Ghost Town
Authors: Phoebe Rivers
S
ARANORMA
L
The beach. The boardwalk. The ghosts . . .
Sara Collins is a normal girl with an abnormal secret: She sees spirits. Sara has had this ability almost as long as she can remember, but she doesn't like to talk about it. She wants nothing more than to have a normal life, and to her, “normal” doesn't include anything paranormal.
But Sara's ability isn't going away . . . In fact, changes are happening in her life that will make it even more powerful. Her world is about to be turned upside down because she and her dad are moving across the country to an old shore town in New Jersey. A town with more than its fair share of ghosts roaming around.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2012 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Text by Heather Alexander
First Edition 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4424-4038-8 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-5378-4 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-4039-5 (eBook)
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2012931295
PROLOGUE
The car sped past a playground and I was instantly reminded of that day, eight years ago, when I saw one of them for the first time. Well, two of them, to be exact.
We drove past the playground and a strip mall, and then the car slowed as we veered onto a ramp to the Garden State Parkway. I was too distracted to take much of anything inânot that the highway was all that scenic, but it was new to me and so I should have been curious. But I couldn't focus. I was remembering that day eight years ago.
I felt her eyes on me before I realized she was there.
I squinted across the fenced-in area, trying to bring
the girl into focus. She seemed to shimmer in the heat. I had never seen her before at my Little Learners School. Her chestnut-brown hair was divided into two tight braids. Braids that tight would have given me a headache, I remember thinking. She wore a plain gray dress and brown shoes. Her dress was longer than the ones the other girls at school wore. It was, in fact, totally unlike any of the dresses I had in my closet at home, even the ones I wore for dress-up.
She stood silently, staring at me as I rocked slowly on the teeter-totter horse. The white horse with its flowing, molded-plastic black mane was my horse. All the kids in the fours class knew I never rode the brown horse, only the white one.
I rocked with my pink skirt cascading over the seat and my white sneakers with magenta sparkles planted firmly on the footrests. The heat rose in waves off the recycled rubber-tire shavings on the ground.
I could feel Miss Susie's curious gaze resting on me from the bench near the entrance. I wondered if she knew the new girl's name. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and remained on the shaded bench, too warm to play with the kids today.
I glanced over at Kendra and Emmy. Their bare legs stuck to the slide and made a squeaking noise as they slid down, one after the other. Noah, Will, and Jack played in the sandbox. No one else seemed to notice the girl. She stood by the far edge of the enclosed play space, her eyes on me.
I closed my eyes and rode my horse. Tiny beads of sweat tickled the roots of my sun-kissed hair. Suddenly I didn't feel so good.
My eyes flicked open, and I slowed my rocking. An odd tingling danced across the soles of my feet. Tiny pinpricks of sensation. I took my feet off the footrests, dangling my legs, wiggling my toes inside my sneakers. I felt like I might throw up. I opened my mouth to call for Miss Susie . . . and then I saw the girl sitting on the brown teeter-totter horse next to me. She smiled.
I smiled back.
The girl began to rock. I started up my horse too. Side-by-side, we rocked together, our plastic horses keeping time. I glanced back at the other kids. Still no one noticed the new girl. I was glad. I liked her. Maybe she would be my friend. I didn't want bossy Kendra to see her yet. Kendra never wanted to play with me, and she might
convince the new girl not to play with me.
The girl grasped her horse's chipped black mane with her right hand, gripping the handlebar with her left. I did the same. The girl nodded at me, and it was clear: Our horses would race. We galloped back and forth, our horses neck and neck. I turned to smile at her and sucked in my breath. The brown horse had no rider.
My new friend was gone. Just like that.
I gnawed my bottom lip, confused. Where did she go? I twirled about, searching the playground. But I didn't see her anywhere.
A wave of intense nausea washed over me. Climbing shakily off the teeter-totter, I wondered if I'd be sent home. When Will threw up during circle time a few weeks ago, he had to go home. I was pretty sure my dad was at work, and I wondered if he'd have to leave to come pick me up.
Suddenly a different girl stood beside me. She had long black hair swept back into a shiny blue headband. She wore a pretty white blouse, navy-and-green plaid skirt, and tall navy socks that stretched all the way up to her knees. She began to skip around the teeter-totters. She waved her hand, beckoning me to join.
I wasn't sure what to do. Suddenly I realized that I no
longer felt sick. Miss Susie sat on the bench, fanning herself with a magazine. She didn't seem to notice this new girl either. Noah looked over at me and waved. But he didn't wave at the new girl. I watched the girl's thick hair bounce as she skipped. I looked over toward Kendra, sure that she would tease the new girl for skipping around like a baby, but Kendra wasn't paying attention. I decided that I wanted to skip too.
Around and around we went. I giggled as she made silly faces at me.
Suddenly the girl with the braids was back, atop the brown horse. She pointed toward the white horse. She wanted me to ride with her again. I stopped skipping and stepped in her direction. Not only did I have one new friend, but I had two!
The black-haired girl was suddenly in front of me. She scrambled onto the white horse. My white horse. The two girls began to ride. I wanted to ride too.
“That's my horse,” I said quietly, pleading.
The girls kept rocking.
“That's the horse I always ride,” I said, louder this time. “I was on it first.”
The girl stared ahead, as if she didn't hear me. Tears
pooled in my eyes, and I swallowed hard. I didn't understand what was happening. Why wouldn't she listen? Why didn't they want to be my friends?
I tried to move toward them but couldn't. My feet felt glued to the ground. I tried to reach for the girls, but I couldn't move my arms. I had the terrible feeling that I was being pressed down under a bunch of pillows. I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Miss Susie raced to my side. She drew me close, anxious to uncover the cause of my tears.
I started to tell her about the two girls.
But they had faded away.
As if they were never really there.
I blinked rapidly, pushing back the memory. I am pretty sure that was the first time. They were the first, but there'd been many others. Girls, boys, old, young. They all came to me and then faded away without saying a word.
I pressed my hand hard against the car window, then pulled it back. The sweaty imprint of my palm smudged the glass. I watched as my handprint quickly evaporated, leaving behind the clear glass.
Was it gone forever? Or was it hidden there somewhere?
I didn't know the answer. Just like I don't know what really happened to those two girls from the playground. But I do know that those girls weren't a dream.
They were real.
“See, it's not so different. Open your window and smell the air,” my father instructed as we turned off the highway. He pressed a button somewhere to the left of the steering wheel, and my window rolled down by itself.
I cringed at the thought of what I might see out there and turned my back on the warm, summer breeze cutting through the stale odor of the rental car.
“Do you smell the ocean air, Sara?” my father asked, a little too eagerly. “Just like home. I mean, like California. They smell the same, don't you think?”
I didn't think so. The Atlantic Ocean smelled heavy and thick and salty. The Pacific didn't have a smell, or at least it didn't have one that I could remember.