The Haunting of Pico (Pico, Texas - Book 1)

by PATRICK KAMPMAN

  Monica frowned, so Becky explained, “Chris just moved into the old Monroe house. You know, on Plum Street?”

  “Cool.” Monica turned toward me slightly in interest. Richard frowned, looking at her, then back at me.

  “Uh, well, I haven’t seen it exactly.”

  Richard pointed at me and mumbled with his mouth full, “But you saw something. Look at him! He did! I told you it was haunted!”

  “What’s haunted?” Trevor Collins came up followed by a few other people—or at least I thought it was Trevor. He looked different with clothes on. Okay, that didn’t sound right.

  Richard answered, “Chris here moved into the old Monroe place. Man, I tell you, I don’t do ghosts. The first time I saw one, I’d run screaming for sure.”

  “The only thing that can get you running is the taco truck,” said Trevor.

  I looked up but both Collins and Richard were grinning. Becky must have noticed my reaction, because she said, “Don’t worry about it, Chris. Richard will get him back. He’ll just let that Clarksville linebacker through unblocked a couple times on Friday. What was his name? Jennings? I heard that boy hits hard.” Trevor’s smile disappeared. I guessed he was the quarterback.

  “That’s right, us minorities have to stick together,” said one of the few black kids I had seen at school. I looked around, realizing our group had grown to about a dozen people. This must have been everyone’s opportunity to safely check out the new kid.

  “Chris ain’t a minority,” said Richard. “He’s Asian. They don’t count.” Sadly, for all intents and purposes, he was right. “All they do is wreck the curve.”

  “And steal jobs.” I looked over at the voice. To my dismay, Tim Peterson had joined the crowd along with Savannah, who, judging by the fact that she sat down in his lap, was his girlfriend. She was taken. It figured. I decided this wasn’t the place to remind him my father wasn’t Asian.

  “If your dad could keep his hands off his secretary, then maybe he’d still have his.” There was a series of “oohs” as Becky stared down a fuming Tim. Savannah, being Tim’s girlfriend, looked properly affronted.

  Becky had just taken a hit for me, and I owed her big time.

  “Speaking of minorities sticking together,” said Trevor, looking around, “don’t you have a sister? Where is she?”

  Oh, great. I hoped he was just trying to defuse the situation; I wanted to win that ten-dollar bet.

  “Probably hanging with the other freshmen,” said Savannah, pointedly.

  “She’s too fine to be hanging with freshmen,” said Trevor.

  I didn’t need to be hearing this.

  Richard punched him in the arm. “Dude, she’s his sister—show some respect.” I thought I would owe him, too, until he added, “She is fine, though.” Then he guiltily looked over at Becky and Monica, but they were ignoring him.

  Across the quad, I saw that Eve was indeed hanging with the elite of the freshman class. They were grouped around a couple of benches, undoubtedly listening to her regale them with tales of how cool she was. She caught my look, returning it with a confused one of her own, and then started to head over. Crap.

  “Here she comes!” said someone. Another guy whistled, and then shut up as he got punched by the girl next to him.

  “Hey, Chris. Mom asked me to remind you about your first day of work this afternoon.” Eve knew perfectly well I wasn’t going to forget about that, but she wasn’t above using it as an excuse to get close to Trevor.

  My suspicions were confirmed when, instead of leaving after delivering the unnecessary reminder, she stayed put. Trevor grinned up at her and made space on the lawn next to him, but Eve made a show of ignoring the gesture. Instead, she wedged herself on the wall between Becky and me.

  “Where are you working?” Richard asked me.

  “I got a job at Cooped Up Books.” I had no idea if bookstores were cool out here, or if they would even know of the place. But judging by the rounds of congratulations interspersed with complaints about the unannounced job opening, they had heard of it. Apparently, any job a teenager could get around here was a good one.

  The bookstore’s name reminded me of something that had been bugging me, so I asked the group at large, “If chickens are such a big deal here, why are you guys the Rebels? Shouldn’t you be—” I tried to think of what they should be, and came up short.

  “They changed our name from the Rebels to the Roosters back in the seventies to be more politically correct, but they changed it back a few years later. I mean, seriously, roosters? Think about it. Too many jokes around that name for it to last,” said Richard.

  “You guys kept the chicken mascot, though?”

  “It’s not a chicken, it’s a rooster,” Becky corrected. She apparently took “be true to your school” to heart, or was grumpy about Eve’s displacing her on the wall. But then she smiled and added, “And it’s not ‘you guys’— you’re one of us now, remember?”

  Richard laughed. “Ignore her; we all call it a chicken. Besides, it’s not like a Rebel Rooster is any more intimidating than a Rebel Chicken.”

  “Speaking of scary, you see the ghost yet?” Trevor asked Eve.

  “What?” Eve looked at him like he was nuts.

  “You’re living in the old Monroe place. It’s haunted. So, if you ever need someone to come over and protect you, just give me a call and I’ll bring over the big guns.” He flexed, bringing on a chorus of groans and eye rolls.

  “Haunted? Seriously?” Normally that would have come out sarcastically, but my sister was giving Trevor and his muscles the benefit of the doubt, so she made it sound like she was genuinely interested.

  “Yup. Hey, a bunch of us are heading out to celebrate Friday night after the game—maybe you can come along and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “That’d be all right, I guess.”

  I rested my head in my hand and slowly shook it as the lunch bell rang. It wasn’t ice cream, but she got her date with him by Friday. All I could do was hope my parents would nix it.

  We all started to get up. Richard extended his hand and I took it, doing what I could to help hoist him vertical. Becky came over and patted my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it. Trevor’s an idiot, but he’s not too dangerous. Besides, I’ve only known your sister for a couple of days and I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself.”

  “Yeah, I’m not worried about him taking advantage of her.” I was a little worried, though. She was fourteen and he was a junior. But Becky was right, if anyone could take care of herself, it was Eve.

  Chapter 5

  I had just enough time to go home and clean up before work. Our house was a quick skateboard ride from downtown, but the Texas heat was brutal. Despite the short ride, I was already sweaty when I walked into the bookstore a few minutes early.

  I woke up Mr. Sherman, who was snoring loudly on the floor behind the counter. He jerked awake, then made an excuse about looking for something he had dropped. After a half-hearted attempt to find whatever it was, he gave me a tutorial on using the cash register.

  Next, he showed me around the narrow walkways of the store, including the back room with its massive piles of boxes and clutter; lastly, he surprised me by handing over a key to the store. Mr. Sherman noticed my startled look as he deposited the brass key into my palm. He assured me that if anything went missing, he knew where I lived.

  I was stocking shelves when Becky and Richard came in around seven. Richard waved and went straight for the magazines. He was dressed in sweat shorts and a t-shirt, having just gotten out of football practice.

  Becky, on the other hand, had re-metamorphosed. Her hair was black, as were her clothes, except for white stockings that went past her knees and a pink bunny on her shirt, which read “cute, but evil.” All of the piercings were back in place, and she’d found time to reapply a fresh layer of makeup.

  “Thanks for helping me out earlier with Tim,” I said as she walked toward me. />
  She shrugged. “No problem. It’s not his fault his dad’s an ass, but he shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  “Yeah…still, thanks.” I looked at Becky. The transformation took some getting used to.

  I must have been staring, because she said, “What?”

  “Nothing, it’s just, well, you look so… nothing. Never mind.”

  “Just say it, dude: she looks like a freak.” Richard’s voice floated over from the magazine rack.

  Becky rolled her eyes and called back, “You still want me.” There was no response.

  She looked back at me a little sheepishly. “I mostly started doing it to get a rise out of my parents. My dad is, like, impossible to faze.”

  “Your dad is cool!” came Richard’s voice again.

  “So, did it work?” I asked.

  She sighed. “No, but I’ll get him one day.”

  “So you’re a poser,” I teased.

  “Sad, huh? I kept at it just to prove to him it wasn’t a phase, and then it sort of stuck. Besides, I kind of like all the piercings.” She stuck out her tongue to demonstrate that one in case I had missed it. I hadn’t. She also had five in one ear, two in another, and a stud in her nose. I considered what else might be pierced, but quickly forced the thought from my mind.

  “Your parents only let you do the goth thing on nights and weekends, huh?”

  “No, that’s the squad. We have a dress code, if you can believe it.”

  “We all appreciate the dress code, especially on Fridays,” said Richard’s disembodied voice.

  “What’s Fridays?”

  “Game day, dude!”

  “We wear our uniforms,” Becky explained. “Of course, the real reason Richard likes it is because the football players wear their jerseys. It’s the one day he gets to pick out his clothes without his mom’s help.”

  “Hey! Not true! She lets me pick them out on Sunday mornings, too.”

  “That’s because you only have one suit.”

  “True that.”

  Becky continued, “There’s a rally after lunch. Game starts at eight. Well, varsity does; JV is at five. But we have to cheer for both.”

  It was the same back in California. “Well, I think you look good no matter what you’re wearing.”

  “Thanks, dude!”

  “I was talking to Becky!”

  “Aw, thanks.” Her smile widened a bit and my stomach felt warm.

  “Suck-up!” Richard taunted. I flinched a little, thinking I should watch it before complimenting a guy’s girlfriend in front of him. Especially a guy as big as Richard.

  “Hey, it’s a home game this week, so we can indoctrinate you!” said Becky. Seeing my confused look, she added, “There’s always a party after a home game. You can catch a ride with me.”

  I stood stunned, still holding the book I had been about to shelve. I think she just asked me out. I had assumed she was with Richard, but she couldn’t be—at least, I didn’t think she could.

  “Yeah, sure.” I would worry about getting permission from my parents later. There was no way I was missing a possible date with a cute cheerleader, not to mention my first school party.

  “Wait, you drive?” I asked, remembering she was a sophomore.

  “Yeah, my dad held me back a year. I didn’t start kindergarten until I was six. He wanted me to have an edge at sports.”

  “Cheerleading’s not a sport.” Richard appeared, carrying a couple of game magazines, just in time to be kicked in the shins. “Ouch, man, those boots hurt.” He tried to balance on one leg while he rubbed the other.

  “Not a sport? Let’s see you try it.”

  “I wouldn’t want to show you up. So, Chris, you said at lunch you saw the ghost?”

  “I didn’t say that exactly….”

  “But…?” prompted Becky. The admission in my tone apparently made her forget about responding to Richard’s claim of cheerleading prowess.

  “I’ve kind of heard it. Maybe. I mean, it was just some thumping, and possibly someone crying. It could have been the wind, or the pipes, or whatever.”

  “Sounds like a ghost to me,” said Richard.

  “Ghost?” Mr. Sherman popped around the corner, startling us all. He had been so quiet I had forgotten about him. I hoped I wasn’t in trouble for having friends at work. At least Richard looked like he was buying something.

  The old man continued around the book case to stand with us. He leaned forward to give us a quick couple of sniffs, which we all pretended not to notice.

  “Yeah, Chris lives in the old Monroe place,” said Richard.

  “Really? So you’ve heard Charlotte, then?” He looked both delighted and curious.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Charlotte Monroe. She lived in that house until some local townsfolk went and lynched her for being a witch. Strung her up right outside her house. She jerked around some, legs twitching, ‘til she died. I was only ten at the time, but I remember it.”

  “You saw it then, her being hung?”

  He nodded his head sadly. “It was back in the fifties. I was delivering the morning papers when I saw her. There was a group of folks standing around watching her die. Afterwards, they debated between cutting her down and waiting for the police.”

  “Was she really a witch?” I asked.

  “Well, now that I think about it, she probably was, but I don’t think that’s what killed her. More likely the victim of a jealous wife and a superstitious town, if you ask me. Too bad, though. I can still remember her. She was a brunette. Very pretty. She seemed nice; used to give me extra treats on Halloween.” Mr. Sherman smiled at the memory.

  “Any idea how to get rid of a ghost? I mean, not that I have one. Just hypothetically, if someone did have a ghost, what would they do?”

  “I can order a book or two on the subject if you’d like,” offered Mr. Sherman. “It’ll come out of your check, but I’ll give ’em to you at cost. Real books, mind you, not the fictitious stuff they churn out for the normal folk.”

  “Um, sure, why not?”

  “I don’t suppose you know a psychic?” asked Becky, her eyes wide.

  “Nope, haven’t known one of them for years. Best I can do is find a book or two for y’all. You can try the phonebook for a psychic.”

  Somehow I doubted Pico had many psychics listed in the yellow pages. Becky must have reached the same conclusion, because she suggested, “We can always look online for one nearby.”

  I didn’t think that was a great idea. I still doubted there was any ghost, and I didn’t want to spend my first paycheck on some psychic scam artist just in case.

  Then I had a thought. “Hey, Mr. Sherman, do you know Mr. Givens? I think he’s my next-door neighbor.”

  “David Givens? Sure, he was the principal over at the elementary school for about forty years. He always was a mean one. I was lucky—I got out of there before he started. He’s retired now. Has been for about ten years, I guess.”

  “So, who’s the girl who lives with him? His granddaughter?” I was trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.

  “With Old Man Givens?” said Richard, frowning.

  Mr. Sherman looked surprised, too. “I didn’t know anyone lived with him. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to. He doesn’t have any grandkids, or even kids that I’m aware of. Never was married, anyway, not that you can blame the ladies. He was a sour old coot even when he was young.”

  I pondered this in silence.

  “Is she cute?” asked Richard. Becky watched me attentively, and a few warning bells went off. Complimenting one girl around another was bad form.

  “Kinda, I guess. If you’re into that type.” You know—gorgeous, I added silently.

  “Maybe he won the lottery and got himself a trophy wife,” suggested Richard.

  I shuddered. “She’s, like, our age.”

  “Well, then, I have no idea, dude.” The others looked perplexed as well.

  I shrugged. “No biggie, I was
just curious. I thought maybe since they lived next door they might know something about the ghost.”

  Mr. Sherman nodded, considering what I’d said. “It’s worth a shot. David was certainly living in that house when it all happened next door. I can’t remember if he was in the crowd that morning, but I expect he must have been.”

  I nodded. I had no intention of going to Old Man Givens and asking him about some ghost. He acted weird enough already; I could only imagine what he’d be like if he thought I was insane.

  We talked a little more about ghosts before turning to other topics. Richard and Becky left around eight-thirty, arguing over a game review in one of Richard’s new magazines. Soon after, Mr. Sherman showed me how to lock up. We turned out the lights and I headed home.

  Chapter 6

  It was dark when I left the store, but the air was still hot and humid, so I grabbed a drink at Freddy’s on the way home. I was still thinking about our conversation at the bookstore as I skated down my driveway to toss the now-empty cup in the trash. I closed the lid of the garbage can, turned around, and once again almost had a coronary.

  “Ah! You have to stop doing that!”

  “Doing what?” Rose asked innocently, standing with her hands behind her back, silently rocking on her heels. The smile that played at her lips told me she knew exactly what she had done.

  “Never mind. So, it’s not Monday; what are you doing here?” I asked. It came out a little sharper than I meant it to, but I was still on edge from the start she had given me.

  “Well, okay. I’ll just go away then.” She slowly started to turn.

  “No. It’s just… I didn’t expect you, is all.”

  She completed her turn and said over her shoulder, “Disappointed? Want me to come back Monday when you can kick me to the curb with the trash?”

  “What? No!”

  But then I heard her laugh and she spun back to me. “Good! You like swings?”

  Rose was a little weird. “Sure, I guess.”

  “Great.” She stepped forward and grabbed my hand. Hers was cool, but pleasant. After the trip home, mine was probably hot and sweaty, but she didn’t seem to notice. She led and I followed.