I tried my best to ignore their parting conversation, focusing instead on Rose’s friend Sean, who was walking arm in arm with the senior I had seen him with earlier. They were aiming for the farmhouse. He bent close, whispering something into her ear as he moved his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. The man obviously had some moves. My voyeurism was interrupted by the slam of a car door, so I got into the Mustang quickly before Becky changed her mind.
Becky started the car and, without a word, drove out of the parking lot at a surprisingly sedate pace.
“Sorry. I was going to get a ride with Richard, but I think Monica wanted a little one-on-one time with him.”
She smiled. “They’re cute together. Besides, this way you can enjoy that country view you like so much.”
“Best view for miles around!”
“Better believe it.” That seemed to be the end of her willingness to talk. The rest of the ride was spent in somewhat-uncomfortable silence.
When she pulled up in front of my house, I had a lot of stuff I wanted to say; but before I could get a word out, Becky gave a nod toward the door. “Good night.”
“’Night. Thanks for the ride.” Without much choice, I got out and watched her drive off.
My parents were waiting up, but since it was reasonably early and I didn’t have another black eye, it went much smoother this time. Only a brief interrogation was conducted before I was allowed to head upstairs to sleep.
The ghost was back. But now, instead of walking across my ceiling, it stopped above my bed and threw a tantrum. It stomped up and down so hard I was worried it might fall through the floor. I wondered for a minute if that was even possible. I wasn’t sure if ghosts could fall.
There was no way I could sleep through the ruckus. It was three o’clock when I turned on my light and got out of bed. The stomping stopped, replaced by footsteps that ran off toward the hall. I followed them.
I stood in the hall, trying to figure out which way they’d gone, when light poured out from behind me. I turned to see Eve standing in her doorway.
“Chris, is that you?”
“Yeah; you heard it, too?”
“No, I heard you. What’s going on?” A crash downstairs made us both jump.
“I’m going to go check it out. Wait here,” I said.
“Um, no. Not waiting here alone, sorry.” Eve was right behind me as I went downstairs. I flipped on light switches as I went, hoping the illumination would scare it off. No such luck. Another crash came from the kitchen.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, reached inside, and turned on the light.
The floor was a mess. The metal containers of flour and sugar had been knocked off the counter, contents spilled across the hardwood.
I stepped into the middle of the room, but stopped when the microwave beeped and turned itself on. The digital display no longer read the time; only the word MOMMY scrolled across the screen. I unplugged it.
“Look out!” Eve screamed, and I whirled just in time to see the butcher block moving on the counter. A knife worked itself free and flew at me. I ducked as it sailed overhead and embedded itself in the wall.
She wasn’t done. The block moved again, and another knife followed. I made a mad scramble for the exit, picking up the flour container to use as a shield. Fortunately, the ghost had lousy aim. This knife went wide and skewered the pantry door.
I moved backwards on the floor like a crab, not wanting to take my eyes off any oncoming cutlery. It was a good thing I did, because the ghost stepped up its pitching game. Several more knives came my way. Most of the projectiles landed around me, though one knife impaled itself on the metal container I was holding. I flung it aside and dove for the doorway.
I had made it out. I lay panting with my back to the room, like an idiot. Eve tackled me. We rolled off to the side. There was a thunk, followed by a loud clatter. The butcher knife had flown by where my head had been, bounced off a bookcase and gone crashing to the floor. The house went quiet.
That was it. Eve and I bolted upstairs and into my room. I shut the door behind us and locked it.
“We have to do something about this.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Eve said sarcastically, but with a little shake in her voice. We sat in silence for thirty minutes, not hearing a single strange noise. Eventually, unable to sleep, we turned on my console and played video games until dawn shone through the windows.
Chapter 24
I managed to get in a few hours of sleep that morning before I rolled out of bed. After what had happened to the kitchen, I was surprised my parents hadn’t woken me up already. I found out why when I got downstairs. The damage from the spectral temper tantrum had been cleaned up. The punctured flour container was in the trash, and though there were telltale knife marks in the walls and floor, if you didn’t know what to look for, you would never know it had happened.
I found my sister lying on her bed texting, dark circles under her eyes telling me she still hadn’t slept. She answered me before I could ask the question.
“I couldn’t get to sleep so I went down and cleaned up.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
“You should try to get some sleep, though. Don’t let the ghost bother you.”
“I see that’s worked wonders for you.”
She had a point. I spent the next few hours wracking my brain for ghost-busting ideas while I did my chores. The best I came up with was to hunt for more secret doors. It made sense that if the house had two, then maybe more were hiding. I concentrated my search in the kitchen. The ghost spent a lot of time there, and I thought maybe there was a hidden space behind a cabinet or a drawer that contained something it wanted.
Eve came down during my search. She watched me, arms crossed, as I moved the cleansers and dishtowels out from under the sink. When I crawled in and started tapping around, she finally broke her silence.
“What are you doing? Trying to show the ghost who’s better at making a mess of the kitchen?”
“Funny. No, I’m looking for hidden doors. I want to know why the ghost is so tied to the kitchen. It can’t be for the green appliances, and I don’t think ghosts get the munchies.”
It must have made sense to Eve, because she helped me look. After half an hour we gave up on the kitchen and moved on to the other rooms. An hour later, we came up empty.
“I don’t think there are any more,” Eve said. She left me sitting on the foot of the stairs, pondering what to do next.
I decided to see if Emily had been buried with Charlotte. On the off chance Emily was dead, her relatives might have buried her in Pico, next to her mother. Maybe it would give me something to go on. I looked up Pico cemeteries online. Only one was listed. It was out in the country, too far to skate to.
I called up Richard. He admitted it wasn’t his idea of a good time, but he’d come anyway. I checked to see if Eve wanted to join us, but I found her asleep on her bed. She was holding her phone, and I wondered if one of her friends was out there somewhere waiting for a text.
The cemetery was on a road that should have been repaved a decade ago. We suffered through the bucking and jolts as the old truck’s suspension labored over the cracks and potholes. I half expected the truck to give out, stranding us out here. But it clamored along until we pulled alongside the graveyard. Two massive wroughtiron gates hung from large stone columns. Each column was topped with an ominous-looking statue of an angel holding a sword. The one on the left held its sword up toward Heaven; the one on the right was stabbing downward.
The cemetery’s name, Shady Hollow, was written in scrawling wrought iron in an arc above the gates. It was the type of entrance you’d imagine would lead into a spooky cemetery with roiling fog that swam around toppled headstones, gnarled leafless trees, and hooting owls.
The creepiness ended at the gate, however. Inside, we found well-kept, sunlit grounds with a lawn so perfect it would make a pro-tour golf course jealous. Shady
Hollow felt more like a park than a cemetery.
Most of the graves were simple, but a few headstones were topped with elaborate statues. Several graves were adorned with fresh bouquets of flowers. The only sounds we heard were birds chirping and the far-off buzz of a weed whacker.
Aside from the graves, there were a couple of modern-looking buildings on the open grounds: a chapel, a mausoleum, and a small building that doubled as a florist and the cemetery offices.
The cemetery was deceptively large; it meandered over acres of gently rolling hills. Consequently, Richard and I were having trouble finding Charlotte’s grave. I used my phone to pull up the website, but the cemetery didn’t have an online directory.
Eventually we found the Monroe family. They were buried in an older section of the cemetery. I saw the graves for her parents and grandparents, but not for Charlotte or her daughter Emily. We figured maybe they ran out of room next to the family and had to bury Charlotte somewhere else, so we kept searching. We had wandered around the entire cemetery twice, and probably would have kept at it until we missed the dance, when the caretaker came up and asked if we needed any help.
When we told him who we were looking for, he brought us to the back of the cemetery. A narrow path that Richard and I had either missed or ignored disappeared into the woods.
We followed the caretaker down the path, crossing an ancient stone bridge that spanned a shallow creek. Not far past the creek, we came upon a simple iron gate set into a stone wall. The gate opened with an ominous creak, and we found ourselves in a second cemetery.
Now this was more like I had expected. It was halfheartedly cared for. The lawn over and around the graves had been cut, but the woods had been allowed to encroach around them. Many of the headstones were pitted and discolored by moss and grime, and several had cracked or fallen over. Most of these graves were modest, though there was the occasional grand monument or family crypt. I caught glimpses of a few larger stone structures crouching amidst the trees.
The caretaker explained that this was the old cemetery. They’d stopped using it fifty years ago. It had a separate entrance onto the street, but it had been closed off because hardly anyone visited these graves any more. Illustrating his point were a bare handful of graves with fresh flowers.
The caretaker took us to a simple gravestone; it had no clever epitaph or touching quote. It read only:
Charlotte Monroe
1928-1952
We saw no grave for Emily, and the caretaker wasn’t aware of one. We had struck out. I was no closer to unraveling the mystery of my ghost.
But something the caretaker had said nagged at me, and I asked, “So, wait—you said they stopped using this place fifty years ago. But Charlotte’s family all died before her, and they’re buried out in the new cemetery. What’s up with that?”
“They were white,” he said. When it was clear I didn’t get it, he continued, “Back then things were segregated. This is where they buried everyone else. Nowadays, of course, most everyone gets buried in the same place, over in the main grounds.”
“So only blacks were buried here?”
“No, also Asians like yourself—assuming there were any in these parts back then, non-Christians, and the other things.” Other things? He trailed off at the last part, but the way he said it ended my willingness to continue talking with the racist jerk. I thanked him for his time, and made it clear we wanted some privacy.
Richard and I went back to my place and played video games until Richard had to go. He was taking Monica out to a fancy dinner before the dance, and had to run home and change. He was proud of the reservations; Pico had a single nice restaurant, a national surf-and-turf chain. With the dance, and it being a Saturday night, the restaurant would have been booked a week in advance. I wondered if he had bribed the hostess, or if he had made the reservations a while ago, just in case.
I had a couple of hours to kill before Rose was supposed to pick me up, but I decided I had better get ready now. Eve would barricade herself in the bathroom soon, and that would last until minutes before it was time to leave.
Unlike Richard, I didn’t go pick up a new outfit for the dance, and hadn’t even thought to ask Rose out for dinner. I normally didn’t pay that stuff much attention. Being in a new place meant no one had seen most of my clothes yet, so I had no worries there. The restaurant was an oversight, though, and I probably should have at least offered.
Trevor came to pick up Eve at about half past eight, but Eve wouldn’t let them leave. Apparently she wanted an advance screening of my date. Or maybe she just wanted to make sure Rose was real. Whatever the reason, she made Trevor sit with her in the living room making small talk with my parents until the doorbell rang.
My first thought was to run for the door and slip out before anyone could stop me, but judging by the anticipation on everyone’s faces, I didn’t think I would live that one down. Besides, I didn’t want my parents thinking I was hiding something. So, instead, I walked calmly to the door and opened it.
Rose stood on the porch wearing one of her vintage dresses. This one was something special; it was black and definitely retro-cool. Cut low in the front, backless, and very complimentary to her figure, it even came complete with matching black-and-white pumps. It looked like something an actress might have worn to the Oscars in the 1940s.
Her hair was done up in a fancy twist with one curly lock framing her face just so, rather than falling loose, as was her standard. Her makeup looked either professionally done or applied by a person with more years of practice than humanly possible. Her nails were manicured and painted blood red. Everything about her was almost too perfect; she was an old-school pin-up that had walked right out of a calendar.
“Wow,” I managed.
She smiled. “Why, thank you.”
“Come on in.” Planting a smile on my face, I took her cool hand and led her into the living room, chanting over and over in my head, “Please be able to see her, please be able to see her, please be able to see her.”
Judging by everyone’s expressions, they could see her. My parents were clearly taken aback. Trevor’s eyes were bugging out so bad that Eve elbowed him. Even after the elbow, Trevor looked at me and gave me a “discreet” thumbs up, which no one in the room missed.
“Hey, everyone, this is Rose.” She tilted her head and gave a little curtsey.
“Rose, this is my mom, my dad, my sister Eve, and her boyfriend Trevor.” I had no idea if he was officially her boyfriend, but it was fun to watch him deflate a little as I tagged him “taken” in front of Rose.
“Charmed,” she said, walking up to my parents. “Mr. Harding, Mrs. Harding.” She took each of their hands, then nodded at my sister and Trevor.
My dad recovered his composure. “Pleased to meet you, Rose. I’m surprised we haven’t seen you around.”
“I’m sure we’ve bumped into each other at some point here in town. You probably just don’t remember me.”
My dad seemed unconvinced that he could possibly have forgotten meeting her, but at last he said, “Well, you two have a good time at the dance.”
“We most certainly will,” said Rose, who returned to my side. We finished our goodbyes, and then went out hand in hand to her car. Er, van. Apparently hundred-year-old women drove minivans. At least it had tinted windows, so it wasn’t totally uncool.
She saw my look. “I have a car as well. Should I bring it instead? Or perhaps you expected a limo?”
“Huh? No, I just thought that….I don’t know. I mean, it’s cool.”
“It’s practical. And I exist to shatter expectations.”
“You do a great job.”
“I try.” She stood by the van, and it took me a second to figure out what she was waiting for. I rushed over to open the car door for her.
“See, anyone is trainable. Don’t give me that look. Poor manners are a reflection on one’s class.” She smiled and took a seat in the van.
Unlike Becky, Rose obeyed e
very traffic law to the letter, even using her turn signals to change lanes when no one was around. When we parked, I remembered to circle around and open her door.
We attracted attention as soon as we walked into the gym. I wasn’t surprised; people had been waiting all week to see this mystery girl. Well, at least the ones who cared about the drama between Becky and me. Honestly, it probably wasn’t all that many. I think everyone tends to inflate their own importance in other people’s lives a bit.
They did stare, though. I’d like to say they were looking at us, but they were looking at her. Rose was unnaturally beautiful, and her presence garnered attention. She demanded yearning from the boys and jealousy from the girls.
I had been thinking about how I was going to introduce her to my friends. I had gone over a couple of options on the ride over. Rose saw them about the same time I did, and she must have known who they were, because she steered us straight at them.
One by one, they noticed us. Monica saw us first. Her bubble popped and remained planted on her face a full two seconds before she sucked it back in. Richard’s jaw actually dropped, and stayed that way until Monica noticed and used a hand to close it for him. It only lasted a second before the jaw lowered again. Jason checked out Rose hungrily, while Becky looked…well, crestfallen might be the right word.
“Hi, guys! This is Rose. Rose, these are my friends: Becky, Jason, Monica, and Richard.” Jason wasn’t a friend, but it would have felt awkward leaving him out.
“Pleased to meet you all. Chris has told me so much about each of you. Except for you.” Rose placed a manicured finger on Jason’s chest. “You must be new to the group?”
“Nah, I was just taking a break for a while.”
“Of course you were.” She removed her finger, dismissing him with a look.
Jason had an odd expression. He was trying to figure out if he had been dissed. He covered it up by tapping Becky, then motioning to where Savannah talked animatedly with some friends.
The Haunting of Pico (Pico, Texas - Book 1) Page 19
