Ghost College (The Ghost Files #1) by J.R. Rain & Scott Nicholson

Author:J.R. Rain & Scott Nicholson [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Maybe if the Sony recorder’s batteries hadn’t drained, I would have known for sure whether I was actually squeaking like a girl or if my ears simply perceived my own voice as such.

And from that idea grew another theory, that maybe real ghosts drew so much power to materialize that no camera or device could ever capture them, because they obliterated every type of mechanism that might measure their presence.

It was a theory I’d debate with Ellen later, but right now, there was girl in my throat and I didn’t have a clue what I was saying.

“Hello, Sophia,” Ellen said.

“The room is cold,” I said, though I was wearing my leather jacket and it was a bit warm. But maybe where Sophia had come from, “cold” was the normal state of things. I took it as a good sign because it probably meant she hadn’t just taken an elevator up from the lake of fire.

“I know, sweetie,” Ellen said. “You’ve probably been in there a long time.”

“Not so long,” I said.

“Do you know what year it is?”

I giggled. “You must be a teacher. You must think I’m dumb.”

“No, not at all,” Ellen said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

I looked around, blinking, and the part of me that was still present realized Ellen must have been talking about me as part of the “we.” That is, the me who was 38, bearded, and rapidly adopting a new set of spiritual beliefs.

“I’m right here,” I said in my girl voice. “Where else would I be?”

“Okay, then. Who is president?”

“Ulysses S. Grant. ‘Ulysses’ is a silly name for a president.”

I giggled again. I’d always thought little girls were silly, and I was glad I’d never had to be one. At least until now.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

Ellen said it gently, but I felt an unaccountable sadness creep over me. So much for the theory that ghosts were just little echoes, a few frames stuck in an endless loop in the film projector of life, residual entities that had no feelings or emotions.

“I’m late for dinner,” I said. “We’re going to have mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, my favorite.”

“I’m sure they’re keeping it warm for you, honey,” Ellen said, with a soothing charm that I admired even as I grappled with the uneasy realization that I was possessed. “Who are the other teachers here?”

“We only have Mr. Sigmund. He’s a good piano player, but he makes us learn stupid old Latin.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

My chest grew even colder. My heart beat faster. “He’s behind the door with the ‘9’ on it, too.”

“Where you came from.”

“Yes. He says I have to learn my lessons or I’ll have to stay after school for the rest of my life.”

My wife’s eyes glinted in the candlelight and a tear leaked from the corner of one eye. Now I understand why she felt her gifts were from a higher power, and why she had to use them for the power of good.

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