by Shelly Brown
The sliding door opened with a clank, and I jumped. Jessica and Mario climbed in arguing about the pronunciation of gif, and when I turned back, Tiffany was leaning over the van bench looking out the rear window. One of her glitter sneakers popped up in my face. “Why’s your sister putting baby powder on the bumper?”
Kori’s braids sprung into view and then dropped back down. It was Kori she saw. I sighed. I should have known better. I was still the only freak around.
Jessica pushed the offending shoe down as she scooted past Tiffany to sit. “She’s doing that,” she explained, “so that you can see the fingerprints of the children who push the car.”
Mario sat next to me and leaned in. “Hey Casper, is this stuff legit or bogus?”
I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that the bus story has been proven.” There was plenty of proof walking around outside. “And some guy from Pittsburg claims to have a picture of the old bucket man at the slaughterhouse. So, I guess there’s some decent evidence.”
“Slaughterhouse?” Tiffany sat up at the word.
Jessica clapped and giggled. “Next stop, baby!”
Tiffany’s eyes went wide. “Um, no. Drop me off at home after this.”
“Sorry, Tiffy,” Jessica said with no apology in her voice. “It’s just at the end of Gravity Hill. We’re going there right now.”
“No!” Tiffany dropped her head in her hands. “Slaughter. House. Slaughterhouse? Like was there a mass murder there or something?”
Jessica laughed then grabbed Tiffany’s shoulders in a side hug. “No, it’s for cattle. Like for making hamburgers. You know, chop-chop-chop.”
Tiffany shook off the hug. “That isn’t helping.”
Kori hopped in the front seat and rubbed her hands like a mad scientist. “Y’all ready?”
I only had two sisters: Hannah, who was twenty-three and had legal custody of us, and Kori who was . . . trouble.
Kori cackled, shoved her arm out the open window, gave a thumbs-up to someone behind us, and then started the car. She put it in neutral and we waited.
Nothing.
Then we started inching forward. Kori flicked her headlights on.
“Is it ghosts?” Tiffany asked, keeping her head buried in her lap.
Mario laughed. “Doubt it. It’s not really moving that much.” As if someone had heard him, the car started to pick up speed. “You’re doing that,” he accused Kori.
Kori propped her sandaled feet up on the empty seat next to her.
I glanced behind us and Yarntails was following, her movements still jarring. I couldn’t imagine how she could be pushing the smoothly moving car with her jerky motions but I had no other explanation.
The car really did seem to be moving uphill at a good clip. I could see the speedometer—four miles an hour, then six.
“That is trippy,” Jessica said, leaning over the crouching Tiffany and almost touching her nose to the window.
I had to admit it was rather weird.
The car slowed down but, before it could stop, Kori put it in gear and pulled into a dirt area in front of a large white metal building. Dust billowed in the headlights and as other cars arrived, we could see more of the structure. It was gigantic, much bigger than I would have guessed—with huge silos on one end, and tubes connecting them.
The cars all kicked up enough dirt that I could taste it in my gawking mouth. If only Kori drove with her window up.
“Cool, huh?” Kori turned off the car but left on her lights. The slaughterhouse is wicked scary though, so partner up, ‘kay?”
“Tiffany’s my partner!” Jessica jumped out of her seat and opened the sliding door first. “Come on, let’s check the bumper!”
I sighed when the door flew open and Yarntails was standing there, stalk still, hands at her sides, looking straight at me.
Jessica bounded right through the ghost, landed on her feet, and turned around to look at the back of the car.
Tiffany slowly got out of the van. “I don’t know. You should probably go with Mario. I’ll just freak out and slow you down. I’ll hang out here with Justin.”
Really? It made me want to give her my windbreaker more often. For that matter she could keep it.
Jessica came back frowning. “It’s too dark to see the fingerprints on the bumper. We’ll have to check later.” She grabbed Tiffany’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“Fine,” Tiffany said, relenting and dragging her feet as they walked away.
“Wait!” Mario thrust his hands in his jean pockets and ran after the girls. His ponytail bounced as he jogged. All around me the high schoolers laughed and screamed as they ran off to explore.
Everyone got smaller and smaller under the glow of the headlights, ducking into all of the buildings. I looked around to ensure that we were alone.
“So, do you guys push the cars?” I asked Yarntails.
She smirked and shook her head.
“Then how do the cars move uphill?”
She rolled her eyes upward, thinking. Some screwball teenagers were yelling inside the echoey building.
She was taking too long so I guessed. “Science?”
She nodded.
Figures. I was going to have to Google that one. Maybe Mario’s optical illusion idea was spot on. If only I could resolve all unexplainable phenomenon with science.
She squinted her eyes just briefly, but I saw it and shot my arm out just in time to stop her from going in for another kick. I held her ankle firm but the feeling of the temperature-less flesh on the palm of my hand gave me the willies and I finally released it.
“What’d I do to you?” I frowned at her but her smile didn’t waver.
We had a bit of a staring contest in the dark, while I searched her face for purpose. It was only a glint here and there, but I began to think she was just bored. Really, really bored. I guess it was kind of a drab field to be stuck in forever.
I tested my theory. “Hey, do you want do something fun?”
Her eyes got big and she nodded.
“Go touch the bumpers a few times. That’ll freak out my sister and her friends.”
She sprinted around to the back of the car.
I stood, turning towards the slaughterhouse with trepidation. Haunted places were always scarier than everyday places. If you found a ghost at the Walmart, they usually had lived there when it was a farm or something. Haunted places, on the other hand—sites where even normal people could sense mystic powers—were that way because something atrocious happened. The kinds of spirits roaming those grounds were usually angry or bitterly sad. Neither of which were the sort you want to make eye contact with at night—by yourself.
People were shouting to hear their voices echo off the interior of the empty rusty silos. Laughter was magnified in the metal slaughterhouse. I took a deep breath, hoping that no spook would want to hang around and listen to all of that, and I headed towards the cacophony.
Then something caught my eye.
Coming from the side of the slaughterhouse walked a spirit.
Light grey and moving in the normal choppy way.
The windbreaker.
The glitter shoes.
The long blonde hair.
It was Tiffany.
Chapter 3
The Living and the Dead
Justin
Even though she was still far away, and the night was dark, I was sure it was Tiffany. She covered ground quickly, disappearing and reappearing closer and closer until she was right in front of me. I wanted to run to find her body, but her spirit was so captivating that my feet were cemented and time stopped around us. It was fascinating and terrifying. She was beautiful and horrible. I wanted to reach out and touch her but the thought of it made me recoil.
As her flickering stopped she touched her throat.
&
nbsp; Her asthma. The thought came so clearly and quickly to my head, I was sure it was true.
Her inhaler.
In her purse.
Girls my age looked dumb carrying around purses but I remembered her putting it under the seat when she got in the car.
I threw open the sliding door, lunged for her purse, and ran. I tried to ignore both of the light grey apparitions watching. Halfway to the building Mario came bolting towards me. “Tiffany’s not breathing!”
I had seen Mario scared before: scared that his drunk dad was actually never coming back, and scared of those chainsaw creeps in the Halloween maze. This look was unsettling, like both versions at the same time.
“Here’s my phone.” I pulled it out of my jean pocket. “Call 911. Now!”
He nodded and started dialing. I ran into the slaughterhouse, not prepared to be plunged into the pitch blackness of the windowless building. Disoriented I had to slow down significantly to keep from falling on my face. Shouting and laughing echoed off the walls. My ears perked up at the sound of Jessica crying.
“Tiffany? Tiffany? Come on.”
I stumbled and scrambled through the debris that littered the ground, making my way toward the voice. I could barely see the outline of a figure crouched over a listless body.
Jessica turned around when I came up from behind. “Justin, you scared me! You’re almost invisible.”
She’s was right. My black skin, black polo, and blue jeans in the inky building would have been hard to see.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve then pushed on my legs. “Go get help! Tiffany is dying.”
“Mario’s calling 911.”
Jessica turned back to Tiffany. “She’s not breathing. I think it’s an evil spirit or something.”
“Let me try.” I pulled her from Jessica’s arms, laying her flat on the ground. Her muscles didn’t respond to anything, which felt very wrong. I opened her purse and groped in the dark.
Lip gloss?
A school ID?
Inhaler. But would it do anything?
“Are you sure she’s not breathing?”
“Yes.” Jessica lowered her ear to Tiffany’s mouth. “Nothing.”
My eyes were starting to adjust so I dug back in her purse.
Keys?
A vial. I pulled out the vial and kept searching.
Some weird folded note or something?
A syringe? Nope, it was a pen.
There was the syringe.
My sister, Hannah, was hypoglycemic, and Kori and I had learned how to load a syringe, but in the dark it seemed impossible to get that tiny needle into the vial opening.
I had to have faith in myself.
Besides, I couldn’t make it worse.
My hands shook as I stuck the needle in and drew out the liquid. I pumped it a few times, then as quickly as I could find the courage, I plunged it into Tiffany’s leg and injected. You’re supposed to go slow but I worried more about losing time.
She didn’t move.
It didn’t work.
The problem was her asthma, right? The fact that she wasn’t breathing?
I felt so inadequate. I didn’t want her to die. If I was supposed to be the one that helped her, I was running out of ideas. I pulled out the inhaler again but inhalers were useless unless she was breathing.
Breathing!
“Do you know CPR?” I asked Jessica.
“No.” She started talking about how evil the place felt and how she didn’t think that spirits could kill people but I just tuned her out. I had learned CPR for babysitter training at the community center but didn’t feel confident in it. Hannah made Kori and me take the class, and as much as I hated learning crafts with a bunch of girls, I was feeling grateful that I went.
“Move over,” I said to Jessica before crouching beside Tiffy. I tilted her head back and gave her a few breaths. I was proud that I only hesitated a moment before putting my lips to hers. She was unconscious; you couldn’t call that kissing, right?
Nothing.
Chest compressions then a few more breaths.
I put my ear to her mouth. There may have been something but I couldn’t tell with the acoustics of the old barn-like building, full of people and wind. Dang, it was hard to even hear the person next to you clearly.
I checked her pulse but my hands were shaking too bad to tell.
Chest compressions. Breaths.
Listening.
Nothing. Nothing! I wanted to scream. I was so frustrated my eyes brimmed with tears.
But I couldn’t give up.
Chest compressions. Breaths.
Listening.
Wheezing. She was wheezing!
Tears splashed out as I fumbled for her inhaler.
I gave a few pumps in her mouth and her eyes caught the slightest glimmer of light as they opened.
Something inside of me wanted to collapse, like a runner after a marathon. I know it wasn’t actually taxing on my body, but I was spent.
And I did it.
She was alive.
It was curious that I didn’t ever see her spirit inside of the slaughterhouse, but the one thing I knew about ghost stuff was that I didn’t know enough about ghost stuff.
“Are you okay?” It was a dumb question but I couldn’t think of what else to say.
Jessica fell to her knees beside me and cried into Tiffany’s shoulder.
Tiffany gave one slight nod then brought both hands up to her chest. It rose with such labor that she winced.
“Get me out of here,” she said. “There’s something in here.”
Jessica started shaking. “I knew it! There’s something in here. I could just tell.” She shouted to a group of people making their way past us. “Guys! There are evil spirits in here. Like for reals. She almost died. We need to leave, rapido.”
“No,” Tiffany rasped. “I’m allergic to something in here. Mold or dust. I don’t know. I’ve got to get out.”
I had been so worried about her that I hadn’t really noticed how musty and gross the air in that filthy, abandoned, animal-murdering shack had been. I helped her to her feet then offered to carry her on my back. I crouched down and she got on, draping herself like dead weight and resting her head against the back of mine. I stumbled through the debris in the dark building, lifting my feet high but still tripping here and there. Moving quickly to get her away from whatever triggered her attack, I made my way towards the moonlit doorframes.
She groaned and dropped her head on my shoulder so she was talking softly in my ear. “Don’t tell my parents, okay? They’ll freak out.”
“Well, we already sent for an ambulance. So, if it comes, your parents will find out.”
“What?” Tiffany was upset but too weak to put much umph behind her words. “Who sent for an ambulance? I would have been fine.”
“I did,” I said. “And what do you mean ‘fine?’ Tiffany, you were dead.”
She was silent. I turned my head to see if I could catch any part of her expression, but our cheeks met and I snapped forward again, embarrassed.
She took a few wheezy breaths then said, “Are you sure?”
“Pretty darn positive. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Weird. I thought spirits had memories. After all, I remembered when I died. “I had to. You understand, right?”
Again with the silence. It was pretty amazing to me how painful nothing could be.
She sighed. “You really saved my life?”
I nodded. “I . . . think so.”
Her arms grew tighter around me and she pulled her warm cheek up next to mine. She smelled like strawberry lip gloss. “Thanks.”
She squeezed super tight, like a hug you would get from a great-aunt who hasn’t seen you for a while. “T
hat’s for saving my life.”
Then she pulled an arm free and started flicking my ear really hard.
I shrugged, trying to protect it with my shoulder. “Hey, stop!”
“That, Justin Henderson”—she emphasized every word with a flick—“is for telling my parents.”
She stopped and laid her tired head again on my shoulder. My frustrations melted. She trusted me. My cheek still felt warm and my ear throbbed, but that pretty much described our relationship.
Stupid red string.
Chapter 4
The White Witch of Black Diamond
Tiffany
“Zombie girl lives!”
“Ha-ha, Mario.” I rolled my eyes. The family doctor declared me healthy as a horse, whatever that means, so I got permission to go back to school. After all, nobody gets popular by staying home to recover from an asthma attack. I had an election to win.
“Wait, so did you really die?” Brett Lovell stopped me by grabbing my shoulder.
Aah, Brett Lovell, the most beautiful thing to grace the halls of Antioch Junior High School. Tall with thick wavy blond hair, he smelled like body wash and had the most amazing milk-white smile. It does a body good, after all. And as if he hadn’t been bestowed with enough coolness, he was a cornerback for the football team. I wasn’t even sure what that meant but it sounded awesome.
“I didn’t die.” I laughed it off and flipped my hair for good measure. Dying from a mold-induced asthma attack felt rather uncool. “I’m still here, right?”
He smiled, patted the side of my face, and continued down the hall.
My hand rose to my freshly-touched cheek before I could stop it.
Truthfully, I might have died.
I had one distinct memory between when I passed out to when I came to; Justin Henderson running with my purse—outside. Which didn’t make any sense because I was totally knocked out inside of the building. It was either an out of body experience or my unconscious imagination was super lame—the neighbor boy carrying woman’s accessories? Next time I wanted a vision of a life-size Candy Land board . . . and I’m Queen Frostine, except I have a coat because that strapless thing she’s wearing looks freakin’ cold.