Abby put one hand over her pounding heart and leaned against the wall for support. The echo of that scream reverberated in her ears. She waited for her body’s functions to get back to normal while studying the intruder.
A boy stood on the stairs above her. Unkempt red hair curled at the edges, plastered to his sweaty forehead. Round, wire-framed glasses enlarged surprisingly intense brown eyes. His mouth, open and panting, caused his chest to heave and his pudgy stomach to rise and fall. Cobwebs decorated his worn T-shirt, a gossamer line across an embroidered logo, Boston, PA: Not Just Baked Beans. A smudge of dirt slashed across one flushed cheek.
Abby took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “For a serial killer you’re not very scary.”
“I wouldn’t kill anything.”
“Ya think?”
He wiped a grubby hand on his equally-grimy jeans, then extended it to Abby. “Hi. I’m Morton. Morton Sabrosky. I’m more of a cereal killer—get it? I like cereal?” He chuckled. “Your name must be Blondie.”
Abby avoided his hand and his joke. She flipped her hair to the side. “I’m Abby. What’re you doing in my house?”
“Your house? But I thought—I mean, everyone knows—this house is abandoned, at least since Old Man Corson died, like, centuries ago.” Morton sneezed and wiped his nose on the back of his forearm, smearing a glistening snail-trail line of snot onto his skin.
Abby wrinkled her nose. She pulled a mostly-clean tissue from her pocket and handed it to him. “It won’t be empty anymore. My mother bought it, and we’re moving in today. So, what are you doing here?”
“You’re moving in? Wait. What? But there isn’t even electricity.”
The hall light above Morton’s head flicked on, as if on cue.
“It looks like we do have electricity, doesn’t it? And you’re here because …?”
“I’m just hanging out.” Morton shrugged. “You know, something to do.” He shuffled his feet. “I’m kind of an amateur ghost hunter, and this seems like the best place around here to hunt for spirits—except for the cemetery, of course. That’s the coolest; it’s real ancient, and because old soldiers are buried there, guys from the Civil War, I figure there must be supernatural activity in the vicinity.”
He stared at Abby.
She fidgeted in the sudden silence, pulled her sweater over her hips, and ran one hand through her bangs. “What? Do I have three eyes or something? Quit staring at me.”
Morton frowned. “No … not three eyes, but you do have a weird kind of aura.”
“Yeah, okay. What’s an aura?”
“It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t sensitive—you know—into the supernatural world around us.” Morton gazed at the ceiling as if the answer could be found in the strips of wood. “I’ve been doing this all my life, so I know what to look for.”
Abby laughed. “Uh-huh, and how long is ‘all my life?’ You’re what, maybe twelve years old?”
Morton pulled himself up straight. “I’m thirteen—almost fourteen, well, in ten months. And for your information, an aura is like a force, almost a kind of light that’s around a ghost or someone who’s, uh …” He took two steps away from Abby. “You aren’t a ghost, right? I mean, if you are, that’s cool and all, but this would be the first time I’ve really talked to a supernatural being.” He raised his voice. “HELLO.”
“Seriously?” Abby shook her head. “You need to find something else to do around here. It’s hardly ghost central.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing, and I hate to tell you on your first day in Loserville, aka Boston, PA.” Morton sighed. “There isn’t much else going on in a small town like this one, except the bike trail. And I’m not too athletic.” He looked down at his bulging abdomen. “You might have guessed that already.”
“The M&M’s are yours?”
Morton nodded. “They’re perfect, ya know? Small enough to fit in my pocket, melt in my mouth, not in my hand, and I can eat a little or a lot. Kind of a chocolate security blanket. And FYI, I didn’t know someone bought this property or I wouldn’t be here, honest. Trespassing is against the law, and I’m real careful to follow the rules.”
“It’s hard to believe you didn’t hear us downstairs. The doors squeak, and we walked all around the first floor.”
Morton gestured to the hexagonal window. “Yeah, okay. I saw the truck but didn’t have time to get out before you came up here. I thought I’d hide until you left, but you aren’t leaving, I guess, since you live here now.” He paused for a breath.
Abby stared at him, hoping he would soon be the one to leave.
Morton scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the step and ran the back of his hand under his nose again. “Guess I’ll go now. So … see ya.” He clomped down the stairs, glancing back at Abby over his shoulder.
Abby watched him. Maybe he had an older brother, someone cute, in better shape. She held up one hand. “You can help us move in and fix up the house if you want.”
Morton smiled. “Sure. Great. If it’s okay with your mom and dad.”
Abby frowned. “Just Lisa.”
“Oh, she an aunt or something? Auntie Lisa, I like it.”
“You ask a lot of questions. And no, not an aunt; she’s my mother, sort of.”
“Yeah, I know how it is. My parents are divorced, too. My mom’s, um, busy a lot, and my dad, well, I never knew him. What a total loser. You know how it is. It’s the mom who takes care of the kid, and the dad who skips out.”
A slow burn started in Abby’s stomach and traveled up her throat. “I have no idea how it is. I wish my parents were only divorced. My dad is dead, departed, buried, crossed over, gone into the light, whatever you want to call it. He disappeared in February. He’s not even in my world.”
Morton pulled a crumpled brown package of candies from his pocket, struggling to release it from the tight denim. “Oh, sorry; everyone I know has divorced parents. Here, have some M&M’s. These little babies are miracle workers.”
Abby snorted. The myth of chocolate. As if candy could make it all better.
“Hey—where’d you go? Zoned out on me, huh? You got attention problems? PMS?” Morton waved a hand in front of Abby’s eyes. “Maybe you should see a doctor or something.”
Abby longed to put both hands over her ears and hum to block out Morton’s annoying chatter. “I don’t think we need help moving in after all. Thanks anyway.”
Morton shrugged. He lumbered down the steps.
She followed him to the first floor.
Morton lingered in the doorway. “You sure? I have more muscles than you might think. And I’m real good company. No one’s ever lonely when I’m around.”
“Thanks, but we’re almost done. And I’m not lonely. So …” She gestured to the front door.
“Gee, it doesn’t look like you even got started moving in.” Morton nodded his head and pursed his lips. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to admit you’re lonesome. Happens to me a lot.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” Abby said. “But you need to go. Okay?”
Morton nodded. “I’ll come back some other time. When you’re in a better mood.” He jumped down the front steps and ambled out of sight around the barn.
Abby sighed and held the door open as her mother entered, carrying three stacked cardboard boxes that teetered as she maneuvered them through the entrance.
“Who’s that? We could use some help.”
“Forget it. I’ll carry the stuff from the truck.” Abby let the screen door slam behind her. For better or for worse, she lived in this house now. With Lisa.
The day dragged on until the soft shadows of dusk began to soften the harsh reality of the old house. By the time the truck sat empty, Abby’s arms ached, and her damp cotton sweater stuck to her back. She wiped a paper towel across her forehead as a white car with a Vocelli’s logo on the side pulled up to the house.
Lisa paid the driver then opened the cooler and pulled out two cherry Cokes. She handed one drink to Abby, then sat down on the front steps and opened the cardboard box. “Mushroom—your favorite, right? See, I remembered.”
“Great. Thanks.” Abby sandwiched two slices of pizza together, cheese to cheese, on a napkin. With her soda balanced on the other hand, she retreated to the kitchen. Her thoughts bounced around in her head as she mechanically chewed and swallowed. She jumped when Lisa plopped the pizza box on the counter. “Oh. I thought you were outside.”
Lisa opened the lid of the container and lifted a fragrant slice onto a paper napkin.
The aroma of garlic and tomato wafted through the kitchen. Abby’s stomach growled, and she extracted another cheesy piece loaded with fresh mushroom from the box. She knew she should thank Lisa again—even wanted to thank her for remembering the mushrooms—but the words stuck in her throat.
Lisa seemed to be waiting, then gave a small shake of her head and pursed her lips. “After we eat we’ll sweep up, clean the bathrooms, and make the beds, okay?”
Abby shrugged. “Whatever.”
While she worked, Abby wondered if Morton really did know anything about ghosts, auras, and things she always thought were ridiculous … and if the voice that had whispered her name was something he could explain.
By the time she crawled under her sheets in the third-floor bedroom, the home she had occupied all her life seemed like a distant memory. The imagined blue ribbon connecting her from there to here didn’t exist. Her dad no longer did either.