Radley's Home for Horny Monsters by Annabelle Hawthorne (best novels for teenagers .TXT) 📗

The swing swayed back and forth, squeaking incessantly, but a breeze was passing through, which meant Mike had no idea if Cecilia was there. There was an easy way to find out.

“Hello? Cecilia?” He moved closer to the swing, fighting the urge to shut his eyes. It was like watching a scary movie, and knowing that the scary part was coming. “Are you out here?” The swing swayed gently, with no sign of slowing down. If the banshee was gone, that would make the process that much easier.

He approached the swing, then grabbed the chain and unhooked it from the frame before lowering it to the ground. When nothing bad happened, he inspected the eye-hook at the top of the chain.

Sure enough, it had managed to wiggle partially free and the surface had rusted over. Staring at the useless screwdrivers he had chosen, he instead found the wrench that Tink had tucked away for him. He laughed at the goblin’s forethought, using the wrench to twist the eye-hook. The hook barely turning, he used a few sprays of the WD-40 to help things along. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to yank it free.

Using a rag from the toolbox, Mike gave the screw a good cleaning, then scraped the rust off as best he could. After inspecting the screw, he looked inside the hole of the frame. It was caked with rust as well. He used one of the screwdrivers to clean it out as best he could, knocking loose quite a bit of rust and dirt. Sticking the eyebolt back in, he then twisted it tightly into place. He gave it an experimental tug, and it held fast.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the chain. Lifting his arm to reattach it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as the temperature dropped. Spinning in place, he saw that she was only a foot from him, hovering inches off the ground, hands balled at her side. Her face a twisted mask, Cecilia took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Wait!” Mike cried, dropping the swing and holding his hands in front of him. “Just hear me out!” He knelt down and lifted the chain, then hooked it back through the eyebolt. Keeping a cautious eye on Cecilia, he sat down gently, wincing as he gave a gentle kick of his legs. The porch swing was silent, gliding back and forth with just the soft rustling of the frame above it. “I know that you like this swing, so I thought I would fix it for you.”

Cecilia’s ghostly features softened, her hands reaching out to touch the moving chain. She glided gently around Mike and sat beside him. The air by her skin was cool, as if she was generating her own breeze, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft with an Irish lilt to it. She opened her eyes, revealing milky orbs that stared into the distance. Her hand felt along the bench, resting on his knee. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. My name is Mike, by the way.” He tried to stand, but Cecilia squeezed his leg, holding him in place.

“I’m sorry about before.” She turned her sightless eyes toward him. “Please stay with me for just a bit. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in quite some time.”

Mike could think of several things he wanted to do instead, but Cecilia’s demeanor was drastically different. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed lonely.

“Okay, sure. I can stay for a bit.”

“Thank you.” Cecilia rocked on the swing, saying nothing for several minutes.

Mike stared at the banshee, more than curious. Her white clothing was simple, but tailor made for her, and her curls were as white as she was, though they terminated in eerie spikes that spread out around her as if she sat on a Van De Graf generator.

The chill of her hand was intense through his jeans. Uncomfortable, he slid his hand beneath hers. “I hope this is okay,” he told her, and a slight grin crossed her face.

“You’re the first man to hold my hand in many years,” she informed him. “The last one to do that was-“ Her entire body flickered, like a shock had gone through her. “Someone whose name I can’t remember.”

“Yep.” Mike couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was. The longer he held her hand, the warmer she felt. “Now that you’re not pissed at me, you don’t seem very banshee-ish.”

This elicited a frown. “A banshee is what I am, not how I act. It used to be something I was proud to be, a job I was proud to do.”

“A job?”

Cecilia nodded. “Every family had its own banshee. It was my job to guide family members into the afterlife when they passed. Nobody loves a banshee for what they represent, but they needed us for what we did. Our wails of sorrow were to announce our coming, and we would guide the spirits into the ever after.”

“So... the afterlife is real?”

“Very much so. When Emily passed, I was allowed to guide her soul to its resting place.”

“That’s...wow.” That was something to chew on, for certain. “What’s it like?”

Cecilia smiled. “You’ll find out someday.”

“To be honest, I try not to think of it much.” Mike winced. “I had a close call when I was younger.”

“I can tell. Your soul has a certain polish to it.” Cecilia’s face broke into a wicked smile. “Tell me, do you-“ Cecilia flickered, vanishing from view at the creaking of the front steps.

A woman in her forties walked slowly up the wooden stairs, accompanied by a much younger woman. The older woman's long black hair was wound tightly in a bun, but there was plenty left over that it had been fashioned into a long braid beneath it. She wore a simple gray skirt with a modest white blouse. Her