Head Full of Ghosts, A by Tremblay Paul

Author:Tremblay, Paul [Tremblay, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Horror, Novel, Fantasy, Ghosts
ISBN: 9780062363251
Google: VnadBAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00MTSKHKO
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2015-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

THE MORNING AFTER the second episode aired, I told Mom that I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to stay home from school. I told her my stomach hurt and I thought I had a fever when I didn’t; I felt fine. She placed the back of her hand on my forehead and that was enough. She didn’t question me further or take my temperature. Marjorie stayed home from school too. She hadn’t been to school in a week since the first episode aired.

After spending a long, boring morning in my room rereading the old stories Marjorie and I had written in the Richard Scarry book and counting how many cats she’d drawn glasses on and had named Merry (there were fifty-four, I still remember that number), I came downstairs around lunchtime and announced that I was feeling better. I was dressed up as a news reporter: black T-shirt; black tights; a straw fedora; one blue sock and one red sock, both knee-length, the red sock was a regular sock, the blue sock was one of those glove socks that had toes and made my foot look like it was a Muppet foot; a button-up red knit sweater jacket that hung down almost to my knees. The sweater jacket had deep front pockets in which I stashed my reporter’s pencil and the black notebook that Ken had given me.

There wasn’t any crew on the first floor, but I took notes anyway as I worked my way to the kitchen. Dad was hunched over the sink and washing dishes by hand.

I wrote down: “Dishes. Dirty.”

“Hi, sweetie. Feeling better, I take it?”

I asked, “Yes. How come you’re not using the dishwasher?”

“There weren’t that many dishes to wash.”

I pursed my lips and nodded. Onto the next question: “Where’s Mom?”

“Out with Marjorie.”

I wrote that down, too, and underlined it.

“But she’ll be back soon. We have a big meeting in”—he looked at the oven clock—“jeez, less than an hour.”

“Can I be there for the meeting? I’m a reporter, see? I’ll take notes.”

“No. I don’t think so. But we may have something to talk to you about afterward.”

“What? Tell me!” I had my pencil pressed into the notebook.

“You’re too funny. But I can’t tell you. Mom and I and everyone else have to discuss it first. It’s nothing bad, though, I promise.”

“But I’m a reporter so you have to tell me.”

“Sorry to be a tease, but we’ll talk after, okay?”

“Ugh. I can’t wait until after.”

Dad laughed, and despite two thousand volts of frustration tingling and twitching through my body, I laughed too. Everything about him that morning seemed relaxed and brighter than it had in months. He’d always been a moody guy. No one was funnier or more fun to play with than he was when in the right mood and you could feel the barometric pressure drop when he wasn’t.

I heard the front door open and hoped that the big meeting was about to happen and that since I was there already they’d let me watch and take notes.

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