by Ali Standish
“Not all Mexican people celebrate it, but my grandmother has her whole life,” Fina says. “So my family always goes to San Diego to stay with her and visit my grandfather’s grave. Abuelita makes a big altar for him with marigolds and pictures and his favorite foods, and she and my dad and my aunts all tell stories about him. But this year . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You guys could come over to my house,” I say.
Since I’ve been trying to avoid home as much as possible, I haven’t invited either of them over to Morning Glory Cottage yet. But Fina has been so good about taking my mind off my vitiligo. The least I can do is help her feel better about not being with her family. And besides, I think she’ll like all the spooky village decorations.
“Well, we’re too old to trick-or-treat,” Ruby says firmly.
I’m not exactly sure I agree, but I decide to go along with it. “Then we can hand out candy and stuff and have a sleepover.”
A grin spreads over Fina’s face. “Totally,” she says. “I’m in.”
Since I am still giving Mom the cold shoulder, I wait after school until Dad gets home to ask permission for my Halloween sleepover. But annoyingly, he just tells me I have to ask Mom.
“Sure you can,” Mom says brightly. “But you’ll have to clean your room. And set the table for dinner, please. Which friends are you having?”
“Fina,” I say, shuffling over to the silverware drawer. “The one from California, whose mom works at Hampstead. And Ruby. She’s new at school, too.”
“Not Edie?” Mom asks, her voice all sweet and innocent.
“No, Mom,” I say. “Edie and I aren’t friends. She’s not a very nice girl.”
Mom looks up from the stove, brow creasing. “Really? But her father is so lovely!”
“You don’t even know her dad,” I protest. “You met him once, for like a minute.”
“Actually,” Mom says, drawing out the word. Act-u-a-lly. “Arnold called me this morning. He wants to meet with me to hear my ideas for his new house. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Congratulations, hon,” Dad says, brushing past me on his way to the fridge. “A client like that will do great things for your portfolio.”
“I know!” Mom squeals. She actually squeals. “We have a meeting set up next week. I have a lot to do before that, though. And it’s only a preliminary interview.”
“You’ll knock his socks off,” Dad says. I look at Boomer and stick out my tongue like I’m gagging. He thumps his tail appreciatively.
As it turns out, I’m not the only one with the bright idea to have a Halloween party. The next day at lunch, Edie and the Graces go around handing out invitations to a party Edie is throwing. It seems like they hand out about a thousand.
When they get to our table, Edie stops and looks at me. For a second, I wonder if she knows about my mom meeting with her dad.
Then, “Something’s different about you,” she says, studying my face. In my lap, my hands clench together. Does she know about my vitiligo somehow?
“What do you want, Edie?” Fina asks.
“You’re wearing makeup,” says Edie, eyes still fixed on me. “Are you trying to look good for someone? Oh, my god. Do you have a crush or something?”
My hands loosen in relief. I look down at the fat stack of invitations in her hand. “I’m really not the one trying too hard,” I say smoothly.
She scoffs. “Jealous much? Sorry, I seem to have misplaced your invitations. Oh, well.”
“Like we would come to your party anyway,” Fina says. “We’re having our own party. It’s way more exclusive, and it’s going to be so much more fun.”
Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I think I see Ruby sink an inch in her seat.
Edie smirks. “You keep telling yourself that—”
“Everything all right, girls?”
Ms. Singh is suddenly standing behind Edie. Edie turns on her heels and pastes on a sweet smile. “Of course, Ms. Singh,” she says. “Emma was just telling me she won’t be able to make it to my party, and I was saying what a shame that is.”
“Oh, yes,” Ms. Singh replies. “I’m sure they’re really missing out. Better get back to your table and finish up now. The bell’s about to ring.”
Edie flashes another fake smile. I may be hiding my spots beneath my makeup, but Edie could be hiding anything behind that smile.
And I kind of hope I never find out what it is.
24
Halloween is on a Saturday, and all day, my stomach flutters with excitement when I think about the sleepover.
Finally, I see Fina’s car pull up outside, and I bound through the door to meet her. She gets out and looks around like she’s just been dropped off on Mars or something. Dad walks over to say hello to Mr. Ramirez as Fina meets me in the drive.
“This is where you live?” she asks, staring up at Morning Glory Cottage. I see her take in the white fence and the messy garden, then the rusted weather vane atop the ever so slightly lopsided roof.
“Yeah,” I reply uncertainly. “I know, it’s really old.”
“Yeah. Like something out of a fairy tale,” she says, grinning.
I try not to smile too big. Even though lots of people say that same thing about Lanternwood, I feel pride lighting me up inside. I want Fina to think it’s as great as I do.
“My dad got us those to carve if you want,” I say, pointing to the three pumpkins squatting on the doorstep.
“Nice,” she says. “We can do them when Ruby gets here.”
Except Ruby never texted me back this morning when I asked if her mom had said she could come, and I’m kind of starting to worry.
Finally, we decide we have to start our jack-o’-lanterns if we want to get done before dark.
“Oh, I brought sugar skulls we can decorate, too!” Fina says as we carve. “I make some for Abuelito every year.”
By the time we’re putting the final touches on our jack-o’-lanterns, little bands of trick-or-treaters have started pinballing around the village. But there’s still no sign of Ruby.
“Maybe she has the flu or something,” I say. “She seemed kind of quiet on Friday.”
“Does she have thumb flu?” Fina asks. “Because otherwise she should still be able to text us.”
We put our candles into our pumpkins. “They look so good!” I say, stepping back to study the flickering orange faces. Fina’s is a unicorn with an only slightly crooked horn, and mine is a scary scream face.
Then both of our phones ding at the same time. I pull mine out from Gram’s sweater pocket to see a text from Ruby. A quick glance at Fina’s phone shows that she’s gotten the exact same one.
Can’t make it tonight.
Another message appears after the first, this one just for me.
I’m really sorry, Emma.
We go inside after that and decorate our sugar skulls with glitter Fina brought and brightly colored icing that Mom helps us mix up. I can tell both of us are trying not to pretend like it’s any big deal that Ruby isn’t coming.
But once we’re done with our skulls and the trick-or-treaters stop coming, we eat pizza and watch a scary movie. And instead of paying attention, I keep thinking about that second message and getting a funny feeling in my stomach. Why apologize just to me? Because the sleepover is at my house? And why not answer Fina, who texted Ruby back to ask if she was okay?
I don’t know. It seems weird.
“So, what’s next on the agenda?” Fina asks once the movie is over and we’ve eaten all the pizza and most of the leftover candy.
I shrug. “What do you want to do?”
Fina looks out the living room window. Orange lights flicker up and down the street. “Is there anywhere creepy in the village?” she asks in a low voice. “You know, that we can explore?”
“Well, there’s the graveyard,” I say.
Fina grins. “I like the sound of that.”
We go to my room and wait until I’ve heard everyone else come up. Then
I bribe Boomer with a bone to stay quiet and creep onto the landing to make sure everyone’s lights are out. It’s eleven thirty when we sneak down the stairs. I lead the way, pointing to the creakiest steps so Fina will know to skip them.
The lock on the front door is really loud, so we slip out the back instead.
“Brrrr,” Fina chatters. “It’s cold!”
We link arms to keep warm as we walk swiftly toward the church. In the dark, with candlelight flickering from all the porches, it’s easy to pretend that we really are in a fairy-tale village from a long, long time ago. That goblins and trolls might be hiding in every shadow.
“Do you think we’ll see any ghosts?” Fina asks, her words making little white clouds. “There have to be ghosts in a place this old.”
“Have you ever seen one?” I ask, pushing open the gate to the churchyard. “You said some people believe that spirits can come back on Halloween, right?”
The graveyard is completely silent, and a thin fog hovers just off the ground, making the tombstones look like they’re floating in clouds.
Fina thinks for a moment. “Well, yeah, but that’s not exactly the same as ghosts. Like, I’ve never seen a spirit. But there was this chair in their house where Abuelito always sat. A rocking chair. And one Día de Los Muertos, I swear it started rocking all on its own.”
“Spooky,” I say, weaving through the stones toward Gram. Suddenly, my heart is beating fast.
“Not really,” Fina replies. “If there was a spirit, it was just Abuelito.”
I point to Gram and Grandpa’s stone. “This is where my grandparents are buried.”
“Hi, Emma’s grandparents,” Fina says, giving a little wave.
“Is it okay if we stay here for a minute?” I ask.
“Sure.” We both sit down, our knees disappearing into the fog.
“So, what was your gram like?” Fina asks, drawing her arms around her knees.
“Well,” I say, not knowing where to start, “she was a really good grandmother. More than a grandmother, really. I always used to stay with her on the weekends, and she made the best apple pie. She was a painter, and I would sit with her while she painted and she would tell me fairy tales. She’s the one who got me to read The World at the End of the Tunnel, too. I think she’s the reason I love books so much.”
“Same with me and Abuelito!” Fina says. “Every time we went to visit, he would be sitting there in his rocking chair when we came in, and he would have a new book for me. Abuelita would go get me some food, and I would climb up onto his lap and he would start reading.”
We go back and forth for a long time, trading stories about Gram and Abuelito.
I tell Fina about how Gram always carried a parasol and wore these long flowy dresses and how that made kids in the village think she was a witch but she didn’t mind.
Fina tells me about how her grandfather fought in the Vietnam War and lost one of his legs there and how sometimes he swore he could still feel it. He said it felt like it was dancing, and then he would have to get up and dance, whirling her grandmother around the kitchen until they were both exhausted.
When the church bells begin to chime, both of us jump.
Fina looks at me. “Midnight,” she whispers. “The time that spirits come back.”
We listen to each ring, counting. My stomach begins to flutter.
Six, seven, eight . . .
I find myself staring at Gram’s stone. I meant to take Fina to the old part of the graveyard, which is much spookier than this part. But instead I brought her here.
Nine, ten . . .
My heart is beating kind of hard, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared or because I’m hoping something will happen. Fina clutches my hand.
Eleven . . .
I look around the graveyard to check for any signs that we aren’t alone, but there’s nothing.
Twelve.
The bell goes still, and Fina and I stare at each other for a long moment.
“It’s over,” she says.
“Yeah,” I agree, trying to hide my disappointment. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Gram taught me to believe in magic, not ghosts. And anyway, the bell is always five minutes late, which means it’s already a few minutes past midnight.
Then suddenly, just on the other side of Isabella Fortune’s grave, I see a darting movement. As soon as I turn my head it’s gone, but I know it was there.
My heart skips a beat.
Fina and I are not alone in the graveyard after all.
25
Fina hears the little gasp I make. “What?” she says. “What is it?”
“I saw something by the church.”
“Should we go investigate?”
My heart is pounding again.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We stand up and start walking, still holding hands. Whatever I saw, there’s no sign of it now.
Then, as we’re rounding the church, Fina squeezes my hand tighter and points. We watch, frozen in fear, as the figure slips through the gap in the brick wall that leads to the old part of the graveyard.
If it is a ghost, it’s a very substantial one. And it is definitely not Gram. This person has stooped, narrow shoulders and a prowling kind of walk. Just before the figure disappears through the opening in the wall, it turns and gazes over one shoulder.
And even though we can’t make out the figure’s eyes, I know—I can feel—that they are staring straight at us.
Terror darts through my heart, and the next thing I know, we’re running out of the graveyard, back across the street, and down the lane behind Morning Glory Cottage.
“What . . . was that?” Fina asks, still panting as I close my bedroom door behind us. “A ghost?”
“It looked more like a person to me,” I say. Adrenaline buzzes in my ears.
“Or a vampire,” Fina adds, somewhat hopefully.
We’re both shivering, so we climb under the covers. For a minute, neither of us says anything, and I wonder if Fina is waiting for her heart to slow, too.
“I feel like we just had a real adventure,” she says.
“Me, too,” I reply.
“It’s funny,” she whispers. “Sitting there and talking about your gram and my grandfather, it kind of felt like they were with us, just for a few minutes, didn’t it? I think that’s exactly what Día de los Muertos is about.”
When I fall asleep that night, I dream that I’m in the Spinney. All the charmed folk are there, and I’m leading them in some kind of game that involves hopping from rock to rock down the stream. I’m barefoot, and when I glance down, my feet are all one color again. I look up, and Gram is there, sitting on Throne Rock, reading The World at the End of the Tunnel. She catches sight of me and smiles, sunlight dappling her skin.
By the next morning, Fina has decided that the figure we saw was not a vampire but was, in fact, a cult leader about to perform a satanic ritual, possibly involving human sacrifice.
And despite the fact that the figure seemed to run away from us, she is also sure that we made a narrow escape from certain death.
I have a feeling this is one of those stories she’s going to be telling forever, the kind that gets bigger and crazier the more time goes on.
It’s not until I get up to brush my teeth that I remember that I don’t have any makeup on. And my bangs are all funky, too, so you can see the patches above my eyebrows. But Fina didn’t say anything about it. She didn’t look at me weird. She treated me like there was nothing different about me at all.
And I start to wonder if maybe this whole time, I’ve been overreacting about having vitiligo. Because if everyone reacts the way Fina does to my patches, then all that’s going to change is the reflection I see in the mirror. And I know I could get used to my patches if I knew everyone else would, too.
I walk Fina out when her mom arrives, and then I decide I’m not ready to go back inside yet. Last night was the first night I haven’t felt lonely in Gr
am’s house since she died. I don’t want it to go back to the way it was. Not yet, at least. I run inside just to grab the sugar skull I made last night. I think I’ll go and leave it for Gram. She would love the colors.
It smells like a wood fire outside, which means Old Joe and Older Joe are probably burning brush on the farm. Ruth’s curtains twitch in her windows as I walk by, and I give them a wave. It was raining when Fina and I woke up, but now the air is clean and there’s a breeze whipping around the bright morning like Boomer zigzagging after a squirrel.
Just as I’m about to cross the street, I hear a crunching sound—someone walking down the little gravel path that leads from the graveyard to the gates. I pause behind a parked car. Through its windows, I see a familiar figure, wearing the same tweed suit and hat as always.
Professor Swann looks both ways, then pulls his hat a bit lower over his forehead before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Like he’s hoping no one will spot him here.
I wait until he’s out of sight before crossing the street, wondering why the professor seemed so strange, and who he was visiting. I’ve never noticed any Swanns in the graveyard before.
There’s nobody else in the graveyard now. My shoes are almost soaked through with leftover rain droplets by the time Gram and Grandpa’s grave comes into sight, still clutching my sugar skull to lay against their stone.
But then I see that there’s already something bright lying there on the grass in front of the grave.
It’s a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
26
I stay at Gram’s grave for a few minutes before walking back to Morning Glory Cottage. All the while, I’m thinking about those flowers. When I bent closer to look at them, I saw that their stems were uneven, and they were tied with twine, like they were hand-cut instead of from a store.
Could Professor Swann have left them? I remember the conversation we had in the meadows a few weeks ago—how he talked about missing Gram. The way he’d been crying after her funeral.
“The Hollidays’ house was TPed last night,” says a voice as I step out onto High Street. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”