by Amber Benson
Her aunt closed the door on her way out, leaving Noh gape-mouthed. Noh, feeling slightly like a codfish, closed her mouth.
Is this one of those trick-question moments? she wondered. Was she supposed to choose one occupation or the other—wicked witch or pioneer—only to have her aunt laugh and tell her that it was just a joke? Noh thought that if it were a joke, then it was in very poor taste. But if it weren’t a joke, then she’d have to make a choice, and soon, because it was almost dinnertime and she’d be seeing her aunt Sarah in the dining room over plates of chipped beef and something or other.
Oh, Henry
Dust motes danced happily in the sunlight, streaming in through the two large quarter-paned windows. The dust motes were busy little creatures dancing here and there. They seemed to be having all of their summer in this one hour of sunshine.
Henry stared at them, wondering if when he wasn’t there to observe them, did they dance at all? He sighed, thinking that his thoughts were getting silly.
He blinked quickly. Almost as if it were reading his thoughts, one of the dust motes seemed to be waving at him. Well, then that answered it. He was being silly. Dust motes didn’t wave. They didn’t even have arms. It had to be a trick of the light.
Henry growled at himself under his breath. Thinking about the past always made his brain go a little soft and fuzzy around the edges.
Well, what did he want? Fifty years was a long time to be alone. And memories did tend to get a bit hazy with age, so he was just going to have to learn to deal with the blurriness.
Henry reflected on this as he sat at his old, battered desk trying to reread the letters his mother had sent him while he was away at school.
His mother was a quiet woman who wrote about their farm and what she and his father had had for dinner. It was comforting in a way, but, really, it was that life that Henry had been running away from when he had left for the New Newbridge Academy.
Not that many thirteen-year-old boys were on the lam from their old lives. Well, he wasn’t really on the lam. He was just a curious, sensitive boy who wasn’t born very well suited for life on a farm. He liked getting up early to feed the chickens and hogs, but that was about it.
Actually, he got on well with the animals. He just looked into their large brown eyes and sympathized. Somehow the animals knew that he understood. But feeding the animals was just a small part of what went on in the “day in the life” of a farm. It was a very visceral thing, with lots of being born and dying in a small span of time. Poor Henry got ill every time anything had to be slaughtered. These were his friends that his mother put on the Sunday dinner table.
But Henry wasn’t reading the letters to think about all the dead, friendly animals he had eaten in the thirteen years he had been under the rule of his farm-loving parents. No, he was reading the letters because he was feeling sorry for himself. Seeing his mother’s large, curly cursive writing somehow made his stomach ache just that little bit more than it already did. Henry found that feeling sorry for oneself could actually be pleasant, in a very strange way. At least once every few months he let himself sink into a dark depression and brood for a week.
Everyone knew to stay out of his way when he was in a funk. Well, everyone, that is, except for Trina. She was a real busybody who always had to have her nose in everyone else’s business. When she wasn’t being nosy, she was actually very nice. Henry played chess with her when they thought to do it. Which wasn’t regularly, but almost.
Now there was a knock on his door. Henry jumped at the sound, then quickly stuffed his mother’s letters back into his desk.
The door burst open and Trina came in, her face pinched with worry.
“Why are you up here skulking around like an old ninny,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “when you could be downstairs playing cards with the rest of us?”
Henry glared at her, hoping she’d take the hint, but Trina was undeterred.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.” She shook her head disgustedly. “I bet you’re up here sniffing over those old letters of yours.”
Henry continued to glare.
“Mind your own business, Trina,” he choked out through tight lips. She rolled her eyes heavenward.
“All right. Fine, be a grump.” And with that, she turned on her heel and flounced out. The door slammed behind her. Henry let out a long, exasperated sigh and then took out his letters again. He was not sniffing over them, he thought angrily. It wasn’t his fault what had happened to him. It had been an accident. That was the truth. But after fifty years of being cooped up at the school, he thought he was allowed a little bad temper.
Fifty years was a long time to be left on his own—and who knew how much longer?
Trina and Nelly
Once upon a time, Trina was a very pretty girl with red hair and bright blue eyes.
She liked to wear her hair in braids. That was the easiest way to keep it out of her face. When she fell off the horse, her hair was plaited as usual. They carried her out of the ring and up to the infirmary. The doctor had left her as she was because there was really nothing to do for her. There had been no blood. “A very clean break,” the doctor said. “A very clean break, indeed.”
Trina’s parents came to collect the body, and she was still in her riding habit and boots. Her mother thought she looked like a little angel. Her father cried.
And ever since that day, she had been here at New Newbridge. Waiting.
Trina hadn’t changed much in death. She still liked to talk a lot and bother people when she felt it was her business to. That’s why she got so annoyed at Henry when he was in one of his moods. He behaved like a big old baby. And when she tried to cheer him up, well, he just got nasty.
He didn’t want to be cheered up. He liked wallowing. That was the problem, as far as Trina saw it.
The real kids were gone for the summer, and only the ghosts lived there now. Trina liked it better when the realies, as they were called, were around. It made her feel better about things. She could follow the girls around and get all the gossip just like when she had been alive.
But during the long summer months all she had for company were the others like her. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. For the most part, they were very nice. She even counted a few among them as her friends. Nelly, a girl about her age who had gone into anaphylactic shock after a bee stung her during a nature walk, was sweet. They shared a room together in the disused West Wing dormitory.
The West Wing dormitory had been partially destroyed when a boy who shouldn’t have been smoking had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette. Luckily, no one had been killed. But the West Wing was now uninhabitable. The school was always meaning to have it refurbished, but somehow there was never enough money. Sometimes an adventurous student or two would make a hideaway of the place, but so far no one had caught on that a whole gaggle of ghosts was living there.
Nelly was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Her dark hair was cut short and made her look more boy than girl. She had on a pair of hiking boots and a yellow T-shirt that said have a nice day on it. She was reading a book—probably something about bugs. They were her favorite. She had planned to be an entomologist before the bee had killed her.
“So?” Nelly had her head cocked, waiting for an answer.
Trina shook her head. “It was a no-go,” she answered.
Trina sat down on the second-to-bottom stair and dejectedly put her chin in her hands. Nelly patted her shoulder.
“It’s all right. Henry will snap out of it in a few days.” Trina appreciated Nelly’s pragmatism, and usually shared it herself, but she just had this peculiar feeling that Henry was getting worse, not better.
“But every time he gets in a funk, it’s always just a little bit worse and lasts a little bit longer.” Trina sighed.
She put her chin in her hands and sighed again. This time even louder. Realizing that Nelly wasn’t going to answer her, she changed the subject.
“By the way, h
ave you seen Thomas? We were supposed to play chess today, but I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Who?” Nelly said quizzically.
Unlike Nelly, Trina knew practically everyone at New Newbridge. She made it her business to know everyone else’s business, so that way there were never any surprises.
“You’ve met Thomas a million times. He’s the one who likes to hang out in the kitchen and watch Mrs. Marble bake pies,” Trina added helpfully.
Nelly began to shrug, and then suddenly her eyes lit up. She had remembered something important about Thomas.
“I saw him come inside the West Wing earlier,” she said, then squinted her eyes and bit her lip. “But he never came back out.”
“That’s strange,” Trina replied. Unlike Henry, Thomas was extremely well mannered, never yelled, and was always exactly where he said he was going to be. Trina wondered if something bad had happened to him, then quickly put the thought away. Once you were dead, well, there really wasn’t that much bad stuff left to happen to you anymore.
“Oh, that reminds me, I met a new girl today,” Nelly said casually, her nose partway in her bug book again.
Trina almost hiccupped with excitement, the big news immediately making her forget about Thomas and the missed chess game.
“A new girl! We haven’t had a new girl in forever,” Trina said. “How do you think she died?”
Nelly shrugged her shoulders and went back to her book. Trina opened her mouth to say something else, but realized that Nelly was no longer paying attention.
Suddenly something white and fluffy blew across the lawn, catching Trina’s sharp eye.
“What in the world… ?” Trina said as she put aside her excitement about the new girl and floated toward the object. Nelly, her nose still in her book, didn’t even notice Trina leave.
But before Trina could get close enough to see what the white fluff was made of, she was interrupted by the unexpected appearance of a tall, lanky man with dark hair, one of the teachers at the school, she remembered. She watched as he ran out from behind the West Wing, passed through Trina like she wasn’t there (she wasn’t, as far as he was concerned), and stopped short when he reached the place where the white fluff waited. When he was sure no one was watching (Trina didn’t count because she was a ghost), he scooped up the fluff, stuffed it into his pocket, and ran back the way he had come.
“Hmm… that’s strange,” Trina said to herself as she watched the teacher’s retreating back. When he had finally disappeared behind the burned-out building, she floated back toward the stairs. Sitting down on the step beside Nelly, Trina let her mind return to the important issue at hand: the new girl.
A new girl was something special, Trina thought happily, not including Nelly in her thoughts this time. She was going to have to meet the new addition as soon as possible and find out everything about her. Nelly might not care that there was a new ghost in town, but she certainly did.
“Oh well, it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she said with excitement to no one in particular.
At least, she thought she did.
Things That Go Bump
Something not so nice was listening to Trina. It refuses to be named as of yet, but believe me, it’s a pretty nasty piece of business. Better not to tangle with it, if you get my drift.
Anyway, as Trina spoke, it listened. Not really digesting what she was saying, just filing it away for later use. It did this because everything can be used at a later date. If you hold on to a bit of information long enough, it will ripen and bear fruit, even if at the moment you receive it, it seems only to be a spare little kernel of unimportant knowledge.
Chipping Away the Beef
Well, the chipped beef was just as Noh had imagined it. And the something or other she had smelled was steamed broccoli and homemade dinner rolls.
Noh was in heaven as she scooped a huge ball of butter from the butter dish and glopped it on her already partially eaten dinner roll. As she ate, she subtly stole glances at her aunt. She made sure to take her looks discreetly between bites of soft broccoli and fluffy dinner roll. She didn’t think her aunt had noticed her careful glances until, as dessert was being served (strawberry shortcake, if you must know), Sarah turned and gave her a wink.
At that moment Noh decided that her aunt was very much like a cat: They both were sleek and smooth and graceful, and as far as Noh knew, they both were gunning for nine lives. Oh, and they both had yellowy green eyes that didn’t seem to blink as much as they should.
The dining hall was huge. So it was strange to have only five other people sitting at the table with Noh and her aunt instead of the hundreds of screaming kids the place was used to holding.
To Noh’s left were the caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Finlay. Mrs. Finlay was as straight as a stick—no, a stick bug. That’s what her father would have said. He was forever giving people buggie nicknames—even people he didn’t know.
It sometimes embarrassed Noh when they would walk down the street and her father would remark—rather too loudly—“Noh, turn around, doesn’t that woman look like a giant pill bug?” She didn’t mind her father teasing, but she just wished he did it a little more quietly so that no one would give them dirty looks.
Mr. Finlay was shorter than his wife, with a fat red mustache to match his fat red face. Give him a few more years, Noh thought, and he can play Santa Claus at the mall.
Next to Mr. Finlay was Caleb DeMarck, the physics teacher for the upper grades. Noh thought he seemed strangely nervous—especially for an adult—and he barely said a word as they ate.
He was a tall, lanky man with a shock of black hair and blue-gray eyes that seemed to be locked on Noh’s aunt. Not that her aunt noticed. In fact, she seemed to be purposely “not” noticing. Noh was gonna have to find out what that was all about. She’d never known her aunt to ever be rude to anyone intentionally. Very strange. Very strange, indeed, Noh thought.
On the other side of the table, next to her aunt, was the groundskeeper, Jeffrey Hull. Noh knew immediately that she liked Mr. Hull when he had told her to call him “Hullie” and definitely not “Mr.” anybody. He had a wrinkled countenance and smiling blue eyes. He just seemed happy to be there, period. Plus, he had thirds of the chipped beef, beating Noh’s seconds.
The last person at dinner was the cook herself, Mrs. Marble. Even though her husband was long dead, Mrs. Marble talked about him like he was still around. This made Noh feel odd at first, but after a while Noh began to just take for granted that he wasn’t alive. Maybe this was something Noh herself should try. If she were to talk about her mother as if she were alive, maybe she would forget that her mother was dead too. Well, it was worth a shot.
“That chipped beef was mighty good eatin’,” Hullie said, patting his stomach happily. He was the last one to finish dessert because he had had two helpings. Mrs. Marble was tickled pink that he had enjoyed dinner so much. She kept chattering about what a good appetite he had—of course, not as good as her own husband’s, but close.
Noh decided that now was as good a time as any to ask about the girl she had seen earlier in the afternoon.
“Excuse me, but I was wondering where the other kids are tonight?” She said this seriously, but Mr. Finlay laughed. Mrs. Finlay elbowed him.
“Why, the other children don’t come to school until the fall,” Mr. Finlay said, clearing his throat. Noh knew this and didn’t like anyone taking her for a fool.
“I know that, but what about the girl I met at that old, burned-out dorm today? Who is she?” No one responded. Silence filled the void.
“What’s wrong?” Noh asked haughtily. “Why’re you all staring at me like I’m a mealworm?”
Her aunt came to her rescue. “There are no other children here right now, Noh. I don’t know whom you saw. Maybe one of the children from the town?”
Noh glared at her aunt. “I don’t think so,” she countered. She was sure the girl was staying here at New Newbridge. She could feel it in
her bones.
“Well, maybe what you saw, my girl, was a ghost,” Hullie added seriously. There was something mischievous going on behind his eyes. Noh wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or not.
Mrs. Finlay coughed. “Well, Mr. Finlay and I must be turning in for the night.” The screech of their chairs made a dent in the silent emptiness of the dining hall. Then, without a backward glance, they were gone.
Noh stared at her remaining dinner companions. Mrs. Marble had gone to the kitchen with the dishes, so this left only her aunt, the physics teacher, and Hullie.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Noh?” Hullie asked, wiping a bit of strawberry shortcake from his bright red beard with his napkin.
“I believe in them,” Caleb DeMarck jumped in, before Noh could even open her mouth to respond. “Energy can never be destroyed, only re-formed.” Caleb blushed as he realized that all eyes had trained themselves on him. He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. The fingers were long and tapered like a musician’s.
“The energy,” he continued, still staring at his hands, “that makes up our person could become trapped in the earthly plane, unable to return to its source—”
“Kinda like damming up a stream,” Noh interrupted excitedly. Caleb smiled at her, nodding his head. She realized that Caleb DeMarck might not talk much, but what he did say was pretty neat.
“I think if someone were so inclined, they might come up with an experiment to test this ghost hypothesis—,” Caleb began, but stopped when he caught sight of Noh’s aunt’s disapproving stare.
“Experiments aside, I think that if there are such things as ghosts, Noh, then they are probably more frightened of you than you should be of them.” Her aunt said these words as she pushed her chair back and stood up.
“I’m not scared—,” Noh started, but her aunt gave her a look. Noh instantly closed her mouth.