Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town

What Others are Saying about Jimmy Stone's
Ghost Town

"This spooky tale is told with Scott
Neumyer's trademark wit and insight. Ghost towns are fraught with
danger, but Neumyer makes them irresistibly appealing with the help
of Jimmy Stone."

• Lara Zielin, author of DONUT DAYS and THE
  IMPLOSION OF AGGIE WINCHESTER
  

"A spooky and thrilling
ride!
Jimmy Stone's Ghost Town
will have you on the edge of your
seat."

• Lauren Barnholdt, best-selling author of THE
  SECRET IDENTITY OF DEVON DELANEY and RULES FOR SECRET KEEPING
  

"Scott Neumyer's debut
novel,
Jimmy Stone's Ghost
Town
, is rife with the gifts of a natural
storyteller, one who pulls the reader in seamlessly--and, more
critical, without ever showing his hand. The book is a best-seller
for a reason--it's beautifully written, you connect with the
complex characters, you're charged by the imagination, fueled by
the energy. That the book is poised for a sequel is just another
reason to get excited for the world this 'Town' is only on the cusp
of exploring"

• Christopher Smith, author of the best-selling
  thriller FIFTH AVENUE
  

JIMMY STONE'S GHOST
TOWN

A novel by

Scott Neumyer

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2010 Scott
Neumyer

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
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and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

For my great grandmother, Julia, who I
promised this to a long time ago.

For Denise and Skylar, who are my reason for
waking.

And for all my friends and family who always
believed.

Copyright and Legal Notice:

This publication is protected under the US
Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international,
federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved,
including resale rights.

Any trademarks, service marks, product names
or named features are assumed to be the property of their
respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no
implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this
book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical
means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage
and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.

First ebook edition © 2010.

Cover design by Justin
Gaynor (
www.justingaynor.com
).

For all permissions, please
contact the author at
[email protected]

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to
persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely
coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 Scott Neumyer. All rights
reserved worldwide.

http://www.whoisjimmystone.com/

http://www.scottwrites.com/

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Acknowledgments:

For all their help, encouragement, guidance,
and advice on this book and life in general, the author would like
to thank Lauren Barnholdt, Andrew Auseon, Dave White, Lara Zielin,
Christopher Smith, Keri Mikulski, Nova Ren Suma, Jamie S. Rich,
Lauren Baratz-Logsted, Greg Logsted, Coe Booth, Lauren Myracle,
Elizabeth Scott, Marty Beckerman, Jackie Corley, and Mandy Hubbard.
Even if they might not know they helped, this book wouldn't exist
without them.

Chapter One

My dad never told me what happened to my
almost-sister until I was in third grade. That was two years ago
and I still wonder what it might have been like if they had come
home with a baby girl to share my room with.

I remember watching from under the crook of
my grandma's arm as, instead of wheeling a stroller carrying
Charlotte - which we'd all voted on as being a great name for a
baby girl - my dad pushed my mother up the gravel driveway in a
wheelchair.

"Where's Charlotte?" I asked when they
worked their way through the door and into the house.

My mom covered her face with her hands and
started crying. My dad just kept on wheeling her through the
kitchen. As she rolled past me, she pulled something out from under
her blanket - all this without even managing to look up - and
handed it to me.

The tiny, brown puppy tried desperately to
jump out of my arms back onto Mom's lap, but I held on tight, still
wondering what exactly was going on.

"Charlotte," he said, "won't be coming to
live with us, Jimmy. We brought you home this little guy
instead."

"What's wrong with Mommy?" I asked, full of
questions. The last thing I could think about right now was a
wiggly, little puppy. My grandma patted my shoulder and forced a
smile in my direction.

Without stopping, or even turning around, my
dad said, "Don't worry about your mother. She's just tired."

So I didn't worry and just figured that
everything would be better after she'd had a quick nap. I had no
idea that she'd be in bed for the next three weeks.

I heard her call out for my dad in the
middle of the night, even though I was sure he was probably
sleeping right beside her. I could only hear her calling so many
times before I finally decided to toss the blankets off, swing my
door open, and run down the hall to their room.

Standing in their open door, the dim light
from a nightlight shining behind me, I asked my dad if Mommy was
okay.

"She's fine," he'd always say and waved at
me to go back to bed. "Her fever's just breaking, Jimmy."

"Can we fix it?" I'd ask, not trying to be
funny but helpful. "Should we call Mommy's doctor?"

"Go back to bed, Jimmy. Your mother will be
just fine. She just needs some rest."

And so it went on for the next two weeks
until my dad had finally had enough sleepless nights and busy days
tending to my immobile mother. When, I guess, it all became too
much for him to handle he decided to wheel mom back through the
kitchen, in that same wheelchair, load her in the pickup and take
her to the closest hospital he could find.

Grandma brought me to see her once during
the next week. She picked me up early from school and shoved me in
her big gray car that she called her "ticket to the elite,"
whatever that meant.

It smelled like old breath mints and the
faded red seats were all torn up. I had one special hole, right
next to my door, that I loved to dig in. I'd stick my fingers in as
far as I could, wiggle them around, and see what they looked like
when I pulled them out. They were usually covered in fuzzy, yellow
foam that made my fingers itch for the rest of the ride. You'd
think I'd have learned my lesson the first few times, but I
couldn't help it.

The hospital was smaller than I expected. I
imagined it to be a huge white building with big pillars and people
being wheeled in on stretchers. Instead, it just looked like
another office building. Maybe a little bit bigger.

There was nowhere to park in the lot right
behind the hospital, so Grandma drove around the block to this
building that wound around like one of those spiral staircases. We
found a spot there (which it took Grandma about fifteen minutes to
pull into) and walked up the block to the hospital.

The double-doors swung open as we reached
the top of the small cement staircase, in front of the building,
and out rushed a woman in a long brown coat holding a little girl
by the hand. The girl's hair was a mess and she didn't seem too
happy about being dragged out down the stairs.

"Come on, Jimmy," Grandma said and pulled me
through the doors. "We need to find out what room your mother's
in." She looked around the tiny waiting room for a hospital worker.
She looked ready to pounce on just about anyone in white.

Grandma's eye caught a lady with a white
shirt and nametag walking back to the front desk. "Now, Jimmy," she
said as she finally let go of my hand and pointed to a group of
white chairs in front of a poster of some kid getting a band-aid on
his knee, "go sit down over there and wait for Grandma."

I looked up at her with
relief and rubbed my hand. Like I needed my grandmother to hold my
hand everywhere we went; I was in
third
grade
. Didn't she know that?

"Go ahead. It should only take a
minute."

I slowly wandered over to the chairs while
checking out all the other weird posters on the wall. They all
showed people with different injuries and some doctor looking at
them with a creepy smile as he bandaged them up. They made doctors
look like magicians that could make anyone better with just a clap
of their hands and a little tap on the knee with one of those
rubber, triangle-shaped things. In a way, it was comforting to see
all their magic acts posted on the walls. It made me feel like my
mom would be coming home soon.

I sat quietly in the white chair while
Grandma talked to the lady behind the long desk and dug into her
giant purse for a pen. She shuffled some papers on the desk and
started writing. I looked on the table for something to play with,
or at least a magazine that might have some cool pictures to look
at. There was nothing to be found so I just sat there and swung my
legs until the chair started to squeak from rubbing against the
inside of my knees.

Sitting there while Grandma was up at the
big desk, I was able to finally start to get a feeling for the
hospital. It smelled like Grandma's friends and ginger ale, and
everything was so white. I guess they wanted you to think that
everything was super clean. White is a clean-looking color,
right?

After a few minutes more of patiently
waiting, I watched Grandma put the cap back on her pen and shove it
into her purse.

"Come on, Jimmy, let's go." She waved me up
off the seat and held out her hand for me to take. I walked up next
to her, but refused to grab her hand. If she was gonna hold my
hand, it wasn't gonna be without a fight. "We're going to see your
mother. She's upstairs with your father."

I watched Grandma throw a dirty look to the
lady behind the desk and started to walk down the hall in front of
her, trying to keep my distance without losing her.

"Wait for Grandma," she called and walked a
little faster to catch up. "Now give Grandma your hand. I can't
have you running all over the hospital."

Nabbed. I stuck out my hand and she put it
in her wrinkly palm as we approached the elevator.

Chapter Two

Mom's room was pretty plain. If the
clipboard at the end of her bed didn't say "Sarah Stone" in big
letters, I might never have known it was her room. There were no
magical posters on the wall and everything was just as white as the
waiting room. The sheets, the curtains, the television remote, and
little tray that wheeled around so she could eat in bed. All of
them were as white as a glass of milk.