The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street

by Lindsay Currie

  “Hey, Jonah—come here, buddy. Bring Reno.”

  Jonah looks at me skeptically, his hands pausing in midair over a mess of Lego people. “Are you going to do something to him?”

  Once upon a time, I would have gladly tried to burn Reno. Not anymore. Not now that I understand why Inez needed him. “No. I don’t want to hurt him. Swear.” I hold up my pinky. “Actually, I want to show him something.”

  Jonah scoops Reno up off the floor and tucks him into his chest. Dodging a carpet full of spare Lego arms, legs, and heads, he makes his way toward me and looks down at the paper. “What is it?”

  I smile and tap on the letters one at a time. “I-N-E-Z. That spells Inez. She’s a friend of mine, a little girl who helped me a lot, and I want to thank her by making this.”

  “Why do you need Reno?” Jonah asks, popping a thumb in his mouth.

  Moving Jonah’s thumb from his lips, I give him a look. The one that says You’re too old to be sucking your thumb. I know Mom and Dad won’t tell him, but I’ve decided I’m okay with that. I’m done being angry because they aren’t like other parents. They’re different—complicated—and that’s okay. Like it’s okay for my new friends.

  Andrew acts like soccer is his life, but it’s really his friends.

  Richie pretends his best feature is his stomach, but it’s actually his brain.

  Nina seems shy but talks more than Rachel when she’s excited.

  Cassidy fakes not needing help, but she just doesn’t know how to ask for it.

  And me? I act like I hate the adventure jar, but I secretly love it.

  “You told me one time you thought ghosts were in this house. Remember?” I ask once Jonah’s thumb is secured at his side.

  “Yes.”

  “And do you still think that?” I’ve always suspected that Inez came to me because of my art, but that doesn’t explain why Jonah heard her our first night here. Part of me wonders if he heard her because he wanted to.

  Jonah looks out the window for a moment, then turns to face me. There’s no trace of fear in his eyes this time. No worry. He shrugs. “I don’t know. But it’s not sad anymore.”

  It’s not sad anymore. I really hope this is true. Snatching my sketchpad back off the floor, I hold it in front of him. “Can you ask Reno to look at this? I mean, I think my friend—Inez—probably really likes Reno. So if he thinks this picture is good, she will, too!”

  Jonah drags Reno into a sitting position and props him up against the couch. The deep black orbs of his eyes stare down at the paper.

  “Okay, let him have a good look. I need Reno’s stamp of approval before I show this to my friend, Inez.” Waiting for Jonah’s reaction, I hold my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. Jonah doesn’t understand how important this is to me. He might say the doll hates it, and then I’ll have to start from scratch. But if I’ve learned anything since moving to Chicago, it’s that I need to face my fears. Mean girls, ghosts, and terrifying ventriloquist dummies . . . I can’t let them win. And today I’m starting with Reno.

  A frigid blast of air shoots through the room, ruffling my hair. Jonah opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up to stop him. If Inez is here and she wants to tell me something, I don’t want anyone to get in her way. The crackling starts up, slowly simmering under my skin until I feel her full energy pulsing through me. The house seems to hum with it . . . an invisible, endless force.

  “Thank you.” Reno’s mouth suddenly clicks out in an alarmingly high-pitched voice. I fly up off the couch, adrenaline pumping through me like a wildfire. I didn’t see Jonah’s lips move that time. Like, not even a little! Has he really gotten that good at ventriloquism?

  Jonah fumbles Reno, nearly dropping him on the floor. He holds the doll at arm’s length and stares at it, his face a mixture of shock and happiness.

  “Wow! Did you hear that, Tessa? Reno talked for real!” he screeches excitedly, and then races out of the room, probably to tell Dad.

  I sit paralyzed.

  What just happened?

  I gasp as the only possibility, no matter how crazy, worms its way into my brain. The room looks empty, but I know with one hundred percent certainty that it isn’t. No wonder the voice sounded so strange and his lips didn’t move. It wasn’t Jonah who did that. It was Inez.

  Smiling, I begin to color in the letters of her name. With any luck, she’s watching . . . and happy.

  41

  THE GATES OF GRACELAND CEMETERY look different to me today. Less foreboding and more welcoming. I can’t say I’m thrilled about walking through the gravestones, or passing those horrible mausoleums by myself, but I am happy about seeing Inez again. I have something for her.

  I press the buzzer on the front office for the second time in the past week. The door clicks open and I walk into the lobby. I don’t need a plot map this time; I remember how to get to Inez’s box. I need information.

  “Oh, hello again! Here to research some more?” The same woman greets me today. This time she has a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

  Research? I guess you could call it that. I’ve been worrying about something ever since I left Graceland the first time.

  “Yes, thank you. I just had a question before I go back out there.”

  “Shoot,” she says with a smile. She’s in a better mood. Probably because there isn’t a raging typhoon outside today.

  It’s time to test Cass’s theory. “You said there are rumors about Inez’s statue. That it disappears during electrical storms.”

  She chuckles and raises one finely plucked eyebrow. “Yes. I hope I set a good atmosphere for you and your friends last time.”

  Atmosphere? Was she trying to freak us out and give me a heart attack?

  “There have been rumors that the statue disappears, yes. But our grounds keepers have an explanation for that.”

  Aha. I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue. Hoping she’ll confirm what Cassidy said and ease my fears that the last time I was here, Inez was angry and restless enough to try to keep me.

  “Oh, you poor dear! You look terrified!” The woman laughs, garnering the attention of the other women working at desks behind her. “It’s just fogged up! When the weather changes abruptly, the air temperature makes the inside of the glass box fog up with condensation, and boom! You have a ghostly missing statue.”

  “Fogged up,” I repeat. Cassidy was right. “Wow. So simple.”

  “It usually is, honey.” She smiles warmly and I turn to leave. Everything is still exactly how it was when Andrew, Nina, and I originally came here. The chairs, the pictures, the brochures. But now the puzzle is complete.

  The woman glances at my hands and her eyes trail back up to mine. “Interesting doll.”

  I hold Reno up higher and straighten the red bow tie around his neck. “Thanks. He’s . . . ahhh . . . a friend.”

  She waggles one eyebrow as if seventh graders shouldn’t be playing with dolls, but I don’t care. I’m visiting Inez today, and if she likes Reno, I’m going to make sure she gets to see him. She was only six years old when she died—the perfect age for enjoying a ventriloquist dummy. It’s not fair that she didn’t get a chance to.

  I head out the door and make my way toward Inez. A beautiful autumn sunshine is beating down on my neck and warming it. Leaves drift lazily down to my feet, and I notice how bare the tree branches are getting. In three weeks it will be Halloween, and everyone will be dressed up, running door-to-door with sacks of candy. When we first moved here, I would’ve said trick-or-treating is out of the question. That it’s too dangerous in a city this big. But now I think it could be fun. Shady Street is safe and well-lit, and mom says our neighbors seem nice. Plus there are a few big houses with really cool decorations in their lawn. If they have giant stashes of candy, then this could be one of the best Halloweens I’ve ever had. Especially if I can spend it with Andrew, Nina, and Richie.

  The glass box appears just around the ben
d, and my breath catches in my throat. There she is. The little girl no one understands. The girl everyone would prefer to leave shrouded in mystery just because it’s a better ghost story.

  Taking a few more steps, I home in on her sculpted face. Seeing her petite features again is really a rush. She’s so pretty. So young, too. Younger than me, but not all that different. She was missing her home. Her place. Just. Like. Me.

  A strong, unseasonably warm breeze picks up, lifting my hair off my shoulders and whipping it into my face. It isn’t scary like the time we got stuck in here and the thunderstorm came through. Instead, it’s comforting.

  “I know you didn’t haunt me just because you wanted your story and your name known,” I say, knowing full well that if anyone saw me carrying on a conversation with a statue, they’d think I’m a crazy person. I don’t care. My parents have never cared what others think about their quirky ways, and maybe part of me doesn’t, either.

  Smiling, I put the palm of my hand against the glass that separates us and say a silent “Thank you.” The truth was so much simpler than I ever made it. Inez haunting me was never just about setting her story straight. It was about helping me in the only way she could. By giving me her mystery to figure out, she also gave me friends.

  Propping Reno up against the base of her box, I slide my messenger bag off my shoulder and set it on the ground. Reaching in, my fingers find what they’re looking for—the eight-by-ten-inch laminated sheet of paper. I pull it out and then go for the duct tape I snagged from the pantry.

  “You helped me find Nina, Andrew, and Richie, and I owe you. I’m going to fix this for you, Inez,” I whisper. The trees above me rattle and I wonder if she’s listening. If she’s watching.

  I hope so.

  Placing the paper over the name Inez Clarke etched into the plaque at the base of the statue, I make sure it’s straight before taping it on. I don’t know how long it will stay or if the winter snowstorms will tear it down, but I’ll always come back and fix it. I’ll make sure people know.

  INEZ BRIGGS

  SEPTEMBER 20, 1873

  AUGUST 1, 1880

  I might not be able to change the fact that Inez had to move to a new house without her mother and father. Or that her glass box is in all the ghost books. But I can at least keep the correct name on her gravestone. After all she went through to reach me, and the friends I’ve made because of her story, I owe her at least that much.

  EPILOGUE

  “DON’T GET YOUR ZOMBIE SKIN on it! You’re going to smudge it, dummy!” Nina shoves Andrew and he nearly falls off his chair, raining flecks of dried green paint onto the carpet. Richie laughs and crams another handful of popcorn in his mouth. I think he’s secretly happy that Nina is finally fighting with someone other than him.

  I look up from the image on my paper and smile. Today is filled with firsts. My first time drawing a person. My first time letting people watch me draw. My first time sharing my art with friends. It felt scary at first, but now I’m happy. So happy it hurts.

  It’s also my first time celebrating Halloween anywhere but Florida. I wasn’t sure how things would go, but when Andrew, Nina, and Richie showed up wearing costumes even though we’re almost teenagers, I knew the night was going to rock. We might not have done as much actual trick-or-treating as my little brother did, but we’ve definitely had fun.

  “Wow! Tessa, it looks amazing so far!” Andrew says, leaning closer. He catches Nina giving him a dirty look, then sighs and slides his elbow safely away. “I can’t believe you came up with this just based on the sculpture.”

  Looking down, I can’t help but feel proud. Even without having an actual picture of what Inez looked like, I think my drawing is pretty accurate. Long rumpled-up hair—as Andrew would say—with a ribbon in it. Kind eyes, and a sweet little-girl smile. “Thanks.”

  Nina kicks her legs out to untangle the bottom of her long black dress. A pair of Nike sneakers peeks out from the bottom of the fabric. When she first showed up, I thought she was a witch, but I should have known better. A witch is too boring—too generic—for Nina. Apparently, she’s something called a spiritualist. Guess a long time ago they used to tell people they could communicate with the dead. Even though she still kinda looks like a witch to me, the whole spiritualist thing makes way more sense for a girl who’s obsessed with ghosts.

  I gesture to her shoes. “Okay. I get the Ouija board you’re carrying, but what’s up with the Nikes?”

  Nina quickly tucks the shoes back under her skirt. “Hey, don’t judge my footwear! According to my research, people in the eighteen hundreds had very uncomfortable shoes.”

  I burst out laughing. Nina purses her lips as if she’s not going to laugh, then gives in and starts cackling. It’s been nice to watch her finally come out of her shell. I hardly ever see her fishbowl eyes anymore, and she talks more than she used to. Way more. In fact, this whole night was her idea!

  “So the people at Graceland are definitely going to hang it?” she asks, pointing to my drawing. “Where?”

  “Yup. It’s going to be in the lobby. Right next to the front desk.” I add the slightest bit of pink to Inez’s cheeks. Not a lot, just enough to bring her skin to life.

  It’s been three weeks since I started hanging the correct name on Inez Briggs’s gravestone. And even though I thought I was being sneaky about it, it didn’t take the cemetery very long to figure out what I was up to. After I’d started passing through the gates every few days with my stash of signs and tape, they finally caught up with me and asked if I was responsible for the new signage on Inez’s grave.

  Thankfully, I told them the truth, or none of these amazing things would be happening. I wouldn’t have been on the cover of the Chicago Sun-Times with Andrew and Nina, talking about Inez’s story. The real story. I wouldn’t have made more friends in this new place than I know what to do with. And I definitely wouldn’t be drawing a picture of Inez for the front office at Graceland. They’re going to hang it in honor of her. As suspected, the death certificate I found is real, and very special. Nina was right all along; it was the missing piece. Mom and Dad gave it to the cemetery for their files, which is fine by me because even though I’m not scared of Inez anymore, death certificates are spooky with a capital S.

  Maybe from now on Inez won’t just be remembered in ghost books, or on Halloween. Maybe she’ll be remembered the way she should be: as a brave little girl.

  “It’s beautiful, honey. Just beautiful. Maybe when it’s finished we could look into getting your art carried in a few other places around here?” Mom asks. She bends down to get a closer look, accidentally draping her vampire cape over my head.

  Uncovering myself, I laugh at the fake fangs hanging from her mouth. Mom and Dad dress up every year. Doesn’t matter if we have plans or if they’re just handing out candy; they love Halloween. “I’m not good enough yet, Mom. Your art should come first, anyway.”

  Mom plants a kiss on the top of my head. “We’re a team, Tessa. My art, your art, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re doing what you love!”

  Dad grins as he scrapes a pocketknife along the small, rectangular chunk of rosin in his hand. Rosin is a strange thing. It looks like gel and makes the bow slide across the violin strings in just the right way. It makes the music sound better.

  Like my family, I think. We might be a little weird, but we’re happy.

  Mom wraps an arm around Dad’s shaggy shoulders, rumpling his wolf suit at the neckline just enough that I can see a Hawaiian-print shirt under.

  “And how’s my violin-playing Wolfman? Not many of those in the world! Can I have an autograph?” She kisses him on his furry cheek and I look away. I’m glad they aren’t fighting like Cassidy’s parents, but honestly . . . that’s gross.

  “Wolfman give autograph!” Dad bares his teeth like a dog, snatches a pen from the counter, and starts scrawling on Mom’s arm before she can scamper away. Grinning, she grabs a pen of her own and wields it like
a sword in front of her. Both of them dissolve into laughter.

  I reach down and run the pad of my index finger over the glass screen of my new phone, smiling. It suddenly illuminates, displaying my father’s name and picture. Looking up, I meet his eyes. He winks and holds up his phone. Why is he calling me from ten feet away?

  “Hello?” I whisper into my phone.

  “Are you happy, Tessa?” he asks, a familiar joy in his voice.

  Yes, I’m happy. Right now, I think I might be the happiest girl in Chicago. But it isn’t just about the phone. It’s everything. I nod.

  “Good. We love you, Tess. So much.” His voice drifts through my phone and I clutch it more tightly. “Now go. Enjoy your friends. Your mother and I are going to go make sure Jonah is actually asleep and not playing around.”

  The line goes dead and I set my phone on the table. Andrew winks at me, and the smile that stretches across his painted face is electric. Brilliant. Perfect. It’s good enough that I try to memorize it like I would a subject I’m planning to draw. I don’t know if he’ll keep liking me, or if I’ll keep liking him, but the thought gives me butterflies and I hope the answer is yes.

  I slide a hand up to the locket around my neck and soak in the feeling fluttering around in my chest. It’s a good one. A safe and happy one. Inez hasn’t haunted me since I hung her name that very first day. The cold breeze has disappeared from our hallways. The crying and the doorknob rattling have stopped and the picture in the hallway stays bright.

  “Okay, get together! I don’t have any pictures of you guys and it’s time to change that!” I motion to Andrew, Richie, and Nina to stand side by side and center them perfectly on the screen of my phone camera. Snapping the photo, I laugh at the side-eye Nina is giving Richie. Classic. Maybe next time we do this, Cassidy will be with us. I hope so, because now that I know she doesn’t hate me, I want a chance to hear her hyena laugh and her travel stories. I want to know her.