“Because at heart, people are stupid and morbid?” I suggested. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going for a walk.”
Dad frowned. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“I know. I won’t be long. Coach Frucile gave us these fitness journals,” I lied, “and we’re supposed to write down what kind of exercise we get every day. I need something to write for today.”
“You could make something up,” Dad said.
I pretended to be shocked and scandalized. “Surely you’re not suggesting I cheat, Dad. High school gym is sooooo valuable and important. I have this incredible opportunity to challenge myself, and I refuse to squander it like that.” I grinned. “I’ll be back in less than an hour, I promise. And I have my phone. I’ll be fine.”
As usual, the Longview Road Cemetery had at least a dozen ghosts wandering around. Cemeteries tend to collect the spirits of the people who’ve been buried there. Most of them are waiting for something, usually for a spouse or family member to kick the bucket and join them. I mean, they’re ghosts. It’s not like they have anything better to do.
It’s not as miserable as it sounds, though. There are always a bunch of them around, so there’s always someone to talk to. They form friendships. They host parties. They mingle. They’re very social.
It’s a little weird.
The Longview Road Cemetery didn’t have a dramatic wrought-iron gate, or even a decorative fence; it didn’t get locked up at night. As far as cemeteries went, it was pretty lame and full of old people, just like the rest of Florida. I wandered in among the ghosts, ignoring a few comments I got along the way about whether I should be home in bed at this late hour. Thankfully, they all stopped talking when I held up the necklaces.
If there’s one thing I’ve noticed over and over, it’s that a lot of ghosts really, really like shiny things. I don’t know why, but they do. The sparkling necklaces immediately caught the attention of two older ladies, who drifted over together and looked at me hopefully.
The shorter of the two ladies reached up and ran a ghostly finger over the beads; the necklace she touched shivered in my hand. “Pretty,” she said.
“Aren’t they?” I asked. “Ladies, I’ve got a necklace for each of you if you’ll do me a favor tomorrow night.”
The taller ghost clapped her wrinkled hands. “Ooh, this is fun! I can’t remember the last time one of you live bodies could see us. Irma’s a newbie, but I’ve been here for more than ten years. I’m waiting for my husband to join me. Don’t know what’s taking so damn long.”
“That isn’t nice, Delores,” Irma fussed, still staring with fascination at the necklaces.
“Hrmph. He was slow as molasses when I was alive. Don’t know why I expected that to change. Maybe I should go haunt him. That’ll teach him.”
“Delores. Really.”
Delores ignored Irma and kept talking to me, apparently delighted to gossip with a living person. “He never listened to me when I was alive, either, the old grump. But here I am, his patient and loving wife, waiting for him. He’d better make sure he’s buried next to me when the time comes, or I’ll really let him have it. He used to say he wanted to be buried next to his mother in that cemetery across town. Can you believe that?”
Irma tsked at Delores, then addressed me. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Violet,” I said.
“What a lovely name. I had a cat named Violet once. Now, what sort of favor do you need?”
Quickly, I explained about Isobel and the goths and the séance situation.
“Oh, no.” Delores shook her head. “You don’t want to do that. Séances bring in all kinds of riffraff. We don’t want that sort of thing in our neighborhood.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t do séances,” I agreed. “But these, um, friends of mine are expecting something spooky, so I was hoping you two could help.” I told them my ideas, which they met with conspiratorial giggles. “So do we have a deal? If you help me out tomorrow, these necklaces are yours.”
Both nodded. The movement made Irma’s wispy white hair bounce a little before settling back over her forehead in a way that seemed familiar. She reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t think of who.
“This is going to be fun!” she said. “I think I’ll quite enjoy scaring a couple of children. Kids today drive me crazy, what with their loud music and their ridiculous outfits and their horrible attitudes. Oh!” She gave me a sweet, grandmotherly smile. “Except for you, dear. You’re a nice girl.”
“Such a nice girl,” Delores echoed. “What was your name again?”
“Violet.”
Sigh. Old people. Death doesn’t do a thing for their mental abilities. I just hoped they’d remember our deal.
CHAPTER NINE
night of the gothlings
Halloween worried Dad. Funeral homes were prime targets for vandalism, so he locked the hearse in the garage and set up a chair in the front driveway, where he could see everyone who passed. And since the funeral home was in a largely residential neighborhood, he kept a bowl of candy with him for any trick-or-treaters who wandered by. Most of them were too chicken to beg for handouts, though. Sheesh. Like a guy in jeans and a Doctor Who T-shirt is so scary, even if he does spend his days with dead bodies.
I wasn’t meeting the goths until 11:00, so I brought out another chair and sat with Dad for a while. It was warm and humid, and the mosquitoes were out and buzzing, but at least the breeze had picked up after the sun went down.
Dad finally gave up around 9:30. Towns like Palmetto Crossing close down early, even on special nights like Halloween; the trick-or-treaters had all disappeared about an hour earlier, and we hadn’t even seen a car pass by in almost ten minutes.
“Night, Dad,” I said as he headed inside. “I might stay out a little longer.”
What? It wasn’t technically a lie. I was planning to stay out, just not in our driveway. I knew it was kind of deceitful, but there was no way he would have let me go to the cemetery late at night if he knew my true plans.
“Okay. Let me know if you hear anything outside,” he said. “You know I won’t hear it.” Dad’s a notoriously sound sleeper, a fact that would make it a lot easier to sneak out in time to meet the goths.
I waited about ten minutes, then tiptoed inside to change into my spiderweb shirt, short black skirt, striped tights, and purple Chucks. I left my hair loose, letting it fall dark and straight over my shoulders and back, and carefully lined my eyes with black kohl. I had painted my nails black after school that day in preparation for the night’s festivities, and with the addition of the skull earrings from Lovely Lily’s, I thought I looked just spooky enough. I even kind of liked the look—not that I ever would’ve admitted it to Tim.
After filling my messenger bag with the necklaces and other supplies, I crept out into the hallway. I could hear Dad snoring already; getting out of the house without waking him up proved to be no problem.
I got to the cemetery a few minutes early. Longview Road was only three blocks away, and the streets between had been utterly deserted.
Amid the usual wandering spirits, I spotted Tim waiting for me in a long-sleeved black shirt and big black pants with lots of buckles and zippers on them.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, looking relieved.
I wondered if he’d thought I’d go back on my word.
“Here.” He dropped something light and metallic—a length of chain—into my hand. “This is for you. To say thank you. I got it for you. I mean, I made it. It’s probably stupid.”
I held it up. It was a bracelet, made from a series of little purple and black jump rings linked in a pattern. “It’s not stupid. It’s really pretty.”
“Really? It’s chain mail. I found this website that explained how to make it, and it’s kind of, like, you know, my hobby or something, but I wasn’t sure…” He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “The purple links are metal, but the black ones are rubber, so the bra
celet stretches.”
“I love it.” I slipped it on my left wrist, where it peeked out from under the sleeve of my spiderweb shirt. “Thank you.”
I wanted to know more about his hobby, but we were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind us. I turned and saw five mostly dark shapes with pale faces—Isobel and four of her gothlings—walking toward us in an almost solid black wave of lace and velvet and shiny PVC vinyl. They stomped over graves and flat headstones in their big black boots. Several of the elderly ghosts shot them dirty glances.
Isobel smiled, sort of, when she reached us. The corners of her red-black lips quirked upward. She put on such an act of constant serious, gothic misery that I thought a full smile might’ve shattered her face.
Her posse was not quite so disciplined, though. Two of them grinned openly, one jumped around and clapped his hands, and the last looked vaguely queasy, like she wanted to go home.
“You came to our All Hallow’s Eve celebration,” Isobel said to me. Her smile was gone but her tone remained as affected as the rest of her. “I am delighted.” I was glad she told me, since I never would’ve described her detached stare and ultra-arched eyebrows as anything close to “delighted.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I said. “Tim convinced me to come, though.”
Tim gave me a quick smile.
Isobel nodded briefly in his direction. “You did well.”
Tim looked so full of bliss that I thought he might pass out from just that much attention from her. Good lord. Isobel really was Queen of the Goths, wasn’t she?
“We understand you are prepared to help us communicate with the dark spirits,” Isobel said. She touched a hand to her throat, as if she were subtly trying to bring attention to her black lace gloves or the red stone ring on her middle finger. I recognized both from my last trip to Striped Skull.
Several nearby ghosts rolled their eyes or shook their translucent fists in Isobel’s direction. I glanced around at them, hoping to see Irma and Delores.
“Communicating with dark spirits can be extremely dangerous,” I said. “However—”
“I told you!” the worried girl said to Isobel. “This is totally not cool. I don’t want to end up, like, possessed or something.”
“Like you should be so lucky,” Isobel growled at her.
“I’m serious! We could unleash some bad stuff. Haven’t you seen any of those Exorcist movies?” Worried Girl said.
Isobel shot her a withering look. “Shut up, Charlene.”
“Nightshade,” Worried Girl corrected with a pout. “How come you won’t call me by my chosen name?”
“I’ll call you by your chosen name when you choose one that’s not such a stupid cliché,” Isobel said.
Accusing someone else in her goth posse of being a cliché seemed awfully hypocritical of her. I mean, pale makeup? Lots of eyeliner? Dyed black hair? Hello?
Charlene made a vile face behind her leader’s back. I had a feeling she was eagerly wishing possession and anything else the dark spirits could cook up on Isobel.
“Please continue,” Isobel said to me.
“I’m ready to guide us through a séance,” I said, gagging inwardly at the thought. “I can’t promise you any dark spirits, but if we’re lucky, we should be able to communicate with someone.”
Isobel nodded. “That will do nicely.”
Since I had no intention of holding anything resembling a real séance, I was pulling fake details out of my butt. I ordered the goths to sit in a circle on an empty gravesite. As they watched in fascination, I pulled out a sandwich bag full of dirt.
“This soil was stolen from a fresh grave by my great-grandmother in 1907,” I said importantly. Really, I’d dug it out of one of the decorative planters in front of the funeral home that afternoon. “It has been blessed by, um, a dark coven. It will aid us in the invocation of the dead, and protect us from unnecessary harm.” I sprinkled some of the dirt around the outside of the circle of goths, all while somehow keeping a straight face.
Nearby, the ghost of an old man in plaid golf shorts and a polo watched me, shaking his head in disgust. Irma—she’d remembered our deal after all, thank goodness—appeared by his side and whispered in his ear. As she explained what I was really up to, his scowl disappeared and he chuckled and nodded. Irma winked at me. A moment later I spotted Delores standing off to one side, too.
“Next, the flame of the living,” I continued. A bunch of candles would’ve done a lot for the spooky atmosphere, but I wasn’t about to set up a funerary fire hazard for the sake of Tim’s reputation, so I’d settled for a single black candle. I lit it and carried it around the circle, waving it in the air. “Fire represents life. It moves and it consumes. Its warmth will attract the spirits to us.”
The old man in the golf shorts cackled and drifted forward several feet, waving his arms and pretending to be drawn toward the flame. I very nearly lost it, but I set my jaw and kept my composure, carefully placing the candle in the center of the circle and pressing it into the earth to make sure it would stay upright.
Finally I produced two glass spheres, one opaque black, one clear. They’d been in Mom’s boxes; once upon a time they’d been displayed on a pair of stands on one of her bookshelves. They weren’t powerful or charged with energy or anything, she’d just thought they were pretty.
But the goths didn’t know that.
I held up the spheres in front of them. “Crystal balls,” I said. “This is how the spirits will communicate with us. This one means yes”—I indicated the clear ball—“and this one means no.” I waved the black ball around for emphasis. Stepping into the circle again, I placed both balls on the gravesite, one on either side of the candle. Then I took my spot in the circle and made everyone link hands.
“Oh, spirits!” I said, pretending to concentrate really hard. “We humbly request your presence in our circle of invocation on this All Hallow’s Eve.” The wind picked up around us, which was a nice touch, even though it was a total coincidence. “If you are here with us, please make yourselves known.”
Giggling, Irma floated into the circle and tried to nudge the clear ball with her foot. Some ghosts have trouble connecting with physical objects, so it took her a few tries. After a moment, though, the ball shivered in the dirt. Irma tried once more, and this time the ball rolled an inch or two. Isobel stared with wide eyes and made that twitchy smile again; Charlene appeared about to cry. The other goths looked like they might go either way.
“Thank you, O spirit!” I said. “May we ask you some questions?”
The clear ball bumped forward again. It rolled in the direction of Charlene, who scooted back a few inches.
“Got any questions?” I asked the goths.
“What’s his name?” asked the guy who had jumped and clapped.
“It has to be a yes or no question, stupid!” Isobel snarled.
The guy looked embarrassed.
“There are ways to ask other kinds of questions,” I said, happy to contradict Isobel. “Spirit! May we try to decipher your name?”
The clear ball moved.
“Does it begin with an A?”
The black ball moved.
“A B?”
The black ball rocked forward again. I knew Irma was making up a fake ghostly identity; I just hoped she hadn’t decided to name him Zachary.
“A C?”
The clear ball moved.
“In life, O spirit, were you a man?” I asked, to cut down the list of possibilities.
The clear ball moved. Yes.
We went around the circle, suggesting male names that started with C, until Irma settled on “Charlie.”
“Charlie,” I said, “are you buried in this very cemetery?”
Yes.
“Ooh, ooh,” the jumping guy said. “Did you die violently?”
Yes.
Except for Charlene, the goths looked impressed.
“Were you murdered?” the same guy asked. He was really getti
ng the hang of this.
No.
“Was it an accident?”
Yes.
“That’s not scary enough!” Delores hissed at Irma. Irma immediately rethought her answer and kicked the black ball instead.
The jumping goth hesitated. “Were you executed?”
Yes. Oh, Irma was having some fun with this.
“Did you murder someone?” I asked.
Yes.
“More than one person?”
Yes.
“More than five?”
Yes.
Well, this could go on all night. “I’ve heard this legend,” I fibbed to the goths. “There’s supposed to be a serial killer buried in this very cemetery. Even in death, he still seeks new victims. They say you’ll know he’s nearby when you hear his footsteps. Yes, that’s right,” I emphasized for the benefit of my life-impaired accomplices and hoped they’d get the hint. “His loud footsteps. Charlie! Is this why you are still here with us, spirit? Are you doomed to walk the earth in penance for your terrible crimes?”
Yes.
Charlene stood up. “Screw this,” she said, her voice wavering. She stalked off.
I decided to work her exit into the show. Trying to look panicked, I said, “Our circle of protection has been broken. We must quickly tie Charlie back to his grave before he is loosed upon us!”
Everyone looked appropriately nervous, even Isobel. Heck, even Tim looked genuinely anxious, and he knew none of this was real.
“Repeat this with me,” I said. “Your time on earth is done; you must leave us alone.” I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with a rhyme—okay, a slant rhyme—on the spur of the moment like that.
Holding hands, the group repeated the line over and over. Now Irma really started getting into her role. Her face twisted in concentration, she reached down and scooped up the black ball. To everyone but me, it looked like the “no” ball had begun to levitate. Irma carried it out of the circle and paraded around with it.
The goths all looked as if they suddenly thought Charlene had been wise to run.
Then the footsteps started nearby—finally. They were heavy and solid; I could hear the grass crunch. Even though I knew it was just Delores stomping around as loudly as she could, the effect was enough to give even me a chill.
Spookygirl: Paranormal Investigator Page 9