The Inn-Sitter by Heather Mihok

Author:Heather Mihok
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heather Mihok

Eighteen

Pretending to be Raina is easier than I thought.

I block the number of the inn so it won’t be identified by pressing star, six, and nine, just like I saw on TV once. When Abigail answers, I lower my voice to match the guttural tone of Raina’s. Briefly explaining the situation, I tell her that Hazel has permission to do "whatever needs doin'" to feel safe and comfortable. It does the trick. These people must not know about signing contracts or anything if all it takes is someone’s word to gain their trust. Lucky for me, though, it works.

***

The next afternoon, I find myself scrubbing at an unsightly mess on the living room rug.

“Skippy, you jerk,” I grumble. “You couldn’t just hold it in? Couldn’t wait ’til we go outside?”

I sound mad but I don’t really mean it. We've formed an attachment now that we hang out all the time. I lean back on my heels and examine my progress. I bet he’s pawing at the shed door where I put him, whimpering his apologies from across the garden. I need him out of the way for what we have planned today. “Sorry, Skip. We got company coming.”

Company. Do an aging medium and a ghost hunting child really count as company? And what if they actually find something? Part of me hopes they do, just to validate my experiences. But another, more logical, part of me dreads the idea. What possessed me to invite them over for a séance or whatever it is they do?

The ceiling creaks overhead, as if in response to my thoughts.

Never mind. I remember now.

***

I open the door wide. “Hi, guys.”

Isabella indicates Jake should go in before her, but he shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he insists, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Why, thank you, young man,” Isabella says with a smile, entering the room.

Her cheerfulness fades, and I wonder if she senses something.

She turns to me. “We need to prepare. You’re welcome to join us, or you can wait outside in the car with Abigail.”

I notice Jake’s mother sitting primly in the front seat of a minivan, a book already propped open on the steering wheel. White clouds rising from the back of the van indicate the engine running, presumably for heat but maybe also for a quick getaway.

I close the door. “Should I lock it?” I ask, unsure of ghost hunting protocol.

“I want to say yes,” Jake says, “because if the door were to, like, swing open or something, and we know it was locked, there’s little question that’s paranormal. But Mom wants ‘easy access’ if something goes wrong. She’s a worrier.”

“I would too, if I were a mom.”

Jake tilts his face up to look at me. “You don’t have any kids?”

“Nope.”

“Are you married?”

A bark of laughter escapes from deep in my chest. “That would be a negative, kiddo.”

“But you’re old enough, aren’t you? Do you have a boyfriend at least?”

The humor of the conversation evaporates as I remember why I’m here. “No,” I say, after a moment’s silence.

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