Bones in the Wall: Ghost Hunters, Book 1 by Susan McCauley

Author:Susan McCauley [McCauley, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951069056
Publisher: Celtic Sea Publishing

Chapter 10

I snuggled under my duvet and started reading. If only I had special talents like Bod in The Graveyard Book. Maybe if I’d actually grown up seeing ghosts like Bod or any normal psychic, then I wouldn’t be so freaked out right now. A freaked-out freak. So much for being the most popular ghostball player at school. I scowled at Mrs. Wilson’s round bottom, which sat plunked on the edge of my bed. She hadn’t said a word, but kept bouncing. Bouncing. Bouncing. It was driving me crazy.

“Would you please stop,” I snapped. “I told you we’ve got holy water. If he comes back, I’ll throw it on him.” I sounded way braver than I felt. Who was I to try and comfort a ghost, anyway? I set the book on the bedside table, picked up the three-ounce vial of holy water, and studied it. Would it actually do any good?

“What could have happened to the key?” It was the six hundredth time Mrs. Wilson had asked the question.

“I told you. I. Don’t. Know.” I rummaged around my bedside table again. “It was there last night. Now it’s gone.”

“And you’ve checked the floor? Under the bed?”

“You know I have. And if you ask me one more time, I’ll dump the holy water on you,” I growled, feeling instantly guilty I’d said something so nasty.

But the squeaking bounce of my bed stopped immediately, and Mrs. Wilson sat frozen on the edge . . . her eyes superglued to the door.

The handle twitched and began to slowly turn.

My chest grew tight and I gripped the glass vial, hard—ready to spray the nasty spirit.

The handle turned all the way.

I put my thumb just below the plastic lid and prepared to pop the top.

The door creaked open; Mrs. Wilson let out a high-pitched shriek and tore out of the room.

The door swung open.

Dad.

I let the bottle of holy water dip beneath the covers. If I wasn’t so scared, I would have laughed at Mrs. Wilson who had shot through the bedroom wall in a blur.

Dad came in and sat on my bedside, his well-trained eyes avoiding the family picture with Mom that I kept on my dresser—the only picture of her up anywhere in the house. Maybe that’s why Dad barely ever came in here. “I thought I saw your light on. What are you still doing up?”

I dropped the bottle of holy water under the sheets, reached over, and grabbed my book. “Reading.”

“The Graveyard Book?” Dad squinted at the cover.

“It’s for Language Arts. It’s on the required reading list.” I flipped it open.

“Humpf.” Dad didn’t look impressed. “How is it?”

“Pretty good.” I didn’t say that I wished I knew Bod and his graveyard full of ghosts. Maybe then I’d actually know how to handle them better.

Dad took the book and read the back cover. “I’m not sure you should be reading about ghosts right now. It might make your nightmares worse.”

Not this again. “It’s fiction, Dad.”

He set the book on the nightstand. “Well if it gets too much for you or you start having those nightmares again, let me know.

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