What Others are Saying about Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town
"This spooky tale is told with Scott Neumyer's trademark wit and insight. Ghost towns are fraught with danger, but Neumyer makes them irresistibly appealing with the help of Jimmy Stone."
Lara Zielin, author of DONUT DAYS and THE IMPLOSION OF AGGIE WINCHESTER
"A spooky and thrilling ride! Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town will have you on the edge of your seat."
Lauren Barnholdt, best-selling author of THE SECRET IDENTITY OF DEVON DELANEY and RULES FOR SECRET KEEPING
"Scott Neumyer's debut novel, Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town, is rife with the gifts of a natural storyteller, one who pulls the reader in seamlessly--and, more critical, without ever showing his hand. The book is a best-seller for a reason--it's beautifully written, you connect with the complex characters, you're charged by the imagination, fueled by the energy. That the book is poised for a sequel is just another reason to get excited for the world this 'Town' is only on the cusp of exploring"
Christopher Smith, author of the best-selling thriller FIFTH AVENUE
JIMMY STONE'S GHOST TOWN
A novel by
Scott Neumyer
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Scott Neumyer
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For my great grandmother, Julia, who I promised this to a long time ago.
For Denise and Skylar, who are my reason for waking.
And for all my friends and family who always believed.
Copyright and Legal Notice:
This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.
First ebook edition © 2010.
Cover design by Justin Gaynor (www.justingaynor.com).
For all permissions, please contact the author at [email protected]
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 Scott Neumyer. All rights reserved worldwide.
http://www.whoisjimmystone.com/
http://www.scottwrites.com/
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Acknowledgments:
For all their help, encouragement, guidance, and advice on this book and life in general, the author would like to thank Lauren Barnholdt, Andrew Auseon, Dave White, Lara Zielin, Christopher Smith, Keri Mikulski, Nova Ren Suma, Jamie S. Rich, Lauren Baratz-Logsted, Greg Logsted, Coe Booth, Lauren Myracle, Elizabeth Scott, Marty Beckerman, Jackie Corley, and Mandy Hubbard. Even if they might not know they helped, this book wouldn't exist without them.
Chapter One
My dad never told me what happened to my almost-sister until I was in third grade. That was two years ago and I still wonder what it might have been like if they had come home with a baby girl to share my room with.
I remember watching from under the crook of my grandma's arm as, instead of wheeling a stroller carrying Charlotte - which we'd all voted on as being a great name for a baby girl - my dad pushed my mother up the gravel driveway in a wheelchair.
"Where's Charlotte?" I asked when they worked their way through the door and into the house.
My mom covered her face with her hands and started crying. My dad just kept on wheeling her through the kitchen. As she rolled past me, she pulled something out from under her blanket - all this without even managing to look up - and handed it to me.
The tiny, brown puppy tried desperately to jump out of my arms back onto Mom's lap, but I held on tight, still wondering what exactly was going on.
"Charlotte," he said, "won't be coming to live with us, Jimmy. We brought you home this little guy instead."
"What's wrong with Mommy?" I asked, full of questions. The last thing I could think about right now was a wiggly, little puppy. My grandma patted my shoulder and forced a smile in my direction.
Without stopping, or even turning around, my dad said, "Don't worry about your mother. She's just tired."
So I didn't worry and just figured that everything would be better after she'd had a quick nap. I had no idea that she'd be in bed for the next three weeks.
I heard her call out for my dad in the middle of the night, even though I was sure he was probably sleeping right beside her. I could only hear her calling so many times before I finally decided to toss the blankets off, swing my door open, and run down the hall to their room.
Standing in their open door, the dim light from a nightlight shining behind me, I asked my dad if Mommy was okay.
"She's fine," he'd always say and waved at me to go back to bed. "Her fever's just breaking, Jimmy."
"Can we fix it?" I'd ask, not trying to be funny but helpful. "Should we call Mommy's doctor?"
"Go back to bed, Jimmy. Your mother will be just fine. She just needs some rest."
And so it went on for the next two weeks until my dad had finally had enough sleepless nights and busy days tending to my immobile mother. When, I guess, it all became too much for him to handle he decided to wheel mom back through the kitchen, in that same wheelchair, load her in the pickup and take her to the closest hospital he could find.
Grandma brought me to see her once during the next week. She picked me up early from school and shoved me in her big gray car that she called her "ticket to the elite," whatever that meant.
It smelled like old breath mints and the faded red seats were all torn up. I had one special hole, right next to my door, that I loved to dig in. I'd stick my fingers in as far as I could, wiggle them around, and see what they looked like when I pulled them out. They were usually covered in fuzzy, yellow foam that made my fingers itch for the rest of the ride. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson the first few times, but I couldn't help it.
The hospital was smaller than I expected. I imagined it to be a huge white building with big pillars and people being wheeled in on stretchers. Instead, it just looked like another office building. Maybe a little bit bigger.
There was nowhere to park in the lot right behind the hospital, so Grandma drove around the block to this building that wound around like one of those spiral staircases. We found a spot there (which it took Grandma about fifteen minutes to pull into) and walked up the block to the hospital.
The double-doors swung open as we reached the top of the small cement staircase, in front of the building, and out rushed a woman in a long brown coat holding a little girl by the hand. The girl's hair was a mess and she didn't seem too happy about being dragged out down the stairs.
"Come on, Jimmy," Grandma said and pulled me through the doors. "We need to find out what room your mother's in." She looked around the tiny waiting room for a hospital worker. She looked ready to pounce on just about anyone in white.
Grandma's eye caught a lady with a white shirt and nametag walking
back to the front desk. "Now, Jimmy," she said as she finally let go of my hand and pointed to a group of white chairs in front of a poster of some kid getting a band-aid on his knee, "go sit down over there and wait for Grandma."
I looked up at her with relief and rubbed my hand. Like I needed my grandmother to hold my hand everywhere we went; I was in third grade. Didn't she know that?
"Go ahead. It should only take a minute."
I slowly wandered over to the chairs while checking out all the other weird posters on the wall. They all showed people with different injuries and some doctor looking at them with a creepy smile as he bandaged them up. They made doctors look like magicians that could make anyone better with just a clap of their hands and a little tap on the knee with one of those rubber, triangle-shaped things. In a way, it was comforting to see all their magic acts posted on the walls. It made me feel like my mom would be coming home soon.
I sat quietly in the white chair while Grandma talked to the lady behind the long desk and dug into her giant purse for a pen. She shuffled some papers on the desk and started writing. I looked on the table for something to play with, or at least a magazine that might have some cool pictures to look at. There was nothing to be found so I just sat there and swung my legs until the chair started to squeak from rubbing against the inside of my knees.
Sitting there while Grandma was up at the big desk, I was able to finally start to get a feeling for the hospital. It smelled like Grandma's friends and ginger ale, and everything was so white. I guess they wanted you to think that everything was super clean. White is a clean-looking color, right?
After a few minutes more of patiently waiting, I watched Grandma put the cap back on her pen and shove it into her purse.
"Come on, Jimmy, let's go." She waved me up off the seat and held out her hand for me to take. I walked up next to her, but refused to grab her hand. If she was gonna hold my hand, it wasn't gonna be without a fight. "We're going to see your mother. She's upstairs with your father."
I watched Grandma throw a dirty look to the lady behind the desk and started to walk down the hall in front of her, trying to keep my distance without losing her.
"Wait for Grandma," she called and walked a little faster to catch up. "Now give Grandma your hand. I can't have you running all over the hospital."
Nabbed. I stuck out my hand and she put it in her wrinkly palm as we approached the elevator.
Chapter Two
Mom's room was pretty plain. If the clipboard at the end of her bed didn't say "Sarah Stone" in big letters, I might never have known it was her room. There were no magical posters on the wall and everything was just as white as the waiting room. The sheets, the curtains, the television remote, and little tray that wheeled around so she could eat in bed. All of them were as white as a glass of milk.
She was just waking up when we walked through the door into her room. Dad sat, reading a hunting magazine, in the chair by the window.
"Hey," he said without even looking up. "Take it easy on her. She's exhausted."
She'd been sleeping for the past three weeks. How could she possibly be so tired? I could barely put my head around the fact that Charlotte never came home to live with us, and now my mom had a sudden case of being-tired-all-the-time.
Mom wiped her eyes and tried to clear her throat as I stood next to her bed wondering what exactly it was that I was supposed to do. What do you say to your mom when she's been sleeping all the time for so long? What do you ask your mom when you come to visit her in the hospital? You definitely don't ask her about Charlotte. I knew that much.
"Come here, Jimmy," she said and waved her hand to tell me to come closer to her. "I want to see your little face." Mom smiled and grabbed my hand as soon as it was in range.
When I finally stood right next to her, she lifted her hand and moved the hair off my forehead. "That's my boy," she said and smiled again. "Give Mom a hug."
I leaned in cautiously, trying not to hurt her or unplug one of the beeping, blinking machines or pull on one of the tubes that were sticking out of about fifty places on her body (and that was just the parts that I could see). Mom put her hands around my neck and pulled me in as far as she could. Her hands were cold and she didn't feel as strong as I was used to.
Before Mom and Dad came home from the hospital without Charlotte, Mom used to give the best hugs. She'd tell me to get a running start from across the kitchen and, just before I was about to crash into her legs, she'd stick out her arms, grab me by my armpits, toss me up in the air, and pull me in tight. You might think that was something that only fathers did, but my mom was just as strong as any man I knew, and she was definitely stronger than anyone else's mom.
Mom held onto her hug as long as she could before letting go of my neck and drifting slowly back into her pillows. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I stepped back from her bed and scanned the room, not sure of what I should do next. Grandma was standing by the door, her huge purse clutched tightly in her wrinkly hand, and Dad looked like he was about to fall face-first in his magazine. I hoped he wasn't catching Mom's sleepiness.
Mom still had her eyes closed so I started to move away from the bed toward Grandma, but as soon as I turned and made my first step I heard my mother call for me.
"Jimmy," she said as loudly as she could (which, by the way, wasn't very loud at all), "I want to talk to you for a minute."
I swung around and walked back to Mom's bed until my legs were nudged right up against the marshmallow-white sheets. Not sure if I should hold her hand, lay my head on her shoulder, or crawl into bed with her, I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down at my shoes.
Mom coughed hard while waving me in even closer. "Come here," she said, waving her hand right up to her mouth. "I want to tell you a secret."
I looked back at Grandma, who was digging in her purse again for who knows what, and then back at Mom.
"Come on," she said. "It's a really good one." She smiled as wide as she could manage and covered her mouth to cough again.
I heard Dad start to snore quietly as I leaned over the bed and put my ear up to Mom's mouth. She kissed me quickly on the ear and laughed a little.
"Hey," I said and pulled my head away, "what's the secret?" I shot my mom the mean face – that she immediately knew wasn't serious – and put my hands on my hips.
"Okay. Okay. Come back over here."
I smiled and leaned my head back over the bed and right up to her mouth. She breathed slowly and I could feel the hot air on my ear. It took her a minute to catch her breath so I waited patiently, my ear practically attached to her lips, to hear the secret.
"You know, Jimmy," she finally whispered. "You're the man of the house."
Was that it, I wondered? I left my ear there to see if she had anything else to say, but when she just kissed me on the cheek instead, I knew that was it for the secret.
"Thanks," I said, not sure exactly what to say.
The room was quiet as Mom laid back down on the pillows and I tried to figure out what she meant by that secret. I mean, Dad was the man of the house, right?
Just as I was about to tap Mom on the shoulder and ask her what in the heck she was talking about, I heard Dad's magazine hit the floor and swung my head around to look at him.
He'd obviously heard it fall too as he started wiping his eyes and looking up at me and Grandma. He leaned over, grabbed the magazine off the floor, and tossed it onto the windowsill behind him.
"Ok, Jimmy," he said in a very stern, fatherly tone. "I think your mother's had enough commotion for one day." He looked over at Mom and, without getting up out of his chair, shifted around until I guess he was comfortable. "You and your grandmother should get going."
I pulled my hands off Mom's bed and shoved them back inside my pockets. "Dad," I said, looking down at my shoes again. "Is Mom going to come home soon?"
"Go home and get ready for bed," he told me without even acknowledging my question. "You h
ave school in the morning and Grandma will have to be up early to drive you."
I swung my whole body around on one foot and, without even looking up at Mom or Dad, started walking toward Grandma at the door. I didn't really want to leave without Mom, but I wasn't about to argue with Dad. I'd had enough of the hospital anyway. All the white was starting to creep me out.
"Come on," Grandma said and reached out her arm to coax me in (as if that was going to make me want to go with her). She put her arm around my shoulder, grabbed the metal door handle, and slowly started opening the door in front of me.
"Wait, Jimmy," I heard from back inside the room. It was Mom's voice. As much as she was struggling to get the words out without falling asleep, I still instantly knew it was her voice.
Grandma dropped her arm from my should to let me spin around, but held the door open slightly just to make sure we were still getting ready to leave.
All eyes were focused on Mom as she looked over at me.
"What did you name him?" she asked, her eyes wide with what looked like excitement at knowing the answer to her question.
"Who?" I asked, puzzled by her question.
"Your puppy, Jimmy. The one I gave you when I came home from the hospital."
"Oh," I said, finally catching on. "Trex."
"Trex?"
"Yeah, like the T. Rex," I said and grinned. "He's really strong and growls a lot. You don't like it?"
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