for the good in everyone. I wasn’t nearly so forgiving.
CHAPTER EIGHT
séances and shiny things
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 StripedSkull, 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 prettylame 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
CHAPTER EIGHT
séances and shiny things
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 StripedSkull, 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 prettylame 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
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