Ghost Boy of Mackenzie House (8 page)

Chloe's decision was a huge surprise to her, as was
finding herself in the kitchen retrieving a second flashlight after Marsh claimed the one on the mantel in the rustic room. Even though her mind was screaming at her that this was a terrible idea, that the last place in the house she wanted to be going right then was the creepy room at the top of the steep stairs, her body kept moving without her assistance. In a matter of moments she was standing next to Marsh with her flashlight shining its beam up into the dark.

“You first,” Marsh whispered. Chloe swallowed and
nodded, not judging him in the least. Had she thought of it, she would have told him to go before he had the
chance to use it on her, so fair was fair. As she drew near the bottom step, the wind picked up, whistling under the door behind her, the original front door of
the house, now latched tight. Chloe shivered as a draft found her bare legs and traced up her back. Were the old rafters groaning more than normal? Was the very house protesting what she and Marsh were about to do? The rain had not let up, a steady percussive force against the wavy glass in the windows. It was far gloomier now than even it seemed at night. The weight of the storm seemed to press down on her. Chloe felt herself hunching over and had to force her shoulders back as she set foot on the first step.

She could feel Marsh right behind her, his breath on the back of her neck. She paused on the third step, her light wobbling as she got her balance. They both jumped as the window at the top of the stairs came alive with
a flash of lightning, followed in close succession by a
rolling chorus of thunder that rattled the windows and Chloe's nerve. It didn't help that Marsh let a small shriek escape him. She shot him a glare before continuing on. He was so close now it felt like he was pushing her and she knew it was necessary. If she had been alone she would have turned and run.

By the time they reached the top, the tension was
almost too much. Marsh tripped and bumped into her,
forcing her up the last step and face-first toward the
window.

“Sorry,” he whispered. Chloe giggled and realized then that she was having fun. She felt like a character in a book, just like her new favourite, Anne. She knew that this was the type of adventure that the red-haired girl would love and tried to imagine Anne was right there with her.

The rain was much louder in the little room, drumming so hard her ears felt numb. Side by side, they examined the entire empty room. Chloe could see where
flat wooden beds had scarred the floor and found a paler spot where perhaps a rug had sat. Aside from
that, however, they came up empty.

“Who do you suppose he is?” Marsh asked.

Chloe didn't have an answer. “You tell me, Island boy.” It came out harsher than she had meant, so she smiled at him to show she was kidding.

“Well,” he spun, light making its way around the bare walls, “he could have been murdered, maybe? His bones buried under the floorboards?”

They both shivered. Chloe was grinning, thinking of her book and the dramatic Anne. “How about an orphan? Somebody made him a slave and worked him so hard he died.” Chloe shuddered at the idea, only then remembering she was an orphan now, too. Thankfully she had her Aunt Larry. Neither she nor Anne had to face such a harsh fate.

Marsh was nodding, getting into it. “I know! How about a ship boy lost at sea who swam all the way back to die on the shore.” Chloe laughed at Marsh as he pretended to die, falling to the floor.

“Be serious,” she said. “How could he swim so far?”

“He came off the Phantom Ship, of course.” Marsh shone
the flashlight under his chin, making his face look very spooky.

“What's that?” Chloe asked.

“Big burning schooner,” he told her, getting to his feet
and dusting himself off. “Been sailing back and forth
between us and Nova Scotia for, like, hundreds of years or something.”

Chloe snorted, but loved the idea. “Really?”

Marsh was nodding fast. “Really. My Grandpa used to tell us stories about how his dad would take him out to see it when he was a boy. Guess it doesn't happen much anymore. You can look it up, if you want.” He was getting defensive. Chloe didn't want to lose the moment.

“Cool, I will.”

Marsh immediately relaxed. “I have another idea,” he said.

This one hadn't turned out so bad, so Chloe decided to risk it.

“Now what?”

“I think you should talk to him,” Marsh said.

Chloe backed up a step. She had kind of been thinking the same thing since the boy had appeared when she spoke to her parents. But she hadn't told Marsh about that. He didn't notice her concern, however, and went on.

“See if you can get him to show, you know? Maybe if you talk to him he'll try to talk back or something.”

“Maybe,” she said, happy he didn't know her secret after all. “What should I say?”

Marsh shrugged his thin shoulders, light dancing in his hand. “Dunno. Whatever you think he'd like to hear, I guess.”

Chloe thought about it for a minute before stepping closer to the window.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice cracked. Marsh laughed. She glared at him until he fell silent, one hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “Hi,” she tried again. “I live here now. I saw you the other night. You looked sad. I was wondering if I could help you.”

Marsh was nodding. “Yeah, that's good. They like help, right?”

Chloe continued. “I don't know if I can,” she didn't want to make any promises she couldn't keep, especially to a ghost, “but I'll do my best. But you have to tell me what you want, okay?”

They both waited in the near dark. Chloe could hear the rain easing up, the thunder moving off. Even the sky seemed to be growing lighter. She turned to Marsh.

“I don't think he likes you,” she said.

Marsh made a face. “Oh, ha ha, Chloe. Maybe it has to be nighttime?”

“Maybe,” she said. She was disappointed. She had hoped he would show up so she could prove to another person that she wasn't crazy. Plus, she did want to help him if she could.

Marsh looked out the window. “Storm's almost over,” he said. “I should probably be getting home.” He sounded reluctant.

“Okay,” Chloe said. “I'll keep you posted, though.”

Marsh flashed her a smile. “Great!”

Before either of them had a chance to go down the
stairs, Aunt Larry appeared at the bottom. They both jumped and laughed.

“Cookies, if you want them,” she said.

“Awesome!” Marsh switched off his light and flew down
the stairs after her. Chloe paused, however, waiting.
Maybe she had been right. Did the boy not want Marsh to be there? But the moment was over and she knew it. A single shaft of sunlight broke through as the cloud bank passed.

Chloe switched off her own flashlight and followed
Marsh to the kitchen.

The cookies were divine. Chloe had no idea that Aunt
Larry could bake. She devoured three before coming
up for air and thanking her aunt for them.

Aunt Larry was on her own third by then and winked.

“What's going on upstairs?” she asked them.

They shared a guilty look. “Nothing,” they said together.

Aunt Larry laughed. “Let me guess. You were either looking for buried treasure or a ghost.”

Chloe kept her head down and willed Marsh to shut up. She was relieved, however, when he didn't.

“Totally buried treasure,” he was nodding with great
enthusiasm. “There has to be some up there, Larry.
Maybe a metal detector would find it.”

“You're welcome to try,” she told him. Chloe pushed the plate of still-warm chocolate chip mounds his way. He took the hint and stuffed in a whole one. When the phone rang, Aunt Larry went off to find the cordless.

“Promise you won't say anything,” Chloe begged.

“Are you kidding?” Marsh said. “Number one, my brothers would make my life way worse if they found out, and number two, they wouldn't believe us anyway. Secret's safe with me.” He mimed locking his lips and tossing the key as Aunt Larry returned with the phone in her hand.

“That was your mom,” she said to Marsh. “She'd like you home for chores.”

Marsh groaned but got up. Aunt Larry snuck him a
pair of cookies.

“I don't know that your brothers need to know these exist.” She winked.

Marsh hugged her and ran for the door, waving one
cookie at Chloe while the other disappeared into his
mouth. She shook her head, smiling, as the screen door slammed shut behind him.

Chloe spent the rest of the afternoon helping Aunt
Larry clean the house. The familiar activity made her feel much more at home. After a great dinner of stew and homemade bread, Chloe retreated to her room.

She lay awake for a while, trying to decide what to do. Her trusty lamp burned beside her in the dark, keeping her safe. But she wanted to talk to the boy, now more than ever. She reached out and shut off the lamp before
retreating under her covers with the picture of her parents and her flashlight, recharged with fresh bat
teries.

She knew he came when she talked to her mom and dad. But she also wanted to talk to him. So, she decided to include him in her conversation and see what happened.

“We had an amazing storm today,” she said to Sophie and Patrick. “Didn't we?” She felt silly talking to the boy, not knowing his name. “It was cool. The sky got so dark and it rained really hard. The thunder was right over the house.” The thought of the rain made her think of the accident. “Was there lightning?” she asked her father.
“I know it was raining.” She hesitated, then went on,
speaking to the boy alone. “I was home sick,” she spoke above a whisper. “They went out for dinner. I felt rotten. I wanted my mom.” Her heart was beating too fast. “When she called to check on me… ” Chloe drifted off. She had begged her mom to come home. The babysitter was a stupid teenager who didn't know how to make her feel better.

“Mom said they were coming back early.” Chloe felt the tears and the heat in her throat and chest. “I never told anybody.” The light wavered in front of her as her eyes
filled. “It was my fault,” she said. “If I hadn't… if they
had stayed at the restaurant like they were supposed to… ” The tractor-trailer had skidded on the highway to avoid another accident, jackknifing into her parents' SUV. She had looked up jackknife because no one would tell her what that meant. The photos of trucks bent in half made her shudder. “They would be alive,” she admitted out loud for the first time since they had died. “It was all my fault.”

She heard the sigh and felt him sit. For a moment, she
stayed where she was, not wanting to face him even
though he was a ghost. She didn't want to face herself now that she had said it.

At last, she pulled the covers down. The boy was looking at her, the same soft white glow around him. He had short brown hair and dark eyes, though it was almost impossible to tell what colour they were. He didn't seem to have much colour about him at all. She had been right about the suspenders, though, and the buttoned-up white shirt. When she looked back to his face, his expression was so sad it broke her heart. Still, the fear rose up again and she pulled herself away from him, back pressed to the wall, knees drawn up. He reached out to her, as though moving in slow motion. Chloe's hands went to her mouth, fear drowning her sadness. He dropped his hand and bowed his head. Then, he vanished.

Chloe regretted it.

“Don't go!” she called out in a rough whisper. “Come back!”

It was no use. He was gone.

“Fine,” she said, climbing out of bed. “I'm sorry. I want
you to come back. But if you won't come to me, I'm
coming to you.”

Determined, Chloe took the flashlight and tiptoed out of her room in pursuit of the ghost boy.