After a few more unanswered questions, Richard gave up. The rest of us gossiped about the stuff we found in the secret room until the lunch bell sounded.
That afternoon I spent another couple of hours in front of the microfiche reader at the library searching for anything I could find about the Monroes. I came across an obituary for Charlotte’s father, Nicholas Monroe, saying that he was survived by Charlotte and by a sister named Olivia, who lived in Vermont.
Apparently Nicholas Monroe had taken over the family construction company, because along with the long write-up and portrait of him in formalwear was a picture of a groundbreaking ceremony. The photo featured “prominent citizens” standing in a semicircle around Mr. Monroe and a powerfully built man identified as Mayor Foster, who was holding a shovel with its tip touching the dirt. The two men were shaking hands and smiling.
Below the image was the caption “Attending the Midnight Society Hall ground breaking ceremony, from left to right” followed by a list of names. The first name was Charlotte Monroe.
She stood to the far left. The picture was too grainy to provide a good look at her. If this were a television police show, I could “enlarge and enhance” to get the perfect image. Unfortunately, in the real world, that just results in a bigger blurry photo. All I could make out was that she had long curly brown hair, and was about Rose’s size.
As I stared at the ink dots, I realized that someone else was watching Charlotte. A young man at the other end of the circle, standing next to a woman I assumed was his wife, had been looking at Charlotte when the photo was taken. His wandering attention was made all the more obvious by the fact that he was the only person not smiling at the camera.
I wondered if it meant anything, or if it was just a fluke. Maybe someone off camera had called his name the moment before the photographer snapped the picture, and it only looked like he was staring at Charlotte. There was no way of knowing for sure.
I looked at the caption to see who he was, but a smudge obscured the last four names, the young couple among them.
I asked Mr. Parker if there was a way to get a copy of the picture. He assured me there was, and soon returned with a decent print. I slipped it into my backpack, thanked him, and headed in to work.
It was my first Tuesday at the bookstore and Mr. Sherman had a surprise: my books had come in! I knew from just a glance that these were not typical books. Both volumes were old and leather-bound, and they looked expensive. I tentatively opened the cover of one, then the other. Mr. Sherman must have ordered them from some sort of specialty book shop, because they had each been printed over a century ago.
I cringed. I wasn’t sure how many paychecks these were going to cost me, but I knew I’d rather have a car. When I asked how much I owed him, Mr. Sherman said I could have them both for fifty dollars. That was almost a week’s pay, but I was pretty sure he was leaving a zero off the real price, so I didn’t complain. He must have noticed my skepticism, because he explained the books were from a collector friend who had given him a special price.
Mr. Sherman left at six to eat dinner and watch his shows. I finished shelving the comics and had time left over to take a peek through the books. One seemed to be a general book on the supernatural; it not only covered ghosts, spirits and haunts, but all sorts of other things like ghouls, vampires, lycanthropes and zombies. The second book looked more useful. It was specifically on ghosts, and had a lot of information on why they appeared, how to communicate with them, and how to get rid of them. It was like a spectral instruction manual.
When it was time, I closed up shop and headed home. I sat at the kitchen table for a late dinner while I did some more reading, but the book just confirmed what I already knew. Charlotte wanted something, and the easiest way to release her spirit was to get it for her.
My other option was performing some sort of exorcism or banishment to force her out. Amazingly, the book detailed several versions of both rituals. It was tempting, but I remembered Savannah’s warning. It might be best not to get into that type of thing, at least not while I had other options.
I went up to my room and saw that my mom must have found Becky’s picture, which was now in a frame on my nightstand. At least that meant she approved…otherwise it might have ended up misplaced under a pile of laundry or something. I shook my head, then cracked open the books one more time. I hoped to find the silver bullet that would solve my problem. I read, without luck, until I fell asleep.
Apparently Charlotte sensed I was making progress on setting her free, because she brought me a gift. When I got up in the morning, I stepped on the rag doll that I had almost tripped over in the secret room. The simple doll wore an old-fashioned dress and bonnet, and was missing one of its button eyes. I set it on my nightstand next to Becky’s picture and headed off to school.
At lunch, I told everyone that I finally got the books, but that they weren’t any help. Monica gave me a look that said she doubted my reading comprehension skills and asked if she could take a look at them. I felt like a lending library, but agreed. She said she’d swing by after practice to pick them up.
True to her word, the doorbell rang at around six-forty. I answered it, expecting Becky to be with her, but Monica was alone. I felt kind of bad; it was a long walk from school.
My mom came to the foyer to see who was at the door, and when she recognized Monica she immediately asked her to dinner.
“That is, unless your parents would mind?”
“No, it’s fine, as long as I’m home by nine. My mom works nights, and I have to be back in time to watch my little sister.”
“Well then, why don’t you give your mom a call, then pull up a chair. We can take you home after.”
It was a blissfully American dinner of meatloaf, potatoes and peas, and after we finished, Monica and I headed upstairs to get the books.
“Wow.” Monica gingerly picked them up from my desk. She sat on my bed and carefully opened the cover of one, cracking the gum that had somehow materialized in her mouth between the dining table and bedroom.
“Yeah. Definitely not the kind of books I was expecting. They’re detailed and all; I’m just not sure how they help. Maybe you can get something useful out of them.”
She continued paging through one and shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, try not to spend all weekend reading them, okay? Space the excitement out so you’ll have something to look forward to next week.”
“Whatever. Oh, hey, thanks for the reminder.” She put the book down and unzipped her backpack, pulling out yet another envelope. “Here—it’s an invitation to Becky’s Labor Day party.”
I had forgotten Monday was a holiday. I opened the envelope while Monica went back to her book. The card was red, white and blue and had a Ford logo emblazoned on its front for some reason. It was a pool party and BBQ from noon until six. The invitation looked mass-produced, so I assumed it would be a big party.
Mine, however, had been personalized with a handwritten note: “Hey Chris, Hope you can make it. Would hate to have bought this new suit for nothing. Becky.” A smiley face winked by her name. Either she was no longer upset with me, or she had decided Rose was simply competition to be bested.
“Monica?”
“Hmmm?”
“Becky’s not just using—” I stopped myself.
“Using what?” She looked up.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
She frowned, popped a bubble, then resumed reading. We hung out until she had to leave, then my dad gave her a ride home. I tagged along to keep her company and to stop any impending shoe analogies. Those were painful, and possibly more embarrassing than stinky cabbage for dinner.
When we returned home, I somehow remembered to ask my parents if I could go to the party ahead of time. This was a daytime party, and there would be parental supervision, but I didn’t know whether there would be any residual fallout from last week’s disaster. I was relieved when they agreed.
The next day at lun
ch, Monica looked excited. “So, like, I’ve got an idea!”
“Congratulations,” I teased.
“Hey, I had one of those last week,” added Becky.
Not to be outdone, Richard chimed in, “There’s a first time for everything.”
Monica shot us all a look, then asked me, “You have no idea what Charlotte wants, right?”
“Right,” I confirmed.
“So how about we ask her?”
As ideas went, it was a little too obvious. “I’ve done it. Trust me, every night she wakes me up and I ask her why. Why is she doing this to me?” I shook my fist in the air for emphasis. “It doesn’t work. She never answers.”
“You’re doing it wrong. You can’t just ask her like that.”
“Was I supposed to say please?” I guessed.
“Nah, dude, you’re supposed to ask a staticky TV. I saw it in a movie once,” said Richard.
Eve got it first. “You want to do a séance?”
“Yup.”
“When?” I asked.
“Whenever. It’s your ghost.” Monica tried to sound nonchalant, but I could tell by her posture that yesterday would have been too late.
“Do you even know how?”
“I do now.” She held up the book. “Instructions. We’ll need something of Charlotte’s, and a picture would be great.”
“I just found a picture at the library. I can make a copy. And there’s plenty of stuff in her room.”
“That’ll work. When do you want to try it?”
“Saturday night?” I suggested. I had to work tonight, and Friday was football.
“I don’t get off until nine,” said Richard.
“Okay, we can do it after that.”
“I’m working until midnight, but I can try to get someone to take my shift,” said Becky.
Richard looked at her. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t need you anyway; you might scare away the ghost.”
“Funny.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” I asked.
Monica just shrugged, and no one else had a clue, but we figured we’d try. Even if nothing happened, it might be fun. None of us had ever even seen, let alone done, a séance before.
Figuring that the odds of the séance working were pretty low, I decided to hedge my bet by talking to some of the people who were around when Charlotte was killed. I wasn’t sure if Mr. Givens would even open the door to me; he seemed particularly unhelpful. So I chose to start with Mrs. Brown, the woman the librarian had told me about.
That afternoon at work, I asked Mr. Sherman if he knew her. He did. Her husband had been the town’s only physician back in the forties and fifties, and she was still living in Pico, over on Cherry Street. I hoped to find time to visit her this Saturday. If not, it would have to wait until next Wednesday after school. For someone living the laid-back rural lifestyle, my schedule was getting full.
Friday came, and I got in an hour of library time, futilely searching through old issues of the Pico Picayune for something we could use. I hadn’t found a thing by the time my parents picked me up on their way to the game.
I was initially surprised that they planned on going to all of the games, even the away ones, but I guess they wanted to show support for Eve. Plus my dad was probably obligated to make an appearance, now that he was the general manager of the plant. High school football was the big thing around here. I had to admit it was more exciting than chickens.
JV lost, but varsity pulled out a win in the last minute. We had collected Eve and were heading down the bleachers when Becky bounded up. “Hey, Chris! Mr. and Mrs. Harding.”
“Hi, Becky,” said my dad.
“Hello, dear,” echoed my mom.
She came to a stop in front of me. “I just wanted to let you know that I got tomorrow night off! That will make it three Saturday nights in a row! Do you know how long it’s been?”
I knew what she was angling for. Not only did she remind me that she’d been free last Saturday, the day I stood her up—even though, technically, I’d never asked her out—she also managed to let me know she would make the séance, and then threw in a hint about the dance next week. All in the same sentence. Not bad.
I wondered if she would want to do something before the séance. Maybe go out for dinner. I was about to ask her when my parents went ahead and did it for me.
“Why don’t you come over for dinner, then? It’s pizza night!” Pizza on Saturday nights had been a family tradition for as long as I could remember. Eve hated pizza night. She was the only kid in America who didn’t like pizza. Eventually my parents started to feel guilty about eating something she didn’t care for once a week, so now they picked up something different for her.
“I’d love to!” Becky was beaming.
We parted ways and headed home.
First thing Saturday morning, I looked up Mrs. Brown in the phone book and gave her a call. Her answering machine picked up, so I left a message.
I spent the rest of the day doing chores and finishing up my homework while I waited for Mrs. Brown to call back. Once I finished that, I tried researching Charlotte Monroe some more on the web, but wasn’t having much luck finding anything new.
My phone rang at about four, and I answered it immediately, thinking Mrs. Brown was returning my call, but it was Monica.
“Hey, I don’t get off until eight. Do you think you could pick up a couple of things for tonight?” Without pausing for an answer, she read off a list.
“I’ll try.” I was going to have to hit up Mom.
“Like, there is no try, only do.”
“Fine, I’ll get them. See you tonight.”
“Yup.” A bubble popped in the background. “So, I heard Becky’s coming over for dinner.”
“My parents invited her over.” News travels crazy fast in this town.
“I’m sure they did. Well, you know, try not to have too much fun before we get there. But just in case, we’ll knock first.” She hung up before I could come up with a witty response.
I headed out to the store. The town had one catch-all store, a Target. My mom had some things to pick up there, too, so I was able to get a ride. I had serious doubts about getting everything that was on the list. The gum was not a problem, but I wasn’t too sure about the Ouija board or the photocopy of Charlotte’s photo, and black candles seemed iffy at best. I wondered whether we needed black, or if that was just theatrics.
As it turned out, I had underestimated the inventory of the Big Box. They had a Ouija board, which glowed in the dark, and I even found black candles. I wasn’t sure if the store was catering to the miniscule rural goth crowd or 50th birthday parties.
For fun, I grabbed a single pack of mint gum along with the six packs of the strawberry stuff Monica had wanted, which I was guessing wasn’t required for the séance. We stopped by the pharmacy on the way home so I could copy the picture of Charlotte from the library. Mom looked at me funny until I told her it was for a school project on local history.
By the time we got back, Becky’s car was already in front of our house. We found her and Eve sitting in the family room watching TV. Becky was in full goth mode, which I figured was only appropriate for the evening’s plans. Today’s shirt had a giant teddy bear holding a little girl doll with x’s for the eyes.
“Hello, Mrs. Harding,” Becky said as we entered.
“Uh.” My mom had a blank look; she didn’t recognize Becky. But she was rarely speechless for long and recovered fast. “Oh, Becky. Hi!”
Becky smiled and waved. It didn’t seem to bother her. She was probably more than used to reactions like that by now.
I sat down to watch TV with them. My dad showed up not long after with the pizzas, and a bag from a burger joint for Eve. Unlike my mom, he was not taken in by Becky’s alternative look.
“Hey, kids. Hey, Becky, like the shirt. Pizza’s here.”
“Our fathers should get together,” said Becky, discovering my dad was also not easily fazed.
Becky and I headed upstairs after dinner. I was determined to find out just how good she really was. At video games.
I had been practicing Death Karts for the past week and had the game ready to go in the machine. I was pretty confident I could take her, even though Richard was dubious. I walked into my room and flipped on the TV, then jumped a couple feet in the air when Becky suddenly screeched, “Where did you get this!”
“Huh? Get what? The game? Like a year ago at Game Shack.” My heart was racing, and I turned to see her standing by my bed holding her framed picture. Okay, this was embarrassing. I’d forgotten it was there.
“Never mind, I know where you got this.” Her tone indicated trouble ahead for Monica. “Ugh, my hair looks horrible. I’ll give you one of this year’s when they come out.”
She set the picture right back where it had been, looking pleased. Then she noticed the controller I had been holding out to her. She raised an eyebrow as she took it.
“Seriously? Brave man.”
“You don’t stand a chance—I’m Korean. Video games are like our national sport. Most of my country spends their entire lives in internet cafes.”
“So, ten bucks?”
“I can’t take a girl’s money; it’s not right. How about we play for clothes?” I suggested, jumping on the bed and settling down.
She climbed on the bed next to me and gave me a sideways glance. “Strip Death Kart? How about we play the first game for nothing, then you can call any stakes you want.”
We sat side by side on the bed and I had a brief sense of déjà vu. Then it was on. She lapped me in the first five minutes.
“So, now what were these stakes you wanted for game two?”
“I don’t believe in gambling. It’s not only immoral, but illegal in forty-nine states.”
“Coward,” she laughed, moving closer to nudge me. We continued playing, shoulder to shoulder. Unlike with Rose, I could feel the warmth of her body, and found I preferred it.
Chapter 16
Becky and I played video games until people started showing up. By then, she had beaten me in just about every game I owned. The relief I felt when I heard the doorbell must have been similar to what a losing boxer feels when he hears the final bell that tells him the pummeling he’s been taking the last twelve rounds is finally going to stop.
The Haunting of Pico (Pico, Texas - Book 1) Page 12
