Boss Man crosses his arms over his chest. “Our instructions were to check the house for any vagrants or animals, tent it, then lock it up and make sure people stay out. That’s what we intend to do. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you give your daddy a call and take it up with him.”
Sharing a glance, Kyran and I both come to a conclusion. Discussing this with Daddy’s not option. Taking on Boss Man’s not likely either. Reining in my frustration, I hold my hands up in defeat. “It’s fine. We’ll come back another time. Just happened to be on our way to Tybee Island for the day and thought I’d drop by. Didn’t realize anything was happening out here.”
Boss Man squints at me for a minute before deciding to take my explanation at face value…for the most part. He doesn’t let it go with just that, though. “This ain’t the kind of place two boys should be messin’ around, anyway.”
“Why not?” Kyran asks. It’s not a challenge, but an honest question.
Boss Man shakes his head. “This place ain’t right. Hasn’t been since Miss Maddie passed on in the way she did. Folks don’t come round this house anymore, and neither should either of you.”
Not wanting to get into a discussion about why people think this house ain’t right, I shove Kyran back toward the Jeep. “Thanks for the warning,” I say. “We’ll get outta your way.”
The curt nod Boss Man gives me settles the matter. He still waits until I get the Jeep started up and begin pulling out before he goes back to his business. It takes until we reach the main road again before Kyran and I breathe out slowly.
“I know you wanted to settle this before Echo came down,” Kyran says, “but that guy was right about the house. Everything about it felt off. Maybe having Echo with us wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
I reject that idea instantly, but I have to admit the whole experience gave me the creeps. People in Albert stay away from the old estate because Grandma Maddie’s murder was the first in at least half a century. Things like that just don’t happen there. Believing her house is now haunted, or whatever people are thinking, is just plain ridiculous, right?
“So, Tybee Island?” Kyran asks.
Shrugging, I say, “Sure, why not. We’re not getting in that house for a while anyway.”
Glad we’d thought to pack for the beach just in case the plan to investigate the house didn’t pan out, I still can’t stop thinking about Kyran’s comment. Echo had asked me to tell her if I decided to go to the old estate, but I figured she had enough on her plate right now and decided not to mention it. I don’t want her anywhere near something that might prove dangerous. How do I get back to the house before Daddy finds a buyer without her knowing? Is that really the best option anyway? Ghosts at the old estate sounds like nonsense, but what if Kyran’s right?
14: Worse
(Echo)
“Are you ready for this?” Holden asks nervously as we prep for the show. Zara is running between the cameras. The replacement for the one that was fried last week isn’t connecting quite right. Holden is more focused on me and my anxiety than his cousin’s scrambling. “We can cancel if you’re worried. I’d rather not risk it if you think that rogue ghost might come back.”
My head shakes slowly even though I really do want to cancel the show. It won’t help. He’ll come regardless. At least during the show I’ll be protected. “Just double check the salt circle after you let the guest out, okay?”
Holden blanches. I don’t mean to blame him. It was an accident that the circle wasn’t closed completely last time. He still feels guilty for what happened. “I’ll triple check it.”
I offer as confident of a smile as I can and head for the desk. Zara shouts that she’s almost ready, though she’s still tapping frantically on her computer. I’m not sure what the problem is, but she gets it taken care of before the show is set to start. When her last finger falls, we’re ready to go live.
Even to myself I sound a little wooden as I run through my memorized opening, explaining the basics of the show and how things will work. How we’re all hoping things will work. We’ve got lots of extra salt on hand this time and Holden’s leaving the second camera stationary so he can monitor the surroundings and temperature in the room. His eyes are flitting around the room as I talk, even though he won’t be able to see the rogue coming. I appreciate his vigilance.
“As always, everything you see tonight is real,” I say, my voice faltering a bit on that statement. “We use old school chalk and blackboards so you know we’re not interfering digitally, and we stream live so there’s no time for special effects. The responses you see will be straight from our guest, communicated through me by automatic writing. You’re welcome to believe me or not. It’s up to you.”
I look toward Holden, who’s waiting just outside the salt circle. He can’t see the guy standing next to him, but I can. Usually the shows are more serious, aiming at communicating with those the ghosts left behind. Maybe it’s cowardly, but I just wasn’t up for anything that might get me in trouble or end up killing me. Going with something innocuous was exactly what I was looking for when I spotted this guy.
The man’s forties-era tuxedo and waist coat caught my attention earlier this week and I knew he’d be the perfect guest. I’ve been watching and “chatting” with him on and off the last few days to make sure he won’t cause me any problems. Hopefully I’m right that he’ll just be an entertaining guest and give me a break from the usual drama.
“Now, we have a guest waiting, and as this is our last show before graduation, I wanted to pick someone who’d really be unique and maybe have some fun instead of being so serious. So let’s get started.” I nod to Holden and he briefly opens up the salt circle. My tuxedo clad friend steps in, doing a step-ball-change on his way over to me. Yeah, I think this guy was a good choice.
After running through the rules and having him sign his name in agreement, I dive right into my questions. “Question number one. Why are you wearing a tuxedo with spats and tap shoes right now?”
My guest, Charlie Devereaux, grins before extending his influence to me. I feel vaguely detached from my surroundings as he writes. Only once he pulls back do I see his answer.
I died during a dress rehearsal. A suspended light fixture came lose and dropped right on my head. Supposedly it was an accident, but I have my doubts.
Raising one eyebrow at Charlie, I decide on my next question. “Why would anyone want to kill such a dapper looking guy like you?”
Charlie takes control again and writes, I honestly can’t imagine, Doll. Although, there’s a slim chance it had to do with the fact that I was in cahoots with the director’s dame. Or it might have been because of the broad who did the makeup. Her husband was an old fuddy duddy, but boy oh did she have some nice gams. Don’t know why she didn’t become a dancer. I suppose there were a few people who mighta been eager to bump me off.
When I regain full control and see his message, I can’t help chuckle. I mean, it sucks that this guy’s philandering got him killed, but he certainly doesn’t seem to regret having done as he pleased when he was alive. I can’t even imagine living like that.
“All right, last question then, Charlie,” I say. I really don’t want to see him go, but the show only lasts half an hour, so I better wrap things up so he has time to give us his message. “What’s the craziest thing you ever did while you were alive? Nothing the FBI might want to know about, though, if you don’t mind.”
Curious stipulation, Charlie writes before continuing. The craziest thing I ever did was in 1939 when I was working as a lowly extra dancer on The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle. I locked Fred Astaire in his dressing room so I could steal a dance with Ginger Rogers. Got tackled to the ground before I got within ten feet of her. I fell asleep every night dreaming of Ginger, though. She sure was a Sheba.
I find myself laughing again as I read his answer. I can imagine him sprinting through the movie set trying to reach Ginger Rogers, fully expecting her to melt in the face
of his oozing charm. I doubt even getting tackled dulled his enthusiasm of getting even that close to her. I shake my head and say, “Well, it’s your turn, now, Charlie. You have the board. You’re welcome to share your message so long as it follows all the rules.”
Oh, I don’t have a message, he writes. Everyone I might have wanted to talk to is long gone. I just thought your show sounded like it would be a hoot. A chance to be on the silver screen again. So to speak. Plus, you remind me of Ginger, before she started dying her hair blonde. It was almost the same color as yours, my dear girl. I suppose I’ve rambled on for long enough. Thank you for allowing me a few minutes to relive my former glory.
“Thank you for sharing with us,” I tell Charlie. “If you want to come back and tell us more about your capers, you’re welcome any time.”
Charlie gives me his best smile and bows before turning to where Holden is ready to let him out of the salt circle. As soon as he steps out and the circle is closed, he vanishes with a smile on his face. I breathe out a deep sigh of relief. Almost over. Just wrap things up and cross my fingers I don’t have any other visitors tonight.
“That’s it for tonight,” I say to the camera. “Just a reminder that we’ll be taking a few weeks off on account of graduation and the fact that we’re all making a bit of a move. We should be settled before too long, so be sure to check back soon for a new episode of The Ghost Host. Thanks for watching.”
The smile that blossoms on my lips at the thought of being done fades as soon as Holden’s eyes bug out of his head. He starts waving at me frantically to get to my desk where there’s a second salt circle. Zara signals that she’s shut off both cameras and is running for our salt stash just in case. I’m planted in my desk chair a second later, hands over my head, eyes closed. That’s when the cold hits me.
My eyes snap open to see frost crystals creeping up the inside of the glass of water on my desk and moving toward me. Holden and Zara are both saying something, but I shut everything else out and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can. Infuriated by the fact that I’m ignoring him, the crazy static hum starts building in the room. I have no idea if the others can hear it, but I want to scream as it bashes against my mind.
I don’t know how long I sit there scared out of my mind that the salt won’t hold him back, but when a hand touches my shoulder, I scream, jumping away from it in terror. “Echo, it’s just me,” Holden says breathlessly. It’s gone. You’re okay.”
Holden has to pry my head up. As soon as he succeeds, Zara clobbers me and starts wiping away my tears. “It’s all right. He took off. You were safe inside the salt circle the whole time. He didn’t even try to cross it,” she says.
My eyes dart up and flick around the edges of the circle, fully expecting to see one of the lines broken and the rogue ghost lying in wait for me. All I see are the two unbroken lines protecting me…until I look up. Suddenly, I can’t catch my breath when I see huge, slashing letters written across my wall in permanent marker.
LET ME GO REPEAT!
Oddly, the first coherent thought I have is that my mom is going to freak if she sees permanent marker on the wall. The second is even more strangely rational. Why did he write repeat this time? Does it mean he’s coming back? Or he just didn’t want to duplicate the message? I’m caught off guard by both the marker and the change in the message that my fear inches down a notch, enough to let me think properly.
“Zara, there’s a big bottle of hairspray in my bathroom. Can you go get it?”
Zara and Holden both give me funny looks, but Zara shakes it off and dashes to my bathroom. When I feel steady enough to stand, I squeeze Holden’s hand before stepping away to approach the wall. He follows me cautiously. I’m not sure if that’s because he thinks there’s something wrong with me right now or he’s afraid the ghost might come back.
“He changed the message this time,” I say.
“Any idea what repeat means?” Holden asks. His voice is calm, but his eyes are taking in everything, including my demeanor and reactions.
I almost say that I have no idea, but I hesitate. “I don’t know why, but something about this seems familiar.”
“You mean other than the fact that he’s sent this message before?” Zara asks as she bounds up next to us and hands me the hairspray.
“Repeat,” I say more to myself than anyone else. It’s all I can think about as I start spraying the message with hairspray and wiping away as much as I can. Neither Holden nor Zara say anything as I work. They just wait, giving me time to think. By the time I get most of the permanent marker off my walls, I’m still no closer to figuring out why that word strikes a chord with me.
“It must mean something,” I say.
Holden frowns. “It could just mean he’s going to be back.”
“He wouldn’t need to say that,” I argue. “I already know he’ll come back. He won’t stop coming until I figure out what he wants and help him.”
“Maybe,” Zara says slowly, “what we need to figure out is who he is. If we can do that, figuring out what he wants might be a little easier.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Holden demands. “Echo’s already said he’s too distorted to really see clearly.”
Zara gnaws on her bottom lip for a few seconds. Clearly nervous to make a suggestion, it takes her a minute to put it out there. “We could ask the other ghosts. They might know who he is, or used to be or whatever.”
“No,” Holden snaps as I cringe away from the suggestion. “We’ve got a system that works. If we go screwing around with it now, it’ll put Echo at risk. They’ll all start thinking they can ask for favors whenever they want. We can’t risk it.”
I’m totally with Holden on this one. If I ask the ghosts for help, they’ll expect me to return the favor. They won’t let it go, either. Going to the ghosts is a last, last resort. I do have another idea, though.
“What about the FBI? Do you think they could help me figure out who this ghost is? If I pass whatever tests they have planned and all that? Agent Morton said they have experience with this kind of stuff. Maybe they can teach me something that will help get rid of this guy.”
Neither of my friends seem to know what to say to that. Finally, Zara is the one to shrug. “Hey, it’s worth a shot. Can’t make things any worse, right?
“Don’t say that,” I complain. “Things can always get worse.”
15: Glare of Death
(Malachi)
I’ve flown many times, but I’ve never been so anxious about getting off a plane before. Echo warned me her whole family insisted on accompanying her to the airport to pick me up. Her dad probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to kidnap her or something.
Meeting a girl’s parents is never easy. Meeting them knowing they blame you for their daughter’s recent problems and the FBI visit and for her deciding to move clear across the country? I take a deep breath and get out of my seat, knowing this is likely not going to be a comfortable weekend.
It takes me a few minutes to get my bag and exit the plane. Even longer to shuffle along behind the other passengers to where Echo and her family are waiting. I spot them before they see me and stop for a moment. Echo has her back to me, but I recognize her all the same. Hard to miss my Carrots. The two bouncing, chattering midgets yanking on her arms are more strawberry blonde than redheaded, but it would be impossible not to see the relation. Neither of Echo’s parents look pleased to be here. Taking a deep breath, I start moving again, determined to change their minds about me.
One of the twins sees me first and starts yelling, “There he is! There he is!”
I’m a little surprised they know what I look like, but as soon as they see me, they stop pulling on Echo and run straight for me. I’m not prepared for them to crash into me and they nearly bowl me over. I manage to keep my feet under me, but just barely. Their slew of questions that follows the impact just about finishes me off.
“Are you nice?”
“Are you crazy
?”
“Do you love our sister?”
“Are you going to take her to Georgia?”
“Are you going to marry Echo?”
“Are you going to kiss her?”
“Can we come to Georgia, too?”
Echo and her parents seem to be startled as well, and it takes them a moment to react and drag the twins away from me. The twins are immediately scolded by their mother, and Mr. Simmons looks fairly embarrassed, but Echo just laughs as she approaches me.
“I did warn you about them,” she says with a timid smile.
“Yes, you did.”
I know her parents are watching us carefully, but being in Echo’s presence shuts everything else out. My mouth splits into a grin at finally seeing her in person. I’ve seen her plenty of times online and when we Skype, but this is so much better. When she reaches for me, I envelope her in a massive hug.
"I’m so glad you’re here,” Echo whispers.
“Me too.”
A none-too-subtle cough from her father pulls us apart. Echo faces her parents reluctantly while I swallow hard. “Mom, Dad, this is Malachi Fields. Malachi, these are my parents and the two wild little monkeys we found by the side of the road.”
A chorus of “hey!” and “nuh uh!” rises from the twins, but no one pays them much mind. I’m too focused on the way Mr. Simmons is glaring at me. Holding my breath, I extend my hand to him. “Mr. Simmons, it’s nice to meet you, sir.” He shakes my hand stiffly and I turn to Echo’s mom. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Simmons.” She hesitates before taking my hand, but offers a small smile when she finally does.
Hoping for distraction, I then turn my attention bn to the two little girls holding each other’s hands while they stare at me with rapt attention. “Mable, Azalea, I’ve heard lots about you both. I’m excited to see you two play soccer tomorrow after the graduation ceremony. I hear it’s pretty exciting.”
Eyes glittering with adoration, they both grab one of my hands and shake furiously. “Echo said you were gonna watch us, but we didn’t believe her,” says one. I’m not sure which one since they’re identical. The other one says, “You’re prettier than your picture.”
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