“Nothing to talk about!” Rudy says. “Have you seen the livestream’s engagement?”
Mrs. Cole hesitates. “It’s not on-brand—”
“I’ll pull it up,” Amber says, surprising herself with her own impulsiveness. “It’s definitely driving traffic.”
“What do you think, Cece?” Rudy asks. Across the table, Cecily is still silent.
“That’s right, dear,” Mrs. Cole says. “Are you feeling all right? You’ve been quiet.” Mrs. Cole’s brows furrow in concern. Can’t have the breadwinner get sick, Amber thinks, bitterness tinging the thought. But Cecily shakes her head.
“I met some local kids at the pizza place,” Cecily says. “They told me something. That before the girl upstairs . . . killed herself, she stabbed her mom. Then she jumped. They both died.”
There is pin-drop silence at the table. A suicide is one thing, but a murder? Rudy’s eyes light up.
Mrs. Cole turns to her husband with a look that is all ice.
“What else is there?” asks Rudy. “Who did you talk to?”
“Just the cashier—I didn’t have much time,” Cecily admits.
“We have to investigate, or ghost hunt, or something—figure out what happened!” Rudy says, as if their mom hadn’t nixed the ghost idea just moments before. He takes a huge bite of his second slice of pizza and keeps talking, mouth full, before Mrs. Cole can interrupt him. “And before you shut me down, check out the engagement for the livestream. It’s ridiculous. This stuff gets views. Ghost hunters would make a great video. We could get some night filming gear, walk around in the dark, work on our fake screams—or maybe there is a ghost—”
“We are not ghost hunting,” Mrs. Cole says, getting up and walking behind Amber to check out the comments. “And don’t you start making up conspiracy theories or investigating this house. It’s not part of our brand.”
“Don’t I get any say in what this account posts?” Rudy asks.
“Mom.” Amber pulls up the analytics and shows them to her. Rudy is right. The house tour is already one of the most popular videos on both their Instagram and YouTube accounts. It already has more than two million views and thousands of comments.
The top one? Definitely haunted. With more than five thousand likes.
It’s followed by:
Haunted renovation!
So fake.
Ghost investigators, Cole edition???
And then, there it is again. The @Alex_Grable account.
Don’t you DARE put graffiti on those walls, don’t you dare deface that house! It was there before you and will be after! Don’t you DARE!
Amber hovers over the reply for too long, which catches her mom’s attention. “What are you looking at?” Mrs. Cole asks.
“It’s nothing,” Amber says. “Just a weird account, some kid named Alex. The profile picture is this house, which is super weird, and Rudy and I noticed them commenting earlier but figured it was just . . . some prank.”
“Alex?” Cecily asks. Amber feels her sister’s breath on her cheek as she peers over her shoulder at the computer screen. “Alex what?”
“Grable?” Amber says, turning to face Cecily. “Why—what’s wrong?”
Amber watches the color drain from her sister’s face. “Alex Grable,” Cecily whispers. “That was her name. The girl who died.”
Amber stares blankly at Cecily as she digests what she just said. “It’s a . . . a messed-up prank, then,” she says finally, wanting to reassure Cecily, who spooks easily. But she knows she doesn’t sound convincing. Amber looks to Rudy, hoping he will have something funny to say to lighten to moment, but even he is at a loss for words.
Amber turns her attention back to the post. The comment has tons of replies, mostly users trying to bait Alex Grable or asking about the profile picture. Alex hasn’t responded.
The silence in the room is thick, uncomfortable. Amber can feel the nervousness radiating off her sister. She shoots Rudy an imploring look. He catches her eye and nods. “Someone’s a little too invested in off-white for the bedrooms,” he says finally, but the joke falls flat.
“How did they even get a photo of the house?” their mother asks, a little frown creasing her forehead.
“The livestream,” Rudy replies.
And then a comment pings in underneath a graffiti art photo Rudy posted as renovation “inspiration”—in part to get under his mom’s skin, Amber suspected.
“It’s Alex Grable.” Cecily’s breath hitches as she taps the screen.
I already told you not to paint the walls. I told you, I told you, I told you.
Mrs. Cole stares at the screen, her frown deepening. “No,” she says finally. “It’s not Alex Grable. It’s some troll trying to freak you out; probably some local kid. See why we needed to be told about this ahead of time?”
Amber glances at her dad, wondering what he’s going to have to say about all this, but he simply nods.
“Ignore the account,” Mrs. Cole continues. “We can always block them if this escalates. Hopefully whoever it is will just get bored.” Her voice trails off as she watches the views spike higher and higher. “Of course, any attention is good attention . . .”
Amber doesn’t even have to look at her brother to know what he’s thinking. This is the opening he’s been looking for. The invitation to explore some more interesting content.
“It’s not on-brand . . . ,” her mom mumbles. “But it is getting good engagement.”
“Good engagement?” Rudy finally jumps in. “This is going to be our most-viewed livestream, ever. Wouldn’t the sponsors like that?”
Mrs. Cole presses her lips together, and Amber silently congratulates her brother for using the S word: “sponsors.” If there’s a time when they need to please the sponsors with numbers, it is definitely now.
“Fine,” Mrs. Cole says. “We can do . . . some . . . ghost stuff. But nothing too insensitive. I want to screen every idea—and I mean every idea—before it goes on the account. And don’t tie it into the renovation—we’ll be telling potential buyers that it’s just a story for internet fun. Which it is. Understood?”
Rudy nods, a grin splitting his face. Next to him, Cecily has inched even closer to the screen, scrolling up and
