I spent the rest of the evening in a bit of a daze, just going through the motions. I almost called Becky a couple of times, but I stopped myself. I didn’t know what to say. So instead I put on my headphones, turned up some tunes, and played some Death Karts.
I jumped when Rose pulled off my headphones a few hours later. I didn’t need to look around to know who it was; I could just feel her now. I closed my eyes for a second to let my heartbeat return to some semblance of normal.
Finally, I turned to find Rose wearing my headphones and frowning. She took them off and said, “I’m not sure I like your taste in music. We’ll have to do something about that.”
I didn’t reply. She was hot but, no, you don’t mess with a man’s music.
She must have noticed something in my expression, because she shrugged slightly and tossed the headphones aside. “We’ll deal with it later.”
“What brings you over to my side of the fence?” I asked, letting the music issue drop.
“Charlotte. You still haven’t introduced us. I figured I’d come over, since we were so rudely interrupted the last time I came to visit her.” She glanced at the TV. “Do you have anything less bloody?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Teach me how to play while we wait.” So I did. She was a quick learner. Her reflexes were insane, and despite more hours playing games than I should admit to, she was giving me a run for my money in no time. We played side by side on my bed for hours until, finally, we heard tentative steps across my ceiling.
Rose laid down her controller and silently stood. I did the same, though I wasn’t nearly as quiet.
“Shhhh,” she hissed.
I resisted the urge to tell her that not everyone could flit around silently like some sort of fifties vixen ninja.
“Where is the attic?”
I pointed straight up.
She sighed. “The door, smart ass. Where is the attic door?”
I led her down the hall to the secret door. Rose stared at the shelves and murmured, “Interesting.”
“Apparently Charlotte’s grandfather was an architect. He built a bunch of the buildings in town, including this house. I guess he thought a secret door to the attic was cool.”
I showed her where the catch was, and she released the door. I tried to flip on the light, but she put out her hand to stop me, so I had to feel my way up the stairs in complete darkness. Rose seemed to have no problems with it, and of course she was dead silent. I wasn’t even sure where she was as I climbed up, listening to the stairs creak and groan under my weight. Not surprisingly, Charlotte’s footsteps had stopped by the time I reached the top.
I knew the ghost was gone, and I still couldn’t see a thing, so I went ahead and felt for the light switch. I blinked as my eyes adjusted. Rose stood in the middle of the large room, looking around. The two air-conditioning units that had frustrated the repairmen since we moved in sat silently. The only other objects in the room were the boxes filled with our old junk.
Rose looked around, then walked over to a space in the attic. “Your room is down there.”
“If you say so.” I was disoriented, but if she said that was where it was, I believed her.
“The footsteps went that way.” She pivoted and pointed to a wall.
“If over there is my room, then that should be the back of the house.”
“Not yet.” She walked to where she had pointed. Like the rest of the house, the attic was lined with built-in shelves and cabinets. This wall was no exception. To one side was a workbench with some drawers below it and cabinets above. An empty row of dusty, narrow shelves ran along the rest of the wall.
Rose began to examine them. I watched as she ran her hands under shelves, pulled out drawers, and looked in cupboards until she finally turned her head to smile at me. She twitched a finger, and with an audible click, a crack appeared between the shelves and the bench. The door had been well hidden, even better than the one to the attic. Rose tugged it open as I stepped forward. The door swung aside with a loud creak, and musty air flowed into the attic.
I jumped as the AC units kicked on behind me. I glared at them accusingly, but they just hummed innocently in response. I shot the metal boxes a final disapproving look, then walked over to stand beside Rose in the doorway. I peered in, but the attic light didn’t penetrate enough for me to get a good look. Rose noticed my problem and stepped inside to find a light switch. The dim lamp flickered to life, illuminating the secret room. I stood on the threshold, astonished, taking it all in. Our attic had been hiding some kind of a workshop. Or, maybe more accurately, a laboratory— and it was still full.
A single window on the far wall, opaque from years of dust and neglect, opened out onto the backyard. I searched my mind for any memory of seeing it from the outside of the house, but I had never spent enough time in the scorching backyard to really pay attention. Below the window stood a fancy wooden antique roll-top desk, its lid closed. Above the window was a single shelf lined with books. Running along the entire right side of the room was a counter stacked with a mishmash of medical supplies and implements, along with a bunch of stuff that looked like it was from a chemistry lab. There was even a sink.
The rest of the walls were filled floor to ceiling with cabinets and shelves. On the shelves were hundreds of jars and other small containers. I glanced at the ones nearest me. They were dusty, but on each was a yellowed sticker labeled with a flowing cursive script. I didn’t actually find any stickers advertising eye of newt, but the first three jars I looked at were labeled “bat hair,” “wolf’s bane,” and “jellied cat tongue,” so I was pretty sure the eye of newt was here somewhere.
It looked like Charlotte Monroe really had been a witch.
“Well, well, well,” said Rose, breaking our stunned silence. She walked around the room once, then tried to open the roll-top desk, but it was locked.
“I wonder why she left all this stuff?”
Rose paused in her search for the desk key to look at me.
“Oh, right, she was killed. But I’m still surprised whoever inherited the house didn’t take it.”
Rose’s silent, slightly condescending stare didn’t waver.
“Gotcha. Secret door.”
“And she lived alone, correct?” Rose asked, resuming her search.
“I guess so. I know her parents were dead, anyway, and I haven’t read or heard anything about her being married.”
While Rose continued rummaging, I examined the contents of the long counter. It held an unusual variety of objects, a combination of what you’d find in a doctor’s office, science lab, and apothecary. She must have been in the middle of something, because a space had been cleared off for a desiccated chicken carcass, a scalpel, a faded pink hair bow, and a pincushion. I shuddered at the implications.
On my way to check out the sink, I tripped over something. I bent down and picked up an old doll wearing a ruffled yellow dress. I looked around for needles, wondering if Charlotte had been into voodoo.
A loud crack interrupted my thoughts. Rose had opened the desk and was now sifting through its contents. It held what looked like several personal journals, pages of handwritten notes, a few knickknacks, and stacks of papers that looked like bills and receipts.
Rose flicked a piece of wood from under her nail. It was then that I noticed the desk’s lock had been torn out of the wood. Apparently she had gotten tired of looking for the key.
“It’s getting late; I should be going. But I think this room might have what you need to solve your little ghost problem.”
I followed her out of the workshop and closed the door behind us, then re-opened the secret door one more time before we left, to make sure I could find and work the mechanism. Rose followed me as we tiptoed back to my room. She passed me, aiming for the open window, when I stopped her.
“Rose, wait a sec. I—” I broke off, knowing my question would sound crazy.
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering if you exist.”
She smiled. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think I’m a figment of your imagination?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. A fantasy or whatever.”
“Fantasy! That’s a switch. Normally I’m a nightmare. I think I prefer fantasy, though.” The corner of her mouth turned up coyly.
“Just tell me I’m not sitting in a padded cell somewhere drooling, or asleep, or just standing here in the middle of my room talking to an imaginary friend.”
“I can do better than that.” She sidled up, encircled my neck with her arms, and kissed me. It wasn’t the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had, but it sure woke me up.
“Can your imagination do that?”
“I have a vivid imagination; it could surprise you. I think maybe one more demonstration is in order. To, you know, be sure.”
She laughed, but obliged. This one was longer and deeper. I closed my eyes, savoring it.
“Have a good night, Christopher.” A breeze grazed my face, and I took a slow breath. By the time I opened my eyes, Rose was gone.
The AC ran for the rest of the night.
Chapter 13
The second week of school began, and I was starting to get into a rhythm. My classes were going okay, even though they weren’t as easy as I’d expected. I’d assumed that my California classes would have been tougher than anything in small-town Texas, but the school work had been surprisingly challenging. Especially Mr. Williams’ AP English class—based on the book list he’d handed out on the first day, there would an insane amount of reading for that one.
I mentioned as much to Monica, who, as of Monday, had started sitting next to me. She just tilted her head and said, “Oh my God, I know. And the books have, like, no pictures.” Then she smiled and popped a bubble. I was getting no sympathy.
“Heard about Saturday,” she said, clearly eager to discuss it.
“Oh.” Becky must have told her that I hadn’t called her back. I mean, c’mon, people, it was one missed phone call.
“Was that your idea or Eve’s?” she pressed.
“Huh? It wasn’t anybody’s. It was an accident,” I answered, bewildered. Did she think I had intentionally forgotten my phone so I couldn’t call Becky back?
“Oh, so you just happened to go over to Emma’s, then accidentally pump everyone about Becky’s old boyfriends?”
“What?” I said, a little too loud. It earned me a warning look from Mr. Williams, and I was forced to spend the rest of the class confused.
I hadn’t been pumping anyone for information. In fact, I hadn’t been able to ask a single question during the entire conversation. They were all way too eager to share the gory details about Becky and her past love life to give me a chance to talk.
After class I tried to resume our conversation in the hall. “Look, I wasn’t asking them about Becky. We were talking about my fight with Tim, and then Mia said I didn’t see the punch because I might have been looking in Becky’s direction, and—”
Monica put up her hand to stop the flow of words issuing from my mouth. “It’s okay, relax. Becky’s not mad any more. And everyone likes you better than her ex anyway; he was kind of a tool.”
“Really? That’s good. But seriously, I wasn’t—”
Monica ignored my attempt to make this a two-way conversation and continued, “Of course, if you wanted to keep your crush a secret, and not front-page news, you should have just asked me and not half of the squad. But I think it’s cute, staking your claim and all. Oh, here, I brought you something.”
She fished a large envelope out of her backpack and handed it me. I was opening my mouth to respond, but Monica kept talking. “Don’t tell her I gave it to you. Her hair was shorter last year and she hates that picture. Anyway, I have to go to class—see you at lunch!”
And she was off, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall holding an envelope and wondering what the heck had just happened.
I exited the flow of traffic and opened the envelope. It contained Becky’s cheerleading picture from last year. Her hair was shoulder length, but I thought it looked good. I tucked the envelope between two books in my bag and spent the next period wondering about the repercussions of this rumor. Finally, I gave up, acknowledging that some things were just out of my control.
###
My arrival at school had inadvertently started a new lunch group. Attendance had dwindled since the peak— last Thursday was apparently “check out the new kid” day—but six or eight of us usually still collected on the shady part of the wall surrounding the quad. Richard, Becky, Monica, and I were the regulars, and we were usually joined by a few more. Eve even sat with us occasionally, when she wanted to pump someone for gossip or spread a rumor.
Becky was decidedly friendlier than she had been on Sunday. She wore a self-satisfied smile as she sat on the wall next to me.
“Hey, Chris.”
“Uh, hey.” To my relief, it looked like she wasn’t going to bring up Saturday again. Not that she had to; apparently the whole school was well aware of what had transpired. We chatted for a minute or two about school. I was saving my news to tell the whole group. Once the crowd had gathered, I told everyone about the secret room.
“What’s in it?” asked Becky, eyes wide.
“All sorts of stuff. It looked like jars of spell ingredients, a work bench, books, notes. I think it was the room where Charlotte practiced her experiments or magic or whatever it was she did.”
“I knew she was a witch!” said Richard.
I nodded. “Looks that way, yeah.”
“So did you find out what it is she wants? Why she’s haunting your house?” Becky leaned forward in excitement, bringing her nearer than usual. Even Monica was inching closer to me.
“Well, that’s easy,” explained Richard. “She wants revenge on all of the families who lynched her. Let’s see… that means if we bump off Trevor, Mike, Cody, Savannah, Mia, John, and — hey, you too, Becky—we should be good to go.”
“Very funny,” said Becky.
“What?” he said mock-defensively. “I’m just saying you gotta know it was all the rich folk that did it. Poor people couldn’t have afforded the rope, so you know Monica and I are safe.”
Ouch. I had been to Richard’s house, and he might not be rich, but he certainly wasn’t poor. Monica, however, was a different story. She looked hurt. Richard saw it, too, and looked crestfallen, but before he could say something to try and fix it, Savannah interrupted.
“Then I guess Tim is safe too, considering what happened to his dad.” She was glaring at me. I hadn’t even realized she was there. No doubt she had stopped by to gloat over my ass-kicking at the party. I wondered how much of this my sister had to deal with; because of cheerleading, she spent a heck of a lot more time around Savannah than I did.
I ignored her and continued. “I didn’t find the room until last night, when we went looking for Charlotte. By the time we found it, it was like three and I needed to get some sleep. I figured I’d go through it tonight and see what I can find.”
“Cool! Need help?” asked Becky.
“You said there were books? Count me in,” said Monica.
“I’m there!” As he said it, Richard glanced over at Monica, who was pointedly ignoring him.
“Where?” asked Eve. She walked up with Trevor and sat down on the lawn. She must have noticed Savannah come over, and figured something would go down that was worth seeing.
“Your place, to check out the secret room,” said Richard.
“The attic? Be my guest.” Her tone questioned Richard’s idea of a good time.
“No, the other one. Wait, you have a secret attic? How can you have a secret attic?”
Eve looked confused. “What other one?”
“The one you and your brother found last night.” Monica looked at me while she answered Eve.
I looked back at her, wide-eyed. I realized my mistake; I had said “we foun
d it.” Monica was sharp— she had figured out that whomever I was with, it wasn’t my sister. I couldn’t believe she was punishing me for what Richard had said about her being poor. I hadn’t said a thing, yet I was guilty by association! Sometimes I hate girls.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t find any room,” said Eve, her narrow gaze shifting over to focus on me.
“But you said ‘we.’” It was out before Richard realized what he was saying. Then it hit him—he had insulted Monica, and thrown me under the bus, all in less than a minute. He went back to looking properly ashamed of himself.
“I said me.” It was a weak defense, but my friends might just let it go.
Not Savannah, though. “No, you didn’t.”
Or Eve. “So, Chris, who was over last night?”
“At three in the morning,” Monica added helpfully.
Seriously, what the hell? I wasn’t the one that said she was poor. I knew Monica was hurt, but did she really need to lash out at someone, and did that someone have to be me?
It was three on one; I couldn’t win. I sighed, deciding to come clean. “Rose wanted to see the ghost, so we hung out until Charlotte showed up, and then followed her to the door.”
“Who is Rose, and what was she doing in your room at three a.m.?” Eve said, then added, “On a school night?” to make it sound even more inappropriate.
“Ooh, I bet I know!” Savannah raised her hand. She was so happy at my misfortune that if she had a tail it would be wagging furiously.
Richard opened his mouth to talk and then closed it again, a little gun-shy.
I looked over at Monica. It was her turn to pile on some more, but she stayed quiet, apparently figuring I had suffered enough for Richard’s mistake.
Instead, it was Becky who spoke. She answered Eve in a tone that was a little too measured. “Rose is the girl who lives next door to you.”
“Next door?” Eve looked at me.
I was blessedly saved by the bell. I collected my things. Ignoring my sister’s question, I said instead, “I’ll let my parents know you guys are coming tonight. Hey, do you want to eat over?”
The Haunting of Pico (Pico, Texas - Book 1) Page 10