"I was in a low-grade coma."
His mouth curves into an infectious grin. "You're okay now, though?"
I smile back and squeeze his hand for reassurance. "Thanks for being there the other night for me. I know you don't totally believe what we're doing—"
"I'm starting to come around after everything I witnessed. Don't get me wrong. I'm still a skeptic to the core, but I am interested in what you do and what you think you see."
"Well, good. Because that wasn't our only ghost hunt. I have to keep doing it."
He grips my hand tighter. "Then you're going to have me around."
I knit my brows together. "For protection? Jason, I don't need—"
"—a protector, I know." His eyes move over my face. "No, it's because I just want to be where you are."
I hear Taylor clear her throat, so I glance over. Again, she mouths, Awww.
Becca takes a ginormous bite of her cheeseburger and talks with her mouth full. "You two need to get a room or something."
We all laugh and attack our lunches. We talk about the weekend and our success at city hall and what to do to move forward. Can't just ghost hunt once and be done with it. There's still the issue of Emily, the floaty lady, in my house. Celia's going to make us a website, www.ghosthuntress.com, where we can document all of our cases—and where people can contact us if they want us to come help them out. (And no, we won't take money because that would just be unethical. We're doing this because we have to.) Becca's going to keep recording files of all of our EVPs on her laptop and even mix some of the sounds into her DJing. How freaky-cool is that? Taylor's going to post some of our images on various websites, like Ghost Village and Darkness Radio, so others can share in our experiences and leave comments. Jason promises to continue to be our skeptic, but not be so forceful in his disbelief.
Me? Well, I'm going over to Loreen's after school to tell her all about the ghost hunt and to keep learning about my awakened psychic abilities. I'm fortunate to have her guidance in my life, and my mom will just have to get over it or get used to it. That's what I have to do.
I glance around at our table: Celia, the geek-turned-swan rich girl; Taylor, the ebullient beauty; Jason, her popular and gorgeous brother; Becca, the Goth DJ; and me, the girl from Chicago who's found some good friends who accept me the way I am. What a crazy group we make, the five of us. But we're on a mission to help the spirits of Radisson. Something tells me we're going to be very busy once word gets out.
Jason drains his Coke and wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I've gotta go. Playing hoops next period with some of the guys. You got a sec?" He motions with his head for me to come with him.
"Yeah, sure." I follow him as he buses his tray.
To my amazement, I can't pick up his thoughts right now. Not like I've heard his thoughts before, like I have Celia's or others'. A warm glow passes through me as I anticipate what he might say.
He turns, and those amazing blue eyes shine down on me. "Listen, I know ghost hunting is important to you. I just hope you'll make time for me. You know, only you and me. Like, going out on dates and stuff."
I like the "and stuff" part if that means making out with him some more. I smile so hard, I think my jaw might snap. "Jason Tillson! Are you asking me out on a real date?"
"Not just one, Kendall. A lot of dates. Starting Friday night. I'll pick you up at eight."
And with that, he heads off toward the gym.
I return to the table where three sets of very inquisitive eyes examine me with concentrated scrutiny. Taylor breaks the silence, asking what they all want to know. "What was that all about?"
I can't contain my squeal. "Jason just asked me out for Friday! Can you believe it? Holy crap! What will I wear?"
Celia rolls her eyes. "Oh my God. You are such a girlie girl."
To an outsider just trying to make her way and fit in, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I'm gonna do just fine here in Radisson.
EPILOGUE
AFTER CHURCH ON SUNDAY—Father Castellano was delighted to see me—I walk over to the cemetery to visit Charles Stogdon's grave. The sky above is brilliantly blue and bright, and there's a sense of peace and serenity in the air. The sun sleeks through the tree branches, painting the freshly cut grass with golden light and shadows. A cool breeze touches my arms and I know that autumn is definitely in full swing.
I never thought of a graveyard as a beautiful place, but as I look around now, I realize it's quite amazing. The final resting place for loved ones. Epitaphs of praise, appreciation, and sorrow. Obelisks that reach to the heavens. Simple stones that mark forgotten souls. Each magnificent and special in its own way.
I cross the small footbridge over the water that flows through the burial ground. No sounds of marching Union soldiers today, just birds twittering overhead in the trees. The babble of the brook adds to the tranquillity of the fall day; a few leaves lazily float down the stream.
Back in the farthest corner of the cemetery, I find a small wrought-iron fence around a simple white marble headstone that reads "Stogdon." I climb over the enclosure and bend down to clean some of the ivy and stray weeds off the marker. I lay down the small bundle of Shasta daisies and spray roses that I picked up at the grocery store for five bucks. It's the thought that counts, right?
"Charles? Are you here?"
I listen to the whistle of the wind, trying to get a sense of whether Charles Stogdon is here or not. I certainly hope he isn't, after all we went through the other night. I pause and listen for anything that tickles my psychicness. Silence in my mind. I don't pick up on him at all. He's at peace now, thanks to my group. And I helped him move on to the next realm, where he can hopefully rejoin treasured family members and his friend Thomas Edgars.
"Nope. You're not here, Charles." I cross myself and say a quick prayer of thanks.
I'm about to go when I determine I'm not alone.
The air is suddenly thick with the aroma of lilacs. Leaves shuffle behind me and I'm sure I'll see the caretaker—who'll want to know what I'm doing—when I turn around.
I take a deep, sharp breath and stare at the face before me in utter astonishment. Is my mouth hanging open? 'Cause it feels like it is. "Emily?"
Is the woman standing before me in a white gown seriously the spirit I've seen and experienced in my room? Only she seems to be in human form now.
"Is it you?"
A smile crosses her ethereal face. "Yes, Kendall. It's me. I'm glad you recognize me."
Do I? I mean, I've seen misty images of her in my room and in the infrared shots Taylor got as Emily took off in a bolt of energy. I don't think I've ever seen her in my life, like, this up close and personal. I inspect her appearance a little more. She's quite pretty. Young. Can't be much older than I am. Maybe nineteen, tops. Soft green eyes are surrounded by charcoal black eyelashes. Her cheeks are pale, but then again, she's dead... hello! Her white dress seems to be of the hospital-gown variety, although she wears it better than most. (No opening in the back that I can tell from here.) There's something vaguely familiar about her.
"Have we met before?" I ask.
Emily steps toward me, no longer merely floating. "I've been with you your whole life, Kendall."
I'm barely able to restrain my shock and surprise. "How? When?"
"You used to see me when you were a tiny little girl. We played with your dolls and stuffed animals. I helped you name most of your teddy bears, since you were calling them Bear, The Other Bear, Big Bear. I think we named the white polar bear Carlton and the brown one, oh, what was it ... Sonoma?"
I begin to shake. "T-t-that's right. I still have Sonoma sitting in a rocking chair in my room. I remember Mom always wondered how I would know how to name a bear after a very grown-up place in California."
Emily moves her long brown hair over her shoulder. "It's where I was born. Remember? We talked about it. We used to play a lot together. And we would sing songs all the time."
I squeeze my eyes s
hut and try to access the memories she's referring to that must be locked in my psyche. This all sounds so familiar. Didn't Dad say I used to have an imaginary friend? That I'd sing tunes they'd never heard before. I don't know. I was just a little kid. I do remember naming all of my stuffed animals and not knowing where the names came from. I thought it had merely been my creative imagination. Could it really have been Emily's help?
"Yes, Kendall. It was me."
I muster up all the energy I can and dive deep into my memory. There's a crib with a comforter that has pink and yellow lambs on it. A baby monitor sits on the polished dresser. The overhead mobile cranks out "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." And there's a young woman sitting in my rocking chair, holding Sonoma the bear, telling me about the rolling hills and grape fields in northern California. The recollections rush back in wordless wonder.
"I do remember you. I called you E."
She nods and smiles again.
My chest constricts with a warmth I haven't experienced ... ever. "Why did you go away?"
"Your parents told you that you couldn't have an imaginary friend anymore. So you quit talking to me. You ignored me for the most part, and soon, I just faded away. It was best that you obeyed your parents. You were a good girl. So full of life and spirit and spunk. I never left you, though, Kendall. I've been with you every day of your life, whether you could see me or not. When you broke your arm. When you had measles, followed by chicken pox. Your first day of school. Your first kiss." Her eyes tease me. "Your last kiss."
I flush all over, thinking about the make-out session with Jason last night in his Jeep. We totally steamed up the windows, let me tell you what!
Putting thoughts of Jason aside, I ask Emily, "Do you have something to do with my awakening?"
"I simply reached out to you again."
"So, with this awakening of my psychic abilities—which I must have had when I was little 'cause I could see you—you've decided to come back into my life?"
Emily places a hand on the fence surrounding Charles's grave. "You're open to seeing me again. Your friend Loreen was right. In the silence of this small town, you were able to sense me again. It's an amazing gift that you have. My mother had the gift, you know?"
I get a closer look at her. "Are you Resurrection Mary?You know, the lady in white that everyone sees in Chicago's Resurrection Cemetery?"
She giggles like a teenager. Like me, almost. "No, not at all. Although I know her and she's a lovely woman."
"Then why are you here?" I nearly beg. "Why me? Why now?"
Shaking her head, she says, "Too many questions at once, Kendall. It's not my place to tell you. All I can say is we're cosmically connected. Like you and Loreen. You'll have to find the rest out on your own."
"You're damn right I will. I'm an excellent researcher." Although I don't have the first freaking clue who Emily is, why she's my imaginary friend, or why I can see her again.
"I will tell you," Emily says. "What you're doing with your friends is quite admirable. There are a lot of beings and spirits wandering around—who are stuck and need your help."
"Are you stuck, Emily?" Shouldn't she be the next ghost we should help?
"Yes and no. I know I'm not alive, but I'm not ready to fully pass on into the light. I'll know when the time is right. There are entities that need your help more right now."
I swallow the dry lump in my throat. "I know."
"We can help them together, Kendall. You, me, your ghost huntresses—and your cute ghost hunter, Jason. You just have to know where to look," she tells me.
"Where?"
She spreads her arms wide. "They're everywhere. And they see your beacon of knowledge shining out to them."
I gaze out over the landscape of the cemetery and unexpectedly connect with an assortment of spirits I hadn't seen earlier. Over by the footbridge are the union soldiers, camped out, it seems. To the left, there's a Native American woman in full tribal garb, holding a little boy by the hand. And up on the far hill, there's a young black girl in a ragged outfit climbing a tree. Certainly like nothing I've seen today. My mind speedily deciphers that she's the ghost of a slave. A girl who lived over a hundred and fifty years ago and died during the Civil War.
"They're all caught here?"
"For one reason or another," Emily says. "But you'll help them."
Looking at the many spirits around me, I let out a pent-up sigh. "Wow. I've certainly got my work cut out for me. Good thing I've got two years of high school left!"
To be continued...
DISCLAIMER
The thoughts and feelings described by the character of Kendall are typical of those experienced by young people awakening to sensitive or psychic abilities.
Many of the events and situations encountered by Kendall and her team of paranormal investigators are based on events reported by real ghost hunters. Also, the equipment described in the book is standard in the field.
However, if you are a young person experiencing psychic phenomena, you should talk to an adult. And although real paranormal investigation is an exciting, interesting field, it is also a serious, sometimes even dangerous undertaking. While I hope you are entertained by Ghost Huntress, please know that it's recommended that young people not attempt the investigative techniques described here without proper adult supervision.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Terminology and descriptions pertaining to Kendall's psychic awakening, skills, and abilities from Maureen Wood, psychic/ intuitive/sensitive/healer/Reiki master.
Kendall's LifeSounds 440® white-noise sound machine product information from Marsona and www.luxevivant.com.
EMF Meter descriptions and definition from en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EMF_Meter.
Celia's Lead in Hair Products experiment—from the University of Sydney, Australia, Chemistry Demonstrations and Experiments on the Internet: alex.edfac.usyd.edu.au/methods/science/Internet-chem-dems-expts.htm.
Definition of "Residual Haunting" from en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Residual_haunting.
Ghost hunting terms and definitions from various sources including author's firsthand knowledge and experience, The New England Ghost Project (www.neghostproject.com),
Darkness Radio (www.darknessradio.com), Ghost Village (www.ghostvillage.com), TV shows Ghost Hunters, Dead Famous, Most Haunted, and Paranormal State, and www.Wikipedia.com
Prayer to Saint Michael from en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_ to_Saint_Michael.
Shakespearean Quotes from www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes.
Zyprexa® product information from www.zyprexa.com.
Kendall Moorehead's world has just been blown wide open. Don't miss what happens next in
Let me tell you what: it's been a busy couple of months for me, Kendall Moorehead. Once word got out about how my team of ghost huntresses helped a 150-year-old spirit that was trapped at city hall pass into the light, well, everyone and their brother has stopped us with a ghost story or two to tell. Being official ghost huntresses has made me and my friends—Celia, Taylor, and Becca—the talk of town, and we've garnered a ton of attention. (Not all of it is positive ... especially the dirty looks and ill treatment from school beeyotch Courtney Langdon and her flock of followers. However, I think that has more to do with the fact that I'm now dating her ex-boyfriend—and Taylor's twin brother—Jason Tillson.)
It's sort of hard to have a boyfriend when all of your weekends are filled with visits to Radisson's most historical—and often haunted—locations, the mustiest and dustiest of basements, and the homes of some lonely and weird townspeople. Like right now.
I shift on the antique couch and clear my throat to ease the tension in my tight chest. I don't think that Mrs. Lockhart is one of those weirdos we've been running into lately—the kind who wear tinfoil hats and sleep in their bathtubs for fear that something is watching them—because she was a kindergarten teacher in Radisson for years and schooled all three of my friends. However, the woman is definitely brokenhearted and forlorn. The sadness radiatin
g from her is palpable, and I can feel it in the fibers of my being like the heat from a well-stoked fireplace.
I nudge Celia in the ribs with my elbow, and she knows that I'm ready to get down to business.
"So, Mrs. Lockhart, can you tell us again everything that happened with your husband?" Celia says in a very grown-up, professional manner. She flips open her notepad and twirls her Bic between her long fingers.
Becca clicks the digital recorder on and places it on the marble coffee table. She's our sound expert on the team, trying to capture EVPs, electronic voice phenomena. EVPs are the coolest thing ever. I mean, I can hear the spirits' voices in my head, but the digital recorder can actually pick up disembodied voices that will answer questions or make statements during our investigations. That way, if we capture anything, it totally backs up what I'm saying. Taylor nods at me and then moves over to where she has the video recorder set up. She's a whiz-bang at anything photography related. That's why she's on the team. Some of the pictures she's captured with the infrared camera and the night vision are a-freakin-mazing!
Sitting forward, I fold my hands together and listen as Mrs. Lockhart explains why we're here. The older woman dabs her wrinkled eyes with the corner of a lace handkerchief. She sniffs hard and then takes a deep breath.
"Delaney and I went out to Scottsdale last week to visit with our youngest daughter, Veronica—our older girl, Evelyn, lives next door to us—and her boys. They're such good boys, those grandsons of mine. Derrick is on the soccer team and Spencer has learned to ride his bike—"
"Yes, ma'am. Now, about Mr. Lockhart, please," I say, trying not to be rude.
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