Ghostsitter

by Shelly Brown

  Henry was the first to flicker.

  I was holding him in bed before going to sleep that night. I felt his weight vanish for a brief moment. I wasn’t ready. I hugged him tight and in what seemed like a shiver of light, he vanished.

  Gone.

  I had no idea that it was going to hurt so bad to see them go.

  Tears welled up in my eyes and I grabbed for Ruby and Patrick. They looked worried at my alarm. I held them close but I realized how useless it was. Soon they would be gone and I was never going to see them again. I would have to sleep alone, and put homework in my backpack instead of a baby, and nobody would scream during church, or throw my shoes out of my closet.

  Next was Ruby. She looked petrified as she saw that she was disappearing against her will.

  I tried to tell her that it was going to be okay. I held her cheeks and looked her in the eye.

  But there was nothing I could do.

  And she was gone.

  I had about ten minutes with just Patrick and myself. I wiped my tears and tried to make the time pleasant. I held him and stroked his hair and told him all about the coolest things from the future. Like iPads, and Taylor Swift, and Minecraft. Things I hadn’t had time to show him. It was the stillest I had ever seen Patrick sit. Being a middle child I wondered if he had gotten a lot of time to just be held by himself.

  At the first flicker, I felt a lump in my throat.

  I told him that I loved him and for him to tell the others when he got to the other side. He nodded. He wasn’t afraid like his sister had been. Brave boy. I went to kiss him on the top of the head but he was gone before my lips hit anything.

  I bawled.

  I wasn’t as brave as he was.

  Chapter 43

  Karma

  Justin

  I thought about it all day. I couldn’t help it. Even when I was trying to talk to the reporter for the local paper or explaining how I found the families at the Holy Cross Cemetery to Nellie, in the back of my mind they were there.

  I locked my door like most Wednesday nights but this time I just sat and waited. The sun set out my window, and I occasionally eyed the drawer where I kept my sage but I didn’t pull it out. When there was nothing left of the sunlight in the sky, I saw the familiar flickering out of the corner of my eye.

  It was time.

  They looked exactly the same as they always did. My mother wearing the dress that we buried her in, her favorite. My father wearing a button up with a sweater vest that we had given to the Goodwill. Their faces carried worry, grief, sorrow. Nothing new.

  I wasn’t sure I was strong enough but it had to be done sometime.

  “What do you want?” I asked, my voice shakier than I expected. My heart was hitting my chest so hard I understood how people could die of fear. “Ghosts seem to hang around because of unfinished business. What’s your unfinished business? Why are you guys still here?”

  My father pointed to me.

  I had been right. I was their unfinished business. “I’m sorry.” My eyes and nose burned just briefly before they started leaking. Man, I was such an ugly crier. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

  My parents came to either side of me and my mother petted my head. I flinched but I didn’t stop her.

  “I would give anything to be able to go back and do it all different. We could have watched something online or played board games.” I wiped my nose on the back of my hand. “I didn’t mean to kill you.” My mother’s hand held still and my dad kneeled beside me, looked up into my face, and shook his head. My mother kneeled down as well, took my face in both her hands, and shook her head.

  “No?” What was she saying no to? I took a guess. “No, that’s not why you’re here?”

  My mother, with her temperature-less hands still on my cheeks, smiled at me. There it was again. That same smile that she gave me at the Hacienda. I didn’t just imagine it. I was hoping that she was proud of me for defending Tiffany, but with my nose running and my blubbering apology, I didn’t think it could be pride this time.

  “If that’s not it, then why? Why are you here? Why me?”

  She opened her mouth then shut it again, pursing her lips. She seemed to be looking for the words then opened her mouth again. A scream came out and she closed it quickly, looking apologetic.

  She was trying to talk.

  I remembered what Tiffany had said about talking to her ghosts. “Try,” I said to my mom. “Try to talk. I might be able to understand you.”

  She looked skeptical but opened her mouth. Her lips weren’t moving like a normal person speaks. More like singing vowels but she was clearly trying to communicate.

  The sound was just as it had always been. Awful. Painful. I tried to focus on her really closely and I saw her eyes fill with tears. But still nothing.

  Then I thought I heard . . . you did . . . in the middle of the screaming. I redoubled my efforts.

  I was going to talk to my mother. I just had to. I needed to try harder.

  Hear me?

  It was her voice. I was so surprised I almost forgot to nod.

  Her face lightened up. We watch. Protect.

  “Protect?” I repeated.

  My mother’s smile twisted a bit as she seemed to be choking back tears. She nodded and her face got weirder. I guess that was where I got my ugly crying from. I chuckled at the thought and she reached forward and held me. My father took us both in his arms and held me as well.

  And I let them.

  “You don’t blame me?” I mumbled, my face squished in my father’s sweater. “You don’t hate me?”

  Love you, I heard my mother say.

  Then another voice. Deeper, also familiar. Love you.

  Chapter 44

  One More Good-Bye

  Tiffany

  The wind blew through the yellow grass hillside, making the Saturday afternoon chilly, even for October in California.

  The service was small, me, my parents, Justin and his sisters, Nellie and her husband, Officer Murphy and a few of the other men who worked on the dig.

  And of course the Pettersens.

  All five of them.

  They stood there watching the burial—mother with baby Henry on one hip and Patrick on the other, father holding Ruby in both of his arms. Their mom couldn’t stop kissing Henry’s head as she watched the small caskets laid in the ground beside her own.

  It was like a gift to see them again. Even if they stood far enough away that I couldn’t hug them I could see that they were happy.

  I wondered if everyone was able to watch their own graveside service. I couldn’t see why not.

  My father had his hand on my shoulder. He had been really excited when he first heard the names of these Pettersens. He ran home to confirm that they were all the same and studied up on as much as he could find about their lives. (Which sadly turned out to be very little.) I felt like there was this rope that ran through all of us. The Pettersens, my father, and me. The distance in time and dimension didn’t really break that rope. We were family.

  While the priest from Holy Rosary said a few words over the burial, I caught Justin watching me. He mouthed, Where are they?

  I pointed by Officer Murphy.

  He looked over there then back at me. Good job, he said silently.

  Thanks, I mouthed back.

  He turned back and studied the spot. I knew Justin couldn’t see the father snuggling the little girl he hadn’t held for nearly a century, or the little boy who was grinning from ear to ear to be in the arms of his mother again, but maybe he could feel it.

  When the soil was laid over them, I saw the Pettersen family flicker out, like when you unplug a TV and the picture blinks a few times then disappears. They were gone. At rest—forever.

  “All done,” Justin said sidl
ing up next to me so we could talk in private. “No more ghosts for you.”

  “That would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath,” I said as we walked through the old graveyard.

  “Yeah, it’d be nice if it was that easy.” He chuckled. “Wanna see what I did?” He led me off to the pauper part of the graveyard. “I’m not positive she’s here, but it’s my best guess.” He pointed to the ground and I looked down. With the grass neatly trimmed around it, making it one of the tidiest graves in the cemetery, was a flat grave marker that read,

  Lisette Hurtado

  Oct 1892–Sept 1934

  “Whoa,” I said bending down to get a better view. “Did you buy that?”

  “Yeah,” he said a humble grin on his face. “Those aren’t cheap either. Nearly wiped out my savings. Especially when you’re buying two.” He pointed to the one right next to it.

  Rosaline Hurtado

  Feb 1894–Jan 1919

  “I’m glad they have each other,” I said crouching down and tracing the letters with my finger.

  He rested his whole palm on the stone marker. “The anger and fear. I don’t feel it anymore.”

  He was right. The graveyard was calm.

  “You’re the hero, you know,” Justin said, looking at me. “You not only helped the Pettersen kids, you helped all of those other orphans, and the caretaker. That’s a lot of helping.”

  It felt good, being useful like that. I wouldn’t say that I wanted to have that experience repeat itself, but I liked feeling needed.

  We jumped up and followed the others who were leaving.

  Justin stopped near the archway out of the graveyard and mumbled, “Sorry. Maybe later.” Then turning back he explained, “Sarah Norton.”

  I elbowed him. “One of these days you should find out what she wants.”

  “Haha,” he said. “Maybe later.”

  I reached out and took his arm, giving it a tight squeeze.

  He looked down at me clinging to him and said, “Red string.”

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I heard him right.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  I remembered again why I took his arm. “Thanks. I never said thanks but I meant to, so . . .” I looked up at his brown eyes and his tight-lipped smile. “. . . thanks. I probably would have gone crazy without you.”

  “Your mental sanity can’t be my responsibility.” He patted the hands I had wrapped around his arm. “You were crazy when I found you.”

  I hugged his arm tighter and laughed. “Look who’s talking.”

  “Justin!” my dad yelled. He had stopped a little way up the trail and turned around. “Hands off my daughter!”

  Before You Go

  Thanks for reading Ghostsitter!

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  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my mother for her dark humor. My father for his faith in my creativity.

  My husband, Chad Morris. My muse, my cheerleader, my best friend.

  My kids, Kirtlan, Maddie, Kimball, Cannon, and Christian. You guys were the reason I kept trying even when it got hard. You had faith in this story. Thanks.

  This is the part that gets complicated. I have so many writing friends who have helped me that I am overwhelmed at the task of naming them. You are about to get a list and it’s going to be woefully incomplete. Jennie Bennett, Peggy Eddleman, Erin Shakespear, Illima Todd, William Mason, Katherine King, Kevin Hiatt, Rebecca Jamison, Jennifer Moore, Carrie Dubois-Shaw, Angela Cothran, Wendy Burr, Kimberly VanderHorst, Lisa Bowman, and Kimmie Loose all gave me great feedback on this story. As crazy as it might seem to have this many readers, I probably forgot a few. Sorry.

  But a particular thank you to Jolene Perry. A brilliant wordsmith and a kind friend who saw potential in this story and in me, and used her magic awesomeness to teach me a thing or two.

  Thank you to the team at Future House Publishing. May good karma follow you all around.

  About the Author

  Unlike Tiffany and Justin in this story, Shelly Brown hasn’t seen any ghosts. But she has seen lots of movies, traveled to different countries, read hundreds of books, acted in oodles of plays, and made thousands of friends. She has worked as a comedian, a tour guide, and a shake-maker, but is currently a substitute teacher for some of the coolest kids ever. In her spare time she helps her husband, author Chad Morris, write awesome children’s books.

  Shelly also loves a little spooky in her life. When she was twelve-years-old, she kept her Friday nights open to watch the newest X-Files episode. Every Friday. With the lights off to make it extra creepy.

  Now she’s married and has five kids and three chickens. And occasionally, she jumps out and scares them. Well, not the chickens.