Rules for Ghosting
Read Rules for Ghosting Online
Authors: A. J. Paquette
For Zack: for everything
Dahlia was dead, but the sunflower was not. Not yet, anyway. It still looked shimmery and only half-visible, just like all other living things. But the stem was bent and broken, and drooped down from the rest of the plant. Soon it would expireâright into Dahlia's waiting hands. Then she would carry the new ghost flower to her garden.
Feeling tingly all the way to the tips of her fingers, Dahlia studied her garden. It wasn't muchâtwo spiky marigolds, a handful of daisies, and a stunted sprig of lavenderâbut it had taken her weeks to get right: finding and collecting the ghost flowers; jamming the expired stems deep into the ground and arranging them just so; making sure they didn't gust away in the stubborn October winds. Not easy, that was for sure. Why did everything dead always want to
rise
?
But the sunflower was something special. She'd waited a long time for a flower this perfect. Of course, time was
something she had plenty of. For years and years she'd been a ghost, first keeping an eye on old Mrs. Silvertonâher mother, Dahlia knew, but the crotchety old lady was so far from the smiling mama she remembered that she almost thought of her as a separate personâand then, after Mrs. Silverton had left, ghosting the manor all on her lonesome.
And what
about
that distant past, when Dahlia was alive? She remembered being very young. She remembered
that
Mrs. Silverton, her own mama, with the curling bob and the smiling eyesâand her father too, tall and stern. She remembered birthday cake and tooth fairy treats and learning to ride a bicycle. And then ⦠nothing. After her tenth birthday, it was like a patch was stuck over her brain. She didn't even remember how she had died.
Still, there was nothing Dahlia could do about all thatâand today was sunflower day. She rolled onto her stomach, her nose inches from the plant. She curled her hand just outside the stem.
Any
second
now.
But no. The flower still hung forlornly in place.
Dahlia sighed. As she did, her ghost breath swirled around the flower, and slowly, so slowly, the live sunflower broke off and fell to the ground. In the same instant, a clear, sharp image
pulled away from the dying flower and started to float away. Finally! Dahlia reached for it.
She had it, right at the tips of her fingers, but then she heard something. A soundâwaitâa
voice
?
“Hello-o!” came the call again. “Tut-tut in there! Anybody ho-ome?”
Dahlia froze. A person! A real live person approaching Silverton Manor! Stillâthis sunflower was awfully perfect. And she'd been stalking it for ages. The person could go ahead and do what people did and Dahlia would investigate further in a minute.
Then a gust of wind took the choiceâand the sunflowerâright out of her hands. The expired flower bobbed end over end, heading away from Dahlia's grasp, heading toward the voice, but alsoâalsoâ
âtoward the Boundary.
No!
Dahlia somersaulted in place for momentum and shot through the air, pushing off on the heel of the wind-wave. She rocketed after the sunflower.
Dahlia was fast. The flower was faster. Just ahead was the tall wrought-iron gate that marked the edge of the Silverton Manor grounds. The Boundary. The arriving person marched toward the gate. Dahlia kept her focus on the flower. She sprang into a dive.
It was a gamble, and the second her body hit the airflow,
Dahlia knew she wouldn't make it. She didn't care; she had to at least try. She pushed everything she had after the sunflower, willing her arms to be longer, her legs stronger, just enough so she couldâ
The sunflower slipped through the gate.
SMACK!
Barely a moment too late, Dahlia crashed into the Boundary. She hit it with a crunch that jarred her molecules and turned the world around her into scrambled eggs. Though Dahlia suspected it was she and not the world that was temporarily coming apart.
She hung there, suspended, for a full second, then slid down the Boundary and hovered in a mushy heap above the ground. Dahlia lifted her head. One of the marigolds had come loose from her garden patch and now bobbed right next to her noseânot laughing at her, exactly, but definitely looking smug.
Stupid ghost flower.
With a sniff, Dahlia rolled over and shimmied off the ground. She gave herself a good shake and patted her body up and down, making sure every part of her was in the right place. Hitting the Boundary never seemed to hurt her permanently, but it would take her hours to feel completely right after such a jolt. This time, it felt like something
in
her had broken loose a little too.
It wasn't even that losing the flower mattered so much, though she had wanted it badly. But every time she tried to pass the Boundary and failed, Dahlia felt something inside
her sink further, some knot in her chest twist a little tighter, a small voice in her head whisper,
You will never leave this place. And you'll always, always be alone
.
“Hello-o ⦔
Dahlia jumped. The voice! It was closer nowâjust outside the gate. Well, at least she'd have something to distract her from her gloomy thoughts.
The early morning sun was in her eyes, but Dahlia squinted through the bars of the gate, which looked just as fuzzy and half-erased as everything in the living world did to her. Up the gravel path walked a small, pointy woman. She was shaped like an upside-down exclamation mark, and seemed nearly as excitable. A green flannel coat enveloped a long flowery dress, and on the woman's head rode a wide-brimmed hat topped with a cluster of bluebells. Dahlia thought how great those flowers would look in her garden. What was left of her garden.
“Yoo-hoo over there!” The woman was very near now, both hands lifted above her head in an animated wave. In another minute, the wrought iron bars wavered. She marched through them and beamed at Dahlia. “Well, I have arrived, and there's a mercy. Quite a fine secluded spot you have here!”
Dahlia's mouth opened. She hung motionless. “Waitâ” she said. “Did you just ⦔ Then something occurred to her. “Would you please say something else?”
“Excuse me?”
There it was again. That voice. It was so crystal clear that every sound Dahlia had heard before suddenly seemed dull
and faint, like a TV show with the sound way down. And when she angled her body a little she could see it right away too, what she'd missed being so distracted with the sunflower. Unlike the smudgy-looking gate, the bushes, the trees, the houseâall of which belonged to the living worldâthe new arrival looked vivid and bright and sharply outlined. And she had walked
through
the gate, of course.
“You're a ghost, aren't you?” Dahlia cried. “And you really are talking to
me
?”
“Why, yes indeed I am, dearie!” The woman paused. “Haven't you ever met another ghost?”
Dahlia shook her head. She'd occasionally seen other ghosts in the distance, had even called out to them a few times. But she'd never actually gotten one's attention. And nowâwhat could she say? Another ghost! Really and truly, after all this time! Dahlia half wanted to burst out in a joyful little dance, but she decided against it.
The woman's face was a road map of fine lines, but her eyes were bright. With a twinkle and a nod, she linked an arm through Dahlia's. “How do you do, my dear? My name is TibbsâMrs. Libby Tibbs, that is. But you may call me Mrs. Tibbs.”
Dahlia grinned. After long years of one-way conversations, it was such a strange sensation to be spoken
to
that she almost couldn't find the words to answer.
“The name reminds me of my dear husband, you see. Ah,
but that's a story for another day! And you are Dahlia Silverton, correct?”
“Yes, that's me!” Once the words started coming, they erupted in one long rush. “OhâI justâcan't believe you're
really
a ghost! I'm so used to everything around me looking all faint and foggy all the time. But you ⦠you look like my expired things. You're
real
.”
Mrs. Tibbs's laugh clanged like a rusty cowbell. “That I am! Oh, that I am. Well now, how about you show me around? But gracious!” She dropped Dahlia's arm and slapped her own forehead. “I do believe I left my bag out there somewhere. I set it down while trying to get your attention earlier.” Without pausing, she bobbed off toward the gate.
“No, wait!” Dahlia yelled. But thenâ
The woman stepped easily through the gate, just as she had earlier, and returned two seconds later hefting a red paisley carpetbag.
Dahlia's jaw dropped. “But youâbut itâthe Boundary ⦔ Frowning, she scooted over. Maybe the new ghost's arrival had dislodged it at last? Dahlia inched toward the gate, aware that Mrs. Tibbs was watching her curiously. She reached out her hand, pushed it toward the bars, and gave a sudden thrust.
The Boundary was as solid as ever. Her hand crumpled on itself, and Dahlia felt her eyes swim with sudden tears. She brushed them away quickly and slid back toward Mrs. Tibbs. “Never mind,” she whispered.
Not a ghost-proof Boundary after all. Just a Dahlia-proof one.
She started heading back toward the manor house, but then she heard Mrs. Tibbs's voice behind her: “It's not you who's the problem, dear.”
Dahlia slowly turned. “What did you say?”
“You can't leave the property, I expect?”
“I call it the Boundary,” Dahlia said. “It's always been like this. I can move anywhere I want inside the house, all over the groundsâbut never outside the gate. It's ⦠not me, you say? Truly?”
“Certainly not, my dear.” Mrs. Tibbs sighed. “You've always been alone here, haven't you?”
“I've pretty much been the only ghost. A few crickets hung around with me for a few days, and once a newborn kitten stayed so long I thought we might be pals for good. But,” Dahlia said, studying the buckle on her shoes, trying not to think about the bubble of emptiness that had surrounded her for so long, “eventually it always ended up being just me. And my ⦠mother, of course, when she was still here. But she went away about fifteen years ago.”
“Ah, your mother. Ernestine Silverton?”
“That's right! But how did you ⦔
Mrs. Tibbs tapped the side of her hat. “There's a great deal more than you'd suspect lurking up here, my ghost-child. But all good things in their proper order. I can see there's much you need to learn and,” she harrumphed, “quite providentially,
I've been sent to kick off this whole grand adventure. What do you say we go somewhere more comfortable, get settled in a bit, and then I can start you right at the beginning?”
Dahlia took a deep breath. Just having a visitor was a novelty in itself, not to mention having someone to talk to and hearing everything this newcomer had to say. With a growing smile, she spun back to face the house. “Let's go,” she said. “I've got just the place. Comfortable, quiet, and perfectly ghostly. I have a feeling this is going to be quite the adventure!”
