by Kelly Rogers
revealed the details of a home. There were two
rocking chairs, each with a wool blanket draped
over it. A pitcher of flowers sat on a wooden table.
Then Shay heard it. The same child giggling
that she heard the first time she was in the
65
cottage. Then, a young boy leaped into the great room. An older girl followed him.
“That’s my brother and sister!” squealed
Bridget. Her eyes filled up with tears.
The boy and the girl didn’t seem to notice
them. They kept going up the ladder to the loft
of the cottage.
Both girls looked over at an old iron stove
where a woman stirred a pot of soup. She bent
over to pull a fresh loaf of bread out of the oven.
Then she turned around to place it on the table.
“Mother!” Bridget cried. But the woman, like
the boy and girl, don’t seem to see or hear her.
Bridget turned to Shay. She had tears in her
eyes, but she was smiling. “This is my family,
Shay. This is where we used to live.”
Bridget led Shay to the rocking chairs by the
fire and the girls sat down. “I couldn’t figure
out why I was so angry today,” Bridget began.
“When I couldn’t take your sandwich, it was like
66
something else took over! I couldn’t control my anger.”
Shay remembered the crazed look in Bridget’s
eyes when she said she was just “hungry.” Now, it
made sense.
“I couldn’t figure it out. I hated that I got so
mad at you! So I came back to the cottage to
think. Then it came to me.” Bridget watched her
mother set five blue bowls on the table. She began
ladling soup into each one.
“There wasn’t enough food for us all, you see,”
Bridget continued. “The potatoes all rotted. We
ate potatoes for every meal. That soup,” Bridget
nodded to the table, “is made of potatoes.”
“Patrick! Maggie!” Bridget’s mother called.
The boy and girl scrambled down the ladder.
They took seats at the table.
“Everyone was eating less, especially Ma and
Papa.” Bridget continued her story, “Patrick was
always hungry. He didn’t understand why there
67
was no more food. So I started to give him my share at mealtimes.”
Bridget paused to look fondly at her brother.
He was slurping soup into his mouth. “When I
realized that I wasn’t getting enough to eat, it was too late. One day, I couldn’t get out of bed.
Mother was worried. A few days after that, I . . .”
Bridget didn’t finish the sentence, but she
didn’t have to.
“I’m sorry,” Shay said. She put her hand on top
of her friend’s hand.
Bridget smiled. “Don’t be sorry! I’m happy
that I met you. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I would
have remembered. The memory was too hard
for me, so I blocked it away. But now . . .” She
looked around the room. “Now, I have all the
good memories back.”
The front door of the cottage swung open and
in walked a tall man. Shay knew from the picture
that this was Bridget’s father.
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“Papa!” cried both of the children at the table.
Bridget’s father kissed his wife and sat down at
the table. Shay felt an ache in her stomach. She
longed for her own home.
“I think it’s time for me to stay,” said Bridget.
Shay nodded. She knew it was true. The two girls
stood up and embraced.
“I’ll never forget you,” said Shay. She let go of
Bridget.
“Nor I you,” said Bridget. And she turned and
walked over to the table.
“There she is!” cried Bridget’s father as she sat
next to him. He patted Bridget’s shoulder and
gave her a squeeze. “Now, let’s eat!”
Shay backed away from the scene and shut the
door behind her. The smells, the sounds, and the
lights all disappeared. She turned around. The
cottage was back to the way it was when she’d
first found it: a broken empty shell of what it
once had been.
69
“Good luck, Bridget. I’m glad you’re home,”
she said. Shay walked back to the farm.
Shay returned to the cottage the next day,
and the day after that, and every day of her trip.
Bridget never returned.
On the last day of her visit, Shay visited the
site of the cottage again. The bulldozer had come
and gone. Now the site was just a blank piece of
dark earth, waiting for something to grow on it.
Shay huffed and puffed. She had been working
hard to plant the small tree that she’d brought.
As she worked, she talked out loud.
“Uncle Sean told me about the bulldozer a few
weeks ago,” Shay said to the open field. “When he
first told me about it, I was really upset. But then
I realized something. You’re free now, Bridget.
You don’t need the cottage anymore.”
Shay continued her work in silence for a few
minutes. She thought about how much she had
grown to love the farm.
70
Shay had fallen into a routine here. Hard work on the farm, meals with Moira at the pub, days
exploring the town’s history with Mrs. Mulligan,
and nights at home with Uncle Sean. She couldn’t
remember why she was so worried about this trip
in the first place.
“This tree is called a blackthorn,” she
continued out loud. “It looks kind of scary with
all the thorns. I had to wear gloves to get it, and
nobody would sit next to me on the bus. But
Mrs. Mulligan said that it produces berries when
it grows older. She also said the thorns are our
hardships.”
Shay stopped piling dirt. She sat back to
admire her work and the tree.
“My parents might be getting a divorce,” she
said for the first time. “I’m ready to face that. Just
like you could face what happened to you.”
She leaned over and patted the dirt flat as she
continued. “But Mrs. Mulligan said that once you
71
face your fears, good things will come to you. Just
like the berries on this bush.”
She stood up, her work done. “Bridget, I’m
glad to have met you,” she said. “Good-bye.” And
she walked back to the farm for one last dinner
with Uncle Sean.
7272
Ending
3
4GD'NNCAXD
“She said she couldn’t come with me to the
farm. And then she burst into tears!” Shay told
Mrs. Mulligan.
It was about an hour later. Shay was sitting
in Moira’s pub next to Mrs. Mulligan. Shay had
promised Bridget she would return. Then, she
immediately ran to find Mrs. Mulligan. They
went to the pub to talk. Shay spilled the whole
story to the librarian, ghosts and all.
Moira put a mug of t
ea in front of each of
them. She slipped in the booth across from Shay.
“What’s happened?” Moira asked her mother.
73
“It’s the Walsh girl from the Sullivan farm.
She’s been . . . well, Shay has been seeing her.
Shay wants to help,” Mrs. Mulligan said softly.
Shay looked up in astonishment. “You knew?”
Moira and Mrs. Mulligan exchanged glances.
Then, Mrs. Mulligan spoke. “I first met her
when I was about your age,” she said. “And when
Moira was a girl, she would go and help at the
Sullivan farm on the weekends. She would come
home with stories of a girl her age—”
“It was Bridget,” Moira interrupted. “She
was one of three Walsh siblings. They all lived
in that cottage down the way. When the famine
hit the potato crop, there wasn’t enough food to
go around. She loved her little brother. Couldn’t
bear to see him starving.”
Moira paused to wipe a tear out of her eye.
“She always gave him her share of the food,
you see. But by the time she realized what was
happening to her . . .” Moira trailed off.
74
Shay could fill in the story for herself. Bridget had sacrificed herself to save her brother.
Mrs. Mulligan reached across the table and
patted her daughter’s hand.
“Now the real question is,” said Mrs. Mulligan,
“how can we help young Miss Bridget? I think
maybe she needs some encouragement to leave.”
Mrs. Mulligan led Moira and Shay back to the
farm. If Uncle Sean thought it was strange that
the librarian and the pub owner were strolling
through his farm in the middle of the day, he
didn’t say anything. In fact, he acted as though
he expected to see them.
He dropped his rake and fell in line with
them. He put his arm protectively around Shay
as he walked.
When they got to the edge of the cottage, Mrs.
Mulligan nudged Shay. “Ask her to come see us.”
Shay poked her head into the cottage.
“Bridget?”
75
Bridget was balled up in a corner. She looked like she hadn’t stopped crying since Shay left.
“Bridget, can you come out to talk to us? I
brought Uncle Sean, and some other friends.”
Bridget didn’t say anything. She got up to
follow Shay. They couldn’t hold hands, but Shay
walked close to Bridget. When the girls came out,
the three adults were standing in a circle. They
had their hands clasped together.
“I’m going to leave here soon. And . . . and I
think it’s time for you to leave, too,” said Shay. “I
think you should be with your family.”
“Join us,” Mrs. Mulligan said. “Shay, hold our
hands. Bridget, we need you in the middle, love.”
Mrs. Mulligan spoke first. “Bridget, you have
brought so much joy to the lives of others. But
now it’s time for you to go.”
Bridget didn’t seem surprised to see them. In
fact, a look of recognition, of serenity passed over
her face. “Caitlin,” she said, “you’ve grown so old.”
76
“I have grown old, love. Many years ago, you and I used to play on this land. My daughter,
Moira, remembers playing with my ghost friend,
too.” Mrs. Mulligan squeezed Moira’s hand.
Moira spoke next. “Bridget, I’m sorry I stopped
coming to see you. I loved having you in my life.
But now it’s time for you to go.” Moira started
crying again, slow tears.
Then it was Uncle Sean’s turn. “You’ll always
be a part of this farm, Bridget. But it’s time for
you to go now. Your family needs you.”
Uncle Sean squeezed Shay’s hand. She knew
it was her turn. “I’m glad that I met you, Bridget.
I wanted to help you.”
Bridget jumped in. “You did! You did help
me! I wanted a friend so much. It’s so lonely here
without friends my age.” Her voice trailed off.
“I understand,” Shay said. “You helped me
too. My parents have been fighting. I think
they’re getting a divorce. That’s why I’m here.
77
They wanted the summer to sort things out. I was really upset when I got here, but you . . .”
Shay looked around, reaching for the right
words. “You gave me a purpose, Bridget. Thank
you for letting me help you.”
The words echoed around the circle, as
everyone said it. “Thank you, Bridget.”
Then, a giggle broke the silence. All five heads
whipped around to look at the cottage. Bridget’s
face lit up.
“Patrick,” Bridget said. And it seemed that
she had forgotten the people circled around her.
The living people dropped hands. Bridget ran to
the cottage. Just before she entered the door, she
turned back and smiled.
“Good-bye.” Bridget went through the door.
Nobody knew quite what to say until Uncle
Sean spoke. “Why don’t you all come back to
the house,” he said. He put his hand on Shay’s
shoulder. “I have a pot of stew on the stove.”
78
Shay looked at the cottage one last time. It was
still. There was no sign of Bridget. She turned
back to her uncle.
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” she
said, and walked back to the farm.
79
Write Your Own Ending
There were three endings to choose from
in The Starving Ghost. Did you find the ending you wanted from the story? Or did you want
something different to happen? Now it is your
turn! Write the ending you would like to see. Be
creative!
80
Ro
gers &
Glenn
While staying with her uncle in Ireland, Shay
meets a ghost named Bridget and promises
Ad UP2U
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Bridget lashes out and writing appears on her
nture
CQDRRDQ3G@XUHRHSRSGDKHAQ@QX 7G@SVHKK3G@X
s
discover about her friend’s death, and how
wil Bridget react? The ending is Up2U!
The Starv
BOOKS IN THIS SET:
ing G
Backcourt Battle
host
The Creepy Doll
Lost in Space
The Starving Ghost
I S B N 978-1-5321-3031-1
9 0 0 0 0
9 7 8 1 5 3 2 1 3 0 3 1 1
Document Outline
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: A New Land
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Visitor
Chapter 3: Bridget
Chapter 4: The Cottage
Chapter 5: Family Photos
Chapter 6: Hungry
Chapter 7: The Truth
Ending 1: The Switch
Ending 2: The Tree
Ending 3: The Good-bye
Write Your Own Ending
Back Cover
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