Would her family come? She heard nothing.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the dead girl. Her neck had a gaping wound, as if someone had slit her throat. Who would do such a thing? And why, dear God, was Charlotte seeing her?
It’s just a hallucination, Charlotte told herself as she tried to unlock her legs.
The dead girl turned. Charlotte watched horrified as the girl puckered her chalky white lips and blew.
The candle in Charlotte’s bathroom went out.
Charlotte sprinted to the door and yanked on the knob. Her heart was leaping out of her chest. The knob would not turn.
Behind her, the mirror began to pulse with an eerie green glow.
Charlotte pounded the door.
“Help! Help! Mom! Dad! Georgie!”
No one came.
Slowly, Charlotte turned around, clutching the doorknob like a lifeline.
The dead girl was the source of the glow. The pulsing swamp-green glow seemed to come from within her body like a firefly. Her eyes, white and filmy with decay, were fixed on Charlotte.
“Please,” Charlotte whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”
The girl slowly raised her arm, turned her palm over, and opened her fist. Sitting on her hand was a small golden shape.
Charlotte looked between the girl’s decaying face and the shape in her palm. “D-do you want me to see that?” Charlotte asked. God, was she really talking to her own hallucination?
The dead girl nodded.
With one hand still clutched around the doorknob, Charlotte leaned forward. She was going to faint any second, but the investigator part of her brain had taken over. She was curious. If Georgie were here, she’d say something about curiosity and a dead cat.
Charlotte didn’t want to die.
When she leaned in closer, she could see the gold shape was a pin. The kind men wear on vests or lapels. It was the shape of a bird of prey, an eagle maybe. There may have been words etched on a plaque at the bottom, but it was too hard to read them. She would need to stand toe-to-toe with that dead girl to see and even her investigator mind couldn’t bring her to do something as stupid as that.
“Does it say something?” She looked into the dead girl’s face. She really wasn’t all that horrifying once you got used to her. And for some reason Charlotte had the feeling she was trying to tell her something. “Can you speak?”
The ghost watched her with that same blank expression. Slowly, she opened her mouth.
A dark shape fell out and plopped onto the counter. Then two.
Beetles, hundreds of writhing, clamoring beetles, poured out of the girl’s mouth. Several began buzzing toward Charlotte. One hit her cheek and clung to her shoulder.
“Oh God!” She swatted the air in a panic.
Terrified, Charlotte yanked on the doorknob. This time the knob turned. She tore out of the bathroom.
***
“What’s wrong with you?” Georgie stared, cellphone clutched in her palm.
Charlotte tried to slow her breathing long enough to answer. “Freaked. Out. I saw something.”
Georgie set her phone on her comforter. “Oh yeah, I know. I can’t stop thinking about that robber pressing that gun to my head. He was, like, seriously going to murder me.”
There was nothing like Georgie's self-centeredness to draw Charlotte out of her terror.
“The guns weren’t even real.”
Georgie batted a hand in the air, dismissing Charlotte’s comment. “They were real enough. One dude is dead because of them.”
Charlotte climbed under her covers and kept her eye on the door and the bathroom. Her heart was still racing a mile a minute. “Didn’t you hear me pounding on the door?”
“My Twitter is blowing up,” Georgie said, texting again. “I’m the bomb dot com, right now. Even Jessica texted me, and you know she called me a colossal bitch at the last basketball game. I don’t even think she can spell colossal.”
Charlotte let Georgie talk. It was comforting to know that there were people in the world who didn’t change. Finally she said, “Do you think you could come in the bathroom with me?”
Georgie looked up from her phone. “What? Why?”
Charlotte shrugged. The blanket was making her hot, but she snuggled down deeper anyway. “I want you to look at something.”
“Do you have a rash? Gross. I am not your OB GYN.”
“No, Georgie. Hell. Can you just… Can you just be supportive for, like, two seconds? Then you can ignore me and go back to texting Brandon or Brenden or whoever.”
Slowly, Georgie set down her phone. “Harsh.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Sorry.”
Georgie got up, walked down the hall, and threw on the bathroom light. “What am I looking for?”
Charlotte sat up in bed. “Do you see anything?”
Georgie took a step in the bathroom. Charlotte held her breath.
“Oh my God,” Georgie gasped.
“What?” Charlotte’s heart was in her chest.
Georgie stepped out holding Charlotte’s dirty underwear. “Are these Sponge Bob?” She tossed them at Charlotte’s bed.
“You are the least helpful person in the mega-verse,” Charlotte said, sinking back onto her pillow.
Georgie climbed into Charlotte’s bed with her. “What’s up, Char? Did today freak you out? I thought you were the unfreakable one. I’m the damsel-in-distress-cry-her-eyes-out one.”
Charlotte pulled the blanket down to her chin and looked at her sister. “I guess I’m not unfreakable.”
That thing in the bathroom, it had to be a hallucination, right?
Georgie lay down beside Charlotte. “Today was messed up. It’s okay for you to be, too.”
Charlotte nodded. “But I’m way messed up.”
“Well, we all know that.” She nudged Charlotte playfully. When Charlotte didn’t respond, Georgie sighed. “Look, I didn’t see that guy get jacked, and I don’t really want to know what that was like. I’m sorry you had to watch, though.”
Charlotte wanted to tell Georgie about the clerk’s beetle-covered face, about the hallucination in the bathroom (It was a hallucination, right? A stress-induced PTSD freak out, right?), but she couldn’t choke out the words. She swallowed hard and worked on her nerve. “Georgie?”
Georgie’s phone beeped. She sprung off the bed and grabbed it.
Charlotte sighed, rolled over, and kept a constant vigil on the bathroom.
***
School was a nightmare.
The next day Charlotte and Georgie couldn’t make it through the parking lot without a throng of people mobbing them and asking a million questions. Georgie, her hair perfectly curled, smiled and nodded and answered all the questions like she was their spokeswoman. Charlotte kept her head down and slinked in behind her sister.
First hour was worse. Mrs. Hunter was sick, and they had a substitute who put on a video about tectonic activity and buried his face in his Kindle. That allowed everyone who sat near Charlotte to ask her unending questions. She mumbled a few answers about, “No, I didn’t get raped,” and “No, it wasn’t true I went all Rambo on the guy’s ass.”
Halfway through the hour, Charlotte shot up in her seat.
“I need to go to the office,” she announced.
The sub looked up. “Take the hall pass with you.”
Charlotte grabbed her bag and shouldered out the class without another word.
Her mom picked her up thirty minutes later, bursting into the office, looking as terrified as she had in the back of the ambulance the night before.
“Are you okay? What happened? Did someone bully you?” her mom asked the minute they were alone in the car together.
Charlotte sighed. More talking. “No one bullied me. It was just… too much.”
Her mother nodded. “Your Aunt Wendy said this might happen.”
Charlotte’s Aunt Wendy was a child psychologist. Her mother went to Aunt Wendy with all issues the girls had. It was
pretty annoying.
“Did Aunt Wendy say anything about hallucinations?” Charlotte asked, picking at a rip in her jeans.
Her mom shot her a glance before turning her eyes to the road. “No. Why?”
“Just a joke,” Charlotte said, throwing on a smile.
Her mother narrowed her eyes.
“Really. A joke. Ha ha. Okay?” Now her mom was going to spend an hour on the phone talking to Aunt Wendy about teenage hallucinations.
To distract her mom, Charlotte pulled a wrinkled newspaper out of the crack between the seats and opened it.
“Is this today’s?” There, on the front page, was a picture of the clerk from last night. In the photo, Darren Warzinski stared off with a troubled look on his face. His features were harsh, his eyes dark and shifty. She got chills just looking at it. But there were no beetles in this picture. Just an old man who stabbed someone and then wiped the knife on his sleeve.
Then she saw the spot of gold on his shirt collar.
She pulled the paper closer, zeroing in on object pinned to his shirt. It was hard to tell, but she was pretty sure it looked like a golden bird of prey.
“Holy shit. The same pin,” she whispered.
“Huh?” her mom asked, looking over. She had that worried, spaced-out look in her eyes. “You want anything at Starbucks?”
***
When she got home, Charlotte looked up every picture she could find of Darren Warzinski. There were surprisingly few. Sure, there were lots from last night, but she was only able to find one other photo on the internet from before the incident. Darren Warzinski had won a fishing tournament up in Leewanaw Heights. She squinted at the photo of him next to a huge trout. There was no pin on his lapel. And yet, in every photo of yesterday, the pin glinted like a beacon. She was sure the pin was the same one the ghost had shown her in the bathroom. But why?
Listen to her. God. She was already believing her hallucination was a ghost sending her messages from the other side. Maybe she needed Aunt Wendy to prescribe something.
Or maybe she needed to go back in that bathroom and see what else the ghost had for her.
Charlotte glanced down the hall to the bathroom. Then she thought of the beetles spilling out of the ghost’s mouth.
She crunched down further in her chair and banished the idea.
Instead, she Googled eagle and raven pins, comparing images until she found one that matched what she had seen. It was the Fraternal Order of the Hawk. She Googled that and found there was a local chapter with a clubhouse nearby. And then, much deeper down the page, she saw Darren Warzinski’s name listed among others as a contact for a local benefit for fallen soldiers.
“He’s a member,” she whispered. Then louder, “Mom!”
Her mother came running. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“Fine. Hey, do you know anything about the Fraternal Order of the Hawk?”
Her mom twisted up her mouth in thought. “They have a local chapter. It’s downtown past the Dairy Queen. But you have to be a member to get in.”
“Do the members go there every night?” Charlotte asked.
Her mom shrugged. “Some go there to socialize and have an adult beverage. Marcy’s uncle— You remember Marcy I work with?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Well, her uncle’s a hawk, and she says she always has to go pick him up on Thursdays because they have a big Euchre tournament.”
Charlotte chewed her lip. “Today’s Thursday.”
Her mom nodded. “Why the sudden interest in the F.O.H.?”
Charlotte turned back to her computer. “It’s for a project. I don’t want to get behind in school.”
Her mom walked over and kissed the top of Charlotte’s head. “That’s my good girl. You holler if you need anything. I’ll just be working downstairs.”
When Georgie got home a few hours later, Charlotte showed her a picture of the pin.
“The clerk was wearing this last night. I think it means something.”
Georgie took a quick glance at Charlotte’s laptop and flopped on her bed. “I am tres exhaust,” she said, using an awful French accent. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, wanted to talk to me today.”
Charlotte waved the comment away. “Listen. This is important. I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with Darren Warzinski.”
Georgie lifted an eyebrow. “Who?”
“The clerk who killed that guy last night.”
Georgie continued to stare at Charlotte like she’d grown another head. “You mean the hometown hero?”
“He’s not,” Charlotte said, frustrated. “Everyone keeps saying that, but I saw what he did to that boy. Trent didn’t have a real gun. He was trying to leave. The clerk stabbed him just for the hell of it.”
Georgie curled up one corner of her mouth. “Did you tell the cops this?”
“Yes.”
“And did they think it was important?”
“No. I don’t know.” Charlotte slammed her laptop closed. “I’m going to check something out tonight. You can come, or you can cover for me with mom.”
Georgie shook her head. “Can’t. Have plans.”
Charlotte pushed out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I don’t need you.”
Georgie cocked her head and stared at Charlotte. “Why’re you getting all weird? Is this about last night? Do you need some happy pills or something?”
Charlotte glared at Georgie. “What do you care?”
Georgie’s jaw dropped. “I care.”
Charlotte crossed her arms and turned away.
“Fine. Count me in, Scooby Doo. Let’s hop in the Mystery Machine. Get us some Scooby Snacks.”
Charlotte scowled, but she was happy that Georgie had caved. She didn’t want to go alone. “If I’m Scooby, you’re Shaggy.”
Georgie fluffed her hair. “Everyone knows you’re Velma, and I’m Daphne.”
Charlotte nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
***
The Fraternal Order of the Hawk hall looked like a great place to conduct a murder.
Charlotte and Georgie found the long, narrow driveway with the F.O.H. sign easily. Their bike ride had been uneventful and pleasant in the warm May breeze. But the lightness Charlotte had felt as they’d pedaled side-by-side evaporated when they rode into the building’s dark parking lot. Not only was the parking lot empty, but the large, square building in front of them was pitch black inside. Hedged by trees on three sides, the moonlight barely penetrated the lot enough for them to make out the concrete hawk at the entrance. If there was a welcome sign, Charlotte couldn’t see it. Even if she could, she didn’t feel very welcome.
Georgie braked and straddled her bike. “This is what you wanted to check out? Jesus, Char, you are one morbid mama.”
Charlotte shook her head, letting her eyes rove over the parking lot and building. Not a car in sight, but now she noticed, a creepy, black van parked near the building’s side entrance. It had a giant red ant stenciled on the back.
“Exterminators,” Charlotte said, pointing at the van. “That explains why no one’s here.”
Georgie pushed a strand of hair away from where it clung to her lip gloss. “So we can leave this creepfest?”
Charlotte’s eyes stayed locked on the van. Exterminators. A chill ran up her arms. “The beetles,” she whispered.
Georgie frowned. “Like, the band? You are losing it.”
“No, no,” Charlotte said, putting her kickstand down and leaving her bike. She strode toward the dark building with her heart hammering in her chest.
“Where are you going?” Georgie called.
“We came all this way. I have to see.” Charlotte walked up the concrete parking lot, keeping her eyes on the dark windows.
She stopped just in front of the main doors. The filtering moonlight cast enough glow to reveal a gilded crest, featuring a bird with talons outstretched and a beak open in mid-screech. A plaque at the bottom listed when this branch had been establishe
d and the founder’s names. In the door’s sidelight window, a poster for a fish fry dinner hung askew.
It all looks quiet, Charlotte thought.
Then the ghost appeared.
There, in the glass’s dark reflection, the dead girl’s horrific face swam up—all sunken eyes and sagging skin, the wound on her neck yawning open, bone and tendons and flaking skin.
Charlotte was too terrified to move.
In the glass, the ghost reached out a hand. Charlotte cringed when she noticed missing fingernails. Her gorge rose. She clamped both hands to her mouth and tried to breathe. She felt lightheaded.
The ghost pointed to the right. Charlotte turned her head slowly. The ghost was pointing Charlotte to the door.
“Y-you want me to go in?” she whispered through her fingers.
The ghost nodded.
“Oh God.” Charlotte smeared the tears across her cheek.
“What’s going on?”
Charlotte turned her head. Georgie was standing beside her, looking pale and frightened. “Are you okay?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Do you see it?”
She turned back to the window. The ghost was gone.
Georgie put her hand on her sister’s arm. “I see you clearly freaked out. We should go. We’ll hurry home, and maybe Mom can call Aunt Wendy—”
“No,” Charlotte said, wiping her face. “There’s something we have to do.” She reached out and took the doorknob in her palm.
“What are you doing?” Georgie’s voice was shrill. “You can’t just go in there. It’s creepy. And also, it’s, like, trespassing.”
Charlotte took Georgie by the arms and looked into her face. “Listen, I need to go in there.”
Georgie pulled back, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is nuts. We need to go home. Now.”
Charlotte looked sadly at her sister. “I can’t.”
Georgie plunged her fists down. “Charlotte Marie Beckett, I’m telling you we go home. Get your bike.”
Charlotte thought of the girl in the window. If this was a message from beyond, Charlotte couldn’t just ignore it. And so much of her wanted to see how far down this rabbit hole went. She stayed stock still. “I can’t.”
Spectral Tales: A Ghost Story Anthology Page 2