First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal)

by Pauline Creeden

  “I’m not a brat!” he yells back.

  “Kevin, can you come help Mommy decide what to make for dessert? Do you want chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies? I need help with the spoon!”

  My mouth waters at the thought of it. Mrs. Brown is one heluva baker.

  “Peanut butter!” Kevin yells as he turns back toward the kitchen.

  Good choice. I smile. This family has my heart.

  AFTER WE HIT UP THE drug store for my decongestant, Mrs. Brown taxis us over to the school building. Several afterschool meetings and activities go on at this time of day on a Thursday, so nothing looks too suspicious as we jump out of the car, and Tasha pecks her mom on the cheek.

  I wave. “Bye, Mrs. B. Thanks for having me over.”

  “Any time, Chira.” Her smile is wide and genuine.

  We slowly make our way up toward the steps of the building until the Beamer is out of sight, and then sneak around the side of the building and across the track toward Old Schoolhouse Road. Built over a hundred years ago, the Old Schoolhouse was the original site of Jackson Hall. It’s a smaller, two-story building that is more of a house than an actual school. Twenty years ago, when the prep school became hugely popular, they built the new school, larger and closer to the road. For a while they tried to use the Old Schoolhouse building to run as an elementary school, but after a few short years, they gave up on the idea. And Jackson Hall returned to being for eighth graders and up.

  The sunset stained sky barely pierces through the thick canopy of trees overhead. Old Schoolhouse Road is more of a gravel driveway lined with a wooded area slightly to the west of our school. The road only leads back from building to building.

  “I bet they call the place haunted just to keep kids from hanging out there.” Tasha’s trying to put backbone in her voice, but it still quakes a bit.

  I shiver. “I’m sure.”

  “The couple times I’ve had to walk home, I take the trail off to the side. It’s a short cut to the next street over. I’ve never seen anything strange in all the times I’ve passed by.

  She seems a little creeped out, nonetheless.

  When we reach the building, we find Jacob, Stacy, and a few other seniors and juniors hanging out in front. Behind us, the crunching gravel makes me start. My eyes meet Tasha’s. Her brown eyes open wide, a mirror of mine, before we both turn toward the sound. Ben Oscuro and Matt Benson, Jr. are heading up the drive. At first I’m shocked that Ben is friends already with a senior, and then I remember—cousins, duh.

  “The gang’s all here,” Jacob says as he fist bumps Matt. Ben hangs back, away from most of the group, and Matt just leaves him that way.

  Jacob and Stacy are counting the crowd, and then Stacy takes over, bossy from being head cheerleader for the last two years. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. There’s enough of us to split into two groups.”

  “Split up?” Donnie laughs. “Isn’t that always a bad idea in horror movies?”

  Jacob steps forward. “There’ll still be five to a group, scaredy cat. There’s safety in numbers, right?”

  There’s a general murmur and consensus, but I still feel Tasha's shoulder leaning against me. She’s such a chicken. Why on earth did she sign us up for this?

  Stacy pulls a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and continues. “Matt’s group will head upstairs and check out the second floor. They’ll make sure that there’s no chance of rotting floorboards for people to fall through, nothing unsafe for the party.”

  “And that there’re plenty of beds, just in case, right?” Donnie Price shouts out, getting general laughter from all of the guys.

  Stacy rolls her eyes. “Sure. Whatever. Jacob and my group will scout out the downstairs and check things. Everyone, stay in your group. Do not scout out separate rooms by yourself.”

  “What about the ghost?” Tracy James asks, her mass of red curls pulled back in a bushy ponytail. My shoulders relax. At least there’s another junior around besides Ben, Tasha, and me.

  “Well, that is one of the things we’re checking for.” Stacy laughs. “We even plan on having a medium come to the party and give a séance.”

  Ben huffs and shakes his head. I doubt that anyone else saw that, as they were too busy giving each other high fives and talking about how cool that was going to be.

  “All right. Matt’s team is going to be Ben, Tracy, Lloyd, and Jolie,” Jacob calls out. “My team is Stacy, Donnie, and the dykes.”

  Everyone laughs. My face flushes, and I swear I see spots in the fading daylight. It’s one thing for them to say it behind my back; another for someone to call me out on it. My nails dig into my palms as my hands become fists. I’m mortified and want to deck someone at the same time.

  Tasha defuses it, though. “Very classy, Jacob. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Change the sound of that word just a little bit, and we all know what we’d call you.”

  The laughter crescendos, and Donnie shouts, “Burn!”

  It is pretty funny. My fists unclench. I smile a little and nod toward Tasha. “Good one.”

  Jacob flushes as his ego deflates a bit. Tasha saunters up to him as we join the rest of our group. She gives him a hug and says, “You know I love ya.”

  I hate the way she does that. Tasha is such a diplomat that she plays both sides of the social field. She’s hard for anyone to stay mad at. I know I’m also just jealous of her ability to do it.

  Stacy laughs and makes a claw gesture toward Tasha’s face. “Don’t make me scratch your eyes out over a boy.”

  Tasha feigns fear and runs to the other side of me as though she’s hiding. I fold my arms across my chest and play along, raising my eyebrow at Stacy. She smiles and calls out to the group. “All right, let’s go.”

  The large wood doors creak from lack of use as we enter into the front of the building. Tasha puts a cold metal cylinder in my hand, and I realize it’s a flashlight. Everyone’s lights snap on at once, causing dancing beams to flutter in from the doorway to the darkened interior. It seems like an old mansion rather than an actual school building. Furniture is scattered about the room, covered in white cloths, which I find strange, because there’s hardly any dust at all. There’s a rusty, antique, woodsy smell about the room, but not as musty as I’d expected.

  “This place is awesome,” Donnie says from behind me. He’s so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

  I step away a bit to allow everyone else to enter in. We split into our two groups, and Matt’s group starts up the stairs. Jacob turns the knob on his lantern which nearly lights up the whole room. “So where should we start?”

  “This way,” Stacy says and leads us down the hallway. The hall is a little narrower than the ones at school but wider than those in an actual house. The rooms are all basically similar, with a few desks in each, a closet space filled with cubby holes, and a chalk board near the front.

  “I bet there’s not much electricity to this building. Where would anyone charge a laptop back in the day?” Tasha says.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think anyone had laptops back in the day. No cell phones either.”

  Donnie pulls out his iPhone and starts filming us all from the back of the line. I duck my head. Does he really need to do that? Seriously?

  Tasha and I are directly in front of him, while Stacy and Jacob lead us, hand in hand.

  “Maybe this video will become famous like that Blair Witch story. You know, ‘I see dead people…’” Donnie half whispers.

  Tasha clings to my arm.

  “Wrong movie, moron,” Stacy says. “That’s not Blair Witch Project.”

  We pass into a music room with a piano that’s only partially covered. The back half is still hidden with a sheet, but the front half reveals a beautiful cherry type wood. Stacy, her blonde hair shimmering even in the dim light from the flashlights, sits at the covered bench and opens the panel to reveal the keys. A few colored stickers cover the middle section with letters writte
n on them for the notes. Although worn in places, it’s easy to see what the letters said. Stacy presses a key and the piano gives off one sour note. She pushes the ivory key again, but it’s stuck and refuses to make a sound on the second push. Her fingers move across a few keys, but several of the ones she presses make no sound at all. She stands and slams the panel. “We can see why this piano is over here instead of in the music department of main Jackson.”

  A general murmured agreement goes up from the group. We continue to the last portion of the house. The dining area is wide with a tile floor and several small tables and undersized chairs. Donnie sits in one, and his knees protrude above the table to both sides of him comically. He turns his iPhone around on himself and says, “I feel like we’re in an overgrown doll house, man. These chairs definitely weren’t built for a normal-sized guy like me.”

  “Well, it was an elementary school,” Tasha says.

  Donnie tries to stand but can’t get himself out of the crab like position. He milks the show for all it's worth, having Stacy and Jacob in stitches with his contortions. Tasha and I even smile before he finally shoves a hand in Jacob’s direction. “A little help?”

  The smacking of their palms together echoes through the quiet room.

  The domed ceiling overhead is covered in a similar white tile to the floor, and the ceiling fixture is a bronze chandelier. My eyes are drawn to the leaves that weave throughout the tile work. Each vine unites perfectly with only the grout between the tiles breaking up the pattern.

  Three sour eerie notes play on the piano in the other room, and all of us rush to the doorway, but don’t enter. My arm hairs stand on end. Tasha and I are at the front and have no intention of entering the room. Donnie shines his flashlight over our heads. No one is in the room. The panel over the keys of the piano is closed, just as we left it. A mild bit of cold air drafts in seemingly from nowhere.

  Tasha swallows hard. “I think I’m ready to get out of here.”

  Stacy smacks her on the shoulder. “No way. Ghosts only scare you, not hurt you." She smiles her fake smile, her perfect teeth flashing in the dim light. "What are you worried about?”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Tasha shakes her head. “Haven’t you seen The Grudge? Ghosts can follow you home and stuff. We should get out of here.”

  “You can leave if you want, Chicken. But we still haven’t seen the kitchen yet.” Jacob starts in the direction of the swinging metal door at the other side of the dining area. Donnie follows, making bock-bock noises and flapping an arm, his camera recording our faces.

  I take Tasha’s hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “We can leave if you want. We don’t have to follow them in there.”

  She looks up at me gratefully and squeezes my hand before releasing it. “I’ll be okay. I can do this.”

  I nod, and she straightens her spine. Marching toward the kitchen, she has her hands fisted like she’s ready for a fight.

  Jacob pushes open the door, and the blast of cold air has me wondering if there’s an open window. He exhales and his breath rises in a mist. Stacy opens her mouth to speak, but a blood curdling scream makes her clamp it shut, and we all whip our heads toward the sound in the kitchen. My heart leaps into my throat and pounds in my ears. Every hair on my body stands on end.

  An unnatural looking girl limps around the kitchen. Her body is see-through, distorting the other side of her like an ice cube. She drags one leg behind her, leaving a vaporous blood trail in her wake. She startles, looking toward the pantry, then runs straight at us; her mouth contorts in a silent scream.

  My stomach quivers so hard that I feel like it will never stop. I’m so cold, my teeth chatter. The ghost rushes toward us, and as she draws near, she becomes a haze of white moving so fast, I barely have time to wince at the icy breath of wind.

  Every fiber of my being screams: we’ve got to get out of here.

  I hadn’t noticed Tasha’s nails digging into my arm until she suddenly releases me with a sob. I turn around and find her shadowed form in my flashlight. She’s rushing toward the other dining room door.

  “Wait!” I yell and chase her. Fear has gripped my insides, and I have a side-stitch as though I’d been running for two miles at top speed, but I’ve barely made it to the music room. Warning bells are going off in my head, and I can hardly hear anything but their ring. This is a nightmare. Did we see what we really saw? Is there any way that a ghost could follow you around like in horror movies?

  Tasha rips open the front door of the building, and it groans in protest.

  The group from upstairs rushes down.

  “What’s going on?” Matt says, from the first landing on the stairs. “Did someone scream a few minutes ago? What are you running from?”

  I shake my head in the second group’s general direction and dart out the door. A cold wind whips my face. It’s as dark out here as it was in the house, darker without the light of Jacob’s lantern. The trees rustle overhead, drowning out the sounds of the city. I can’t see Tasha anywhere on the road. How could she have possibly gone that far so fast?

  When the breeze dies a little, I hear the rustle of feet through leaves off to my right. When I turn, I find the light from Tasha’s flashlight dancing around in the dark of the forest. She is on the trail she told me about. I rush in that direction, trying my best to keep up.

  “Tasha, wait!” I yell breathlessly.

  Trees close in on both sides of me, but the trail is distinct where the leaves have been mashed by the many feet who take this shortcut. Behind me I hear more rustling. Someone is following me, and for a moment, that scares me, even though I rationalize that it’s probably just people from our group.

  Tasha really should try out for track—I haven’t gained on her in the slightest. When the sounds of the city grow louder, and street lamps become more distinct ahead, I relax, hoping that Tasha will stop and feel safe when she gets there. Just as I reach the edge of the forest, I yell again, “Tasha, wait for me!”

  She looks back, and her feet hit the sidewalk with her face turned my direction. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her red lids shine in the light of the streetlamp she’s under. Her step falters, and she trips over the curb. She falls toward the road.

  I can’t stop the scream that comes to my lips when I hear the squeal of brakes and see the flash of yellow. Then Tasha tumbles over the hood of the taxi and crashes into the windshield.

  ARMS SLIP AROUND ME AND catch me when my knees buckle. Pine and mint. I grip him like a life preserver, denying everything I’d just seen—everything that has just happened. More feet rustle in the grass behind us, and I hear Stacy scream, “Someone dial 911.”

  It snaps me out of my stupor. How can I crumble like this when Tasha needs me? I straighten and wipe my face on my sweater sleeve, not daring to look up at anyone. Not daring to let anyone see me like this. I’m falling apart on the inside, like a trash bag full of shattered glass. But I’ve got to hold things together.

  “Tasha’s mom.” My voice cracks and barely comes out in a whisper. I hold my phone in my hand and scroll down my contact list. But I can barely see through my tears. And how can I possibly talk to her mom about this? My throat seizes.

  Ben pulls the phone from my hand, and it slips through my limp fingers. He hits the dial button. After a moment, he says, “Mrs. Brown? Hi. No, this is Ben Oscuro. I’m sorry but there’s been an accident…”

  His voice trails off as I force my heavy feet to turn and face what I don’t want to. I don’t want to see Tasha like this. I can’t, but I do. Her crumpled body, busted and torn, is cradled by the windshield of the taxi.

  “Nobody touch her,” a cop yells and points toward all of us standing at the edge of the wooded lot. “You. You were with her right? Nobody goes anywhere until we find out what happened! Got it?”

  I nod limply and feel someone pick up my hand and set my phone in it.

  “She’s on her way,” he says, and his voice can’t cast the spe
ll on me it did earlier today.

  The siren of the ambulance drowns out all other sounds. It cuts off the minute it pulls close to the scene. My knees buckle again as they check for a pulse.

  “She’s alive,” the paramedic says, and fresh sobs escape my throat.

  Thank God.

  The taxi driver raises his voice at the officer. “I tell ya the kid came out of nowhere. I couldn’t have avoided her. She’s lucky I was just getting up to speed from being stopped at the light. I…I…is she going to be okay?”

  “My baby? What’s happened to my baby?” Mrs. Brown squeals when she comes into view. Mr. Brown stands behind her with Kevin in his arms. Mrs. Brown reaches for Tasha, but then pulls back as the paramedics lift her onto a plastic cot.

  I wipe my face and jog to her.

  “I’m so sorry.” My voice finally works, but it’s hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mrs. Brown pulls me into her arms and gives me a quick hug. “I know this wasn’t your fault, but what happened?”

  I shake my head, my voice failing me again. Ben steps beside me and sets a hand on my shoulder, and somehow the small gesture gives me strength. I open my mouth, and the words pour out as I confess everything that had happened since she dropped us off at the front of the school.

  AT THE POLICE STATION, I find out that Matt Benson, Sr. happens to be one of the lead detectives in the city Sherriff’s office. He comes down really hard on his son for the whole incident and makes it clear that “Junior” is going to be on lockdown for a long time. The rest of the crew gets picked up by their parents, but no one is arrested for trespassing.

  Mr. Benson takes Matt and Ben into an interrogation room, so that I’m alone when Mr. Scott arrives at the station. His hair is wet as if he’d just taken a shower. His blue eyes are sad but kind. “Chira Kelly, were you a part of all this?”

  I swallow and can’t meet his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  “I hate to hear that. I hope that this doesn’t affect your scholarship.” He sounds genuinely worried.