Haunted - Jay Mirano (ereader android .TXT) 📗

be fair, I kind of forced Mason to help me. So not really his fault at all."
   "Help you?"
   "Well isn't that what you people do? Help spirits―or ghosts―or whatever cross over to the other side?"
   "Except you aren't crossed over, and you don't have any intention to, do you?"
   Damn, his Mom was good. "Well, it's kind of complicated."
   "It always is."
   "Mom, I think Aly can really help us learn more about the spirit world. Things aren't as cut and dry as I thought."
   "It's not our business to mess around in the spirit world, Mason. How many times?"
   Avery pulled a set of keys out of her bag and veered off the foothpath and up a driveway. The house was small and quaint, almost a cottage if you could have a cottage in the suburbs, that is. Rosemary bushels lined the path, and an arch of ivy hung over the doorway.
   I followed these two strange, spirit-loving people into their home, watching as Avery started fixing a sandwhich in the kitchen. She looked so much like Mason; same olive skin, same eyes, same auburn hair. Except Avery's hair was plaited in a loose braid down her back, streaked with the faintest hints of silver among the deep red-brown.
   "So what exactly is my Mason helping you with, Aly?" Avery asked, crossing over to the fridge and pulling out a block of cheese.
   I gave Mason a wary look, and he nodded. "Lots of things. Lately I've been trying to figure out how to touch things again. Although so far I've only been able to make leaves and paper move, and not by that much at that."
   "Well of course not. What advice has Mason been giving you, exactly?"
   "Uhh, well... He basically told me it's all in the mind. That my―what did you call it?―intangibility was a construct of my imagination, I think.
   Avery planted her hands on either side of the chopping board, leaning over the bench. Her stare was intense, almost like the way Mason had looked at me on his first day at school. "Some things are. You can change clothes, locations, settings, just by an image in your mind. Other things though, like making your mark on real things, need a different approach."
   Mason and I exchanged a look. "Like what?"
   Avery sighed, hacking away at the cheese with surprising ferocity. "Things that involve other people―other living things―require a stronger connection to the human world."
   "So does that mean," Mason furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. "Aly gets more in touch with people? Or what, because you're making no damn sense."
   "When a person dies, their spirit is instantly drawn to the Otherside," she arranged the cheese wedges haphazardly on the bread slices. "From the moment we die to the moment we cross-over, there's a constant battle between mind and soul. For some, they cross-over straight away. For others, like our Aly here, they fight to stay and cling to the world they left behind. But the soul is always beckoning them onwards, pulling them away from the life they knew and into the next."
   "So you're saying the stronger my hold is on this world, the more tangible I'll be?"
   "Yes. But you're slipping. I can see how loudly the Otherside is calling for you. The more you give in to them, the less present you'll be in this world."
   "How do I fight it?"
   "Hanging around Mason is a good start," she said. "Don't let yourself forget what it feels like to be alive."
   Mason started backing away. "Okay, well... I think you're weirding Aly out, because you're definitely weirding me out. We're just going to go... Upstairs... For a little while."
   I drifted behind Mason, but Avery stopped us. "Have you told her yet? Does she know?"
   Mason glared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom."
   "Told me what? What don't I know?"
   Mason and Avery shared a long stare, communicating something I couldn't possibly ever grasp. "You'll need to tell her Mason, and soon. Don't let her find out the wrong way."

 
 

Celestial

 

 

 

"I'm not kidding, Mason," I was trying to look as intimidating as I could, but it doesn't really help that I can't pick up objects and throw them around like I wanted to. "You tell me what's going on or else. I don't think you understand what it'd be like to have me haunt you for the rest of eternity."
   "Eternity? No. Maybe just for the rest of my lifetime."
   I glared at Mason the best I possibly could. "Should I just go ask your Mom instead? Because I want answers. Now."
   "No! No, please don't do that," Mason flew to his feet, pacing between his bed and the wall. He raked a hand through his hair, gnawing nervously on his lip. "It's complicated. The consequences could be huge. I don't want to mess around in something I don't fully understand."
   I sighed, letting myself drift to the window. I'd been so pissed at Mason I barely even registered that we were now in his bedroom... Alone. I hadn't been in a boy's bedroom since Donnie Marks had a slumber party for his eighth birthday. I guess it doesn't count for much when you're dead, though.
   For an introverted teenager who could see and talk to ghosts, Mason's room was surprisingly normal. There were no Anarchy posters, or any demonic summoning circles. He didn't have incense burning or candles stacked up on old, musty books. It was just a regular room, a neat bed, a near-bare desk, and a large beanbag propped up in the corner.
   I indicated to a pile of CDs sitting on his bedside table. "So you like Deftones, huh?"
   "Hell yeah, who wouldn't?"
   I surpressed a smile. "Diamond Eyes is my favorite album."
   Mason's dimples made a reappearance. He went over to the CD player, popped in a CD, and leaned against his set of drawers with a triumphant grin on his face. Melodic tones filled the air, the warbling of a guitar and a soft, ethereal voice settling over me like a cloak.
   I drifted over to the window, basking in the sounds of my favorite song. It's always the little things that you realize you miss the most. Sure I miss my Mom, and Cassie... But what I wouldn't give to hold a warm, dripping taco as I tried to stuff it in my mouth before I made too much of a mess.
   "Uhh, who's that?" I asked, pointing at the girl standing below in Mason's yard. "Is she...?"
   "A ghost? Yeah," he shrugged, joining me by the window. "That's Celeste. She's been here since we moved in."
   "Then your mother is a hypocrite! So much for no ghosts in the house, huh."
   "Technically she's not in the house," damn those dimples. How can I ghost's stomach still flip? "She's outside. She doesn't really move from that spot."
   She was a ghost all right; the way she shimmered and wavered in the light was unmistakable. She also couldn't be any older than nine or ten. "Why is she here?"
   "She doesn't speak much, but we guess she must have lived here before she... You know," Mason looked at me apologetically. "And when she does talk, it's usually just to ask where 'Arielle' is."
   "Who's Arielle?"
   "She won't say. To be honest, we're not sure she's still all there. The longer a spirit spends here on Earth, well. Let's just say it can have an adverse effect on the mind. I doubt she even registers what's happening around her most of the time. She's just there. Thinking about Arielle. Probably replaying her life over and over again."
   "That sounds horrible," I looked away from the window. "That's not going to happen to me, is it?"
   Mason dragged his hand down the side of his face. "Who knows? Celeste has been here a long time."
   "How long?"
   Mason shrugged. "Mom says she's wearing what looks like early 20th century clothing. So maybe a hundred years? More?"
   "Still, that's sort of modern," I started drift-pacing. "Little girls didn't just die, even back then."
   "Yeah, so what?"
   "Do you think the library would still have records? Birth and death certificates, that kind of thing."
   Mason cocked a quizzical brow at me. "Sure. Why do you ask?"
   "Because I can't bear the thought of that little girl standing there forever, while the world goes on without her. I don't want her to be waiting for a person who's never going to show up. I think we should help her crossover." 

***

 "What did you say her last name was?" 
   "Balon," Mason lightly drummed his fingers on the keyboard. "At least, that's that family that lived there before us. Who's to say it's the same family?"
   "It's worth a try, it's all we've got," I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. The library was deadly quiet, probably because it was almost 6pm on the Tuesday night. Mason was hunched over a newspaper database at the far end of the library, concealed behind a row of books so we wouldn't be noticed. "Just type it in," I hissed.
   I watched as Mason typed in Celeste Balon, his knee jiggling nervously as we waited for the screen to load. I swear I've never seen anything load so slowly. If that loading icon spins around one more time I'm gonna―
   "A hit!" Mason spoke a little too loudly, because someone, somewhere shushed in our direction. Mason lowered his voice. "Girl feared drowned after disappearance at Lake Sammamish."
   "Woah," my voice was barely a whisper. "What else does it say?"
   Mason loaded the article. "July 12th, 1903. Celeste Balon, 8, disappeared while swimming with her family at Lake Sammamish..." he murmured softly to himself as he scanned the article. "She is survived by a sister, Arielle Balon, 4, and her mother, Genevieve Balon, 39."
   "Holy shit. That poor girl. So they never found her body?"
   "Apparently not."
   "So Arielle is her sister. Why is she asking for her?"
   Mason shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe she doesn't know she's dead. Sometimes a traumatic death can be blocked out."
   "Mine wasn't."
   "I said sometimes."
   I thought for a second. "Have you ever helped a person crossover?"
   "Sure, all the time. But we've already tried that with Celeste, she just doesn't even seem to know we're there."
   "I have an idea," I said. "Let's do this thing."

 

***

 Avery was dressed in a long, flowing gown, the hem dragging along the grass as she walked. She was holding two sticks of incense in each hand, circling them around Celeste and muttering something I couldn't quite understand. Her hair was loose, hanging down to her waist, and she'd never looked more like a witch.
   Celeste looked worried. Okay, make that really worried. She was twisting the fabric of her skirt around and around in her fingers, pulling it taut then scrunching it back up again. Her blond hair hung limp around her face, tumbling out of two high pigtails. 
   "Arielle? Where are you, Arielle?" Celeste's voice quivered with emotion.
   I got on my knees in front of Celeste, bringing myself to eye level. Avery's chanting was extremely distracting. And annoying. "Arielle isn't here. But