“Constructing Marcus, is that a new construction project the government has on the go?” Jack inquired as he stared long and hard at the Shed of Solicitation’s new promotion sign.
“Mar-cus. Hey, I know Marcus. Marcus Murphy, Danny Murphy’s son.” Terrance commented.
“Who is Danny Murphy?” Jack asked.
“You know, the chap that owns Murphy construction in Burin.”
I watch the exchange between Jack and Terrance and put a stop to the nonsense.
“No you yahoos. Constructing Marcus is author Danielle Devoir’s new novel.”
“Who’s Danielle Devoir and what is the book about?”
Rolling my eyes, I handed Jack Danielle’s info.
“Here read for yourself.” I stated as I walked away.
Sixteen-year-old ghost hunter, Emma Hoffman thought that moving into an old Victorian was going to be awesome– ghosts galore.
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The box was in front of me on the bed. I’d carried it into the house myself, not trusting the moving guys to carry it up our new, wicked-cool, wooden staircase. The new house was split between two levels with a landing in the middle that held a beautiful stained glass window. Last thing I needed was for the guy to trip, my box go flying through the air, and taking out that window. So, to eliminate that possibility, I’d carried the box up myself.
The last time I’d seen it was when I handed it to the moving guy. I’d carefully explained to the guy that this was a box to be careful with. Did he heed my warning? Probably not. It’s not like you can really expect anyone to be careful with your stuff except you. At 5’ 6”, I don’t exactly look fierce or anything.
I remembered wrapping everything in it in bubble wrap, taping up the box. I really wanted to carry it to Boston myself, but we were going by plane, and there just wasn’t enough room. I had to hope for a miracle.
Memories rushed forward, pushing everything aside. I remembered Florida. I remembered the heat and the bugs. I thought I’d never miss it, but apparently, I did. No more exotic plants to watch out for, no more lizards poking around in the grass of the backyard. It felt dark here, like an expanse of nothingness that I couldn’t cross no matter how hard I tried to walk across the fog. I felt frozen and sedentary.
If the electronics were broken, the new stuff wouldn’t be from Florida, wouldn’t have been in ghost hunts with my friends. We’d called ourselves “The Ghost Chicks.” We’d run around Tallahassee trying to get people let us into their homes so we could investigate possible hauntings; no one ever really let us. Mostly, we’d gotten a lot of pictures of dust. I was really going to miss it.
I stared out the window. It was sunny and looked entirely too chipper. I didn’t feel chipper. I felt scared and uneasy. The unknown was something I dreaded, and this was a huge honking unknown. I opened the box with a pair of scissors and set them down on the bed. It was time. There was no sense in putting it off any longer. I had to do it.
After taking one last deep breath, I popped the cardboard flaps away from the tape and looked inside. Everything had shifted around. I reached inside, pulling out newspaper. At least nothing was missing, now if all of it worked…
Who knew it would be this hot is Boston?
I grabbed my book bag from the bottom of the staircase and headed off in the direction of where I thought Dad’s home office was. This house was so much bigger than it looked on the outside, but then, the way the yard was, you didn’t see how far back the house stretched into the backyard. The hallways were twisty and seemed to go in all directions. I felt like Alice in Wonderland fighting her way through a maze. I looked for anything that could be a hidden passage, but there was nothing; all the space was accounted for. It figured. But still, the walls felt like they were getting narrower. It was odd.
This library was the type you’d see in old movies. Large windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, built-in bookcases of dark wood that lined the walls; filled with leather bound tomes no one had read in years. I was in Heaven.
I remembered the day we moved in that Dad had said something to the movers about keeping books. I thought he’d been talking about all of the books in his office, but maybe he was talking about these.
After hopping around looking like a wounded duck, the pain calmed down and I limped over to the first bookcase. I let my fingers dance on the spines of the book. Some of them were the classics— Dickens, Hawthorne, Poe. Others, however, were in languages I did not know. Some of them were Spanish, which I could read. I‘d have to ask Dad about the others.
Standing in front of the window was a guy. I hadn’t heard anyone come in, and I would have. The floor creaked slightly when you walked across it. I looked away and then looked back. He was still there. That was when I noticed that he was just slightly transparent. I could faintly see the cross bars of the window through him.
I wanted to run and get my camera, but I was afraid that by the time I got it and turned back around, he’d be gone. Who was he?
He turned his head toward me. That was when I noticed he was dressed in clothes like the ones I’d seen in history books of people from around the turn of the Twentieth Century. He stared at me. His eyes were bright green, almost startling in their clarity. His hair was brown and curled just slightly around his ears.
He continued to stare at me. His eyes had a sadness that made me want to do something, anything to take the pain away. I shook myself. No, it wasn’t a power he was transmitting. There was something about him that struck a chord with me.
I realized I’d been staring at him so long, I hadn’t even blinked, and when I did, he was gone.
I walked across the room, grabbed my muffin from the table and walked to the door of the room. I looked back. There was nothing there. My mystery man remained hidden. I snatched my book bag from the floor and went back upstairs to my room. I would have to start being more careful. At the very least, I should be holding my cell phone so I could snap a quick picture. It was stupid of me to not be prepared. Dumb me had left my backpack on the floor by the door. I at least should have taken the camera out of it.
Now, I knew my house was haunted. But by who, that was the question.