The Ghost Sitter by Peni R. Griffin

Author:Peni R. Griffin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2010-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

“You’re haunting here,” said Charlotte gently. “You’re a ghost, and you’ve been dead for a long, long time.”

8

Crying

The cold at the tips of Charlotte’s fingers snatched itself away, and a trail of sparks showered across the yard into the peach tree. Charlotte stared as the sparks faded. She drew up her knees and hugged them, hunching her shoulders.

She made herself sit there for a while, in case Susie came back, fighting the urge to go inside and watch videos. Normal sunshiny videos about girls who went horseback riding or did gymnastics. It was bad enough trying to think about things like being dead, or being blown up by fireworks—her brain winced away from those ideas like a tongue from a canker sore—without having to think about being alone for fifty years, with only little kids for company.

Mom’s shadow moved across the light from the kitchen windows. Pressing her hand in the small of her back, Charlotte went inside.

“Did Brandon go to bed okay?” she asked.

“He was worn out,” said Mom, putting the three-liter soda bottle back in the refrigerator door. “You want a drink before you take your bath?”

Charlotte shook her head. “The Tetris game was playing itself.”

“Yeah, Bart told me. He’s in there running the diagnostic.”

“It was kind of spooky,” said Charlotte in a false, bright voice. “I think I’ll tell Shannon the ghost was doing it.”

“I wish you and Shannon didn’t talk about the ghost,” said Mom. “It’s not healthy to think about that kind of stuff. And remember, Brandon understands more than he can say.”

“But he doesn’t know what being dead is about,” said Charlotte.

“No, and I’d rather he didn’t figure it out,” said Mom. “He’s too young for that sort of thing. So are you. So am I, as a matter of fact. Time enough to think about death when you’re old enough to do it.”

Was that Susie’s problem, Charlotte wondered—too young to die, to think about death, and dead anyway? Charlotte wanted to tell her mom about the cold spot, about the seance, about Patchy, about the trail of sparks shooting off to the peach tree. But how could she when Mom didn’t want to know? “If there were a ghost,” she said, “it would be awful to be her.”

Mom hugged her. “But there aren’t any ghosts,” she said, “so you don’t need to worry about it. Go take your bath, and then you can sit up for a while reading one of your Little House books or something. That’ll make you feel ordinary again.”

So Charlotte tried, but the creepy feeling lingered. What if, while she brushed her teeth, a face formed beside hers in the mirror? What if Susie were hacked off at being told she was dead? What if fifty years of being alone had driven her crazy?

Charlotte tried reading Little House on the Prairie, but there were more scary parts in it than she had remembered: the fever and ague, the chimney that caught fire, the fear that the Indians would kill them.

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