“Okay.”
She blew out a breath, looked around the dim room.
She tried to make the room hers—her old bedding, pictures of her Florida friends stuck to the frame around the vanity mirror, the closet filled with her clothes that looked silly and out of place in this northern town. Crop tops and sundresses were not a thing here—it was way too cold. But the room with its ornate drapery, the towering armoire and heavy dresser, the dim pink-shaded lamps—it was just so old-fashioned, like something out of a museum. Everything in her room at home had been white and low profile, modern. Energetically opposite everything in Hurl House.
Her phone pinged. Eldon.
Are you okay? Where did you go?
She was happy for the distraction.
Something weird happened, she typed.
Really? Tell me.
You’ll think I’m crazy.
Nah.
On the game Red World, Eldon’s avatar was super buff, with giant biceps and washboard abs, covered in tattoos. He wore a tiny black-leather vest and distressed jeans, with giant boots. Jewel had been gaming long enough to know that this probably meant he was some skinny twelve-year-old kid in a basement somewhere, gaming all day and living on Red Bull and Kit Kat bars.
Jewel took pride in the fact that her avatar, StarGirl333, was not so far from reality. Tall and skinny, big boobs. Maybe StarGirl was slightly bustier. Her hair in the game was bright pink, worn in braids. No tattoos. Outfitted in a simple, very short, low-cut black dress with thigh boots. StarGirl was more aggressive, more wily, dressed sluttier than Jewel did. She dressed the way Jewel would dress if she didn’t have parents. Her thighs, in the game, were awesome.
She gave Eldon the broad strokes, how she’d heard a noise, went to go find her parents outside, followed a strange girl out to the cemetery, the man, the fog. How she’d passed out—maybe. How she used to have night terrors, strange dreams when she was a kid. And how this was kind of like that, but not. Because she hadn’t been sleeping. Jewel left out the stuff about the Realtor’s sister, because that was searchable. She’d be easy to find with the mention of Merle House, the missing girl. Just the last name would lead him to her father’s big scandal.
She used a couple of bubbles to tell the story. When she was done, she watched the dots pulse.
When was the last time you ate?
The question gave her pause. That was an adult question, not one a kid would ask. It reminded her that she knew nothing about Eldon. And while this was appealing, it was also dangerous. She knew better. This was like Internet Predator 101. If her mom knew she was texting someone she’d met on Red World, her mom would freak. Still, Jewel answered him.
Maybe too long ago, she admitted.
Food had tasted like ash since she’d moved to Merle House. Absolutely nothing here was nearly as good as it was at home. The pizza was like cardboard, the Chinese food was just goop, the burgers were gristly and gray. Mom wasn’t cooking as much because she was working like a maniac on the house day and night. Jewel was mainly eating tuna and Ritz crackers. When was the last time she ate? Her dad had made blueberry pancakes that morning, but she’d just picked at them. She’d had a Snickers for lunch.
Do you really think you saw someone out there?
It was all kind of vague now, like a dream. Like the dreams she’d had when she was younger that caused her to sleepwalk—those had been epic in scope, populated by monsters and angels, unicorns, other children, fairies. They had been incredibly vivid while she was in them, but as soon as she’d woken, they were gone—stardust in the wind. She had never been able to remember a single coherent thing, just stray wild images and feelings. Nothing she saw in her waking life ever compared to that dreamscape her child’s mind had created.
She’d had to see a doctor around then, because of the night terrors—which were obviously way more frightening for her parents than they were for her. And the doctor had taught her how to be present in her dreams, how to control them some, and how to encourage herself to wake.
Try to pinch yourself in your dream. If you can’t feel it, you know it’s not real, he’d told her. Or, he suggested, ask her dream self, Is this real? Am I awake? Your dream self will tell you the truth.
It hadn’t made much sense at first, but it had worked. She hadn’t remembered much even about the dreams that she had learned to control, but slowly they’d gone away.
What happened in the graveyard was kind of like those dreams she used to have, which she hadn’t had in a really long time. But it was different somehow too.
Idk, she wrote finally. It seemed real at the time.
Maybe we can find out.
How? she asked.
The dots pulsed a second, and then a link came through. She clicked on it. It was a virtual Ouija board.
You’re kidding, she wrote.
LOL
Funny.
No, really. Let’s try it.
The site that came up was all black, with the image of the board in its center. There were some ads at the bottom for the pair of jeans she had been looking at online earlier.
Type in your question, the screen beckoned. Then rest your mouse or finger gently on the pointer to find your answer.
She laughed. Stupid. The web was basically just a garbage heap. But there was also a note of unease, the tug of curiosity.
Yeah, okay, she typed. What the hell?
What are you going to ask?
She thought about it, her fingers hovering. Then she started typing.
Is the ghost of Amelia March living at Merle House?
6.
Ian might have been offended that Josh had dozed off while he was talking—if he hadn’t fallen asleep as well. They’d moved from the kitchen to the living room, and
