Ghost Town (6 page)

Awkward silence. It always happens. People don't know how to react when I tell them about my mom.

“I'm so sorry—”

“It's fine,” I interrupted. “I never knew her.” When I say that, it makes people feel better. Like you can't miss what you never had. But watching
Mrs. Randazzo and Lily, I did miss her. A lot.

“It's not fine,” Mrs. Randazzo said. “Sometimes a candle is blown out before it even begins to burn. Right?”

“Right.” I stared at the wicker basket of cut hydrangeas at my feet. The perfumed scent of the pom-poms drifted toward me. I wanted to reach out and touch Lily's mom. She understood. Very few did. But I kept my hands by my sides.

“Wait,” Lily said. “Does that fortune-teller woman live with you and your dad? Is she still there?”

“Yeah. Do you know her?”

Lily shook her head. “My friends are always daring me to go in there, but she seems too wacky. Is she totally wacky?”

“I'm not sure,” I admitted. I turned to Mrs. Randazzo, who was now gathering the cut flowers into a bouquet. “Do you know Lady Azura?”

“Yes. I love the long emerald-green coat she wears in the winter.” She gave a quiet laugh. “The woman's eighty, yet manages to make me feel frumpy.”

“But what do you know
about
her
?” I pressed. Suddenly it seemed vitally important that I uncover if she was a fake or if she truly had powers. “She speaks
in riddles. Do you think her fortune-telling is for real?”

Lily's mom reached for a piece of twine and twisted it around the stems. She seemed to be considering my question as she worked. She took her time, binding the flowers into a puffy, beach ball–like bouquet.

“It's hard to say, Sara,” she finally replied. “I suspect that everything she tells her clients is both true and untrue. We can each uncover what's true if we are willing to look for it. There's often a truth that's deeper than the words we hear.”

A few minutes later, I biked alongside Lily, thinking about what her mother had said. Was there something about Lady Azura I wasn't seeing?

We made a quick pit stop at Elber's, so I could pick up the items on Lady Azura's list, and then hopped back on out bikes.

“We need to stop at visitor's info,” Lily said as we pedaled onto the boardwalk. “Great-Aunt Ro works there. She likes to keep fresh flowers on her desk. These are for her.” Lily held the bouquet in one hand and used the other to steer. “You hungry?

Uncle Lenny will give us slices.” She pointed the bouquet toward Lenny's Pizzeria.

“Is everyone on the boardwalk related to you?” I asked.

Lily pointed to an older man in a Speedo suit sunning himself on a bench. “Not him, thank god,” she replied, and we both cracked up. “But everyone else, probably.”

“Really?” With the exception of my dad's sister, we didn't have any close family.

“The Randazzos and the Morellis—that's my mom's side—pretty much run Stellamar and the towns nearby. They've been living here for over a hundred years. And everyone has lots of kids.” Lily rolled her eyes. “I mean
lots
. We're talking if my whole family left tomorrow, the population would be cut in half.”

“That's so cool.” I loved my dad, but it could get quiet with just the two of us.

“Sometimes,” Lily agreed. “Other times it's like that family Thanksgiving dinner when the annoying relatives won't leave—
ever
. But I like Great-Aunt Ro.”

Lily ran in and delivered her flowers, then we parked our bikes, and walked along the pier. The faint
aroma of grease tinged the salty air. The food stands were just opening their doors, getting ready for the early lunch crowd. I listened as Lily told me about the different games of chance: which had the best prizes, which were the easiest to win, and which ones no one stood a chance at winning.

“Ready for a scare?” David called from his post at the haunted house.

The large Victorian manor was painted a dark purple with black trim. In the late morning light, the chipped and peeling paint was visible. Seagulls swooped overhead.

“You can't scare me,” Lily boasted.

“That's what you think.” David gestured toward Midnight Manor. “I bet you'll scream.”

“You're on!” Lily grinned, delighted by the challenge. “Let's show him, Sara. Nothing can scare us!”

“Uh . . . well . . . I'm not really into haunted houses,” I muttered. “I'll just hang here. You go.”

“There's nothing scary in there, believe me,” Lily prodded.

“I don't have any money for tickets—” I began.

“We don't need money. David'll let us in.”

David nodded. “Just don't tell.”

Lily linked her arm with mine. “Come on, Sara. You can't live in Stellamar and not laugh at Midnight Manor. It's, like, a requirement.”

A woman had died in this house. Was she still in there—waiting for me? I didn't want to find out. I glanced at Lily's hopeful face. I really did want to be friends with her. I wanted to have fun and laugh at the Midnight Manor like generations of kids in Stellamar did.

“Let's do it,” I agreed. I gazed at Midnight Manor. How scary could a run-down boardwalk attraction be—especially during the day?

A few minutes later, I was plunged into darkness. The sun, the boardwalk, the beach seemed miles away. Icy air swirled about me as I followed Lily through narrow hallways, sporadically lit by flickering electric candles. Doors on squeaky hinges swung open by themselves.

Lily giggled next to me. “Do you love it?”

“It's great.” I gulped and kept close to her shadowy figure.

A low, painful moan echoed around us. Sticky spider webs brushed against my skin. I shivered. I really didn't want to be here.

Through a dark curtain, a zombie leaped out, making us shriek. Decomposed skin hung in pieces from its obviously fake head. I giggled nervously. Then I heard whispering. Again. Whispering behind me. I swiveled about. Other visitors? I peered into the darkness.

Nothing.

We walked on. More whispers. Closer now. Warm breath draped my neck. I spun around. Through the darkness, a face appeared. A skull with deep, empty eye sockets. Bony fingers touched me. I shrunk in fear . . . until Lily reached over and grabbed the skeleton's hands.

“Look, Sara!” she called. “We're doing the monster mash.” She pretended to waltz with the fake skeleton. I realized that Lily knew I was scared and she was trying to distract me.

I laughed. I was annoyed at myself for being so timid, but grateful to Lily for being so cool about it.

She let go of the skeleton's hand and grabbed mine. “Onward!”

We ascended a dramatic curved staircase in the dim light. Fabric-draped walls reached up to an
impossibly high ceiling. Portraits of men in Victorian-style clothing hung on the walls, their eyes tracking our every step. Mournful music played on a faraway organ. My eyes strained to glimpse the second-floor landing. Something was up there.

Something that glimmered and moved.

A woman in a long, pale dress.

The lights began to flicker.

I slowed my steps. Was it a spirit? The woman who died here?

She floated down the stairs. Toward me.

“Watch out, Sara!” Lily suddenly shrieked. She yanked my arm so hard, I fell to my knees—just in time to see the huge brass chandelier above me crash down! I screamed and covered my head. There was no time to move.

Lily doubled over in laughter. I peeked through my hands. The chandelier hung several feet over our heads, suspended by a thick cable. Then the cable magically pulled the chandelier back into place. An amazing special effect.

“I knew that would scare you!” Lily cried. “It's my favorite part. So cool, right?”

I grinned and finally relaxed. It was all a joke. Nothing in here was real. Even the woman on the stairs was just bedsheets and pulleys—not a spirit.

When we emerged in the blinding sunlight after more silly scares, Lily and I were laughing so hard I thought I'd have to find a bathroom.

Lily walked like a zombie toward David. “I repeat—so not scary. But Sara totally fell for the dropping chandelier. You gotta tell him, Sara, how you ducked for cover. Totally awesome.”

But I couldn't speak.

There was someone leaving the haunted house.

Someone I recognized.

The old man with the cane floated out the side door, swirling around an oblivious group of people leaving the haunted house. They didn't see him, but I did. Because he was dead.

I began to shiver despite the sun beating down. My eyes remained glued to him.

“Hey, Sara,” Lily coaxed.

He moved toward me. Then he opened his mouth and let out an anguished wail:
Sara!

He knows my name!

Every muscle in my body tensed. The blood stopped flowing through my veins. I was numb with fear.

He shimmered a few feet in front of me, yet he seemed to be everywhere.

Sara, Sara . . .
The sound was more a rumble than a voice. And my name sounded like a moan.

He needed me.

Sara, Sa—ra!

He reached for me, groping the air. The numbness fell away. Dizziness invaded my body. My legs shook, and I feared I would fall.

“Hey, what's wrong? You don't look good.” Lily was by my side.

I didn't trust myself to speak. My eyes remained locked on the old man's shimmery image.

“Sara, seriously. Are you sick?” Lily grabbed my arm.

The image faded, then was gone. As if he'd never really been there.

“I don't feel so good,” I croaked. It was true. I felt as if I'd vomit.

“Do you want me to get you some water?” David asked.

I shook my head. “I'm going to go home.”

“I'll go with you,” Lily said.

I saw him again. Farther down the pier. Waiting. Waiting for me.

“No,” I replied. He quivered in the sun's glare.

“Of course I'm coming with you,” Lily insisted. She began to lead me down the pier. Toward him.

I shook her off. “No!” I hadn't meant to sound so harsh.

Lily backed away, surprised.

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “I've got to go, okay? I'm sorry—”

I started to run. My flip-flops slapped the planks as I picked up speed. I raced past him.

“Sara!”

I flung myself onto my bike, pedaling furiously. I was on Beach Drive before I realized it was Lily calling my name, not the spirit.

I'd messed it all up. Lily must have thought I was so rude.

My heart sunk as I turned toward home. It'd been a mistake to think I could have a best friend. Some kids were blissfully unaware that they were different. But I knew. I was different because I could see things others couldn't. And I was old enough to know that with most kids, different equaled weird. At least it had in California. I guessed it did in New Jersey, too.

I wished I could turn back and explain to Lily what I'd seen.

More than anything, I wished I could just be normal.

“See this thing?” My dad held up the tool. “It's called a hammer.”

“I know what it's called.”

“Oh, well, since you said you were helping, I thought you might be confused. You see, your camera doesn't actually repair anything.” My dad's
blue eyes danced as he teased me.

I squatted on the stair, focusing the lens on the pattern of the banister. The spokes looked like soldiers lined up at attention. “I'm documenting how you transform this house. Like one of those reality shows.”

“And that's helping how?” he asked. He banged a nail to secure a wobbly spoke.

“In a very special way.” I grinned at him, then snapped a close-up of the nail.

We worked side by side—him hammering, me photographing.

“You sure you don't want to play outside?” he asked for the tenth time that afternoon. “Maybe find that girl from down the street?”

I shook my head. I'd been in the house for the past two days. Unpacking. Helping Dad fix stuff. Avoiding the boardwalk. Avoiding Lily.

I felt bad about that. Not the boardwalk. I was never going near that haunted house again. But about Lily. She'd been texting me like crazy. I told her I was fine, but I'd pretended that I wasn't feeling well enough to go out.

I stopped taking pictures and leaned back on my
heels, listening. The floorboards above me creaked. Long then short.

They'd been creaking nonstop for days. It was the woman in the rocking chair in the pink bedroom. Trying to rock away her sadness. Every now and again her sobs echoed throughout the house. I insisted her door—actually
all
doors—stay closed.

“Dad,” I began tentatively. “What about if we go back?”

“Go back where?” He brushed a splintered post with sandpaper.

“Home. To California.”

He stopped sanding to focus on me. “This is our home, kiddo. Our new home.”

“I don't like it. I don't like this town or this house.” I hated how my voice came out like a whine.

His broad shoulders sagged. “Sara, it's always hard in the beginning. You just need to give it all a chance—”

“I did. It feels bad here,” I said, my throat tight with emotion. “The boardwalk is . . . the haunted house . . . it's really haunted.”

Dad looked visibly relieved. “Oh, kiddo, that's just your imagination. That's what they want you to think.

A haunted house is supposed to scare you—”

“It's more than that. There's this unhappiness here. This horrible, um, vibe—”

He dropped the sandpaper and reached for my hand. “Remember what we've talked about. You can't let your emotions overwhelm you.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “A new place is always scary when you're by yourself. But school will start in a few weeks. You won't be so alone. You'll see more people and then—”