by Shelly Brown
Justin leaned back, losing interest in the boy’s scribbles. He looked like he had something to say but was searching for the right words. I could almost see the puzzle being solved behind his coffee-colored eyes. He figured something out. I found myself desperate to hear what he was going to say. “So that new moon on Tuesday. You still have the sage, right?”
The sage and the new moon. That’s what he wanted to talk about? I lost interest and started to watch the girl who was drawing circle people on a new sheet of paper. “Yeah. Why? Does the devil pay a visit on the new moon?”
“No, nothing like that . . .”
“Then I’m good.” I became engrossed in the girls drawing. She had drawn two circle people and then violently scribbled them out.
“Are they dead?” I asked pointing to the scribbled people.
The girl got excited and nodded.
“Party in the USA” got loud, and a set of thick boots came clomping down the stairs. I ripped the crayon out of the girl’s hand and Justin did the same with the boy’s.
“Wazzup?” Kori said coming around the corner with an empty carton of ice cream and a spoon. My mother would never let me eat out of a container like that. We had special waffle-shaped bowls for ice cream. And walking around with food was strictly forbidden.
“What’s all this?” Kori leapt over the couch to get a better look at our drawings, her braids bouncing around her face.
I thought some of the ice cream dripped in the process and I was certain her shoes touched the couch, but it was her house, so whatever.
“Did you guys draw those?” She picked up the boy’s scribbled picture and laughed. “Dang, your junior high art classes are paying off.” She hit the last word hard.
“Shut your cake hole.” Justin reached up to grab the paper out of her hand. She evaded him, but as she did the spoon fell out onto the rug. Kori bent over, picked it up, and wiped it on her jean shorts before grabbing the girl’s paper with the circles.
The girl didn’t like that at all and snatched it right out of Kori’s hand.
Kori looked at me, slack jawed then turned to Justin for an explanation.
Justin started rubbing his fingers across his lips then gave a quick shoulder shrug.
Kori got excited. “Here? Now?” She sat on the couch and set her carton on the ground. “Can I stay and watch?”
“Actually,” Justin said standing up and gathering the papers. “We were just about go over to Tiffany’s house.”
That was news to me but I got to my feet and followed him to the door.
“It’s not them is it?” Kori said as we walked out of the house.
“No,” Justin said before shutting the door. “It’s not them.”
Did Kori know about ghosts too? I wanted to ask Justin but he asked something of me instead. “Are they her parents?”
I looked over at the girl and she nodded, smiling at Justin for figuring it out.
I got a shiver. “Yeah. Good guess.”
Without looking up from the paper Justin asked, “Can we use your computer? I have an idea.”
Hannah, Justin’s oldest sister, pulled into the driveway behind us and shouted as she got out of the van. “Justin, where are you going? You’re in charge of dinner tonight.”
Justin stopped in the empty street and turned around. “I’m making spaghetti. I just need to help Tiffany with something really fast. Then I’ll start.”
“Spaghetti? Again?” Hannah looked tired as she hefted her purse on her shoulder and undid the top button of her work shirt. “Whatever. Evening, Tiffany.”
I waved. “Hey, Hannah.”
The house was empty. My mother was teaching yoga and my dad was at poker. We made our way to my room and my computer.
Justin turned it on and jumped on the internet. “They probably lived around here so if we can get an idea of when the parents died, I might be able to find their obituaries. What are the kids wearing?”
I sat down on end of the bed. “The girl is wearing a dress and so is the baby. But the baby’s dress is more like a nightgown.” It felt like my words were inadequate to describe what I was seeing. Super old kept coming to mind, but that didn’t seem useful. “The boy’s dressed like a sailor. Wait, not like a sailor. He’s got the long socks and shorts like those old sailor costumes but he has a button up shirt. Not like a normal button shirt—”
“Something like this?” Justin said pointing to a black and white picture of a group of kids posing in front of a school.
I couldn’t see well from where I was sitting on the bed. I joined him on the office chair, both of us completely squished, and leaned in to study the picture. “Kinda but that looks more Sandlot and these guys look more Little House on the Prairie.”
He scrolled and found a picture of a family standing in front of a wagon. “Like this?”
The little girl leaned in and traced the wagon on the screen with her finger.
“She seems to like the wagon,” I told him. “We might have figured it out.”
“Let me try something else.” Justin googled Model T. “Ask her if she knows this.”
“Have you seen one of these before?”
The girl pointed to the car over and over again with a huge smile on her face.
“Yeah, she knows it.”
“Good, this helps.” He pulled up another image. “This is a 1930s Cadillac. Does she know this car?”
The girl looked closely at it and then shook her head. Justin found three more cars but the girl didn’t know any of them.
“Early 1900s. That’s a good starting point.” Justin said. He looked at my clock. “It’s pretty late. I better go start . . .”
Before he could even finish his sentence, let alone get up out of the chair, my dad walked into my bedroom. Poker was over. Until my dad came in, I had no idea how close I was sitting to Justin. We might as well have been conjoined twins. Dad didn’t say a word but scowled and pointed down the hall. Justin understood and walked out.
Chapter 16
Smurf Film
Justin
After searching online for the local obituaries, I realized the records that far back hadn’t been digitalized and I would have to go the Antioch Historical Society and use their microfiche machines.
Old-school style.
I got a geeky pleasure from operating those big old machines.
I called Tiffany to see if she’d come with me.
“What’s an obituary anyways?” she asked like I had made the word up.
“It’s a blurb they put in the newspaper about the life of someone who passed away. Like a tiny biography.”
She yawned. “And what’s microfiche? Like really small fish?”
“Gosh, Tiffy, just come and you’ll see for yourself.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Look,” I said. “I am not going to be able to find these obituaries without the kids’ help. And you are not going to be able to get rid of your ghosts until you figure out what they need from you.”
“Fine. I’ll be outside in five minutes.” Five minutes morning prep for Tiffany meant that my argument was very persuasive.
We rode our bikes to the far end of town and parked them outside of the new red brick building, which housed the museum/research center run by the Antioch Historical Society.
A thin, grey-haired lady who always smelled like roses swiveled away from her computer when we came in.
“Morning, Nellie,” I said, waving.
“Well, good morning to you, Mr. Henderson,” she said, grinning. “What can I help you with today?”
“We’re going to need two microfiche machines, and The Antioch Ledger and The Oakland Tribune from 1900 to 1930.”
She stood up, the office chair rolling behind her, and saluted. “Can do, commando
!”
Tiffany saluted back and Nellie handed her the keys to the machines.
I led Tiffany to the back room where all of the machines were.
“Wow,” she said, running her hand along one of the large black screens. “They’re like dinosaur computers from when the trio here,” she pointed with her thumb behind her, “roamed the earth.”
Nellie dropped off the rolls of film in their usual blue cases.
“What the heck are these?” Tiffany picked up one of the palm size reels and studied it. “Smurf films?”
I loaded the first one on the machine and the January first issue of The Oakland Tribune popped up on the huge monitor. “This one is from 1900 to 1909, but since Model T’s didn’t come around until 1908, fast forward to the last two years.” I spun the knob to show her how to change pages.
She closed her eyes. “Whoa, dizzy-making! Haven’t they heard of the internet in this time warp?”
“I already tried the internet,” I said, loading my film. “Let’s just see what we can find.”
For the next half an hour we both sat at different machines flipping through old newspaper images. Well, except for when Tiffany had to stop because one of the kids had started unwinding a film that we had left in their reach, and the time she left and came back dragging, what I think was the boy, back into the room.
I hit 1914 in my search and had an idea. “Ask them if they or their parents died in World War I.”
“In Antioch? I don’t know a lot about that war, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t happen here.” She didn’t wait for a response but asked them about the war. “Nope. Totally glazed-over eyes. I don’t think she even knows what I’m talking about.”
Hmmm. It was a good guess but I’d have to keep looking. After flipping through a few more years I found something else. “Tiffy, check this out.”
Tiffany made a startled grumble and when I looked she was wiping drool off of her cheek.
“Were you sleeping?”
“How are you not?” She stood and stretched. “We’re speed reading newspapers.” She said that like it was a bad thing. Coming over she sat on the arm of my chair. “What’d you find?”
I pointed to a bolded headline. Influenza Pandemic.
“Thousands of people were dying in this area from a flu,” I said, summarizing the article. “Ask her if she died from the Spanish Flu.”
“Did you make that up? That sounds made-up.” She changed her voice to mocking. “Did you die of French hiccups? Brazilian sniffles?”
“Just ask.”
“Did you die of the Spanish Flu?” She paused then said, “I don’t think she knows.”
Another theory shot down. Discouraged, I flipped the pages faster than normal. Most of the news for the next few pages would all be about the flu anyways.
“Wait, go back,” Tiffany said. “Another page,” she coached. “There!”
She was taking her cues from one of the kids. “This one?” She pointed to a picture of a man and a woman.
First Deaths from the Spanish Flu in Antioch.
It was a chilling title, and the fact that Tiffany was enraptured with it made it creepier.
“I think these are her parents.” She hesitated then added, “I’m sure these are her parents.”
Under the title was a picture of a couple. The man had blond hair, parted down the middle and slicked back, and was wearing a shy grin. The woman had wavy brown hair, a round face, and a massive smile. She wore a white veil on her head. Wedding picture?
Tiffany started reading the article aloud. The couple died only one day apart from each other. They left three children. Their neighbors only knew that they were originally from Minnesota and authorities were trying to locate family. The funeral was held at the Nortonville Cemetery.
“The Old Mines Cemetery,” I whispered. That spot wasn’t on my list of favorite places to visit. “We could get there from here pretty easily.” I took a deep breath. I tried to avoid that cemetery, it had a bad feeling. But it was for Tiffany. “I propose we take these kids back to their parent’s grave. Maybe once we reunite the family they’ll stop following you.”
“Would that work?” Tiffany looked skeptical. “Like I could sleep in my own bed, all by myself?”
I nodded.
“But isn’t that cemetery haunted?” I could tell the debate in her head was a heated one. “I don’t do scary, Justin. Can you take them there?”
I shrugged. “I can’t see how.”
In a loud mystical voice she said, “Children of the outer realm. I release you from our bond and entrust you in the care of this doofus neighbor of mine.” She waved her fingers in my direction. “Follow him to the graveyard and be free!” She gave an impish smile. “There. I did it.”
“I don’t think it works like that. You’re going to have to come with me.”
Her smiled disappeared and she became somber. “I can’t. I won’t.” She shook her head emphatically and stuttered, “I . . . the White . . . I won’t go. Nope. No, siree. I’ll just have to figure something else out.” She popped up and left the room.
Confused, I wound up the films and thanked Nellie for her help. By the time I got outside, I saw the tail end of Tiffany’s bike as she rode away.
Chapter 17
Speaking with the Dead
Tiffany
Walking into church my mom noticed the way that I was holding my arm out to balance the baby on my hip, and she told me she wanted to have my arm looked at. There was so much more behind her eyes though. Like she wanted to have all of me looked at.
I had this secret hope that once I walked through the doors of the church the ghosts would all just disappear—like vapor. That the sacred air would burn the monster children like holy water.
Then I could just live in the church for the rest of my life, ghost-free.
I held my breath as I crossed the threshold but was grossly disappointed.
No sizzling. No melting. No purging of the little goblins.
To make matters worse, they looked happy.
I plopped next to my parents on the pew and the kids climbed up beside me, like sitting in church was a normal part of their ghostly week. My arm was tingling with the struggle of holding the baby so I set her down next to her sister, which I should have known would be unacceptable. The screaming was getting really old. The sister picked her up trying to shush the baby and I considered helping, but the sermon wasn’t that interesting anyways. Maybe I could just pretend the wailing was music. Really ugly music.
The sermon progressed and the baby fell asleep. The girl touched my arm and when I faced her she was looking at me with unexpected intensity.
She opened her mouth and the scream wasn’t my favorite sound but then, like adjusting an old-fashioned radio dial, I heard something else. Something that sounded like words. Between screeches there was a voice. I stared into her black and white face and tried to tune my inner dial to her station.
What are you trying to say to me? I focused, watching her lips and her eyes for clues.
The screaming faded and I heard one word—
Ruby.
There was no mistaking it.
Then immediately back to screaming.
I don’t know whether I jumped from the sudden screaming or from the creepiness of the one word conversation. My mother put her hand on my knee in concern and I rubbed the chills off of my arm.
Ghosts could talk.
Chapter 18
The Creepy Dude
Tiffany
“What is wrong with you lately?”
I awoke to mom’s quizzical look and a kink in my neck. I was curled in a ball because the boy completely took over the bottom half of the bed. The girl was sprawled out with her arm over the top of me, and the baby was nestled up by my face, forcing my head into an odd angle.
<
br /> Mom pulled my pillow out from under me. “Silly girl, get up. Today’s a big day.”
That’s right! Speeches!
With the ghost kid problem, I had forgotten to practice.
I tore what I had written out of my old Big Bird notebook (don’t judge me) and read the speech over and over as I got ready. My mom tried to help me with my hair, but I didn’t want to look like a poofy freak show, so I kicked her out of the bathroom. As I tried to brush out the backcombing she had done, the boy decided to block my view of the mirror. He found it very amusing and no matter where I moved, he followed. I grabbed him but he would just jitter himself free, laugh-scream, and block me all over again. Eventually I gave up and tried to see myself in the mirror through him, which was a blurry mess. The smell of eggs and bacon sped me up. The children followed me as I ran down the stairs.
I repeated my speech as I walked into the kitchen. “We are way lucky to have such an awesome school . . .” It was almost memorized.
To my surprise Justin was sitting at the table. My cheeks pinked, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of catching me embarrassed. “Seriously, do you live here now?”
“That’s what I was wondering,” my dad said while dishing himself eggs.
Mom brought the plate of bacon to the table and patted them with a paper towel. “You two, leave him alone. I made a big breakfast and wanted to share it.”
My stomach was hurting because I was nervous. I probably overate to compensate, and by the time I walked out the door, my stomach ached even more.
“I didn’t want to ask in front of your parents but how’s the whole . . .” He made some vague circle gesture with his hand. “. . . thing going? Do they really sleep in your bed?” He stepped in front of me and walked backwards. His brow creased and he seemed to be studying me. I couldn’t tell what he was doing until he reached out and tucked some hair behind my ear. Shrugging he went back to walking beside me.