Dreaming of Amelia (25 page)

These days, as you may know, we don't have long hair on our bodies—if we did, we'd be spending a fortune on waxing—but our bodies still think that we do. So all the little muscles still stand up when it's cold, and that's goosebumps.

The way they talked about this made me feel strangely excited. As if getting goosebumps was a kind of time travel.

From there, Amelia and Riley navigated the conversation until we were talking about coldness itself. People told stories about being very cold—not just skiing in Canada (like I
have, and trust me, it's COLD), but also about the coldness of fevers, and a sudden splash of water on the back of your neck. And the coldness you feel towards people you used to care about when they hurt you. And the cold things people do. Somebody remembered a story about a man whose wife was dying, and he got the funeral director to measure her up for her coffin
even though she was still alive
. That was cold.

This was not just Amelia and Riley talking, by the way—it was everybody—but Amelia and Riley make people more amazing. People remember things they never knew they knew. If you get what I mean. Stories they'd forgotten. And all the time, Amelia and Riley listen so intently and ask questions like they really care. Everybody starts to
feel
intriguing.

And then, Amelia (or maybe Riley) asked questions about my ghost. They did not laugh. Their questions were serious. I admit they didn't seem very interested in the mandarin peels and feathers, but they were fascinated by the coldness.

Amelia said she never gets cold in Room 27B, but this didn't seem to make her doubt me. It seemed to make her
believe
.

Riley wondered why ghosts are cold.

‘Maybe ghosts are shadows,' he said. ‘Shadows are cold.'

And then we talked about shadows.

I cannot remember what we said about shadows, although I do remember Toby Mazzerati being very intense about fetching, starving, black holes and ships.

In his mind this was all connected to shadows. It made absolutely no sense, but at the time, with all that alcoholic beverage in my bloodstream, Toby's words seemed profound. I remember I hugged him and promised that there is no such thing as black holes. (I don't think there is. Is there? Hmm. I might be wrong about that. Never mind.) Anyway, my friend Toby, sometimes he seems so sad. I wanted to cheer him up.

And then suddenly there was a knock on the closet door. It was Astrid—she must have finally got my text—and Lydia was calling out instructions on how to release us—and then we were free!

I went home feeling beautiful, in love with every person in the closet, and with a head that was brimful of shadows.

17
.

After that, things began to change.

I didn't notice right away, but over the next few days I began to overhear people talking, quite seriously, about the Ashbury ghost. Once, two girls asked me if I'd felt the ghost lately.

They weren't being funny.

It was the strangest thing.

It was as if Amelia and Riley had made the ghost real. The way they had talked about it in the closet had been so serious and respectful, so now that respect was billowing out across the school.

It was not enough to go to Mr Ludovico with, but it sure was soothing.

18
.

One day, near the end of a drama rehearsal, somebody suggested that a plant would look good in a particular scene. The actor could water the plant as she talked, and this would be symbolic of her taking a shower or something else equally ridiculous. Anyway, I remembered the potplant outside the lower photography lab and ran to get it.

I felt like a break anyway.

It was very quiet in the corridors. Dusk was in the windows. I could hear my footsteps on the carpet. I could see the door
to Room 27B just ahead of me, so there was the twitch in my lip, of course—but I also felt something else. Something new. As if the twitch was also in the centre of my
chest
, but this twitch had a handle and somebody was turning, tightening it. Also—this will sound strange—I felt as if the dusk was creeping through the windows and shadowing my eyes.

I thought:
What's going on
?

Then I realised what it was.

It was fear. I felt frightened.

I slowed a little—and at that exact moment, something touched my ankle. It was a soft, gentle whisper of a touch. As if someone lying on the floor at my feet had reached out a hand and stroked my ankle.

I was too terrified to scream. (And that is really saying something. I like screaming.) I could only make this weird gasping sound with an element of yelping in it. (I'm ashamed to say.)

Then I looked down. No scary stranger on the floor.

A white handkerchief.

It had got tangled around my shoe as my footsteps slowed and had somehow wrapped around my ankle.

I laughed but my cheeks were still weird from the terror so the laugh didn't come out right.

I picked up the handkerchief. I don't like people who use handkerchiefs. I mean, why not use a tissue to blow your nose? I think they want to carry snot around.

I held the hanky by the corner, but it seemed clean. Also, it seemed old—the white was not bright, and the lace was frayed. And there was some kind of swirlingness on it, which I believe is entitled ‘embroidery'.

I put it in my pocket, but I'm sorry to say, I was too frightened to go on. I ran back to the rehearsal as fast as I could.

19
.

This was real fear.

This was not my childish, imaginary spookiness.

Here was the difference: Amelia and Riley had believed in my ghost.

They weren't playing.

And a real ghost is a whole other thing.

20
.

The next day, a window in Room 27B fell onto somebody's hand. It was somebody I don't like very much—Saxon Walker (he used to be okay but the last year or so he's turned into one of those guys who says mean things to girls, pretending to be funny)—and he was trying to force the window up even though I had specifically told him I was cold, and then suddenly a rope snapped and the window rushed down with a BANG onto his hand.

Wow. It must have hurt.

He tried to be brave but I think if he'd been alone he'd have cried. His face went white! And afterwards, his hand was swollen and purple. (Then he got a bit annoying, talking about how the bones were probably broken, but I doubt it.)

I looked at his pale face, and the smell of lilac talcum powder drifted by. For some reason, that strange, sweet smell wafting by while windows crashed onto hands—that terrified me more than anything.

21
.

Does all this terror mean that I now believed in the ghost?

I honestly don't know.

A part of me continued to think that there is no such thing—this part scared me, because I knew it meant I had to prove the impossible to Mr L.

Another part kept thinking of Amelia and Riley talking ghosts and shadows in the closet—making the ghost real—and that part also scared me, because, you know, ghosts.

Basically, everywhere I turned in my mind I found terror. It was exhausting. I tried to behave like an ordinary person but one day at lunch, Cass said: ‘What's going on with your face, Emily?' and Lyd said, ‘Yeah. What's up with the way your eyes keep opening wide like that?'

I guess that my terror was on display.

They looked at me with such kind, open interest, waiting for my reply, that I burst into tears and told them the whole story.

About Mr Ludovico and everything he'd said.

They were so angry! There was a flurry of sentences from them:

‘He can't
stop
you getting into Law!'

‘He can't make you
prove
something
impossible
!'

‘He's getting
revenge
for what he overheard you say, and he thinks
you're
the childish one?'

‘Too
dependent
on us? Does he not know what
friendship
is?'

‘No, he doesn't. Because he doesn't have any friends.'

‘He's probably
jealous
of you because you
do
have friends!'

‘This is such an abuse of power.'

‘He has a
serious
God complex.'

‘You are
not
childish, you've just got an imagination.'

‘And imagination is
exactly
what a lawyer needs.'

‘Don't worry, we'll take care of it.'

‘We'll go see him.'

‘We're gonna fix this, Em.'

So, that was fantastic.

But I said I wanted to resolve this issue on my own.

‘Don't let him mess with your head with that thing about
being dependent on us,' said Lyd. ‘You're supposed to get help from your friends when you're in trouble.'

I said thank you, but it felt important to me to do this alone.

‘Maybe I'll actually prove there
is
a ghost,' I said.

Hmm. Well. (They said.) They glanced at one another. They looked at me closely.

If you change your mind, they said, we're here.

That night, I felt so much better that I wrote a new entry in my blog:

My Journey Home

Today I am feeling incandescent. I don't know exactly what that word means, but never mind. That's the word I'm using.

As you may know, there is a ghost living in the Art Rooms of my school (Ashbury High). But who is this ghost? And what does it want?

If you, dear readers of this blog, have any information about this ghost, please let me know as soon as possible.

Because I think it is time for the ghost to
begin its journey home
.

Thank you and goodnight.

15 Comments

SunflowerSeed said
. . . Didn't our Art Rooms used to be a mansion or something? So it'll be someone who kicked it back in the ole days.

Em said
. . . Thanks, SunflowerSeed, but I was thinking
we need to open our minds to other possibilities. People did not just die in the olden days. They continue to die up to the present.

DeannaG said
. . . LOL

Em said
. . . I don't get it. What's funny? You think that death is funny, do you, Deanna? Well, hmm, maybe you should just try it some time.

Yowta772 said
. . . It could be some ex Ashbury student still pissed about getting accused of cheating when it was actually the guy beside him who cheated off
him
. Injustice. It's a killer.

CarrieMW said
. . . It could be a former teacher who used to get called names by students behind her/his back, and now he/she wants revenge on Ashbury students for all time?): In which case, I don't think there's anything you can do about it, Em, except maybe watch your back.

Mark said
. . . Or a student who got shafted/ignored by hot, popular girls like you, Em. So therefore I repeat CarrieMW's advice.

Billiej said
. . . Em, have any students DIED at your school?!! I suggest you get a list of all students who have died in or near the Art Rooms, and that will help to narrow your search.

Sasha said
. . . But it cld be sbdy who left schl then lived til old age then wanted to go BACK to schl cos schl days were the best days of their life eg me, cos I plan
to haunt Ashbury for eternity cos I can't get enough of the place *ROTFL*

BenB said
. . . Em, didja check whether any students from our school have gone missing recently? If someone's been murdered and bricked up behind a wall while the renovations were happening—
the perfect time for a crime
—then it'll be that particular student for sho.

Em said
. . . Ben, I feel like we would have heard about it if one of the students from our school was missing. And the smell of the corpse? Also, I think this is a ghost from a long time ago—eg it has old books and handkerchiefs and feathers and it likes history. But thanks. And thanks to everyone else for your comments.

FloralNightie said
. . . Surely it is KL Mason Patterson, feeling angry about the way his money has been spent on ‘disadvantaged neighbouring schools'?

Magicmustard said
. . . Renovations always piss off ghosts. You need to tear them down (the renovations). Have you got the authority?

Yowta722 said
. . . If the ghost wanted to tear the building down, wouldn't it have done it by now? Ghosts are just misty and floaty, right? It probably can't do more than creaking sounds and minor structural damage.

Shadowgirl said
. . . Em, are you still the only person
who has contact with the ghost? You must feel very alone.

These comments came through quickly, right after I posted the blog. So I was sitting there reading and responding as they arrived. I knew a lot of the people—they're from Ashbury as you might have noticed. But some were strangers to me. (Yowta772, for instance—who is
that
?)

And Shadowgirl . . .

I have no idea who that is. She's a blogger on Glasshouse. I clicked on her name—but
her blog can only be accessed by the blogger
(her). Which, I mean, go figure. What's the point? Keep a diary, already.

Anyhow, I ran down to the kitchen and found my parents making cinnamon toast, and after a while I started feeling warm and safe again. I asked Mum if anybody had died while she was a student at Ashbury, and at first she misunderstood and started going through all the people who had died then, including her grandmother and Elvis Presley—but when I got her to understand, she said, no.

I was not disappointed.

I was glad to stop thinking about the ghost for the night. Maybe the mysterious Shadowgirl was just trying to be kind when she said
you must feel very alone
. But for some reason, her comment sent a chill right through me.