“I don’t think there are any hard and fast rules when you’re a ghost,” I said disdainfully. “It’s not like they get a handbook, like in Beetlejuice. They pretty much do whatever they want.”
“She’s probably right,” Clove said ruefully.
Of course I was right. I’m always right. When will they realize that?
“I think it probably varies from ghost to ghost,” I added, trying to keep my irritation in check. Why are we discussing this again?
“I have an idea,” Thistle finally said.
Oh great. “No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t you even want to hear what it is?” Thistle knew I didn’t want to hear what it was, but that wasn’t going to stop her from telling me. I honestly don’t even know why I’m putting up a fight. I’m going to lose.
“Not really.” I sipped my tea and pretended to look around the store. I refused to meet her gaze. I knew exactly what her idea was going to be – and it was not something I was looking forward to – or something I wanted to entertain at all frankly.
“I want to hear what it is?” Clove said innocently. Sometimes, when she slips into naïve ignorance mostly, she drives me crazy.
“No, you don’t,” I admonished her.
Clove must have finally caught on to what Thistle was insinuating. “Oh, that’s a great idea!”
“It is not,” I grumbled.
“You don’t want to know? You don’t want to help him?” Oh, sure, guilt me. That’s a great way to approach the problem.
I didn’t answer.
“You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t know,” Thistle admonished me. She knew she had already won, though.
I knew they were right. I blew out another sigh – I seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Fine, but I’m not going alone.”
“We’ll go tonight,” Thistle said, rubbing her hands excitedly. She did love a good adventure. We had all tried to find a pirate ship in Lake Michigan after seeing The Goonies as kids. We were almost charged with trespassing, if I remember correctly. I doubted this would be a fun excursion, though. Since we’d been grounded for a month, The Goonies adventure hadn’t turned out all that fun either.
“Why are we going after dark?” Clove protested. Her bravado was slipping.
“So no one sees us,” Thistle responded sharply. “If someone sees us going there during daylight hours they’ll think it’s suspicious.”
“And if they catch us there at night? You don’t think they’ll find that suspicious?”
She had a point.
“Of course,” Thistle said calmly. “But hopefully no one will see us in the dark.” Yeah, because we’ll suddenly become invisible and able to fly.
Great. We were going to explore a corn maze, in the dark, in the hopes of finding the ghost of a murdered teenage boy who had his heart cut out. What could go wrong with this scenario? How about everything.
Seven
You might think going on a secret mission with your cousins sounds like fun. If that’s the case, then I’m telling the story wrong. It’s never fun. The fact that I let Thistle and Clove talk me into it was a commentary on how weak I am – I can never tell them no -- not how great their powers of persuasion are.
I knew all of this going in. Yet, at midnight, I found myself dressed in black and ready to break about three different local laws and ordinances.
I had to stifle an actual groan when I saw Clove wander out of her bedroom. We’d all agreed to dress in black – although Thistle’s idea of black included a disco sequined tank top – but Clove had actually painted her face like we were about to go hunt and kill something in the woods.
“What’s with the paint?” I grumbled.
“We’re all very pale. You should put some on, too. Otherwise, we’ll stand out in the dark and it will be more likely that we get caught.”
Thistle, usually the voice of reason in a situation like this, grabbed the canister of paint from Clove and immediately started lathering it on her face. When she was done, she handed it to me.
“I’m not wearing that,” I argued.
“If you don’t and we get caught, we’re blaming you,” Thistle warned ominously.
Crap.
I reluctantly took the canister from Thistle and dabbed a little bit on my face. When Thistle was still staring at me reprovingly, I sighed and followed the pattern the two of them had used. When I glanced at myself in the mirror afterwards, I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous we all looked.
Clove smiled at our reflection in the mirror as she stepped up between the two of us. “We look really cute. We should take a picture.”
Cute wasn’t the word I was thinking about using – but I didn’t bother voicing that concern. I knew it would get me nowhere. I also wasn’t going to take a picture so the cops could use it at our trial at a later date.
Clove started digging through her purse and pulled out a black knit hat and handed it to me.
“Why do I have to wear a knit hat?” I sounded whiny – even to myself.
“You have blonde hair,” Clove pointed out, like I hadn’t noticed.
“So?”
“My hair is dark and Thistle’s is blue. They won’t stand out. Yours will stand out. You have to wear it.”
“I don’t want to wear a hat,” I muttered.
“Just put it on and stop being a baby,” Thistle admonished.
“I’m not being a baby,” I grumbled, pulling the hat on. Clove came over to me and shoved the rest of my hair up under the hat. The look she gave me was daring me to complain. I wisely decided against it.
“There,” she said when she was finished.
We had decided that the best way to get to the corn maze was to walk. All of our vehicles were too easily recognizable. It would take us about forty-five minutes to get to the field – but we all agreed that sounded like the safest bet in the long run.
“Chief Terry may have a crush on all of our moms, but that wouldn’t stop him from throwing us in jail if the state police are there,” Thistle had argued.
I couldn’t deny that she had a point. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to a 45-minute walk in the middle of the night. Crazy, I know.
We left the guesthouse and made our way along the cobblestone path at the back of the property. If we avoided the roads, not only would we shorten our trip – but we would also have less of a chance of being captured.
Most of the residents in the area avoided the back of our property like the plague. The property was gorgeous, mind you, but years ago our ancestors had set up a special clearing in the forest for pagan festivals. Through the years, our moms and aunts had started throwing solstice celebrations and equinox engagements in the clearing. Depending on how much liquor was imbibed at these celebrations, they often ended up in nude dances under the moonlight. People didn’t risk cutting through our woods anymore. Once you’ve seen middle-aged boobs that big flopping around – you wouldn’t risk it either.
After leaving our woods, we followed the main road towards the corn maze. Clove wanted to cut across the county’s park – but Thistle and I quickly vetoed that suggestion.
“We’ll get lost,” I argued.
“It will be too creepy,” Thistle offered.
“You guys are no fun,” Clove grumbled.
In truth, I don’t think any of us really wanted to chance cutting across the land. It wasn’t exactly flat. And if one of us fell and required medical attention, we would have a bitch of a time explaining why we were there.
During our trek, we chatted amiably with one another. We were always comfortable when we were together – even if we were about to commit a felony. Briefly, I wondered what anyone would think if they saw us dressed like this.
Once, we saw a pair of headlights heading our way and dived into the ditch to hide. The truck had passed by us quickly, though, and we remained unnoticed.
“Whew, that was close,” Clove wa
s brushing the dirt off her outfit.
“It wasn’t that close. We were in the ditch for a full two minutes before the truck passed us by,” I argued. I get crabby late at night – and early in the morning – especially when I’m doing something that I don’t expressly want to do.
“Still, it could have been dangerous,” Clove said conspiratorially. “What if that was the killer?”
“That was old Mr. Browden,” Thistle argued. “I recognized his truck. He’s probably going down to the pond to go frogging.”
Clove wasn’t going to be deterred from her excitement. “We don’t actually know that’s what he was doing. Have any of us actually seen him catch a frog?”
She had a point. Of course, I didn’t point out that none of us would have the patience to actually sit there and watch him try to catch a frog either. His frog-catching abilities were legendary around town, though.
When we finally got to the corn maze, we approached the area carefully. We could see the yellow police tape glinting under the moonlight – but everything else was dark and quiet. I scanned the area briefly – looking to see if I could see a hidden police car.
“Do you see anything?” Thistle asked dubiously.
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
“Let’s take a quick look around the back of the maze to be sure,” I whispered.
Thistle nodded silently. We all moved together as a unit. It probably took an extra fifteen minutes to check out the back of the maze, but I think we all felt better once the deed was done. When we were back at the entrance to the maze, Thistle and Clove looked to me expectantly.
“What?”
“You go first,” Thistle licked her lips nervously.
“Why do I have to go first? This was your idea.”
“You know where you’re going,” Thistle argued, although I could tell now that we were here she didn’t think it was such a great idea anymore.
“She’s right,” Clove said, moving in between the two of us warily. “You know where you’re going. I’ll be in the middle. Thistle, you take the rear.”
“You always take her side,” I muttered as I reluctantly moved into the corn maze.
I pulled the flashlight I had tucked into the waistband of my black stretchy pants out and flicked it on.
“Should we risk having that on?” Thistle hissed.
“How do you suggest we find our way otherwise? The hay is so tall in there it will block out the moon and we don’t want any of the hay bales tumbling on top of us. Do you really want to feel your way around – especially knowing someone left a dead body in here less than twenty-four hours ago?”
“She has a point,” Clove said nervously.
“Oh, now you’re on my side,” I shot back sarcastically.
We entered the maze. I could feel Clove’s hand at my back. I had no doubt Thistle’s hand was similarly placed at Clove’s back.
“How long?” I could tell Clove didn’t think this was such a fun adventure anymore.
“I don’t know. Like ten minutes,” I said.
We made the trek to the center of the maze in relative silence. The only time that the quiet was shattered was when we inadvertently stepped on someone else’s foot.
“Ouch, that was my foot,” Clove complained.
“You stepped on my foot.”
“I did not.”
I was relieved when we finally made it to the center of the maze. Even Clove and Thistle breathed a sigh of relief when we were free of the closed in walls of the oppressive corn and could take a step away from one another. Of course, given the fact that we were sneaking into a murder scene in the dead of the night – none of us stepped too far away from one another.
“Do you see anything?” Thistle finally asked.
“No.”
“Well, we tried,” Clove interjected hurriedly. “Let’s go.”
I glared at her over my flashlight. “We’re here now. We might as well look around.”
Clove looked like she wanted to argue – or bolt. Instead she sighed heavily. “Fine, but I want it put on the record that I think this is a bad idea.”
“You thought this was a great idea an hour ago,” I teased her.
“That’s before we started wandering around a haunted corn maze,” she shot back.
“We don’t know it’s haunted – yet.”
“Anyone remember watching Children of the Corn?” Thistle asked.
“Why would you bring that up?” Clove practically shrieked.
I smiled to myself. I had forgotten how much that movie freaked Clove out.
“Malachi! Malachi!” I hissed, in best impression of the creepy kid from the movie’s voice.
“You stop that right now!” Clove stomped her small foot indignantly.
“He who walks behind the rows,” Thistle whispered evilly. “He’s coming for you.”
“I’m telling if you don’t stop it,” Clove whimpered. Who was she going to tell?
I was swinging my flashlight around the area, trying to remember another line from the movie when the beam landed on a pair of Converse sneakers. I felt my heart lodge in my throat and I froze.
While Thistle and Clove are often oblivious to certain life cues, they both stopped what they were doing when they saw my rigid posture. Thistle was at my side in a second.
“What do you see?”
My throat was dry and I could barely form words. Thistle put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “What do you see?”
“C-c-converse,” I finally squeaked out. “Gray ones.”
“Where?”
“In the flashlight,” I said.
Thistle followed the flashlight beam with her eyes. “I don’t see anything,” she said finally. She turned to Clove. “Do you?”
Clove looked like the last thing she wanted to do was see if there was someone – or something – wearing Converse in the corn maze. She knew she wasn’t going to get out of here, though, until she looked.
After a full minute of staring at the area where I had the flashlight pointed, she finally shook her head. “There’s nothing there.”
Thistle turned back to me. “Do you still see them?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s probably him,” Thistle said eagerly. “You said it was a teenage boy. Teenage boys wear Converse.”
“So do we,” I snapped back.
“They’re good shoes,” Thistle said comfortingly.
The figure that was standing behind the maze wall – the one that clearly belonged to the shoes – finally peeked around the corner to look where we were standing. His gaze met mine, and he appeared uncertain.
“We won’t hurt you,” I promised.
“Do you see him?” Thistle was the one enjoying our predicament now.
The boy swallowed hard and then took a bold step out into the center of the maze. Once he was clear of the maze wall, I could get a good look at him. He had a slight build and shoulder-length brown hair. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were – but they looked brown under the pale moonlight. He was dressed in over-sized jeans, an AC/DC shirt – everything old is new again, after all – and the gray converse shoes. He also had a black hoodie on. He looked like a typical teenager.
“You can see me?” The boy asked cautiously.
I nodded. “I can.” I pointed to Clove and Thistle. “They can’t, though.”
“They know you’re talking to me, though,” he said. He seemed scared, which made me sad. He was already dead, what did he have to be scared about?
“They do.”
“How?”
“They’re my cousins.”
“But how do they know you’re talking to me if they can’t see me?”
Now, here’s a tricky situation. I wasn’t sure if the boy realized he was dead. If he didn’t, I had to break the news to him as carefully as possible. Even if he did, though, I didn’t know if I should fess up to being a witch. Even ghosts get a little freaked out about stuff like that. I decid
ed to go for a mixture of the truth.
“I’ve been able to see things that other people can’t since I was a kid,” I finally said.
“Like ghosts?”
Whew. He knew he was dead. “You know you’re a ghost?” I asked sympathetically.
The boy looked shocked. “I’m a ghost? You’re saying I’m a ghost?”
“Why did you ask if I could see ghosts if you didn’t know you were a ghost?” I asked, suddenly panicked.
I could see Thistle and Clove taking the conversation in beside me – but neither one said a word.
“I was just asking a question,” the boy said indignantly. “You don’t just blurt out that you’re a ghost to someone, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” I said simply. “I thought you knew.”
The boy blew out a sigh – or at least the approximation of a sigh. He didn’t have breath anymore, after all.
“I had a suspicion that I was dead,” he admitted.
I figured that. “Why?”
“Because I tried to talk to all the police that were here earlier and none of them could hear me. Plus, there was that whole body thing.”
Yep, that would do it.
I decided to approach the next question delicately. “What do you remember?”
“What do you mean?” The boy furrowed his eyebrows in a confused expression.
“She means, who killed you?”
I swung to Thistle in surprise. “You can see him?”
She shook her head. “No. But I can hear him. It was hard to hear him at first, but now I hear him like he’s standing right beside us.”
I turned to Clove. “Can you hear him, too?”
“Yeah,” she bit her lower lip. “It’s creepy.”
“I’m not creepy!” The boy was starting to lose it.
“No, you’re not,” I soothed him calmly. “What’s your name?”
“Shane,” the boy answered.
“Shane what?”
“Shane Haskell.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m seventeen,” he said bitterly.
“Where are you from?”
“Beula,” he said.
“Where’s Beula?” Clove looked confused.
“It’s on the other side of Traverse City,” Thistle interjected. “At least I think. I’ve never actually been there.”
Any Witch Way You Can Page 6
