Gravestone by Travis Thrasher Page B

said he saw weird things—lights flickering in the windows even though no car was parked there. All these animals coming out of nowhere, like groundhogs and foxes and birds. And they weren’t scared, not up at this place. And then the guys were freaked out by some ghost. They said it was Iris herself, who isn’t alive but is a ghost of a woman who was killed by her husband—”
    “Newt, come on,” I say. “Are you making this up?”
    “No. I swear. It happened. The guy said they were attacked by the animals, too.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’m telling you—everybody knows it. That place is haunted. And that lady is crazy. That’s why nobody wants to work for her.”
    “Isn’t this whole place haunted?” I ask. “Isn’t everybody around here crazy? What’s one more?”
    “Shh, keep your voice down.”
    “Maybe all ghosts aren’t bad. Maybe there are some ghosts that I want to talk to.”
    Newt squirms in his seat and gives me an exasperated look. “Why?”
    “Unfinished business,” I say.

28. In My Sleep
     
    I haven’t forgotten.
    Not in the least.
    It wakes up with me like a hangover. It’s in the mirror like a black eye. It walks with me like a pulled muscle. It hears the same silence I hear. It sees the same glances I see. It comes home to an empty house. It needs answers like an unfinished crossword puzzle. It kisses me to sleep like the bite of a spider hiding under the covers.
    I have not forgotten.
    What I’m trying to do is make sure I have a plan and make sure I have my sanity. Maybe just not in that order.
    My hope lies in this stranger named Jared. Not Newt or Ray or my mom or my uncle or, God forbid, Poe.
    It’s in someone I don’t know and can’t find but who’s out there.
    I just have to bide my time.
    But I haven’t forgotten you, Jocelyn.
    I’ll never forget.
    The sound downstairs doesn’t awaken me because I’m not asleep.
    It’s the middle of night, and I’m thinking of Jocelyn. Mom got home before I went to bed, and she was in a decent enough mood. Everything seemed normal. She asked me if I’d finished my homework and asked about school and seemed genuinely interested to see if anything out of the ordinary was happening at Harrington High. Of course I said little, but we still managed to have a halfway normal conversation.
    So the screams coming from downstairs really freak me out.
    I jerk out of bed and topple over Midnight as I open my door and practically tumble down the stairs.
    I don’t need to ask who these screams are coming from.
    Tonight they’re louder than usual.
    I go to Mom’s bedroom and shout her name and turn on the light.
    She’s in the corner on her knees, clawing at the wall. Clawing like she’s trying to get out, clawing like she’s trying to get something off of her.
    “Mom, Mom, come on, Mom, it’s me, Mom!”
    She waves her hands around her head as if she’s fighting off mosquitoes. Her hair is messy, and she’s wearing a long T-shirt. Her white arms and legs look skinnier than I remember.
    “Mom,” I keep saying.
    Finally the glazed, possessed eyes blink a few times and come back to reality. She’s breathing heavily, as if she’s been running.
    “You’re just dreaming, Mom.”
    She puts a shaking hand over her eyes and nose as if she wants to hide underneath it. The bed next to her is a mess of wadded-up sheets and blankets.
    “It’s okay, Mom.”
    “No,” she says.
    “You’re awake now.”
    “He comes to me in my sleep.”
    “What?”
    She looks around the room as if someone might still be there. I can feel the cold bumps crackling over my skin. I realize how cold I am, standing there in only boxer shorts.
    “He comes into my room in the middle of the night. He crawls into my bed.”
    I don’t want to hear this.
    “Mom, you’re just dreaming.”
    “He’s real, Chris. He’s real, and he’s been coming ever since we got here.”
    I shiver and shove the fear away. One of us needs to be sane and strong. It’s gotta be