Charlie claimed a seat in the Latin classroom, where the club was held, while the club’s president, Andie Bellin, jotted notes in her bullet journal. She finished her s’mores Pop-Tart while a few more members trickled in.
“Let’s get started!” said Andie. She was a sophomore, like Charlie, who always wore her brown hair tied with a ribbon. “I had to cancel our service project at the Rowbury West Library because its basement got flooded, but—”
“Sorry, I’m late!” A petite girl glided in, with her blond hair flowing behind her like a cape. Every male in the classroom straightened at Helen Overton’s entrance, including Charlie, who silently cheered when she sat next to him. “What did I miss?”
“Fortunately, not much,” Andie said with a smile and a little shake of the head, like she was used to Helen’s tardiness. The two of them had grown up together on the same block of historic brownstones in northeast Rowbury. “Anyway, I signed us up for a new service project. . . .”
Andie kept talking and passed around a stack of flyers, but Charlie wasn’t listening. With Helen sitting so close, he could smell her shampoo, and it smelled like coconuts.
“Hey, did you finish our pre-calc homework by chance?” she whispered, leaning toward him with her bright eyes locked onto his.
Charlie’s pulse thrashed. He managed a nod.
“Could I borrow it? I forgot my textbook at my dad’s place and—”
Within seconds Charlie had handed over his worksheet. It was against school policy to copy homework, but Helen’s parents were getting a divorce, and her grandmother had died unexpectedly last spring break. It made total sense that she needed a little academic boost.
Helen’s smile brightened a few watts. “You’re the best, Charlie Horse.”
Something twinged inside Charlie. Something sharp. His last name meant “horse” in Chinese, and the ensuing nickname had followed him from his old school to this new one, thanks to the many students enrolled in Mandarin. But with Helen smiling at him and smelling like a tropical beach, he decided to let it go.
Andie cleared her throat. “We can meet at the community center around eleven thirty. We’ll help the kids make dumplings, so wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”
Just then, the fliers reached Charlie’s desk, and his face paled.
The 14th Annual Hungry Ghost Festival
Hosted by the Happy Horse Convenient Mart & the Hungry Heart Row Community Center
It was the flier that his dad had posted on the store’s website. Andie must have found it and printed it out.
The Cultural Exchange Club was volunteering at the festival.
His classmates would be going to his neighborhood.
Helen would see where he worked, where he lived.
She might even run into Waipo.
A soccer player named Ross snickered in his seat. “Do you think they’ll sell dog meat at this place? I’ve always wanted to try golden retriever.” He barked twice, and three freshmen girls giggled.
Charlie flushed red. Say something, his brain shouted at him. Tell Ross to eff off. But his mouth felt mealy, and all he could do was slide down in his chair.
“That isn’t funny, Ross,” Andie said tightly, her voice cutting through the laughter.
The classroom went quiet.
Ross waved her off and motioned at Helen. “Back me up, Hel. I was kidding!”
Helen glanced up from Charlie’s homework. “Don’t drag me into this, please.”
“And don’t bother coming to the festival if you’re going to say ‘funny’ shit like that again,” Andie added. She flicked a sympathetic glance at Charlie, and he wished he could disappear into thin air. Poof, like Mr. Ingersoll. But he wasn’t a ghost, so he had to sit there and stew, wishing he had the courage to punch Ross in the nose.
As soon as the bell rang, Charlie was ready to run across campus, but Andie walked up to him first. “Sorry about what happened earlier. I told Ross not to come to our meetings anymore.”
Charlie’s cheeks turned pink. “No worries,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.
Beside them Helen laughed nervously. “Don’t let it bother you, Charlie Horse.”
Charlie winced again at the nickname, but then she gave him a little side hug when she returned his math homework, and he forgot what he was thinking.
“I know you two have to run to class, but can you make it to the service project?” Andie asked, thumbing through her journal.
Charlie glanced at Helen and thought, Please be busy, please be busy.
“Totally! We should carpool, Andie,” said Helen before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled out.
Charlie’s heart wilted. This meant that Helen would see him wearing his bright orange festival T-shirt and ringing up orders on Saturday. She would undoubtedly notice Waipo, too, talking to the empty air while insisting that she was chatting with a ghost.
“What about you?” Andie asked him. “Can I put you down as a yes?”
“No!” he said too forcefully before he dialed himself back. “I mean, I have to work.”
“Gotcha.” Andie reassured him with a smile, revealing two dimples on her cheeks. “Where do you work, by the way?”
The warning bell rang, and Charlie hustled out the door with a wave instead of a reply. His American history class was on the other side of campus, so he urged his legs faster, pumping them into a sprint and trying not to think about his worlds colliding in four short days.
If he went fast enough, maybe, just maybe, he could outrun the shadow of his old life.
* * *
After school let out, Charlie spent the commute plotting ways to hide from the Cultural Exchange Club during the festival. His armpits felt damp. He didn’t know how to separate his school life from his home one, and once they crashed into each other, he was sure it would be a catastrophe. Helen would think he was a freak.
As he turned onto his block, he was so miserable that he didn’t look up until he got to the store. He reached for the door, dreading the restocking he had to tackle, but it was locked.
His eyes shot up.
The Happy Horse never closed early, not even on Chinese New Year.
Within seconds, he’d unlocked the door and run up to the apartment. His mom was in the living room, pacing.
Questions tumbled out of Charlie’s mouth. “Why’s the store closed? Why didn’t you call?” His gaze skidded toward his grandma’s bedroom. “Is Waipo okay?”
The corners of his mother’s mouth tightened. “She fainted earlier.”
“She what?”
“She snuck outside when I was at the bank. The girl from Pop’s Deli found her on the sidewalk. Baba and I took her to see Dr. Gupta, and he’s getting her prescriptions now.” She sighed. “Waipo will be fine, but only if she rests.”
Charlie released a tight breath. “Where was she going? To see a customer?”
“She wouldn’t tell me, but it must have something to do with the gates.”
“But they’re not supposed to open until tonight—”
A familiar voice called out from his grandmother’s room. “Charlie-ah?” Waipo said crisply. “Bring me some water.”
“You need to sleep, Ma!” said Charlie’s mother.
“Send in my grandson. With my water,” came the reply.
Mrs. Ma frowned but knew there was no use arguing. So she filled a mug with water from the kettle and handed it to her son. “Tell her to rest. Please.”
Charlie entered Waipo’s room, which was barely big enough to fit a bed and a dresser. The walls were empty, aside from a Chinese zodiac calendar that his grandmother had picked up for free somewhere, but the space had always felt cozy to him instead of cramped.
Waipo lay in bed, one foot propped on a pillow. She was tiny, even more petite than Helen, and her permed hair had long since turned white. She wasn’t alone, either. Mr. Ingersoll stood at her bedside.
“It was the Slender One,” Mr. Ingersoll a
nnounced as soon as Charlie came in. “Your grandmother went out to face it. Alone.”
“Puh, don’t scare him!” said Waipo in accented English. She beckoned for Charlie to claim the folding chair next to her bed. “Sit, sit.”
Charlie didn’t move, though. “The Slender One was here?”
“It slipped out of the gates somehow,” Mr. Ingersoll explained, hands on hips and pacing. “Thank God it didn’t stay for long. It stalked off somewhere, but your grandmother got hurt nonetheless. What were you thinking, Shirley?”
Waipo frowned furiously at him. “Ai-ya, I was out for two seconds! Doesn’t even count.”
“Tell Charlie what it looked like,” said Mr. Ingersoll.
“This type of ghost? Always the same.” She shrugged and patted her throat. “Long neck.”
“Like the one four years ago,” Charlie whispered. He shivered at the memory. The hungry ghost had looked like an ordinary businessman in a pinstripe suit from the collar down, but its neck had stretched into a frighteningly thin arc, with its head dangling at the end and its mouth wide and toothless. Waipo had tried every trick to appease it—burning incense, offering paper money—but nothing worked until she pored over the local obituaries. That was where she found a photo of an Italian-American chef, wearing a pinstripe suit and standing outside his Sicilian restaurant. He had drowned in a boating accident, leaving behind a husband and a young daughter. That gave Waipo the idea to offer the ghost a platter of caponata, the restaurant’s specialty. The gamble worked, and the chef had moved on, but the ordeal exhausted Waipo for days. She couldn’t repeat that in her current state.
Waipo, however, wasn’t flustered. “Don’t worry so much. It gives you pimples, Charlie.”
“You should let us worry,” Mr. Ingersoll said. “You can’t keep the city safe on your own. You have to teach Charlie what to do.”
Charlie froze under their gazes. He wanted to be a good grandson, but he couldn’t do what Waipo did every seventh lunar month. She was the one who sought out the unhappiest ghosts, the ones who knocked over trash cans and made the neighborhood lights flicker. She would talk to them and puzzle out what pained them. A ghost who died brokenhearted might need the comforting aroma from a pot of chicken ginseng soup. A soul who died estranged from his children might be soothed with an offering of Waipo’s pineapple cakes. When Charlie was younger, he would join her on her excursions, and he’d feel a glowing pride whenever they helped a spirit find peace.
But he was older now. Almost sixteen.
Was it so wrong for him to want to be normal?
Waipo cleared her throat and said to Mr. Ingersoll, “Charlie needs to focus on school. He worked so hard to get into Alabaster.”
Charlie looked up, surprised, while Mr. Ingersoll swooped in to protest.
“He can study hard and protect the city.”
“If the Slender One returns, I’ll be ready,” replied Waipo.
Shame crept over Charlie. He couldn’t ask her to placate a hungry ghost alone. “Hold on—”
“Do your homework like a good boy. I need to talk to Mr. Ingersoll.”
Charlie knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he shuffled out. As he shut the door behind him, he thought he’d feel relief. Waipo had given him the go-ahead to concentrate on school—on his new life, on the new Charlie.
This is what you wanted, he reminded himself.
But he never thought that getting his wish would leave him feeling so awful.
* * *
The day of the festival arrived before Charlie knew it. By five in the morning he was tossing on his orange festival shirt; by seven thirty he was setting up catering tables on the sidewalks; and by ten forty-five he was starting up the shaved-ice machine while telling a guy visiting from Montenegro that the event wouldn’t start for another fifteen minutes.
His mother brushed past him with a tray of noodles in hand. “Remember to set out three bowls for the spirits like Waipo does,” she said.
“I will, Ma,” said Charlie. His parents had decided not to sell their usual pineapple cakes—because none of them could bake like Waipo did—but the shaved ice was still a go, and the responsibility fell to Charlie this year.
As he adjusted the machine’s settings, he glanced guiltily at his grandmother’s window. His mother had slipped a sleeping pill into Waipo’s tea the night before. Charlie didn’t like being sneaky, but his mom held firm. She told him that Waipo would never get better if she didn’t take it easy.
After Mrs. Ma hurried off, Charlie tested the shaved ice and glanced at the spirits drifting into Hungry Heart Row. They’d been pouring in since dawn, wandering through the stalls that each participating restaurant had set up, clustering around a fragrant Crock-Pot of ash-e-reshte and platters full of pumpkin tamales. Across the street, Lila from the local pastelería was unboxing dozens of conchas and novias, each one more brightly colored than the last.
Charlie got to work setting out the fixings. Assembling a bowl of shaved ice was a lot like making an ice cream sundae. Just replace the ice cream with slivers of ice and cover them with toppings that take on a special Asian flair—grass jelly, chunks of mango or sliced strawberries, and Waipo’s mung beans in syrup. He and his mom had spent the night preparing the mixture, but they couldn’t get the recipe quite right. The beans were a little too firm and a touch too sweet. They lacked Waipo’s expert touch.
Guilt sliced through Charlie like a chef’s knife. He wouldn’t have to worry about Helen bumping into his grandmother today, but thinking that only made him more miserable. He’d never celebrated a Hungry Ghost Festival without her before.
Soon, the first batch of festivalgoers arrived, and he was scrambling to get the silverware in place when two customers stopped at his table.
“Is this dessert? I love mangos!” said a voice that sounded very familiar.
“I’m not sure. What’s that black jiggly stuff over there?” said another voice that made Charlie’s heart take off sprinting.
He thought about ducking into the store really fast, but that was when Helen noticed him.
“Charlie Horse?” she said, confused. “Is that you?”
Charlie’s face went up in flames as he turned around to face her and Andie. He thought he was prepared to see them, but not this early. He’d even gone over what he would say, Oh, I’m helping out with the festival, capped with a nonchalant shrug, but now Helen was here, looking like a pretty summer’s day in a flowy sundress.
“Is this where you work? You should’ve told us! We wanted to come before the service project started to look around,” Andie said. She peered down at the festival flyer she was holding and glanced up at the Happy Horse sign. Something seemed to click in her eyes. “Oh! It says here that the Ma family has been hosting the Hungry Ghost Festival for over a decade. I didn’t realize that you were related.”
“So neat,” Helen said weakly as she looked at the various food stations. Charlie couldn’t help but notice that her nose scrunched at the sight of the stewed chicken feet sold at the Emperor’s Way food stall, a dish that the restaurant made especially for the festival.
Maybe she doesn’t like spicy food, Charlie thought, but that felt like an excuse.
Andie motioned at the shaved ice. “So how does this work? Do we choose the toppings?” She elbowed Helen to take a bowl too, but Helen blinked at the mung beans and shook her head.
“Gosh, I’m not hungry,” said Helen.
“You said you were starving on our way down here,” Andie teased.
“I totally did not!” Helen said with a nervous laugh, the same one Charlie had heard when she tried to brush off Ross’s racist joke.
Something deflated inside him. Helen had looked at the mung beans like they were mung beans. She wouldn’t even try a bite.
More festivalgoers streamed onto the block, and Charlie told himself to get to work. He explained each of the toppings to Andie, from the condensed milk to the grass jelly (aka the “black jiggly stuff,” as Hel
en called it).
“Wow, this is good. You’re missing out, Hel,” Andie said, three spoonfuls into her shaved ice. “How much do I owe you, Charlie?”
“It’s on the house.” He glanced at Helen. “You sure you don’t want any?”
She smiled too politely. “That’s so sweet but—”
All three of them went quiet as a chilly breeze brushed over their skin. Charlie shivered in his T-shirt. He looked up to see if a storm was coming, but the sun was shining brightly overhead. There wasn’t a cloud for miles, and yet it felt like one had wrapped around his heart, blocking off every speck of warmth.
“Weird,” Helen said. “It got really cold all of a sudden.”
Andie grimaced. “I don’t feel cold. Just . . . not quite right. I think I need an aspirin.”
But that wasn’t the worst of it. An awful stench soon overwhelmed Charlie’s nose, like steaming garbage and burnt hair rolled into one.
“Oh no,” he whispered. He turned toward the scent, but he already knew where it was coming from.
The Slender One had returned, and it was coming straight down Tansy Street. It looked like a twisted version of a human being, with limbs stretched into skinny ropes and with fingers bent and broken.
“Olenna,” it said in a gravelly whisper that only Charlie could hear. Its neck had elongated into a frighteningly thin arc, and its dangling head possessed no eyes or nose, just a gaping mouth.
Terror claimed Charlie’s body. He might’ve been the only one who could see the horrifying ghost, but the festivalgoers could definitely feel its presence too. All around him, people shuddered and fell silent. A baby cried while a young boy sat down on the pavement, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Olenna!” the Slender One cried. It barreled toward the shaved-ice station, right toward Helen.
“Watch out!” Instinct took over, and Charlie pushed her out of the way. He whipped around to face the angry spirit, but there was someone blocking the way, protecting him and Helen.
“Run, Charlie!” said Mr. Ingersoll, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Without blinking, he grabbed the Slender One by the middle and wrenched it away from the shaved-ice table, grimacing as the hungry ghost shrieked and scratched at him. Through gritted teeth he shouted, “Bring your grandma to Mallow Park! I’ll keep this one there as long as I can.”
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