And finally I lose it. All the fire and rage I've pent up comes spilling out over my lips. "Piss off, ghost! I'm not a Holiday Inn!"
Unexpectedly, a warming sensation coats me with comfort and clarity; it's a near peacefulness so serene that I almost think this menace has pushed me out of my body and I've gone to that happy place in the sky.
But no...
I'm with you, Kendall. I won't let him hurt you ...
Emily! Help me!
Focus on your breathing, Emily whispers.
It's like her arms are wrapped around me, loving and protecting me. A vortex of wind spirals around me. The roots of my hair stand at attention, and there's a relief of sorts that washes over me. Almost as quickly as it started—which was probably about five minutes ago in real time—my struggle for control of my body, soul, and sanity is over, and I break free with a whooooosh of energy that nearly lightning-bolts out the top of my head.
In desperate relief, I fall to the floor in a heap.
"Holy crap, Kendall! Are you okay?" Celia asks as she helps me up.
"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine." I try to catch my breath. "That was nasty! I-I-I've never felt anything like that ever before. Where did he come from?"
"No clue," she says. "Too bad we didn't have any camera equipment with us."
I rub my head. "Not exactly the time to bring the ghost bag along, you know?" I swallow against the aridness of my throat, choking on my memories of what just happened. "I need something to drink."
"Let's go back and find the guys," she suggests.
I grab her arm. "Don't tell Jason what we were up to. You know, we're supposed to be having fun and not investigating. He'll feel slighted, like it's not enough for me to just be with him."
"Clay kinda feels that way too."
We link pinkies and then break loose, silently swearing allegiance and loyalty to each other—how fifth grade of us.
As we walk back into the crowded ballroom and find our Batman and Watson, I hear Emily in my head whispering a warning.
Beware of tomfoolery ...
"By whom?"
"What?" Celia asks.
"Sorry, Emily was talking to me." I have no earthly clue what that's supposed to mean. I'll file it away in the back of my mind.
"Where have y'all been?" Clay asks, reaching for Celia's hand.
Celia covers. "Oh, you know. Bathroom. Girl chat."
"Are you sure you weren't ghost hunting?" Jason asks, flattening his lips.
Something he doesn't really understand is that investigating hauntings is sort of like being a doctor: you're on call all the time. Ghosts don't take vacations or sick days. But even though there's a creepy-ass spirit here who just tried to set up shop inside of me, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy dancing with my boyfriend. As long as I keep my eyes wide open for when that spirit decides to show himself again.
Jason pulls me onto the dance floor to slow groove to some Mariah Carey number. That's when I hear it. Plain as day. That same sinister laugh that I heard mocking me at Mrs. Lockhart's house. I'd never forget that sound.
It's the ghost from Mrs. Lockhart's carriage house.
And this time, he's here to play.
Chapter Twelve
"I'm not limboing" Jason says firmly.
I tug him into the middle of the ballroom, urging him to get into the horrible limbo rock Stephanie and Roachie have going using a Swiffer Sweeper as the bar. "Come on!"
Jason resists. "Do I look like I limbo?"
I do my best batting of the eyelashes—which I can do since I've got these fake ones on—and then ask, "Not even for me?"
"I run track, Kendall."
"Fine. Be that way," I say with a laugh. I'm really trying to get back in the spirit (no pun intended) of the party and not let that Union ghost get to me. I join in the limbo line behind Taylor (who needs to be careful about how low she goes in that French maid's costume), but I can't help but think about that baleful laugh that still reverbs in my head.
The DJ's playing Flo Rida's "Shawty Got Low" for everyone to limbo along with. I don't have on any Apple Bottoms jeans or boots with the fur, but I do feel like the whole room is looking at me. I'm too ungraceful to be attempting this. Just as I'm about to bend backwards to try to get under the two-foot-high Swiffer, Celia rushes up to me, waving her Sherlock Holmes pipe in the air.
"Kendall! You've got to come with me."
Relieved that I don't have to go through with getting "low, low, low, low, low, low, low," I let Celia pull me aside.
"She's at it again."
"Who?"
"Courtney."
Taylor rushes up. "Where is she? I haven't seen her all night."
"Well, she's here," Celia says. "And this time, she's not effing around with stupid ploys like a spirit guide in her Bluetooth. This time, she's crossing the line. Majorly."
Is this the tomfoolery Emily warned me about? A long sigh escapes from my lungs, and I feel the air scorching on its way out.
"Courtney's in the library with a bunch of people." When Celia pauses, I'm afraid of what will come next. Her mouth flattens. "She's getting ready to conduct a séance."
Immediately, Emily appears before me, full-bodied, holding her hands up and waving them. They're raised in a warning, and she's telling me telepathically that the séance can't take place. Something beyond horrible is going to happen. Emily knows it. I know it.
Shoving between Celia and Taylor, I scream, "I've got to stop her!"
***
Celia and Taylor must have grabbed Becca from somewhere, because it's all four of us who burst unceremoniously into the darkened library. There, Courtney sits on the floor in her princess costume—how appropriate—surrounded by her usual flock of followers as well as a lot of kids that I don't know. Probably a dozen of them. Twelve idiots who don't know what the hell they're getting themselves into. Courtney sits at the top of the circle, and a plethora of candles surrounds the group, casting an eerie golden haze over the room. Her eyes are closed and she's humming while everyone around her holds hands ... and watches.
"She's certainly got a flair for the dramatic," Celia whispers to me.
I'm in too much shock and awe to say anything. My tongue seems to be the size of a Kaminsky Park kielbasa, and there's nothing I can do to voice my concern. It's like something's holding me back, controlling my ability to speak.
Courtney stops humming and opens her eyes. "If there are any spirits in this room or in this house, I invite you to please step into this circle and communicate through me."
Next to Courtney, Mina holds her hand tightly, looking scared shitless. Sean Carmickle sits on Courtney's other side, riveted by her every word, like this is some sort of special-edition game on Wii and he's going to score big.
A chilling breeze spins tornado-like through the room, causing an ache deep down to my bones. Are others experiencing this? I don't think so. There are entities present here that I can't identify. None that I can see, but I can sense them all around me. Spirits of the deceased. Visitors from the past. Dark shadows waiting in the wings to step forward and make their presence known, playing with the living, almost for their own entertainment. More street ghosts who've bebopped in to get some attention from this stupid, stupid girl who is opening the floodgates to something she knows nothing about. I've read about things like this, calling to the spirits without knowing what conjuring them up will be like. Spirits are lonely and want attention—very much like Courtney—but you never know if they will want to punish the living for bringing them through. That's why if you don't know what the hell you're doing, you never mess with Ouija boards or séances that open up portals to the other side. I mean, I would never attempt a séance without Loreen's guidance.
You must stop her, Kendall, Emily pleads.
I'm trying!
I tug Celia by her sleeve and nudge her forward. "Come on."
She, along with Becca and Taylor, follow me as I step over the circle of joined hands and stand in the mid
dle. We're definitely busting up these shenanigans.
"Courtney, you have no idea what you're doing. You've got to stop at once." I know I'm begging, but I don't care. "Stop pretending before someone—particularly you—gets hurt!"
Courtney closes her eyes again, and a menacing cackle emerges from her. "Kendall Moorehead is jealous of my new powers and the fact that she's not the only one in school anymore who can contact the other side."
All eyes shift to me as if echoing Courtney's sentiment. This isn't about me though! It's about seriously doing what my mother has accused me of—dabbling in the dark arts.
"I don't have an ounce of envy. Trust me. What you're doing is wrong. Dangerous, even."
Tell her what I'm saying, Emily says in my head.
I obey without hesitation. "You have to be prepared when contacting the other side. You have to know who you're reaching out to and what you're doing and what you could possibly be up against. There's a certain amount of protection and blessing and prayer you do ahead of time so no one gets hurt. Did you do any of that, Courtney?"
She cracks one eye open and stares at me. For a moment, I think I've gotten through to her.
Finish ...
I fist my hand and shake it at her. "You have to be prepared for whatever spirit—confrontational, lonely, mischievous, angry—you might encounter. You're putting yourself and everyone else in this room in danger with your frivolous behavior. All for what?"
Courtney screams at the top of her lungs, bringing all eyes to her now. "Get out of my circle, Ghost Girl. I'll show you how it's supposed to be done."
There's a thick wall of energy moving through the room, something negative and angry surrounding my fellow students. Why can't people understand the danger Courtney is dragging them into? This isn't a game. But it is to all of them. Simply another fun thing to scare everyone on a Halloween night.
Jason and Clay enter the room; Jason reaches out for me. I take his hand as I step back from the séance circle, defeated. The air inside my lungs feels heavy, and I find it hard to lift my feet from the floor to walk toward him.
"Are you okay? I heard Courtney yelling."
"No, I'm not all right," I manage to say. "She's making a mistake, Jason, and she won't listen to reason."
He pulls me against his chest and kisses me on the forehead. "You have to let her mess up on her own."
"It's more than that," I say into his Batman suit. "Emily told me to warn her. She's luring evil in."
Jason's chest rumbles with his laughter. "I think it's a little late for a warning."
I look up at him. "I'm serious."
"So am I." He turns us toward the door. "Let's go. Hell with her and her games. Quit giving her the attention she's craving. It's a party. We're supposed to be here having fun."
Oh, except it's anything but.
Walking is a chore. It's like I'm slogging through wet sand on the beach. I'm helpless to stop any of this, although I know there's something ominous lurking in the shadows. I'm 100 percent sure of it.
Behind me, Courtney continues to call out to the spirits.
"What is she doing now?" I turn and see our hostess, Stephanie, standing next to me, staring ahead. "Is she conducting a séance?"
I nod.
Stephanie leans over and whispers to me, "Mom says we really do have spirits in this house. Courtney knows that too, 'cause she's spent the night over here before."
"The spirit of Ada Parry?" I ask.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe others," she says. "Mom once had this medium try to contact spirits here in the house. She wouldn't let me sit in on it, so I don't know what-all happened other than the lady left the house in tears."
Before I can do or say anything, I see a shadow person move behind Courtney. The silhouette of a male is quite clear to me, and I wonder if anyone else can see it. Like a superslow-mo replay during a sports game, the shadow morphs into a clear figure: The small billed cap. The tattered blue uniform. The buttons on his coat, which remain shiny despite the wear and tear. Boots clotted with the red Georgia clay. And then his face appears in more detail. Irate, gloomy, eyes pinned on Courtney as she sways and chants and opens herself up.
I know this man. He's the one from my vision during Evelyn Crawford's reading. The same man who was speaking to Evelyn's ancestor Ada Parry. The same one whose ominous laugh knocked me off my game when I was searching out Delaney Lockhart at the carriage house next door. He lurks on this property. He's connected here.
The soldier locks his hateful eyes on me and then snickers underneath his bushy mustache. The sound of his laughter echoes through my head again, causing needle pricks of pain to shoot up and down my spine. I'm helpless to move or speak or warn. All I can do is stand stock-still and watch as he glances down at Courtney in full faux-séance mode, nearly licking his chops.
Unbeknownst to her, he turns his back and then appears to sit on her lap; slowly, he disappears completely into her body.
She sits up with a jerking jolt. The soldier laughs. Only this time, the sound originates from Courtney's mouth.
With that, I scream like a banshee.
Chapter Thirteen
This time, I know Courtney's not acting.
And everyone knows that I'm not playing around.
She begins to thrash about on the floor, like someone's spilled hot coffee all over her. Both Mina and Sean try to let go of her hands, but Courtney's clinging on for dear life.
"Someone get my mom!" Stephanie screams out.
The music has stopped and people are swarming the room. Taylor pushes her way to where I'm standing with my hand over my mouth. Jason holds me tightly, waiting to see what he should do next.
"Call Loreen," I say to Taylor. Then I add, "And Father Massimo! We can't handle this alone. Wake them up if you have to!"
"I'm on it," Taylor says, whipping her cell phone out from her cleavage.
I don't even want to know.
I lift my skirt and literally crawl back into the circle. I kneel in front of Courtney with Celia at my side.
"What happened to her?" Celia asks.
"Something went into her."
"You saw it?"
"I saw him. We've got to talk her through this until help gets here."
"What if she's faking?"
"She's not this time, Cel."
I certainly don't know what to do for her. I'm not exactly qualified to do an exorcism or whatever is needed. God, what have I gotten into with all of this? How did it get this out of hand? I just wanted to use my psychic gift to help troubled and trapped spirits move on and to bring peace to the living. I never intended to have to intervene in a possession. Especially for the one person in this world who's making my life hell.
Courtney's eyes flutter open. "I'm famished. I haven't eaten in weeks on my way here."
"What?" Celia asks with her eyebrow lifted.
"Someone get her some food," I yell over my shoulder. I want to reach out and shake Courtney back to reality, but my intuition tells me not to do anything. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you," she says. Her voice is deep and distant. Certainly not her typical high-pitched cheerleading tone. "Where is the rest of the unit? Why aren't they here?"
A guy laughs from behind me. "Dude, she's gone totally spaz."
"This is awesome!" another exclaims.
"We're here," I assure Courtney. "We're trying to help."
With the strength of almost three men, she shoves me in the chest hard, knocking me backward with a hard thwwwaaack! Ouch! That hurt!
"Who said I needed your help? You're the one who tried to stop me. When I was down by the river that time and when I was looking for supplies next door. You meddled."
My psychic headache taps at my cranium and it's then I realize that the Union soldier is speaking through her and it's not Courtney at all. Where has she gone? What has he done to her? I see her, scared and shaking somewhere in the corner of her own mind. I've got to get him out of her. Now!
"Let go!" I beg. Words collide in my throat and I find it hard to put a complete sentence together fast enough. "Your hands. Drop them."
Everyone remarkably does as I say, and the energy in the room shifts abruptly.
The soldier screeches, "Damn you!"
Some guy from the basketball team passes Stephanie a fork and a plate of mashed potatoes and roast beef. Stephanie holds it out to Courtney. "Here's the food you wanted."
Courtney reaches out and begins scooping the food into her mouth, not even bothering to chew before she swallows. The fluffy white mixture smears all over her face, and gravy trickles down the front of her costume; she finishes and begins to lick the plate clean, like a starving dog.
I stare up at Celia, who shrugs in return. I wish I could tell everyone in the room what's going on, but it would only make them think I'm completely nuts, beans, and crackers.
"Do you want more?" Stephanie asks. Courtney tosses the plate at her and it breaks into ten pieces on the hardwood floor. "Crap! That's Wedgwood. My mom's gonna shit a brick."
"I think we have bigger problems," I say to Stephanie.
In front of me, Courtney begins to cry; mascara cascades down her porcelain cheeks, mixing with the remnants of food and totally ruining the perfect-little-princess effect she's been going for. A whimper escapes from her chest and I believe it's Courtney trying to break through.
"Come back to us," I instruct, hoping I'm doing the right thing.
The soldier is still present. His breath touches my neck. The stench of his life permeates my nostrils. His creepy mocking tone fills my head, bringing a deep-seated pain to my inner ear.
When Courtney peers at me, I see that her eyes aren't the normal gray color. Instead, they're dark and dilated and belong to the soldier inside. His laughter continues to knife away at my skull and I hear him whisper, "She invited me in."
The Guidance Page 12
