Twelve Months of Kristal by Theodora Taylor

Author:Theodora Taylor [Taylor, Theodora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Etch Entertainment

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

What will Hayato do now that

he’s mistakenly revealed his secret?

Find out in the next episode of

TWELVE MONTHS OF KRISTAL.

GOOD VIBRATIONS

Episode 7

29

Good Vibrations

HAYATO

Both Kristal and the ghost stare at me. Waiting for an answer. My father’s gone. He’s been dead for years after the family member of one of his many victims beheaded him.

Yet the old panic rears like the cold waves on the inn’s beach. Terrible and threatening to consume me.

Somehow in the midst of all of that, I manage to choke out, “Sorry, Kristal-san, I misspoke. I meant to say, we should do an extra sweep of the room since we’re checking out tomorrow.”

“Why are you holding open the door?” both Krystal and the ghost ask at the same time.

I look at Kristal and only at Kristal and pretend I don’t feel the icy cold field surrounding the ghost. “It is stuffy in here. Don’t you think it’s stuffy in here?”

“That’s my fault, actually,” Kristal tightens the towel with an apologetic look. “The room was freezing when I came upstairs, so I cranked up the heat. But I just couldn’t shake the chill—that’s why I decided to take a hot shower.”

Ghosts….

Most people don’t see them, but everyone can feel them. Especially indoors. They’re that freezing cold feeling you sometimes get, that chill you can’t shake even though you’re wearing warm clothes.

I know precisely why the room was so cold when Kristal came in, but I resist the urge to look directly at the ghost again as I answer, “It is fine. I’ll open a window instead.”

Before she can reply, I close the door and go to the window. It’s been a while since I allowed myself to get trapped somewhere with windows that didn’t have a remote control. Situations like this are why I refuse to stay in anything but the most modern hotels. But I figure out the latch quickly enough. And I keep my face perfectly neutral as I lift the window a few inches, letting in a cool breeze from outside.

I can feel the ghost’s eyes on me, suspicious and keen.

“You saw me. You looked right at me!” she says, still standing at the door.

In answer to her accusation, I pick up one of Kristal’s People magazines and take a seat on the bed.

After a careful moment of consideration, Kristal decides to join me.

She grabs a magazine too and sits down beside me. We both quietly flip through stories about American celebrities and regular people who’ve done extraordinary things.

The ghost stays for a while. At one point, she even comes over to the bed and waves a hand directly in front of my eyes.

Repressing the urge to shiver against what feels like a blast of cold air in my face, I flip the page—pretending as I learned to do after my summer in a sanitorium that I don’t see dead people. I once again act the part of being exactly like everyone else.

Eventually, the ghost gives up, fading out of the room without any more protest.

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