The Haunting of Pico (Pico, Texas - Book 1)

by PATRICK KAMPMAN

  The white Volvo wagon finally pulled up after I had been sitting for almost an hour. I got in the car and was going to suggest looking behind the bleachers for Eve, when my mom told me my sister was trying out for the cheerleading squad and wouldn’t be done until six. I wasn’t too surprised; Eve had been a cheerleader throughout junior high and thrived on popularity.

  I convinced my mom to swing by Freddy’s and then the bookstore while we waited for Eve. It turned out Freddy’s was one of those old-fashioned places where you parked your car and they brought the food out to you. I had hoped to see Becky, but she wasn’t working. I grabbed a gigantic cherry-limeade so it wasn’t a complete waste.

  We stopped by Cooped Up Books, which was open this time. I went in to look at books while my mom went across the street to the local hardware store. I had listened to her complain at least a dozen times in the past day about the nearest Home Depot or Lowes being sixty miles away.

  I opened the door and was surprised by the sound of an actual brass bell. I looked up to see it swinging above the door. An older man poked his head around a bookshelf to greet me. He was shorter than me, balding, with grey hair, kind eyes, and a potbelly.

  “Welcome to Cooped Up Books! I’m Mr. Sherman, proprietor.”

  “Thanks,” I said, going over to the small rack of comics at the front of the store.

  “Haven’t seen you before.” He came up to the comic rack, and I think he actually sniffed at me.

  “Yeah, I just moved here from California.” I resisted the urge to take a step away from him.

  “Hope you can handle small-town life. Any comics you want that you don’t see, let me know. I should be able to get it in for you. New ones come in on Wednesdays.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, feel free to look around, then. I’m here if you need anything. At least until they open a Barnes & Noble or Borders.” He disappeared back around the bookshelf. I thought about telling him that he should be more worried about e-books and the internet, but decided it was pointless.

  “So, do you need any help?” I asked on impulse.

  “Well.” He paused for a few seconds, then came back around to look at me. “I haven’t had anyone since Maggie left for college last year. Not too sure I need anyone. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen. Sixteen in November.” I stood straighter, hoping it would make me look older.

  “Any experience?” he said, getting closer.

  “Um, I read a lot?” It was mostly comics, but I figured it counted, since he sold them.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded, then narrowed his eyes and demanded, “You have cats?”

  “Huh, what?”

  “Cats? You own any?”

  “Um…no…”

  “Good. Nasty things.”

  He looked to the side and rubbed his chin. After what seemed like a long time, he focused his gaze back on me. “I suppose I could use you for a couple of hours a week, if you get your parents’ permission.”

  “Yeah, no problem!”

  “Now, I’ll need their permission, though; you can’t work until you’re sixteen without it.” I nodded. “All right, wait here.”

  He went to the back of the store. I heard some crashing and swearing. “Do you need a hand?” I called back, hoping my future employer didn’t kill himself before I could start work.

  “No, no, got ’em around here somewhere.” A minute later he returned with an old tablet of blank application forms. I guessed the computer age hadn’t quite reached Mr. Sherman. He tore a sheet off and gave it to me. I sat down on an old loveseat in the corner of the shop near a window displaying outdated travel guides and filled it out. After I finished, I handed it over, thanking him, then went to get my mom.

  While I had been in the bookstore, she had packed the back of the Volvo solid with junk. Apparently her shopping skills weren’t handicapped by the size of the store.

  I told her about the job, trying to contain my excitement. She was conditionally happy for me—the condition, of course, being that it didn’t impact my schoolwork.

  We went into the bookstore, and after a five-minute talk between my mom and Mr. Sherman, I had a job. I noticed he had sniffed at her too. The guy was clearly more than just a little eccentric, but for a paycheck I could put up with it.

  I started Thursday at four. He normally closed at five, but Thursday was the store’s late day. Nothing worth watching on TV, he said, so he kept the store open until eight. I was also told that I could work Sundays, noon to five. We left, and I was truly happy for the first time since moving here. It only paid minimum wage, but at least I’d be able to continue to save up some money. I turned sixteen in December and wanted to buy a car.

  My mom poked her head in a couple more shops, and then it was time to go get Eve. We pulled up to the gym and I saw an animated gaggle of what had to be cheerleaders standing near the entrance, talking.

  We waited for a minute. Eve was among them, but if she saw us, she showed no signs of caring.

  What little patience my mom had was gone. She was punctual and expected it of others, meaning she was constantly disappointed.

  “Can you please go get your sister?”

  “No.”

  She turned around and gave me The Look.

  “Fine.” I took a deep breath, then opened the door and headed over to where the girls were still chatting away. I tried my best to look cool, or at least not trip over my own feet. I was getting close to them when my sister, horrified that they might figure out we’re related, pulled herself away from the crowd and started walking to the car. From what I had seen today, we were the only two Asians in the school. Despite her best attempts, I had a feeling people were going to figure out we were siblings sooner or later.

  I was about to turn when I heard a “Hey, Chris!”

  One of the girls, a super-cute redhead, was smiling and waving at me.

  “Uh, hey!” I smiled and waved back, not sure what was going on. I had no idea who she was. I’d certainly have remembered if she had been in one of my classes. I desperately tried to think of what embarrassing story my sister could have told them about me that they would know my name.

  Eve was even more surprised than I was by the greeting. She gave me a funny look all the way to the car. Once we were safely in, and out of earshot of the girls, she said, “How do you know Becky?”

  “Becky?” Then it hit me. The goth girl at the soda fountain. She was distinctly less goth-y with strawberry blonde hair, no piercings, subdued makeup, and dressed in a pair of Rebel Pride shorts and matching tank top. “Um, I met her yesterday when I went into town.”

  “See now, I told you you’d make friends,” said my mom as she pulled away and headed home.

  Eve just stared at me. “Sure, just not with my friends,” she muttered. She shook her head, then started texting.

  “I saw her first.” Okay, it was a stupid thing to say, but Becky was not only cute, she seemed genuinely nice, and I was not going to lose her to my sister’s evil manipulations.

  “So stupid. You can’t call dibs on people.”

  “Really? I just did.”

  “Yeah, well, once she gets to know you I’m sure it will sort itself out.”

  “Poor Eve can’t handle her brother dating the head cheerleader, when she hasn’t even been able to land the naked guy.” So I was nowhere near dating Becky, and I was sure she wasn’t the head cheerleader, but I decided to fudge reality a bit to get under my sister’s skin.

  “What naked guy?” asked my mom, her parental filter zeroing in on what it considered the important part of the conversation.

  Without taking her eyes off her phone, Eve replied, “The naked guy’s name is Trevor, and for your information, he’ll be asking me out on a date by Friday.” She continued quickly so my mom couldn’t interrupt with more questions. “Second, Becky isn’t the head varsity cheerleader, Savannah is. At least for now.” My sister was already plotting. “And third—” she peeled her eyes off he
r phone to look at me for this one—“If you think one wave is a date, then that’s just sad.”

  Okay, so she knew I wasn’t going out with Becky. “Well, I guess since you dated most of the male population of San Jose, you are the expert.”

  “Did you make the team, Eve?” my mom asked, trying to head off the argument before it could escalate any further.

  “Uh huh.” She went back to texting.

  Ugh, she’d be even more insufferable now. On the other hand, that meant the potential for cheerleaders at the house. You had to look at the bright side of every situation.

  “So about this naked boy you’re going to be seeing on Friday…” Argument averted, my mom returned to the topic at hand. I began to tune out the rest of the conversation. Eve was a pro at getting her way; she’d just keep stalling mom until she got hold of dad. She could get him to do anything she wanted. Still, the guy had been naked. Even for Eve, that would be hard to overcome.

  “Hey, Eve, ten bucks says you can’t do it.” Eve didn’t have a regular job, but she babysat a lot back in California and had socked away a lot of money. Amazingly, she was pretty frugal. Well, sort of. She just didn’t like spending her money. If she wanted something, she’d simply talk my dad, or some poor infatuated guy, into buying it for her.

  “Can’t do what?” She looked up from her phone, annoyed.

  “Get the naked guy to take you out to, um…” I tried to think of something lame, but all I came up with was “ice cream.” I should have said bowling. Bowling would have been better. Pico probably didn’t even have a bowling alley.

  “His name’s Trevor, and you’re on.” She looked back down.

  “Christopher, you’re not helping. Please don’t encourage her. You know how she is. Your sister is very competitive.” Understatement of the year.

  “I’m right here. I can hear you,” muttered Eve.

  We got back to the house to find the AC was back up and running, and the cable guy had come. It was my dad’s first day at work, and he called telling us he was on his way home. My mom asked him to pick up dinner. She promised she would start cooking soon, but she’d been having a tiring couple of days unpacking the house and wasn’t up to it yet. Personally, I think she didn’t want to try cooking on the scary-looking stove.

  My dad brought home BBQ. It was delicious— totally different from the baked, sauce-drenched stuff the restaurants served back in California. This meat was smoky, and the sauce was on the side. If this is what we got to eat every night, then it was fine by me if my mom stopped cooking for a while. Still, I felt a little robbed; it was Eve’s week to do the dishes, and so far all she had to do was throw away some bags and paper plates.

  After dinner, I finished up my homework in front of the downstairs TV and then headed up to my room. I was about to turn in when my mom knocked on the door, then stuck her head in.

  “It’s garbage night.”

  Groaning, I put some shoes on and headed outside. My mom had insisted I put the garbage cans all the way back in the garage because they were “unsightly.” I brought the recycling out first, amazed they even did that here; I hadn’t pegged the backwaters of Texas as environmentally conscious. I went back for the garbage. I grabbed the can, turned around, and almost had a heart attack.

  “Jesus!” I said.

  “No. Rose.”

  Despite the fact that I was shaken by her sudden appearance, I almost rolled my eyes at her joke. She was standing a few feet in front of me, wearing a smirk and a black-and-white polka-dot dress that was fifty years out of date.

  I hadn’t heard her sneak up on me at all, not that I was complaining. She was maybe sixteen, pale, thin, blonde hair, cool blue eyes, a couple of inches shorter than me, and drop-dead gorgeous. I think I stared.

  “Hello,” she said after a few moments.

  “Um, hi.”

  She waited again, then looked slightly annoyed. “Not big on introductions, are we?” She took a step forward. “Hello, I’m Rose. Now here’s where you say, ‘Pleased to meet you, Rose. My name is…’” She raised her eyebrows encouragingly.

  “Uh, Chris?” My brain was still getting its bearings.

  “Hello, Chris.”

  “You’re the girl from next door.”

  “Yes, the one you’ve been watching from your window. And you’re the boy who lives in this house, which makes us neighbors.” She said it like she was talking to a five-year-old. I realized I was shattering the stereotype that all Asians were smart.

  “I figured if you’re going to stare at me every night, then we should at least be properly introduced.”

  “Sorry.” I cringed. It was a stupid thing to say. I should have had a witty comeback, or at least a corny one, but my brain ran on a delay when it was under pressure. Besides, what she said was unfair. I hadn’t been staring at her every night. Well, maybe I had, but it wasn’t my fault that she was the most interesting thing visible from my window.

  “Don’t worry about it. But for a better view, you should consider binoculars; I’m told that’s how it’s done.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a coy smile. She glanced at the trashcan I was still holding. “Walk me to the front yard?”

  I started forward, and she fell in line next to me. Raising my voice over the rumbling of the trashcan I was towing behind me, I said, “This is just how I always imagined it, you know? All those nights I spent staring at you. You, me, the trash can, a moonlit walk.”

  She laughed; it was a nice sound. “So you aren’t completely dull. Nice.” And that, folks, is what we call a backhanded compliment.

  We reached the curb and I put the trash next to the recycle bin.

  “We should do this again sometime,” she said.

  “We’re here every Monday night.” I patted the top of the can.

  “Then it’s a date. Nice to meet you, Christopher.” She used my full name, even though I hadn’t given it. Then she turned and walked slowly toward her house, putting one foot directly in front of the other, her hands clasped behind her. I watched her go, then, afraid I was being all starey again, turned and went inside.

  ###

  Once again I woke in the dead of night, this time to the sound of footsteps in the attic. I closed my eyes in the darkness and listened closely. This definitely didn’t sound like the scampering of raccoons or squirrels. The steps were slower and more unsteady. A chill ran through me. I put my pillow over my ears to block out the sound, and did my best to go back to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The next several evenings fell into a disturbing routine. Each night, noises in the house woke me. Sometimes it was the sound of a person (I gave up on the idea it was animals) walking in the attic; sometimes it was muffled banging or cries from downstairs. I’d search the house, but the sounds faded whenever I seemed to be nearing the source. When I went back to bed I’d try not to stare at Rose, who was always reading in her window. If I sneaked a glance at her, she’d wave without looking up.

  At least the days were uneventful. I got acclimated to my classes, ate lunch alone, and avoided Tim Peterson, who was, as I’d feared, built like a linebacker.

  Thursday started quietly, my morning classes passing without incident. At lunch, I sat in a shady area on the low stone wall that ran along the perimeter of the quad, peering into a bag to see what my mom had put in there. I know I’m almost sixteen and too old to have someone make my lunch, but she makes amazing sandwiches. Even my sister lets our Mom pack her a lunch on occasion, which should tell you something, given that Eve won’t do anything that could be perceived as socially unacceptable. Besides, I think Mom enjoyed feeling like my sister and I were still her little kids.

  I was about to take a bite out of the three-inch-thick sub sandwich, stacked high with all of the trimmings, when Becky plopped down next to me. She was accompanied by a petite gum-chewing blonde, who sat on the wall beside her.

  “At first I thought you were avoiding me, but now I know you just don’t want to share your lunch,�
� Becky said, giving my sandwich a longing look. She wore jean shorts, her piercings were reduced to a single stud in each ear, and the dark hair dye was replaced by its natural color, which was somewhere between red and strawberry blonde. Her makeup was muted. The only nod to the goth look was the image on her black t-shirt: dead faeries littered around a bug zapper.

  “Want half?” I asked, grabbing the other section of sandwich from the bag and holding it out as a peace offering. I hadn’t been avoiding either her or Richard. I almost sought them out several times during the week, but I just felt awkward at the thought of crashing their clique, which seemed to be comprised mostly of jocks and cheerleaders. Not my usual crowd.

  She pulled a container of tossed green salad out of her bag and sighed. “Yeah, but I better not.”

  “I’ll take it,” Richard volunteered. He sat down on the lawn in front of us, holding a plastic grocery bag filled with food. I handed him half of my sandwich, which he set down on top of his backpack. “Now that’s a sandwich,” he said appreciatively, then proceeded to pull out two more moderately sized sandwiches, a bag of chips, a banana, some cookies, and a soda.

  “And he says he doesn’t know how he got that big,” joked Becky, half-heartedly poking at her lunch with a plastic fork. The blonde next to her snorted.

  Becky turned to me. “Oh, I almost forgot; this is Monica.” I leaned forward and waved at the girl. I thought she was in my AP English class.

  “Hi.” She smiled, tilted her head and popped a bubble. Then she pulled out her lunch, and stuck her gum to the side of a clear plastic sports bottle filled with water.

  “So have you seen the ghost yet?” Becky asked.