Haint Misbehavin'

by Maureen Hardegree

  “And you both think I’m overly dramatic. That wouldn’t happen. You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

  Audrey returned from letting Roquefort out, adding a dose of smugness to the dismal smell of defeat in the room. “So what’s her punishment?”

  “None of your business,” Mom said.

  Audrey faked a look of concern. “But it is. If only I had known that Heather would really go downstairs to get the wine and that she’d planned to really drink it, I would never, and I mean it, never have dared her to do it. I feel like it’s partly my fault.”

  “Partly?” I snorted. My parents were actually buying her load of crap.

  She licked her lower lip, her signature move before something dastardly emerged. “I think Heather should have to stay here with Aunt Geneva when we all go to the beach. We have to nip this rebellion for the rules in the bud. I mean, if she’s already sneaking wine, what will she be doing as a senior in high school?”

  “Hey, no fair,” Amy said, stomping her booted foot. “I ain’t never been to the shore, and I don’t know that I’ll take a liking to this aunt of yours.”

  Like she was going to be around that long. Was the trip what my ghost was holding out for?

  “Dad, Mom, please, I’ve been looking forward to this trip since January. Don’t take it away.” Yeah, I whined.

  “The purpose of a family vacation is to be with family,” Mom said, giving Audrey what I call the evil eye. “And since you’re chiming in without being asked, I’m thinking you should share a room with Heather at the beach.”

  “But you already said I get the crow’s nest,” Audrey spluttered. “And Heather and Claire said they’d share.”

  Finally, something to cheer me up—Audrey’s potential misery. I beamed at my sister. “Claire’s going to really like her room. It has its own balcony, doesn’t it?”

  “If you don’t want any further enhancements of your vacation experience,” Dad added, “you’d better go to bed.”

  Once Audrey left, pouting, Dad rocked back and forth on his heels. I gripped the armrest and braced myself for the real punishment.

  “What would you suggest?” he asked, surprising me.

  “Um, are you saying I get to pick?” Oh, my, God. A gift from heaven. If only I could think of something that they thought was bad, but that I could easily live with. “Well, I really love my iPod. I guess you could take it away for a whole week. Boy, that would smart.”

  I tried to tear up, but wasn’t the least big successful.

  “An excellent start,” Dad said. “Continue.”

  “So, that’s not enough?” I asked, cursing myself for not being able to produce tears when I need them.

  Mom shook her head.

  “Okay. No TV either.”

  “Good. Keep going.”

  “No pool?” No Drew-drooling. This was starting to hurt.

  “Considering how much you like Morgan’s brother,” Mom said. “That’s commendable, but I think we should go back to the electronics. Let’s have you turn in your cell phone, for good measure. No text messages or calls. Should we take away the computer, too, John?”

  “No, she’s going to need it for research.”

  Research? Mom’s face blurred in the real tears welling up. I swiped at my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. “But—”

  “But she’ll still be able to e-mail and IM her friends,” Mom interrupted.

  “True, but I doubt she’ll have time.”

  That’s when I found out Audrey had been outside the door listening. “You can always put a block on Heather’s e-mail and IM account.”

  “You’re supposed to be upstairs,” I screamed, my husky voice even huskier laden with tears. “I think Mom and Dad can handle punishing me on their own.”

  Mom sent my evil older sister that heads-are-going-to-roll look. “Audrey, upstairs or you’ll join your sister on the couch and you’ll be researching creative solutions for sibling rivalry.”

  A small white feather sifted down from the ceiling fan and settled on Dad’s shoulder. He met my gaze. “You have a ten-page paper due a week from today. The topic is underage drinking and how it can destroy your life.”

  How about a paper on how a ghost and an older sister can destroy your life? I glared at Amy, who seemed well pleased. She floated over to him and patted his shoulder.

  Dad shuddered. “I’m feeling a draft. Did your mom leave the damper open again?” He started fiddling with the contraption inside the fireplace. “That’s funny. It’s closed.”

  “Come on, Dad. Mo-om,” I whined. “It was just one bottle, and it wasn’t like we were going to drive anywhere after we drank it.”

  “Maybe you don’t need your computer,” Dad said. He looked over at my mother. “Is my old typewriter from college still in the attic?”

  The corners of Mom’s mouth quirked upwards, like ruining my summer was some joke. “Don’t scare her, John.”

  “I hope you’re satisfied. I will now be completely miserable.” No TV, no iPod, no cell phone, no pool. I would be completely isolated with no one to talk to but Claire, Audrey, and a ghost. “And one week isn’t enough time. I had two months to write a paper last year. I suck at writing papers.”

  “Good,” Dad said. “Punishment isn’t supposed to be easy.”

  What if I didn’t do it? What if I just napped and read magazines and shrugged when the due date came?

  “Don’t even think about not turning something in,” Dad added, like he’d read my mind. “You won’t like the consequences.”

  Consequences, hmm. Maybe Amy needed some. Maybe I’d been going about this all wrong trying to appease her desire for fun. Oh, yes, I knew exactly what to do about Amy jumping inside me whenever she felt like it, and it involved some consequences she’d hate.

  Although my little haint thoroughly enjoyed the sentencing, she skipped out on my many appeals that were ultimately denied. She returned as I slid a fresh-scented disinfectant cloth over the bathroom countertop, removing the sprinkles of dark eye shadow and powder Tina had left behind.

  I sensed someone staring and swiveled around expecting to find Amy floating near by. The space, however, was only space. I could now add paranoia to my growing list of weirdo characteristics.

  Turning back to the mirror, I startled, then drew in my breath sharply as a little something extra reflected back, namely a ten-year-old with a gap between her front teeth. My heart pounded as if she’d said, “Boo.”

  “Can’t you use your powers for good rather than evil?” I asked.

  Amy scrunched up her nose. “Huh?”

  “I mean, why don’t you help me clean up the mess you made?”

  “I done what I done to help you,” Amy said like she was proud of it.

  “I’m so blessed,” I muttered, leaving her reflection in the bathroom to return to the fireplace. If anyone from school saw me, I was certain Cinderella would replace my Princess and the Pea nickname.

  For what seemed like the fifty-millionth time, I scrubbed the bricks with a stiff brush and some baking soda. Most of the wine had absorbed into the mortar and, no matter how much I scrubbed, it stayed.

  “That ain’t working,” Amy pointed out.

  “Ya think?” I grumbled to myself about how this predicament was her fault and Audrey’s. No matter how many times I said it, nothing changed, including my dwindling hope that life would get better for me once I officially entered high school.

  I was almost done. The only remnants left were the stains and the feathers that had settled on the fan blades above me. I guess I could have turned on the fan to remove them from their perch, but I was exhausted. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and find out why my ghost hadn’t left—not necessarily in that order.

  “So if you did a third nice thing for me, why are you still here?” I asked in a low voice as I put the cleaning supplies away under the sink. “Shouldn’t you be free to move on to the next realm, or at least find another ‘friend’ to h
aunt?”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me around?” Sadness tightened Amy’s voice, making me feel guilty when, excuse me, I was the victim.

  “I thought you were having a good time tonight. That’s what you said you wanted, right? To have lots of fun? So why did you go all crazy on me?”

  Amy’s face pinched, then wavered. “Disobeying your parents’ rules ain’t fun.”

  “Only if you get caught,” I pointed out.

  Her pain seeped under my skin, like it was mine. Oh, my, God. She’d done something worse than I had, and she’d paid for it. “Amy, what did you do? Did not following the rules have something to do with your death?”

  Her anguish, which had become mine, intensified, but she wouldn’t answer me. Yeah, an answer in and of itself.

  “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll try to follow the rules more if you’ll stop entering my body.”

  She screwed up her face. “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause I like it. It’s fun.”

  “Well, it may not be fun anymore.”

  She tilted her head to the side and looked at me. “How’s that?”

  “Maybe if you keep jumping inside me, I’ll retaliate by doing something that upsets you—like not listening to my parents.”

  “Are you trying to bargain with me?” she asked.

  “Bargain, blackmail, call it what you will. You enter my body, I defy my parents.”

  She huffed, squeezing her fists at her sides. “Oh, all right. I won’t never go inside you no more.”

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved that there would be no more disasters. I mean it wasn’t like she could do much damage without entering me, right? “You know, Amy, if you would tell me what you need to move on, I’d try to provide it. Obviously, there’s more to you staying here than wanting to get your quota of fun or performing what you seem to think are good deeds. For the record, making me do stuff I don’t want to do isn’t a good deed in my book.”

  She said nothing in response, but my gut twisted with her pain.

  These phantom feelings were worse than any label I’d have to live down or any research paper I’d have to write. I had to get her to tell me.

  Chapter Twelve

  After several days of frustration, and Amy refusing to tell me what I needed to know about her not following her parents’ rules, I woke exhausted and depressed. Not only do I suck at cracking open books I’m supposed to read, like Little Women and that influenza thing Amy picked out, but I suck worse at writing.

  Apparently, I knew next to nothing about how to incorporate quotations, when to paraphrase and when to use a direct quote, and what made someone an authority on the subject of underage drinking. Blogs in general and conversations taken from MySpace lacked credibility, according to Dad. He’d pretty much marked a big X through two full days of writing and research. I had no clue what he wanted.

  So I Googled research papers, hoping there was some template in the ether that could help me. What popped up was a link to a website that catered to teenagers who hate to write. They even had a 25% off special, due to summer being their slow season. I clicked through the topics, and they, indeed, had a paper on underage drinking.

  If I ordered it, I’d at least have an idea about what my parents expected out of me. It would just be a guideline. It wasn’t like I was going to turn it in as my work. I’d continue to do the real research. Even get some books from the library since Dad told me I couldn’t rely on the internet alone.

  I filled out the order form, walked to the bank to withdraw from my savings account for a money order, and mailed the form off on my way to my next stop, the library. The research would look authentic because it was.

  Pretty dicey, I know, going to the one place I could almost guarantee I’d run into Xavier. But I was determined to fulfill my latest punishment so that I could go on vacation and attend Suzanne’s party next month, if she’d invite me. I hadn’t heard from her or Tina at all. Maybe she’d called and left a message, but Audrey was keeping it from me. Hey, a girl can hope.

  As soon as the door to the mailbox drummed shut in front of the UPS Store at the strip mall, Amy started on me. “What you’re doing is wrong.”

  “Surely, they had mail back in . . . whenever you were breathing.”

  “That’s cheatin’, Heather. I saw what you did.”

  I glanced around the parking lot. Some mom was filling the back of her minivan with enough grocery bags to feed the football team and paying no attention to me. I didn’t have my iPod to divert suspicion that I was talking to myself. Nor did I have one of those blue ear thingies.

  “Look, I had no intention of getting the wine until Audrey dared me. I didn’t drink it. And you’re the one who made the huge mess, which, by the way, I had to clean up without your help. Why should I be punished when technically I did nothing wrong?”

  Amy flipped the skirt part of her pinafore up and over her face. “It’s gonna end badly. I feel it in my bones.”

  “You don’t have any bones. And besides, Dad didn’t say I couldn’t buy a paper to use as an example. He said I had to turn one in on the appointed date and that I had to research and write it. So I’m doing the research, and I will write my own paper.”

  “Ah, Miss Tildy,” an older man’s voice boomed. Father Flaherty. “And how are you today?” he asked, rolling the “r” in “are.”

  I’d been so busy explaining the facts to Amy, I hadn’t noticed him pulling into the parking lot. I wouldn’t yield to what all the ladies my mom’s age called his “charming” Irish brogue. Even if he looked like Santa Claus without the beard and hummed Sinatra tunes. “Hi, Father.”

  “And where are you heading, this fine day?” He mopped his forehead with an old-fashioned handkerchief. “’Though fine might be stretching it a bit. I think we’ve got a scorcher on our hands.”

  Made hotter by the black asphalt under my feet and having to stop to chat with him. He had no idea what I had done with the wine and all. He had no idea what I’d just sent off for. It wasn’t like he could see into my soul. Right?

  “Um, I’m heading to the library.”

  “What a good girl you are.”

  Guilt body slammed me. What I was doing? Ordering that paper wasn’t wrong, but I could actually feel the UV rays burning my skin. I didn’t deserve it, did I? And I’d left without Claire, who wanted to go to the library with me, but she wasn’t ready, and I needed to go to the bank and mail the form without her knowing.

  Amy angled her head to the side and peered at the priest’s stiff collar like she thought it might be making the accent. “Why’s he talk funny like that?”

  “He’s Irish,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Like them potatoes?”

  I faked a smile at her—no teeth.

  “Most girls your age would be sunning by the pool on a day like today. Or,” he winked at me, “are you going there just to see Xavier?” He grinned at me like he thought Xavier was some catch.

  “Research is what I’m doing. It has nothing to do with Xavier.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, eyes twinkling like he didn’t believe me, like he thought I had the hots for Xavier Monroe. “Have a lovely day, Miss Tildy.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then decided I should maybe ask him something about my ghost. Everything I’d tried hadn’t helped. Maybe I needed a professional.

  “Father?” I called out to his back.

  His bushy eyebrows drew together as he turned back to face me.

  “I was hoping that you could maybe help me with something.”

  Amy’s pinafore and worn calico dress swayed as she flitted about the sidewalk, then perched herself on the post box to swing her ethereal legs and hum some old spiritual. The only words I could make out were “Oh” and “holy.”

  “You see. I have this . . . ” I glanced at my haint. “This problem.”

  Amy dropped from her perch to the sidewalk in front
of me. She balled her ghostly fists. “I ain’t a problem.”

  Father Flaherty’s wild and wooly eyebrows—you know the kind that make you long to take a pair of scissors to them—drew together in concern or disbelief. I have no idea why hair goes haywire on old men. When he was alive, my grandfather even had weird hairs growing out of the end of his nose and ears like haystacks.

  I tried to find words that wouldn’t make me sound crazy, which was pretty much impossible. Best to just say it. “I think there’s this ghost who’s haunting me.”

  His eyebrows drew even closer, forming what looked like one long, gray, fuzzy caterpillar. “What exactly leads you to believe there’s a ghost?”

  “The fact I can see her,” I admitted, really wanting to scratch my underarm. I knew I shouldn’t have tried the deodorant sample—even if it was unscented—that came with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution this morning.

  The sparkle in his eyes gone, Father Flaherty took a deep breath and held it, eyeing me like I was one of those rude people who leave their cell phones on at Mass. “You realize, Miss Tildy, that what you’re claiming is a very serious matter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What exactly is this entity doing when you see it?” He asked.

  “Making my life a living . . . hell. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “To be specific, she ruins electronics, and she entered my body and made me mess up my grandmother’s room.”

  “So now, let me see if I understand what you’ve told me, Miss Tildy. You say you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

  “I wouldn’t call her a demon. I’d call her a ghost. You know, a real person who died and her spirit is stuck here.”

  “I ain’t stuck.”

  I ignored Amy. “I have no idea why she can’t move on. I’ve tried asking and she won’t tell me, so I thought maybe you could help her. Sticky souls are more your thing than mine.”

  “Yes, yes, however, the Church doesn’t recognize what you call ghosts in that way. If there’s something haunting you or your house, it’s a demon. I’m not trained for that specialty. I’d have to call the Archdiocese.”