Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

situations when their help is needed and are given duties to perform. Maybe this is one of those.

  I leave Mary Hull sulking in the corner and go get my tablet. Sitting on the bed, I boot it up and

  launch into research mode. I have some articles bookmarked from last summer, when I was dealing

  with the ghosts in Harmony Springs, but they’re not very helpful. I search for “laying ghosts” and

  “helping ghosts cross over” and find lots of hits. I browse and read for a couple of hours, looking up

  from time to time to check on Mary. She stays in the corner, watching me with variations of

  curiosity, suspicion, and anger.

  Finally, I put together a plan. I close the tablet and take a few deep breaths. Then I go over and look

  Mary calmly in the eye.

  “Don’t be afraid. I want to help you.”

  I use two fingers to draw a circle in the air, visualizing it filled with white light. I see the light

  expanding into a sphere that surrounds us both, but I make it brighter on one side, like a brilliant

  portal. As often happens when I do magic, I feel myself slipping into trance.

  “You are safe, Mary Hull. No one will harm you. I am here to help you. You are stuck. You have been

  stuck here for a long time, but now I can help you move on. You can go to the place you are meant

  to be, for the next part of your journey. You will be accepted there and find others to help you.” I

  point to the side, where the portal is. “All you have to do is walk through that door. Don’t be afraid.

  No harm will come to you.”

  Mary stares at me and then at the door. She seems to lean in that direction, like she’s going to go

  for it. But then she straightens up, growing rigid.

  “You’re just trying to get rid of me. Like all the others.”

  “I don’t know any others. I only want to help you.”

  She crosses her arms, pouting. The sphere of white light evaporates.

  Great.

  “All right,” I tell her, throwing up my hands. “You’re not ready to go. Fine. But I need to get some sleep, so can you just fade out for now, or something?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I turn my back and go crawl into bed. I shut off the lamp and pull

  the covers up over my face.

  2. We’re not going back to spooky land, are we?

  Insistent knocking wakes me. I hear my mother’s voice through the door.

  “Come on, Abby. Time for breakfast!”

  Daylight shines through the tall windows. I grope for my phone and check the time. Crap. Almost

  nine. Then I remember and peer around the room.

  Mary Hul is nowhere to be seen.

  Well, that’s good at least.

  “Coming, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  “Honestly,” Mom says. “Franklin and I are starving!”

  “Go on down. I’ll join you.”

  Okay, I overslept. But they weren’t up half the night dealing with a resentful spirit.

  Sometimes my life is so odd.

  I take a quick shower, throw on my clothes, and twelve minutes later I’m marching into the dining

  room. The place is super elegant white tablecloths and dark paneled walls. Tall windows look out on

  a spacious green park. The morning is gray and misty. Perfect for ghosts is my random thought. I

  cross to the corner, where Mom and Franklin are sitting over coffee.

  “There you are,” Mom says. “You look tired, sweetie. You weren’t up all night texting your friends,

  were you?”

  “No, Mom.” Not texting, not friends. “Just a little trouble sleeping.” I reach for the silver coffeepot and pour some into the delicate china cup.

  “Franklin was just telling me about the play,” Mom says. “I thought we’d drive into town right after

  breakfast and have a look around.”

  Franklin gives me a crinkle-nosed grin. He seems to be back to his usual sardonic self, for which I

  am grateful. Over sausage and bacon and eggs, he expounds about Oscar Wilde, and the play we’re

  seeing today, and then tells amusing stories about the actor, Broderick Clutterhutch, who has the

  lead and who—as everyone knows—is also a big star on that British Sci-Fi TV series, which even

  Mom has seen. Franklin plainly has a major crush on Broderick.

  “Is he the same guy we’re seeing today? Oh, he is gorgeous,” Mom says. “Don’t you think so, Abby?”

  “Hard to argue with that.”

  But talking about it brings up a fleeting thought of Ray-Ray, my maybe still boyfriend in Florida.

  Personally, I think Ray-Ray is much more attractive, but I guess that’s just me. Anyway, I’m amused

  and slightly perplexed about how chummy Mom and Franklin have become. Maybe I’m a touch

  jealous, too. I wonder if I should try to be more sparkling and charming the way Franklin is.

  After breakfast, Mom drives us into town. She has a cool little hybrid rental, and we zip along

  narrow, tree-lined roads. We have a couple of hours to spare, so we take a walking tour of Stratford-

  upon-Avon. It’s gray and drizzly, but we’re dressed for it, and I find the town and all the history

  really fun. In the afternoon, we see the play, and I have to agree it is hilarious, and Broderick

  Clutterhutch is awesome. By the time we get back to the hotel, I am in full-relax, vacation mode, last

  night’s paranormal encounter driven from my mind.

  That is, until…

  Mom is out parking the car. Franklin and I are strolling across the lobby, and I see this woman

  standing at the bottom of the staircase. There are two things strange about this woman. One, she is

  dressed in a costume from three or four hundred years ago. And two, her head is tilted so one ear

  nearly touches her shoulder—indicating a severely broken neck.

  I pull up short, shock turning into a blinding moment of terror. Unlike the ghost upstairs, this one

  really frightens me. I clutch Franklin’s arm, and he looks at me, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Abigail Adams, why the wrestling hold? What is the matter?”

  I tilt my chin toward the apparition. “Do you see her?”

  Franklin looks over and frowns. “See whom?”

  “Uh, you don’t see a woman at the bottom of the steps?”

  He starts to look worried. “No…Do you?”

  He can’t see this one. That’s actually good. She’s gruesome as hell with her broken neck and all.

  “It’s nothing. Never mind. Come on.”

  I square my shoulders and march to the stairs, brushing right past Gruesome Woman. She glares

  past me and stays perfectly still. Frozen in time, I think.

  “We’re not going back to spooky land, are we?” Franklin says, walking behind me. “Because I really

  did not enjoy that last night and am definitely planning to convince myself it never happened. .”

  “That’s fine,” I answer. “I sincerely hope you can.”

  §

  But things aren’t going to be that easy for Franklin.

  He’s just stepped into his room, and I’m in the corridor, fishing out my key, when his door flies

  open.

  “Uh, Abby. Can you come here a second, please?”

  He looks terrified, so I immediately follow him. As soon as I step into his room, I spot Mary Hull floating by the bed. She’s not as transparent as when she first appeared last night but not so solid

  as I saw her later. Maybe forty percent transparency, but definitely Mary.

  “She’s baaa-aack!” Franklin’s voice cracks, his attempt to make light of it shattered by exploding

  anxiety.

  I shut the door with a sigh. I can feel his fear and also a sprinkle of my
own. But mostly I feel

  annoyed.

  I project the annoyance into my voice. “Mary Hull, why are you here again?”

  “What? You know her name now?” Franklin moans.

  I ignore that, addressing Mary. “If you want something, tel me what it is. If not, can you please

  leave? You are scaring my friend.”

  The ghost sniffs. “Why should I care about that? No one ever cared about me.”

  Her self-pity is—what’s the word? — irksome.

  Franklin has sunk into the chair, gripping his head with both hands. “I can’t stand this! What am I

  supposed to do?”

  I touch his shoulder. “Don’t panic. Can you hear her talking?”

  “No! Can you?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  Franklin glances back at Mary. He seems about to lose it. “How do you stand this, Abby? What are

  we going to do?”

  “Take it easy. She can’t really hurt you.” I don’t think.

  His voice is nearly a scream: “Just seeing her is scaring the shit out of me!”

  “All right.” I hold up my hands. “Calm down. I’m gonna call in my posse.”

  “Huh?”

  “I have friends who know a lot more about this stuff than I do.”

  I pul Franklin into my room, going through the bathroom, and shut the door. Mary Hull follows—

  passing right through the door, of course.

  I place a call to Violet in Harmony Springs. Violet’s a friend of my grandmother. She taught me a lot

  of what I know about magic. Not surprisingly, she doesn’t answer. It’s around noon in Florida, and

  she’s probably home. But Violet often doesn’t answer her phone. When I get her message

  machine, I tell her I’ve got a bit of a problem and hope she can help me, and I ask her to call me

  back. Then I remember she’s on a landline and it might cost her like a zillion dollars to call

  England, so I tell her she can reverse the charges. But as soon as I hang up, I realize that’s probably

  a lot more than Violet can cope with. She’s great at dealing with the supernatural, but the details of ordinary life—not to mention modern tech—not so much. Worse, by leaving that message, I might

  have gotten her worried, which means she might call Granma and get her worried too. This is not

  good.

  But I have another idea. I send a text to my friend Mol y, asking if she has time to talk. I get a reply

  almost immediately, so I tap the call icon.

  “Abby! This is a surprise. How are things in England?”

  “Interesting, actually. How are things in Harmony Springs?”

  “Less than interesting, as usual. Pretty boring Christmas holiday. Of course, we haven’t had a lot of

  excitement around here since you left town.”

  I laugh at that. “Well, the excitement has followed me.” I explain that we’re staying in a hotel in

  rural England and have encountered a ghost problem. Then I ask if she can do me a really big favor

  and go over to Violet’s house and see if Violet has time to talk, and then text me so I can call them

  back.

  “Sure, I can go right now. I’ll bring my tablet and set up a video chat.”

  “Oh, Mol y. That would be awesome. I really appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. It’ll be fun. A little transatlantic ghost busting is just what we need to liven things

  up around here.”

  We stay on a few more minutes, catching up. We text often and tend to talk every couple of weeks,

  but with exams and the trip to England, it’s been longer. She tells me about a guy she’s considering

  falling in love with, and this naturally brings us around to her brother, Ray-Ray.

  “How’s he doing?” I ask.

  “Oh, fine. Aced all his exams, according to him.” Ray-Ray is in his first year at college, studying

  criminal justice. His dad is the Harmony Springs chief of police. “Now that he’s on break, he’s

  mostly hanging around the police station, helping out and using the weight room. He’s lifting

  every day.”

  “Great. Just what he needs: to make himself more gorgeous.”

  Molly laughs. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “So, he’s still not, um, seeing anyone?”

  “Not that I know about. But like I tell you every time we talk, if he’s seeing someone over at

  Clermont State, he’s not likely to tel his gabby little sister.”

  “Does he still ask about me?”

  “Yeah. Often.”

  Well, that warms my heart. “Give him my love. And your parents too.”

  “I will. Talk to you soon.”

  I click off to find Franklin sitting at the foot of my bed, staring at me. Mary Hull is floating in the

  corner, but Franklin’s got something else on his mind for the moment.

  “Abigail Adams, you’ve really got it bad for Ray-Ray the policeman’s son.”

  I put down the phone with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Does he know how you feel?”

  “It’s complicated.” I guess I started to tel Franklin about Ray-Ray last night, but Franklin was more

  interested in learning about ghosts and magic—understandably. So now I explain how I had a

  crush on Ray-Ray almost from the day I arrived in Florida. But nothing much happened until that

  night of the full moon in July, the night of my showdown with the circle of magicians who had

  summoned the evil entity. I can’t say Ray-Ray rescued me that night, but he might have saved my

  life. To escape, we both jumped into Bliss Bayou in the dark and swam in opposite directions. Ray-

  Ray splashed around downstream to draw attention—and gunfire—away from me.

  After that, we hooked up for a week—the best week of my entire life, romantically speaking. By

  the time I flew home, I was pretty sure I was in love with the guy. I’m hoping we can get back

  together next summer, when I’m moving to Harmony Springs to live with Granma while I go to

  col ege. When we parted, Ray-Ray and I agreed that although we really liked each other, it made

  sense for us to be free to see other people. And I have gone out a few times, but like I tell Franklin:

  “It’s hard for the average high school senior to compete with a college guy who is so kind and

  sweet, and six-four and gorgeous, and, oh by the way, risked his life to save yours.”

  Franklin looks serious. “Wow. That is so emotionally effective! Do you still text him or talk on the

  phone?”

  “He doesn’t like texting personal stuff. We’ve talked a few times, but it’s awkward. We’re both

  introverts, ya know? I can’t really tell how he feels…I just know I miss him.”

  Franklin’s voice is soft and sad. “You’re really lucky, you know. To have someone you love. I’ve

  never even been close.”

  “Well, you will…”

  He drops his head, staring at his hands in his lap. “I know. I have so much to offer. Fat, repulsive,

  mentally ill…”

  “Stop it!” As a little boy, Franklin was sensitive and timid. He could never measure up to the kind of

  male identity expected by his father and older brothers. It wounded him, and he feels rejected by

  his family. Plus, he’s been bullied in school most of his life. It’s only the past couple of years, since

  getting involved with the high school drama club, that he’s even started to come out of his shel .

  So I know his pit of self-loathing all too well—and I won’t let him go there.

  “Listen to me, Benjamin Franklin. You are smart and caring and charming. And you are the

  wittiest person I’ve ever known. You ju
st need a little more confidence. Once you go to college and

  get in with the right crowd. you’ll be turning the boyfriends away.”

  He shows a sad smile. “You’re the best girlfriend ever, Abby…Hey, I don’t see our ghost anymore.”

  I look over my shoulder. He’s right: Mary Hull is gone.

  “Well, I guess she found our love lives just too boring.”

  3. Frighteningly Haunted British Hotels

  Franklin laughs. “Once again, Abigail Adams, you have saved my life!”

  “Oh, let’s not overdramatize.”

  That’s the wrong thing to say to Franklin.

  “What?! What else do we have to live for? But seriously, you’ve talked me down from the ledge. I am

  grateful.”

  “No problem.”

  But I’m thinking that now we have two ghosts to deal with, Mary Hull and Gruesome Lady

  downstairs. I have to wonder if they are connected somehow. It would be nice to have more

  information before I talk with Violet.

  I tel Franklin to go grab his tablet. Sitting on my bed, we both get online. Googling “Ghosts +

  Tamgrove Hall” comes up with a bunch of hits. There’s even a video on YouTube, an episode from a

  paranormal show called Frighteningly Haunted British Hotels.

  We watch the video together. They show exterior shots of the hotel and talk about various

  paranormal occurrences people have reported. One is of two small children who supposedly died

  locked in the basement. Another is of a lady from the 1600s who reportedly fell down the stairs.

  They show a portrait of Lady Alice, and my scalp prickles.

  “Whoa!”

  “That’s not our ghost,” Franklin says.

  “I think she’s the one I saw downstairs.”

  “Oh.”

  They don’t say anything else about her. The video ends with a fake-looking “investigation.” The

  program host stays up all night, sitting in the dark, acting scared by strange noises. Not helpful. I

  shut it off and scan through more articles. I find a couple about Lady Alice Huntington and her

  ghost. It seems she died soon after giving birth to her only child. One story claims she was running

  after the child, which had been stolen in the night, when she fell down the stairs. Another claims

  that she was pushed down the stairs by one of her maids.

  Scalp tingling again. The maid’s name was Mary.