filming? Aren’t you worried about letting down all your fans?”

  It was mean, and I felt rotten as soon as I said it. But the ghost was still there; I just knew it. And I had a feeling she wasn’t going to reveal her identity in front of Oscar. I needed him to leave.

  He was silent for a few seconds. “Just because being on TV freaks you out doesn’t mean it’s wrong that I like it,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.

  “You love it.”

  Oscar’s eyes flashed with anger. “You know, I followed you because you looked like you were about to have some sort of meltdown back there and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Sorry I bothered. So what if I like doing interviews? And reading about myself on the forums?” His voice was getting all high and shaky. “Because you’re right, Kat. I do like that they like me. It feels really good after everything else that’s happened, between my best friend deciding he hates me and making every single day at school completely miserable, and me getting expelled thanks to those stupid notes in my locker, and then my dad . . .” Oscar stared at the tree behind me, his eyes suddenly red and shiny. “He knew, Kat. He already knew that I liked Mark because it turns out my aunt told him months ago. He never brought it up, and he blew me off when I tried to talk to him about it over Thanksgiving. He told me I’m just going through a phase and I’d get over it, and then he shut down and wouldn’t listen to anything else I said because apparently just talking about it weirds him out so much he can’t even look at me, and . . .”

  Then I couldn’t understand any more because Oscar was crying, really crying, and before I could say anything he sat down on one of the roots and buried his face in his hands.

  “Oscar?” My voice cracked a little, and I tentatively sat down next to him. My stomach churned with guilt. “I didn’t know . . . I shouldn’t have . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said before.”

  He let out a little laugh. “Yeah, you did. It’s fine. You’re right; I’ve been obsessed with all this TV stuff. I didn’t ask Aunt Lidia about that interview because I thought she might say no and I really wanted to do it. Same thing with the web series. I knew you wouldn’t want to do it, so . . .” Wiping his face with his sleeve, Oscar shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I suddenly realized my cheeks were wet, too. We sat quietly for a minute, carefully looking anywhere but at each other. “What did you mean about getting expelled because of some notes in your locker?” I said at last, just to break the silence. “I thought it was because you got into a fight with Mark.”

  Oscar sighed. “Yeah, and the fight was because of the notes. He and some other kids printed out, like, hundreds of pages with a bunch of . . . stuff typed on it.”

  “Stuff?”

  “About me,” he said, and my heart sank. “Words. Jokes. You know. All printed in a giant font you could pretty much see from space. Then they stuffed them all in my locker so when I got to school that morning and opened it, the notes came falling out in front of everyone.”

  I let out a long, slow breath. “That’s . . . horrible.”

  “Yeah. The stupid thing is, I kept them.”

  I looked at him sharply. “You what?”

  “I stuffed them all in my gym bag, brought them home, and kept them under my bed.” Oscar sounded almost amused. “Isn’t that dumb? And I read them. Like, a lot.” I just stared at him, unable to respond. “They kept doing it, too, because I never showed a teacher or anyone. I didn’t want people seeing that stuff. So they knew it was getting to me, but they knew they weren’t going to get in trouble, either, because I was too . . . because I wouldn’t rat them out. But I was getting angrier and angrier, and one day I was done with it, I guess. I went and found Mark after lunch, and I wasn’t really thinking. I just went up to him and . . . punched him. Broke his nose.”

  He glanced at me nervously. When I didn’t say anything, he continued.

  “A teacher broke it up before he could hit me back. I had to talk to everyone—the principal, counselor—and they kept asking why I did it. But, you know, I didn’t want to tell them about everything. So I got expelled and Mark didn’t.”

  “Oscar . . .”

  “I know, the notes,” Oscar interrupted. His words were spilling out faster now, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. “My aunt found them, like, a month later. She was furious, because I had proof Mark had provoked me and I never showed the principal. Not that it was an excuse for hitting him, but at least they’d know the reason. She was even angrier when she realized I kept them because I still read them.”

  “Why?” My voice cracked on the question. Probably because I knew the answer. But I wanted to hear him explain it. “Why were you still reading them?”

  Oscar picked up a stick and started digging a small hole in the dirt. “I don’t know. My aunt told me when someone says the worst things we think about ourselves, we start thinking that means it’s all true. And . . . I guess that’s right. Because the stuff in those notes, they made me hate Mark . . . but they made me hate myself even more.” The stick snapped in two, and he tossed it onto the grass. “I couldn’t stop reading them because they made me think I was right to hate myself. Doesn’t make any sense, I know.”

  “Um . . .” I wiped my eyes before pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Actually, I . . .” Pressing my lips together, I opened my photo album and found the first kbold04 screenshot. Hesitantly, I handed it to Oscar.

  He squinted at the screen. “What’s . . . wait, this is that comment you told me about?”

  “That’s the second one,” I said. “I deleted it. There’s more, though.”

  Oscar started swiping, pausing to read each screenshot. “How many are there?”

  Fifty-three. “Um . . . around fifty, I think.”

  “Did you show your dad?”

  I snorted. “My blog still exists, doesn’t it? Obviously I didn’t tell him.”

  “Maybe you should, though.” Oscar paused on one of the most vulgar comments, his mouth dropping open.

  “He never makes threats or anything,” I said quickly. “It’s not like—like the letters Emily sent Sam.”

  “So? That doesn’t make this okay.” Oscar flipped to the next screenshot, his expression growing increasingly darker. Then he turned to face me. “Wait, you don’t believe what he’s saying, do you?”

  “You believed your notes.” I blinked as my eyes filled with tears again.

  “Yeah, and my aunt made me throw them away because they were garbage,” Oscar said firmly. “So are these comments. None of this is true, Kat. I’m deleting them, okay?”

  I nodded, because I didn’t trust myself to speak. I stared down at my feet as Oscar went through the whole album, tapping with a bit more force than was necessary. When he finished, he practically shoved my phone back at me.

  “Thanks.” I took it, frowning. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No.” Oscar paused. “Okay, maybe a little. Mostly I’m mad at whoever that idiot is. And at myself. If I’d known about . . .” He gestured at the screen, brow furrowed. “I mean, no wonder you were acting so weird about Graveyard Slot, if that person kept leaving comments like that. I’m really sorry I—”

  “You didn’t know,” I said. “Don’t worry a
bout it.”

  “Okay.” He glanced at me. “Will you tell me if you get more?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hesitating, I held my hand out, palm up. Oscar took it, interlacing our fingers, and I ignored the faint throbbing of the cut I’d gotten from the tree. “We should probably get back,” I said. “Do you think anyone’s even noticed we’re missing yet?”

  “Probably not.” He clasped my hand tightly as we headed across the clearing. “It was getting pretty chaotic down there. Hey, why’d you come out to the tree, anyway?”

  “Chasing a ghost,” I said lightly. “What else?”

  Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Wait, was it Ana?”

  “Nope.” I told him everything that had happened, starting with the mirror girl in the sacristy. “And that message on the tree, you saw it. I got out. So if she was in my camera, whoever she is, she’s not there anymore.”

  “But if it’s not Ana, who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. It bothered me more than I wanted to let on to Oscar. I’d been so close to finally discovering her identity before he showed up. But it was okay. I had the feeling she was ready for me to know now. I’d get another chance soon, and I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “Oh,” I said. “I did figure something out down in the catacombs. Check this out.” I flipped the Elapse on and held it up. Oscar kept glancing at it as we continued walking down the path.

  “Well?”

  “Just wait.”

  After a few seconds, he stopped. “Okay, what are you doing? This is . . .” He looked around. “Hang on . . . Are we even going the right way?”

  My hands were sweating and my heart was hammering away, but I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. Look.” I flipped the camera off. My pulse slowed immediately, and I saw Oscar’s shoulders relax. “It makes us feel anxious. And lost.”

  Oscar frowned. “So it’s still possessed?”

  “Think about that feeling,” I said. “It’s how we all felt at the waterfall. Nervous, panicky, lost. Like the hikers, right? Because it’s a residual haunting. All their emotions were trapped there.”

  “Right . . .”

  “Trapped in the rocks, in the trees, in the water.”

  I lifted my camera strap, letting the Elapse dangle like a hypnotist’s necklace. Oscar’s mouth fell open.

  “You dropped it into the water, and—”

  “It soaked up the residual emotions,” I finished. “That’s what I think.”

  “Wow.” We reached the park exit and picked up our pace as the church entrance came into view. “So you can’t use your camera anymore without having a panic attack? That kind of sucks.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. But something else had just occurred to me. According to what Jamie and I had read, I shouldn’t have been able to exorcise the ghost without knowing her identity. But according to her message on the tree, she “got out.”

  That sliver of an idea was back, so thin and fragile, I couldn’t quite grasp it fully. “Did you understand what Roland was saying about Brunilda?” I asked Oscar.

  “Just that Guzmán made her up, but he wasn’t faking the other stuff, like with the table. I don’t really get it.”

  “Me either,” I said. “Let’s find out.”

  The crew had moved from the catacombs into the church, equipment spread out between the altar and the first row of pews. The mood had changed entirely since I’d left; now it was all smiles and excited chatter. Even Inés and Guzmán’s other students looked thrilled as they watched Dad interview their professor.

  Oscar and I snuck up to the front, keeping behind the columns. It didn’t look like anyone had noticed we were missing yet. Well, none of the adults. Jamie kept glancing around, and he spotted us almost right away. He nudged Hailey, whose face lit up when she saw us. They left Abril and Thiago, who were watching as Inés joined the interview, and hurried over.

  “Where’d you guys go?” Jamie whispered.

  “The willow tree,” I said, and quickly explained about the girl who’d appeared in the catacombs. “But it’s not Ana,” I added. “I don’t know who she is.”

  Hailey’s eyes were shining. “It’s Brunilda, I bet,” she said. “It totally makes sense now.”

  “What? No, she—”

  “No, listen,” Hailey went on. “That was the whole point of Guzmán’s experiment. He said he wanted to prove that—what did he say exactly?”

  “That paranormal activity is a manifestation of the mind, which makes it real,” Jamie said. “He needed his students to believe Brunilda existed for it to work. They did, and because they believed in her, they got actual results. The stuff that happened during his séances, like the table floating and all that, he wasn’t faking any of it!”

  “So they did conjure Brunilda down there,” Hailey finished. “And she led you to the willow tree! Ah, I wish someone had gone with you to film it. Are you going to tell Jess about the message? She’ll probably want to get—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “No . . . it can’t be Brunilda. I saw this ghost at the waterfall, before we even got here.”

  Hailey asked. “Are you sure it’s the same one?”

  “Yes. It’s not Brunilda.” Ignoring the glance Jamie and Oscar exchanged, I looked around the church until I spotted Roland. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  I hurried off without waiting for a response. Roland was sitting in the third row, flipping through Brunilda’s journal. I slid into the pew behind him and tapped his shoulder.

  “How can Brunilda be a made-up person but a real ghost?” I had to struggle to keep my voice down. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Roland looked at me curiously. “Have you been crying? Your eyes are all red.”

  “What? No.” Instinctively, I wiped my eyes even though they were dry. “Look, that ghost at the waterfall I told you about, the one I thought was Ana Arias? She’s . . . it’s not Ana, but I’m still seeing her. And you said that was my brain tricking me.” I felt slightly panicky, so I glanced down to make sure my camera was still off. “Is that what this Brunilda thing is? She didn’t exist, but Guzmán tricked us into believing she’s real, and suddenly somehow she is? I don’t get it.”

  Setting the journal down, Roland grabbed his backpack and started rummaging inside. “I think I can explain it,” he said. “So the town I grew up in had one library. Really small, really old. When I was five, my brother told me it was haunted. Aha, here they are.” He pulled out a wad of napkins and handed them to me. “They’re clean, I swear.”

  “Thanks.” I took one and blew my nose.

  “My brother said that the library was haunted by its very first librarian,” Roland continued. “She was killed when someone knocked over a shelf, which knocked over another shelf—domino effect kind of thing—and, anyway, she was crushed to death. Her name was Ellie.”

  I started to say something, then thought better of it. Roland had gotten so close-lipped when Sam mentioned Ellie back at the waterfall, and I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

  “My brother told me her ghost was spotted every year at midnight on the anniversary of her death,” he went on. “He had all kinds of other stories about her, too. Like how people sometimes felt cold standing near the shelf that crushed her, or felt her breath on their necks if they shelved a book in the wrong place. I was pretty obsessed with the whole idea, and I spent a ton of time at the library hoping to have some sort of sighting. But I knew if I wanted to see Ellie, it had to be on the day she died. So when I was nine years old, that’s what I did.”

  “At midnight, though?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Wasn’t the library closed?”

  “Yup. I squeezed myself between the card catalog and the wall a few minutes before the library closed and waited until everyone was gone and it was locked up. Then, camped out at her shelf, I waited. Sure enough, righ
t at midnight, there she was.”

  My eyes widened. “You really saw her?”

  Roland nodded. “Barely, but yes. She disappeared after maybe a minute, but I saw her. I definitely saw her.” He smiled and shook his head. “My mom grounded me for about a month, but I thought it was worth it. Until my brother came home that weekend—he was in college by then—and I told him about what I’d done, that I’d seen Ellie. He just started cracking up. Wanna guess why?”

  He lifted Brunilda’s journal, and I frowned. “I don’t . . . oh. Oh.”

  “Yep,” Roland said cheerfully. “There was no Ellie. No librarian had ever been crushed by a shelf of books. Just a dumb story he’d made up to scare his little brother. He had no idea I’d been obsessing over it for years. It was the family joke till I graduated high school.” He tossed the journal back on the pew. “After a while, I just went along with it. Went to prom alone and told everyone Ellie was my date, that sort of thing. The older I got, the more I wondered if maybe I had just imagined her. But a part of me still insisted she was real. It wasn’t until I got to college that I started to figure it out.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “I met Sam,” Roland said simply. “Weirdo guy in my psych class who thought he could talk to dead people. I ended up telling him the whole story about Ellie. He said it was just like when he’d contact a dead person for some stranger and get a ‘message from the beyond’ that he couldn’t possibly know; he received it because the person believed in what he was doing, and so they got the message they wanted. Sam said not believing is just as powerful as believing, and if I believed in Ellie, then maybe she was real after all. And I . . .” He paused, grinning. “Thought he was nuts. But I also sort of understood what he was saying. That’s when I got into parapsychology.”

  I sighed. “But the point is, your brain tricked you into seeing things. You saw Ellie, but she still wasn’t real.”

  “No?” Roland arched an eyebrow. “Then why did Guzmán and the rest of us see that table float? We didn’t believe in Brunilda, but his students did. Their belief made her ghost real, and we saw proof.”