Harvest House by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Author:Cynthia Leitich Smith [Smith, Cynthia Leitich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781536227284
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2023-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Later, in the great room, Hughie and Marie, Sam and Cricket, and Rain and Dmitri agreed to watch the original 1984 Ghostbusters and the 2016 Ghostbusters: Answer the Call.

But they had barely gotten into the 1984 film’s opening scene at the New York City Public Library when Sam, kicked back on the cowhide sofa, received a text. “Attention, party people,” he began. “Turns out the KU quarterback shared Ximena’s video, and she says there have been a flurry of new comments—mostly from girls, plus a couple of guys who admit to being drunk at the time—reporting that something freaky happened to them at the crossroads, too.”

“What do they say?” Cricket asked.

“Give me a minute. Let me go to my sister’s account.” After a moment, Sam read aloud, “This one says, ‘Me too! For real. Same thing!’”

“That’s it?” Dmitri asked.

“Could be a bid for attention,” Marie said.

“Hang on,” Sam replied, scrolling. “We’ve got ghost emojis, a few trolls . . . Here we go.” He continued reading, “‘Hugs! Been there—car wouldn’t start at first. So scary!’ And ‘Your “creeper” came after me, too!’ And ‘Sorry this happened to you! Sounds like the same jerk from last winter. DM me if you want to talk.’ A couple more mention the parking lot across the street from the pub.”

“All roads lead to the old chicken restaurant,” Hughie observed aloud as the “Ghostbusters” theme song pounded through the TV speakers. He paused the movie.

“We might as well call it Harvest House,” Marie said, shifting on the cowhide cushion beside him. “The chicken restaurant closed before we were born.” She tucked one foot beneath her and leaned forward so her forearm brushed against Hughie’s.

“This could be the break we’ve been waiting for,” Cricket said. “Can you ask Ximena to message the people who commented?”

“Sure,” Sam said. “Ximena says that she wants everyone who claimed she was lying or being a drama queen to read these comments.”

“Can I see?” Rain reached for Sam’s phone. She began clicking through the network. A few minutes later, she said, “The girls who commented—I’ve been checking their accounts. They’ve also posted photos at Haskell and Native events at KU, the Indian Arts and Crafts Co-Op in Lawrence . . . These are Indigenous girls.”

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