Ghosts pay attention to her. They’re happy to talk to her because everyone ignores them, too.
She missed presenting her career project while she was away, but she doesn’t mind so much. People think she’s weird enough now anyway without her insisting that ghosts are real. Everyone just says their parents say they don’t exist, and Shelly is tired of trying to convince people that their parents don’t know everything.
So it’s surprising to see Grandma talking with Isabel’s mother in the hallway after school.
“Shelly, would you mind if we stopped at Mrs. Lee’s house on the way home?” Grandma asks. “She thinks she has a ghost problem.”
Shelly looks up at Mrs. Lee then looks around for Isabel. “You believe in ghosts?”
“I believe in a lot of things,” Mrs. Lee says. “I believe I don’t know what’s wrong with our house. My friend Anna says you helped her, and Isabel says Shelly’s talked about you in school. We can reschedule if today doesn’t work. It’s an older house and— Oh, Isabel! Your friend Shelly and her grandma might be coming over for a little bit.”
Shelly doesn’t think she and Isabel are friends, exactly. She turns and looks at Isabel. “Your mom thinks there’s a ghost problem in your house.”
“Dad says it’s not ghosts.” Isabel doesn’t quite meet Shelly’s eyes. “He says it’s just because the house is old.”
“And the electrician and plumber said everything looks fine, but the lights still flicker and the water is always cold,” says her mother. “Does today work?”
Shelly looks up at Grandma and smiles. “I don’t mind.”
“Today works,” Grandma says. “We’d be happy to take a look and give you our professional opinion.”
Even if Shelly’s annoyed with her, it feels good to be included by Grandma in a we—to be given some respect instead of treated like she’s fragile or like she’s a baby. Still, going to one of her classmates’ homes to get rid of a ghost is weird.
Mrs. Lee offers them a ride and they get into her SUV, Shelly in the back with Isabel and Grandma up front with Isabel’s mom.
“It’s too bad you couldn’t do your presentation,” Isabel says. “It’s way more interesting than a teacher or a soccer player.”
Shelly shrugs. “People would’ve been weird about ghosts.”
“My grandma died,” Isabel says. “A couple years ago. It was really—it was sad, but I have a blanket she knit me, so I can remember her still. Do you have . . . did your mom give you anything?”
Shelly doesn’t want to think about remembering her mother. That would mean her mother isn’t coming back, and Shelly refuses to think that. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sorry,” says Isabel, looking down at her lap. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t make me sad.” Shelly pushes down the ache in her chest that disagrees with what she said. Maybe the ghost in Isabel’s house is her grandma.
Mrs. Lee drives them to the older part of town, where the houses are all taller and skinnier with fancy windows and carved wooden borders along the roofs, and pulls up in front of a cheery red house. The paint job is new, but the house itself looks old.
“We’ve been living here for a few months,” she says. “The real estate agent didn’t say anything about it being haunted, but he didn’t say it wasn’t haunted either.”
“We’ll take a look,” Grandma promises. “If you’ve got a ghost problem, we’ll handle it.”
Mrs. Lee leads them to the door, Isabel and Shelly trailing behind the adults.
“My dad thinks my mom’s superstitious,” Isabel says, glancing at Shelly. “He said if she really needed to hire someone to take a look at the house to feel better, she could. I told her about what you said about you and your grandma hunting ghosts. One of her friends told us your grandma helped with her house, too.”
“Oh,” says Shelly, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I didn’t think you believed me.”
Isabel shrugs and looks down at her feet. “I don’t know. If ghosts are real I think it could be cool. I think seeing them would be very cool.”
Shelly smiles to herself. Weird, she’s used to—cool is new.
She feels the ghost as soon as she steps into the house. It’s definitely not Isabel’s grandma. There’s nothing nice feeling about this ghost at all. It’s like static electricity all along her skin—a prickling sensation that makes the hair on her arms stand up and has her shivering. She looks up at Grandma, who’s undoing her hair already.
“You have a ghost all right,” Grandma says. “It feels like an old one.”
Shelly’s pretty sure Joseph and the little boy in the hotel are the oldest ghosts she’s seen—the ghosts who’ve been around the longest. This ghost feels very different.
“I knew it,” Mrs. Lee says, triumphant. “I knew it wasn’t just because the house is old.”
“Mom, calm down,” says Isabel, and Mrs. Lee laughs.
Shelly steps away from Isabel and walks over to her grandma’s side. “What should I do?” she asks. “Want me to try and find the ghost, too?”
“I think it’s found us,” Grandma says, and she’s right—the ghost appears at the far end of the hallway a moment later. It looks like static, too, all flickering black and white and gray, not at all as settled and person-like as Joseph. It doesn’t walk, just flashes on and off, on and off, getting closer to where Shelly and Grandma are standing.
Mrs. Lee steps away from them, grabbing Isabel’s shoulders and pulling her back, too. She’s not laughing anymore. “What’s happening?”
“What?” says the ghost, voice crackling. “Who?”
“It’s the ghost,” Grandma says. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle it.”
Mrs. Lee doesn’t look very reassured.
Shelly reaches up to undo her hair and Grandma stops her. “I’ll handle it, Shelly,” she says. “You don’t have to worry about this one.”
Except Shelly wants to worry. Shelly wants to have something to do and Grandma isn’t letting her. It’s not fair. “I can handle it. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you can,” Grandma says, “but I’ve got it.”
“Who?” says the ghost, voice louder now, echoing down the hall, loud enough to make Shelly flinch. “Why?”
“You need to move on,” Grandma says. “You’ve been here too long.”
The ghost’s attention focuses sharply on Grandma. It flashes into place in front of her, a towering column of static. “Who?”
Grandma doesn’t move. She stares down the ghost and twirls a strand of hair around her finger, reeling it in. She looks magnificent—powerful. Shelly wishes Grandma would give her the chance to show her she can be that way, too. “If you can’t remember, you can’t be here anymore.”
The ghost writhes, tugging at the ends of Grandma’s hair, but she’s got it hooked. It flashes angrily, but it grows smaller and smaller as Grandma pulls it closer until it’s more shadow than person, an echo of a ghost that once was.
“I don’t know why you got stuck,” Grandma says. “But you need to move on now. If you don’t have a purpose, you shouldn’t linger.”
Lots of people think ghosts come back because they have unfinished business. Sometimes the dead are just confused about what happened, so they don’t move on. Sometimes they’re angry or upset. Sometimes, like Estelle, they do want to stay so they can do one last thing. But ghosts can get stuck, and that’s when haunting happens.
The lights stop flickering.
“Did you get it?” Mrs. Lee asks, after a beat, when the lights remain steadily on. She sounds shaky.
Grandma turns to her and smiles like she didn’t just face down a screaming ghost. “Have you got something we can feed the spirit? We’ll give it a nice, warm drink to settle it down and it should move on. It’s trying to
leave, but it’s stuck halfway between here and there and it just needs a little help.”
“I could make coffee,” Mrs. Lee says. “Would that work?”
“Coffee should work,” says Grandma.
“Mom, can I make it?” Isabel asks. She looks at Grandma and Shelly. “We have a machine you put coffee pods into and then a drink comes out. It’s really cool.”
“You can make the coffee,” Mrs. Lee says, and Isabel claps her hands and runs ahead to wherever the kitchen is.
The ghost is still there, leashed by Grandma and ignored by everyone in the room but Shelly, while Grandma and Mrs. Lee talk payment. Shelly can feel the weird static buzz of it singing in her veins. It hovers in place, caught in an in-between state with people who don’t see it properly, who don’t believe in it. She thinks maybe the static feels sad. The ghost tried so hard to be noticed and as soon as it was, someone decided to get rid of it. Even now it’s not getting attention. It got caught and that’s it—everyone is done with it.
Shelly wishes she could save the ghost from Grandma and take it home. Maybe she could help it find the answers it’s looking for. It doesn’t remember who it is—maybe Shelly could help with that. Maybe she could fix things.
“Grandma,” she says, interrupting the conversation she’s having with Mrs. Lee. “Shouldn’t we help it remember?”
“It’s very old, Shelly,” Grandma says. “I think the best thing we can do for it is help it move on.”
“It might have unfinished business,” Shelly protests. “Maybe that’s why it’s still here.”
Grandma shakes her head. “If it did, it’s had a long time to finish it before now,” she says. “It’s making life difficult for Isabel’s family. Our job is to help it move on. It’ll be better off where it’s going.” Grandma turns back to Mrs. Lee like she thinks the conversation is over.
Shelly frowns, squeezing her hands into fists at her sides. She doesn’t know how Grandma can claim the ghost will be better off when she doesn’t know what’s waiting on the other side. Grandma is acting like this ghost is the same as a raccoon or a mouse—a pest, not a person.
“The ghost is sad,” she says. “We should do something.”
“We are doing something. We’re sending it on to where it’s supposed to be.” Grandma reaches out to touch Shelly’s arm and Shelly takes a step back, away from her, as Isabel returns with a cup of coffee.
“I’m going to wait outside,” Shelly says. “You don’t need my help.”
“Shelly—” Grandma reaches for her again, but Shelly ducks away, heading down the hall and out the door. She doesn’t think the ghost should have to leave and she doesn’t want to watch it go.
Grandma doesn’t follow her out.
• • •
The sadness Shelly felt looking at the static ghost stays with her. Mrs. Lee drives her and Grandma home, but Isabel doesn’t come for the ride so Shelly’s alone in the back seat.
When they get home, Shelly tells Grandma she’s going to do her homework. She can’t stay in the kitchen and pretend she’s not sad about Isabel’s ghost. She pauses outside her mom’s room, wanting more than anything to curl up on the bed with the photo she took from the flowery frame. It’s still tucked away in her backpack. But if she goes into her mom’s room now, Grandma will know the ghost upset her. Grandma doesn’t need any more reasons to keep Shelly away from ghost hunting.
Shelly pulls herself away and heads to her room to play with the ghost cat and dog.
Estelle looks up at her when she walks in and says, “You’re home late, kid. Does your grandma know?”
“I was with her,” Shelly says, and leaves the room to work in the kitchen instead. She doesn’t feel like listening to her complain tonight. It’s easier to sit in silence with Grandma.
Grandma makes hot dogs for dinner because it’s quick and easy. She looks tired.
“Shelly,” Grandma says, setting the ketchup on the table. “I need to talk to you.”
Shelly swallows, hoping Estelle hasn’t given her ghost collecting away, and looks up at Grandma. “About what?”
Grandma takes a seat at the table. “I’ve been doing the budget,” she says. “We’re okay right now, but we might have to move to a smaller place if I can’t pick up a little more money from jobs. I didn’t want it to be a surprise for you if that happens.”
It’s not Grandma finding her ghosts, but it’s not good news either.
“I don’t want to leave,” Shelly says. What if her mom comes back and they’re gone? What if she ends up being a fuzzy, static ghost like the one in Isabel’s house, confused and sad and not sure what’s going on?
“I don’t want to leave either, but we might have to,” Grandma says. “We’re okay for now, but just in case—”
“We shouldn’t have to leave our house because Mom died.”
Shock flashes across Grandma’s face, like she wasn’t expecting Shelly to be so blunt, but it’s true. They shouldn’t have to leave.
“It’s only a maybe,” Grandma says. “It’s not for sure. You don’t have to worry about it now. We don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight.”
She picks up the ketchup and squeezes it onto her hot dog. “Okay,” she says. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll try to be prepared.”
Grandma’s announcement fills her with a new sense of urgency. She can’t wait for her mother to appear anymore. Shelly needs to find her before they leave and her mom becomes lost and anchorless, searching for a family that’s left her behind.
16
Grandma has a job on the weekend. She walks Shelly next door, and Shelly waits 15 minutes then tells Mrs. Potts she’s not feeling well and she’s going to go home and lie down. Mrs. Potts is more trusting than Grandma is—maybe it’s having a police officer for a daughter. Shelly leaves her house and heads straight for the bus stop. She needs to see Joseph and she’s not going to wait around for her grandma to suggest a trip.
Besides, if she goes to the graveyard with Grandma, she’s not going to be able to ask the questions she wants to ask, and Joseph might bring up Estelle.
The bus drops her off by the cemetery, and Shelly ties her hair up in a bun as she heads toward Joseph’s grave. She doesn’t see any other ghosts wandering around yet, but maybe she’s just not looking hard enough. Maybe her mother’s here, somewhere, and hiding.
“Little Shell, you’re here alone again.” Joseph pushes a button on his Walkman and music clicks on. A singer Shelly doesn’t know sings something she doesn’t recognize—alone again, naturally.
“Joseph, have you seen my mom?” Shelly asks. “She hasn’t come home, and I don’t know—how long do you think it’ll take for her to show up?”
Joseph tilts his head, his dark eyes boring into her. “No hello?”
“Hi,” says Shelly, sitting on the grass in front of him. “Sorry, just—Grandma says we might have to move and we can’t move before I find her. How will she know where to find us if we do?” Grandma didn’t say anything about moving out of town, but Shelly’s pretty sure it’s what she meant. “I don’t want to leave her behind.”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her,” Joseph says, after a beat. “There’s been no new souls walking. Not since the last time you were here. Did Estelle leave?”
Shelly thinks about Estelle in her bedroom. She’s only got a cat and a dog and sometimes Shelly for company, but that’s a lot more than Joseph has. He’s been out here, alone, for a long time, with just his music.
She doesn’t want that for her mother.
“Estelle’s sticking around for a while,” she says. “She’s staying in my room.” Shelly pauses. She could get in trouble if Joseph tells on her. “We’re friends, right? You won’t tell Grandma?”
“Are we friends?” Joseph asks. “Little Shell, you didn’t even say hello. You didn’t bring me a tape. You d
on’t want me to be your friend. You want me to watch the graveyard for you. You want me to be your employee, like Old Lady does.”
Shelly frowns. There’s some truth to what Joseph’s saying—she wants information from him—but he’s wrong. “I’m not employing you. I just—I want to talk to you. I want to talk to someone who understands and Estelle just complains about how bored she is.”
“Yeah,” says Joseph. “She did that a lot here, too. Don’t you have friends? Alive friends? Friends who know about death from where you’re sitting? You’re spending too much time straddling two worlds, Little Shell. You’re spending too much time all wrapped up in death.”
Shelly’s starting to get annoyed. “This is important, Joseph,” she says. “I need to find her. Who cares how much time I spend with ghosts? This is what we do.”
“Is it?” he asks. “Where’s Old Lady?”
“Working.” Shelly scowls and pushes herself to her feet. “She’s working because she’s always working now. She’s so busy with ghosts and making money clearing houses that she’s got no time for me.”
“Maybe you should be talking to Old Lady and not me,” Joseph says, reaching up to run a hand through his curly hair. “I can’t help you with your grandma, Little Shell.”
“I don’t want help with her. I want help with my mom!”
But Joseph’s not going to help. He’s being stubborn. He sits on his grave and looks up at Shelly, a little sad and a little weary in the face of her outburst, and Shelly can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand being frustrated and trapped the way she is, even though he should because he’s stuck sitting on his grave day after day.
She turns on her heel and leaves—walking across graves in a straight line to the gates and out to the bus stop. If she wants to talk to someone who understands her, she needs to look elsewhere, and there is only one ghost Shelly can think of.
• • •
The Ghost Collector Page 8