Spookygirl - Paranormal Investigator (11 page)

I remembered asking Mom about Sabrina once after one of those dinner parties.

“Why does she lie so much?” I’d asked Mom. I could tell Sabrina made a lot of stuff up. She embellished every story she told, trying to make herself sound like the awesomest person in the room.

“She doesn’t lie, sweetie,” Mom said. “At least, she doesn’t mean to.” She lifted me onto the counter and leaned over so we were eye to eye. “Some people really want to be special, Violet, like you and I are special. Sabrina’s like that.
She has her own abilities, but that’s not enough for her. She wants to be more like us, so she pretends sometimes. It’s not okay to make things up, but sometimes if you understand why someone’s doing it, you can cut them a little slack.”

Mom was nice like that. She’d looked for the good in everyone. I wasn’t nearly so forgiving.

While I waited to hear back from Sabrina, I stayed far away from the locker room and made myself concentrate on other things, like this faux séance I’d been talked into doing.

I’d need some supplies.

My first stop was Lovely Lily’s, this store in the mall that sells supercheap, trendy costume jewelry and does ear piercing in the front window, as if watching people get holes punched in their lobes is some kind of free entertainment. In the clearance bin I found a couple of sparkly necklaces made from iridescent beads and bright silver-tone chain. They were hideous, but they’d do the trick.

(I also bought this awesome pair of glow-in-the-dark skull earrings from the shop’s Halloween display, but those were just for me.)

After that, I checked out the sale racks at Striped
Skull, a dark, loud store that caters to the kind of goths and punks who hang out at suburban shopping malls. Okay, so I don’t like to admit it, but I kind of love Striped Skull, even if I hate being associated with most of its clientele. At least now I had an excuse to do a little browsing—after all, if I was going to associate with the goths, I had to look the part. I ended up with some purple-and-black-striped tights, and a black lace shirt that looked like spiderwebs. The store also had an impressive display of heavy black boots, but they were all way out of my price range. I’d have to remember them for my Christmas list.

The night before Halloween, I put the beaded necklaces in my pocket and went downstairs to where Dad was about to embalm an old guy named Fred Whyte. While riding his three-wheeled bike to the supermarket, Fred had had an unfortunate encounter with a drunk driver in a pickup truck. Fred’s face needed a lot of rebuilding and a heck of a lot of death spackle.

“I don’t know why people insist on an open casket in situations like this,” Dad said when I peeked in and asked how he was doing.

“Because at heart, people are stupid and morbid?” I suggested. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going for a walk.”

Dad frowned. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“I know. I won’t be long. Coach Frucile gave us these fitness journals,” I lied, “and we’re supposed to write down what kind of exercise we get every day. I need something to write for today.”

“You could make something up,” Dad said.

I pretended to be shocked and scandalized. “Surely you’re not suggesting I cheat, Dad. High school gym is sooooo valuable and important. I have this incredible opportunity to challenge myself, and I refuse to squander it like that.” I grinned. “I’ll be back in less than an hour, I promise. And I have my phone. I’ll be fine.”

As usual, the Longview Road Cemetery had at least a dozen ghosts wandering around. Cemeteries tend to collect the spirits of the people who’ve been buried there. Most of them are waiting for something, usually for a spouse or family member to kick the bucket and join them. I mean, they’re ghosts. It’s not like they have anything better to do.

It’s not as miserable as it sounds, though. There are always a bunch of them around, so there’s always someone to talk to. They form friendships. They host parties. They mingle. They’re very social.

It’s a little weird.

The Longview Road Cemetery didn’t have a dramatic wrought-iron gate, or even a decorative fence; it didn’t get locked up at night. As far as cemeteries went, it was pretty
lame and full of old people, just like the rest of Florida. I wandered in among the ghosts, ignoring a few comments I got along the way about whether I should be home in bed at this late hour. Thankfully, they all stopped talking when I held up the necklaces.

If there’s one thing I’ve noticed over and over, it’s that a lot of ghosts really,
really
like shiny things. I don’t know why, but they do. The sparkling necklaces immediately caught the attention of two older ladies, who drifted over together and looked at me hopefully.

The shorter of the two ladies reached up and ran a ghostly finger over the beads; the necklace she touched shivered in my hand. “Pretty,” she said.

“Aren’t they?” I asked. “Ladies, I’ve got a necklace for each of you if you’ll do me a favor tomorrow night.”

The taller ghost clapped her wrinkled hands. “Ooh, this is fun! I can’t remember the last time one of you live bodies could see us. Irma’s a newbie, but I’ve been here for more than ten years. I’m waiting for my husband to join me. Don’t know what’s taking so damn long.”

“That isn’t nice, Delores,” Irma fussed, still staring with fascination at the necklaces.

“Hrmph. He was slow as molasses when I was alive. Don’t know why I expected that to change. Maybe I should go haunt him. That’ll teach him.”

“Delores. Really.”

Delores ignored Irma and kept talking to me, apparently delighted to gossip with a living person. “He never listened to me when I was alive, either, the old grump. But here I am, his patient and loving wife, waiting for him. He’d better make sure he’s buried next to me when the time comes, or I’ll really let him have it. He used to say he wanted to be buried next to his mother in that cemetery across town. Can you believe that?”

Irma tsked at Delores, then addressed me. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Violet,” I said.

“What a lovely name. I had a cat named Violet once. Now, what sort of favor do you need?”

Quickly, I explained about Isobel and the goths and the séance situation.

“Oh, no.” Delores shook her head. “You don’t want to do that. Séances bring in all kinds of riffraff. We don’t want that sort of thing in our neighborhood.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t do séances,” I agreed. “But these, um, friends of mine are expecting something spooky, so I was hoping you two could help.” I told them my ideas, which they met with conspiratorial giggles. “So do we have a deal? If you help me out tomorrow, these necklaces are yours.”

Both nodded. The movement made Irma’s wispy white hair bounce a little before settling back over her forehead in a way that seemed familiar. She reminded me of someone I knew, but I couldn’t think of who.

“This is going to be fun!” she said. “I think I’ll quite enjoy scaring a couple of children. Kids today drive me crazy, what with their loud music and their ridiculous outfits and their horrible attitudes. Oh!” She gave me a sweet, grandmotherly smile. “Except for you, dear. You’re a nice girl.”

“Such a nice girl,” Delores echoed. “What was your name again?”

“Violet.”

Sigh. Old people. Death doesn’t do a thing for their mental abilities. I just hoped they’d remember our deal.

Halloween worried Dad. Funeral homes were prime targets for vandalism, so he locked the hearse in the garage and set up a chair in the front driveway, where he could see everyone who passed. And since the funeral home was in a largely residential neighborhood, he kept a bowl of candy with him for any trick-or-treaters who wandered by. Most of them were too chicken to beg for handouts, though. Sheesh. Like a guy in jeans and a
Doctor Who
T-shirt is so scary, even if he does spend his days with dead bodies.

I wasn’t meeting the goths until 11:00, so I brought out another chair and sat with Dad for a while. It was warm and humid, and the mosquitoes were out and buzzing, but at least the breeze had picked up after the sun went down.

Dad finally gave up around 9:30. Towns like Palmetto Crossing close down early, even on special nights like
Halloween; the trick-or-treaters had all disappeared about an hour earlier, and we hadn’t even seen a car pass by in almost ten minutes.

“Night, Dad,” I said as he headed inside. “I might stay out a little longer.”

What? It wasn’t technically a lie. I
was
planning to stay out, just not in our driveway. I knew it was kind of deceitful, but there was no way he would have let me go to the cemetery late at night if he knew my true plans.

“Okay. Let me know if you hear anything outside,” he said. “You know I won’t hear it.” Dad’s a notoriously sound sleeper, a fact that would make it a lot easier to sneak out in time to meet the goths.

I waited about ten minutes, then tiptoed inside to change into my spiderweb shirt, short black skirt, striped tights, and purple Chucks. I left my hair loose, letting it fall dark and straight over my shoulders and back, and carefully lined my eyes with black kohl. I had painted my nails black after school that day in preparation for the night’s festivities, and with the addition of the skull earrings from Lovely Lily’s, I thought I looked just spooky enough. I even kind of liked the look—not that I ever would’ve admitted it to Tim.

After filling my messenger bag with the necklaces and other supplies, I crept out into the hallway. I could
hear Dad snoring already; getting out of the house without waking him up proved to be no problem.

I got to the cemetery a few minutes early. Longview Road was only three blocks away, and the streets between had been utterly deserted.

Amid the usual wandering spirits, I spotted Tim waiting for me in a long-sleeved black shirt and big black pants with lots of buckles and zippers on them.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, looking relieved.

I wondered if he’d thought I’d go back on my word.

“Here.” He dropped something light and metallic—a length of chain—into my hand. “This is for you. To say thank you. I got it for you. I mean, I made it. It’s probably stupid.”

I held it up. It was a bracelet, made from a series of little purple and black jump rings linked in a pattern. “It’s not stupid. It’s really pretty.”

“Really? It’s chain mail. I found this website that explained how to make it, and it’s kind of, like, you know, my hobby or something, but I wasn’t sure…” He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “The purple links are metal, but the black ones are rubber, so the bracelet stretches.”

“I love it.” I slipped it on my left wrist, where it peeked out from under the sleeve of my spiderweb shirt. “Thank you.”

I wanted to know more about his hobby, but we were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind us. I turned and saw five mostly dark shapes with pale faces—Isobel and four of her gothlings—walking toward us in an almost solid black wave of lace and velvet and shiny PVC vinyl. They stomped over graves and flat headstones in their big black boots. Several of the elderly ghosts shot them dirty glances.

Isobel smiled, sort of, when she reached us. The corners of her red-black lips quirked upward. She put on such an act of constant serious, gothic misery that I thought a full smile might’ve shattered her face.

Her posse was not quite so disciplined, though. Two of them grinned openly, one jumped around and clapped his hands, and the last looked vaguely queasy, like she wanted to go home.

“You came to our All Hallow’s Eve celebration,” Isobel said to me. Her smile was gone but her tone remained as affected as the rest of her. “I am delighted.” I was glad she told me, since I never would’ve described her detached stare and ultra-arched eyebrows as anything close to “delighted.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I said. “Tim convinced me to come, though.”

Tim gave me a quick smile.

Isobel nodded briefly in his direction. “You did well.”

Tim looked so full of bliss that I thought he might
pass out from just that much attention from her. Good lord. Isobel really was Queen of the Goths, wasn’t she?

“We understand you are prepared to help us communicate with the dark spirits,” Isobel said. She touched a hand to her throat, as if she were subtly trying to bring attention to her black lace gloves or the red stone ring on her middle finger. I recognized both from my last trip to Striped Skull.

Several nearby ghosts rolled their eyes or shook their translucent fists in Isobel’s direction. I glanced around at them, hoping to see Irma and Delores.

“Communicating with dark spirits can be extremely dangerous,” I said. “However—”

“I told you!” the worried girl said to Isobel. “This is totally not cool. I don’t want to end up, like, possessed or something.”

“Like you should be so lucky,” Isobel growled at her.

“I’m serious! We could unleash some bad stuff. Haven’t you seen any of those
Exorcist
movies?” Worried Girl said.

Isobel shot her a withering look. “Shut up, Charlene.”

“Nightshade,” Worried Girl corrected with a pout. “How come you won’t call me by my chosen name?”

“I’ll call you by your chosen name when you choose one that’s not such a stupid cliché,” Isobel said.

Accusing someone else in her goth posse of being a cliché seemed awfully hypocritical of her. I mean, pale
makeup? Lots of eyeliner? Dyed black hair? Hello?

Charlene made a vile face behind her leader’s back. I had a feeling she was eagerly wishing possession and anything else the dark spirits could cook up on Isobel.

“Please continue,” Isobel said to me.

“I’m ready to guide us through a séance,” I said, gagging inwardly at the thought. “I can’t promise you any dark spirits, but if we’re lucky, we should be able to communicate with someone.”

Isobel nodded. “That will do nicely.”