Ghost Girl

by Ally Malinenko

  “The voice was in my room. Sort of all around me at once. But I know it was from the hound. I heard it clear as day. It dragged the words out, like ‘Howwwww much loooonnngggeeeerrrrr?’”

  “Okay, stop, that’s creepy.”

  “Elijah, I’m not telling you a story. This really happened.”

  “Maybe it was a dream,” he offered nervously. “It sounds like you might have had a really bad dream. I heard about these things called night terrors. Maybe it was one of those.”

  “It wasn’t a dream. It happened. And there’s more. After I heard the voice, the dog vanished. I went downstairs to get a glass of water, and there was . . . a woman in my living room at the end of my couch. She was sort of crouched down.”

  “Okay, I don’t like this story. Stop.”

  “Elijah,” she said, grabbing his hand. It felt so warm; Zee just now realized how cold she was. “It happened. She was there. She was covered in mud and moss, and it was like she was screaming but there was no sound.”

  “Stop,” Elijah said, closing his eyes and holding up a hand.

  “And then after I went back upstairs, I heard something shuffling down the hall. Sort of these wet stumbling footsteps. And then I could have sworn my door creaked open, but I put the covers over my head and—”

  “I said stop.” Elijah looked sick. He looked the way Zee imagined she looked last night.

  “She was in the hall. I know she was. I saw a ghost, Elijah. I swear I’m not making this up.”

  He stood. “Stop it right now. This isn’t a funny story.”

  “It’s not a story!”

  He gave her a look. “You’re telling me this really happened last night. All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You swear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pinkie swear?” he said, putting his finger out.

  Zee hooked hers to his. “Pinkie swear.”

  The bell rang, and everyone started filing back into the building.

  He still looked unsure as he picked his backpack up off the ground and added, “If you’re telling the truth, and I’m guessing you are, then you have to tell Abby because this is serious, Zee.”

  She knew he expected her to balk. To take it back. But instead she said, “Fine. We’ll tell Abby. You come over my house after school today. I’ll tell her the exact same story I told you.”

  Zee was happy to see that Abby was already home when they got there, which meant she hadn’t worked a double shift. Elijah and Zee dropped their backpacks on the floor and headed into the kitchen.

  “Hello,” Abby said, kissing the top of Zee’s head as she passed. “Hello, Elijah.”

  “Hi, Abby,” he said with a shy smile.

  “How was school today? No fighting, right?” She side-eyed her sister.

  “I need to talk to you, Abby,” Zee said.

  “Oh no, what now?”

  “It’s about last night.” Zee took a breath, then exchanged a look with Elijah. “The thing that woke me up wasn’t a dream. And what I saw wasn’t a trick of the light.” She told the whole story. The storm. The dog. The voice. The whole time Abby went about her business in the kitchen putting together a snack for Zee and Elijah. She nodded and said “uh-huh” where it was appropriate as she cut up carrots and set out pita chips and hummus.

  “It was just a pair of eyes at first, and then a mouth,” Zee said. “It was a woman in our living room. She was covered in mud and moss and it was like she was screaming but there was no sound. My belly felt like it was full of ice; I could barely breathe it was so cold.”

  Abby dropped the water glass in her hand. It shattered on the floor; water, ice cubes, and shards of glass went flying.

  “Whoa, Abby, you okay?” Elijah said.

  But Abby just looked at Zee, her hand over her mouth, and in a breathy whisper she said, “What do you mean cold?”

  “Cold. Like I swallowed ice cubes. My whole insides went freezing. It happened at the library too.”

  “At the library? What happened at the library?”

  “I was in the stacks, looking for a book, and I just felt this terrible cold, like I stepped into a freezer, and suddenly there was this boy there. He said his name was Paul and he worked there. Then he just vanished.”

  “You have it.”

  “What?” Zee said, genuinely afraid of her sister’s reaction. Abby was white as a sheet as she tried to sweep up the glass shards. Zee watched her, and how her hands were shaking. She couldn’t clean the glass, so after a minute of trying, she just sat down at the counter next to them. Abby was always levelheaded and logical, and the way she looked now brought that sick feeling into Zee’s belly.

  “You have it too,” Abby repeated.

  “What?”

  “She could communicate with the . . . dead. Mostly she would just talk to them. Listen to their stories.”

  The cold flush spread into Zee’s chest. She wanted Abby to stop talking. Her sister was supposed to refute this. She was supposed to find a logical simple explanation. She wasn’t supposed to sit across from her at the table and tell her that she was the one thing she didn’t want to be.

  Haunted.

  “Wait,” Elijah said, interrupting Abby. “Who are we talking about?”

  Abby’s and Zee’s gaze met across the counter. She knew. She knew the minute Abby dropped that glass on the floor. In some ways, maybe she’d always known.

  Still, when the words came out of Abby’s mouth, they felt like a gut punch. Not because she was surprised, but because it was a word they rarely said anymore. A word they danced around. A word that was itself haunted.

  “Our mother.”

  Later that night, after Elijah went home, Zee was upstairs in her bedroom, reading Frankenstein, when her sister knocked on the door. Abby came and sat on the edge of Zee’s bed. “You feeling okay?”

  It seemed like a strange question to ask. How could she be okay? Her mother could talk to ghosts. So could Zee, apparently. And now one of them, a terrifying one, had found its way into her home. Every time she looked at the couch, she could see those wide eyes. That mouth twisted in a silent scream.

  And then she thought about Paul in the library. The way he seemed off. The way he seemed familiar to her. The way no one else could see him. But Paul was nice. Sweet. This woman, whoever she was, terrified her.

  “Look,” Abby said, “I know what happened to you last night was scary and I know it’s a lot to ingest, but Mom loved her gift. She felt blessed by it. She really found joy in helping these people through their transition.”

  “I just want to know who she is and why she’s in our house.”

  “I’m sure she does too. Mom used to say some ghosts got confused. She said they could either forget their old life or remember it too much.”

  “But Paul didn’t feel stuck or confused.”

  Abby shrugged. “See? They’re not all scary.”

  “But this woman is scary, Abby.”

  “I know, but she won’t hurt you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Mom always said—”

  “But Mom isn’t here,” Zee said. She wondered how long it had been since she’d actually said the M-word. It was such a tiny word, one little syllable, but it was big enough to crack open her heart. A word so small that meant so very much. Abby reached up and smoothed back her hair.

  “I know. I miss her too.”

  I don’t even know what to miss, Zee thought. She didn’t know anything about her mother, really. She knew dumb things. That she liked winter better than summer. That she liked to tell stories too. That her favorite ice cream flavor was coffee. That she always wanted to travel but was terrified of flying. That she went overboard when it came to decorating the house for Christmas. She knew that her mother was born in Scotland, and she never lost her accent. She knew she loved tacos. But these things didn’t add up to a person. They were just facts stacked side by side. She didn’t know what her mother’s voice soun
ded like or how she smelled. Or what it would feel like when she kissed Zee on the top of the head, or absentmindedly played with her hair. She didn’t know what face she would have made when Zee was in trouble. What she looked like when she laughed. She didn’t even know what her laugh sounded like. She’d imagined a thousand and one conversations with her mother, but none of them were true.

  “She loved you so much, Zee. She couldn’t wait for you to be born. She had your name picked out—without Dad’s help, mind you—the second she found out she was pregnant. You know why she named you Zera?”

  Zee swallowed hard. She did know, but there was something comforting in listening to Abby tell her again. It was the same story she’d been telling her since she was a little girl. It felt like a line that could stretch back through time. Something that could tether her to her mother when nothing else did.

  “First she wanted to give you a name that no one else ever had. She heard it in a dream the day before she found out she was pregnant. She said that the name”—Abby smoothed back Zee’s hair—“was a gift from the universe. Just like you. And she said with the two of us she now had her Abby to Zera. Her A to Z. Her family was complete, and her heart was full.”

  Zee bit down hard on her cheek as her throat went tight. She tried to stop the tears that pricked at her eyes.

  “I think it’s wonderful that you have this gift from her. It was so important to her, Zee. She used it to help people. I know you’ll do the same. When you were born, with that full head of white hair, she took one look at you and said, ‘I’ve known you all my life.’ She wanted you more than she wanted anything in the world.”

  More than she wanted to be alive? Zee wondered but didn’t say.

  “I know this all seems strange and scary. But sometimes scary and strange is good. Mom always used to talk to me about taking risks. ‘Never want perfection,’ she would tell me. ‘Be happy to fail because at least you tried something new.’

  “Besides,” Abby continued, “just because something is unfamiliar doesn’t mean it’s bad. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling but . . . I wish she were here.” Abby paused, composed herself, and went on, “She would know what to say. She would know how to help you learn how to help them. I’m not like you or her. I don’t know . . .” She trailed off and then said, “The only advice I can give you is to try to talk to your ghosts. Speak to them. Be a light for them. Talk to your ghost, Zee. Help her.”

  But Zee didn’t want a ghost. She didn’t want any of this.

  “You look beat,” Abby said, kissing her cheek. “Don’t stay up too late reading that book.” She pointed at Frankenstein. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Zee said. “Hey, Abby?”

  “Yes?” she said from the doorway.

  “Have you heard from Dad?”

  “I tried him earlier today, but it went to voice mail.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine. Just busy. Get some sleep.”

  Her sister left the door open a crack.

  Zee thought about what Nellie Bloom had said. What if Dad really had left them for good? What if it was just her and Abby now? She turned over the book and looked at the picture of Mary Shelley on the back. She thought about all the ways they were alike. Both storytellers drawn to darkness. She wondered if Mary Shelley saw ghosts too.

  They certainly had something else in common. Another, bigger thing. One she wouldn’t talk to Elijah or Abby or anyone else about. It was simple: Mary Shelley’s mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, died giving birth to her.

  Just like Zee’s mom.

  Mary didn’t look like a killer. Zee wondered if that was true about her too? It’s easy to be told something isn’t your fault. That it was an accident. An unfortunate infection. But it’s much harder to believe that to be true. Zee was here. Her mother was not. If Zee had not been born, her mother would still be alive. It was as if only one of them could exist at a time.

  They were opposite sides of a coin. No matter how many times it was flipped, one of them would be here and the other would not. Zee and her mother could never be together. No matter what. And now she had this thing she shared with her mom—this ability—except her mom would never be able to talk to her about it, to explain it to her. It just wasn’t fair.

  She studied the picture again. Did Mary feel guilty too? Was she sad? Did she also ache for this person she never got to know?

  Zee thought about how great it felt when her foot made contact with Nellie’s face and the blood went everywhere. She thought about how she lost . . . maybe even . . . killed . . . her own mother.

  Maybe that was all she was good for—hurting people.

  Maybe that’s why the dogs were at her window and the ghosts gathered in her home.

  Maybe Zera Delilah Puckett just had to be more of the type of person Principal Scratch told them about. Did she think about herself enough? About what she wanted? Principal Scratch told Elijah he should be better for his father. Should she change too?

  9

  THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE ZEE WAS GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL, there was a knock on the front door. She leaned out her bedroom, one sneaker on, and heard her sister open the front door.

  “Oh! I . . . Of course, no, no trouble at all . . . Please come in,” she heard her sister say. “I’m so happy to meet you. Can I get you anything . . . ?”

  Then another voice, a low baritone murmur that Zee felt in her bones.

  “Yes, of course,” her sister said. “Let me get her. . . . Zee! Can you come down here?”

  Not liking the sound of this, Zee slipped on her other shoe, tied her shoelaces, and headed down the stairs. She worried it was her math teacher about the failed quiz. Or worse, the guidance counselor, Mr. Jacobs. He was constantly stopping kids in the hall to talk about their feelings. Like school wasn’t a war zone. Like every day wasn’t a battle to just get through without grown-ups adding extra trouble.

  When Zee got to the bottom of the stairs, she saw Principal Scratch. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black button-down shirt and black pants. His hair looked slick with oil. He was staring out the front window, hands clasped behind his back. He was a tableau of black except for the splash of red from his glove. Seeing him there made her heart stutter.

  “Mr. Scratch,” Abby said, “this is my sister, Zee.”

  He turned around, still wearing those sunglasses, and smiled a wide, bright smile at Zee. He took the glasses off, and his eyes had a mischievous glint about them. “Pleasure to officially meet you, Zee,” he said, his voice satin smooth. He reached out that red-gloved hand, but Zee didn’t want to shake it. She chanced a look at her sister, hoping for some backup, but instead, Abby widened her eyes at Zee, a sure sign that she had to behave. Tentatively, Zee shook his hand. The glove was strangely cold and smooth. It didn’t feel like fabric wrapped around a human hand, but more like porcelain, or rubber. “Though I do know you by reputation already.”

  Abby frowned as Principal Scratch continued, “Your sister and I were just having a little chat. I hope you were able to make it to the assembly the other day.”

  Zee nodded.

  “Good. I hope you found my thoughts on bullying and fighting helpful.” He cocked a sharp eyebrow and then cleared his throat and said, “Since I’m the new principal I wanted to take a moment to get to know my students and their families. I wanted to make sure everything was good,” he said, sitting in the nearby armchair. He motioned for Zee and Abby to also sit down. “Anything you might want to talk to me about, Zee?”

  Zee shook her head.

  “Are we sure?”

  Abby was staring daggers at Zee, but she knew it was better to feign ignorance than confess outright.

  Principal Scratch sighed. “Well, I do know you’ve been having some trouble in school lately, Zee.”

  Zee scowled. Did Nellie tell? No, it was probably Mr. Houston.

  “N-n-n-nothing big, really,” she stammered.

  “Oh, no?” Principal Scratch
cocked an eyebrow. “Failing your math test and fighting with fellow students. Yes, I know all about it. You’re in what, sixth grade?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hmmmm, yes, difficult time. Not quite a child anymore. Not quite a teenager. Just a strange in-between time. A vulnerable time. In the school, we joke that it is a testing time. But not just those types of tests. It’s a time when we walk that delicate line between good and bad. Between bully and friend. Remember what I said about standing up for yourself?”

  Zee bowed her head, thinking about the other day and how good it felt to kick Nellie Bloom in the face. “Stand for you.”

  He chuckled softly. “That’s right. It’s just a rather good saying, don’t you think? About this transition—the not-a-child-not-a-teenager-yet—this time is difficult. Abby knows what I’m talking about. Right, Abby?”

  “Um . . . sure,” Abby said and nodded, but the sisters exchanged a small conspiratorial look. Zee was quite sure that Abby thought Principal Scratch was just as loony as she did.

  “And this time is always harder on girls than it is on boys. History is full of stories. Look at the Salem witch trials, the danger those girls courted . . .”

  “I’m not courting anything,” Zee said loudly. What did that even mean? “Look at the Salem witch trials”? Sometimes it seemed like women could be killed for just existing.

  Principal Scratch chuckled. “So much energy. So much life. That’s the thing I love so much about teaching young people. You could feed off their energy. Just snack on it.” He licked his lips and turned toward Abby. “Now then, is your mother home?”

  Zee dropped her eyes, anger stirring inside her.

  “She passed away, sir,” Abby said. “Eleven years ago.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. How sad,” Principal Scratch said, but there was something weird about the way he said it. Like he already knew the answer before he’d asked the question. “A pity you never got to meet your mother and she you . . . what a sacrifice.”

  Zee stared at the floor, anger burning inside her. She couldn’t even look at him.