The Ghost of Drowned Meadow, page 4
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this because …”
“Well, I found this …” But now they were looking at her like she was the creepy weirdo. “N-Never mind. It’s dumb.”
“Anyway,” said Hannah, making it clear they were done with the topic. “I asked my mom about going into the city next weekend, and you know what she said?”
The other girls seemed eager to shift focus, and as they chattered on about whatever, Morgan felt like they were more or less ignoring her now. Why did she have to go babbling about ghost Nazis, even if it was true? Port Jeff Middle was a small school, and there weren’t a lot of friend options.
Had she just blown her only real chance?
There were, Morgan decided, levels of loneliness. She thought she’d felt pretty lonely when she first moved to Long Island and couldn’t hang out with Madison anymore. But then she’d felt lonelier when she began school and realized that making new friends would not be as easy as she’d hoped.
Now she felt even lonelier. Not because she had even fewer friends. That was impossible because you couldn’t have negative friends. But she felt the loneliness more deeply because she had this … thing that she couldn’t talk about with anyone.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was one person she could probably talk to about it. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to.
The way home from school took her through a commercial district along the harbor. There were some clothing stores, a cute little pet supply store, and a lot of restaurants. Some seemed really modern, and some seemed like they’d been there forever. One of the oldest was an ice-cream parlor. Morgan had taken note of it on her first week because it was the only place in town she could get a proper egg cream, which her father had taught her at an early age was an important thing to know.
Morgan had a little bit of money on her, and as she neared the ice-cream shop, she thought about treating herself to an egg cream, or maybe even an ice-cream float. It has been a stressful couple days and she deserved a treat.
Except Joel Applebaum was in there. She could see him through the window, sitting on one of the stools at the long, old-fashioned counter. She supposed she could go in there, order an egg cream, and just ignore him. But with all these thoughts of ghost Nazis floating around in her brain, she didn’t know if she could resist bringing it up to the one person who seemed willing to talk about “creepy” things. And that presented a huge risk. If she did talk to him, she would also be in clear view of the front window. Any neighborhood kids who walked by would see her hanging out with the creepy weirdo. In fact, it was even more likely she would be spotted here than when they’d been talking on the dock.
She decided an egg cream wasn’t worth the risk, and kept walking.
Once she was out of the downtown area, the street gradually sloped upward, and fancy old homes lined both sides. Her mom said they were “Victorian style.” Morgan loved how bright and colorful they were. One was sky blue and dark pink; another was lemon yellow and hunter green. Each one was unique, with large porches that looked out over the harbor below. They were so different from the uniform brownstones she’d grown up with in Brooklyn. She loved those too, of course, but she felt like these houses were something special.
Eventually the street flattened out, then sloped back down. Near the bottom of the hill was the turn into the little cul-de-sac where she lived. The houses there weren’t as fancy as the Victorian-style homes, but they were all two stories with a small garage, and a little balcony that looked out at the water across the street.
She had a nice house in a nice place. She should appreciate it. But when she turned to look out at the harbor that sparkled golden in the afternoon sun, she remembered the boy who had drowned. A sudden chill went through her. Instead of admiring the view, she hurried inside.
Morgan didn’t say much at dinner, but her parents didn’t notice. Her father had made his deadline, and her mother had closed on some big contract, so they were both feeling pretty good about themselves and spent the evening congratulating each other.
After dinner, she went back to her room, intent on completely submerging herself in the second half of volume three of My Secret Dream of a Boring Life, which was all about titanic battles between Zophia Zye and her two former generals.
“You disappoint me, General Piorun,” I told the Mysl Grandmaster as we faced off on the ruined parapets of my palace. “I had thought the elves shared my vision for a united continent.”
“United, yes!” said the wily old elf. His hands worked feverishly to shape a spell that he clearly hoped, against all evidence to the contrary, would prevent my retribution. “But this newfound fondness of yours for humans is an abomination!”
“The only abomination I see,” I told him, “is an elf who seeks to destroy anyone different from himself. Now prepare to face my wrath!”
“Ugh!”
Morgan was startled out of the story by her mother’s yelp of alarm from down the hall.
“Mom?” she called worriedly. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her mother sounded more irritated than anything. “Gabe! Something’s wrong with the plumbing!”
Morgan felt a tremor of unease, thinking of what had happened to the kitchen sink. “What’s wrong with the plumbing?”
“The bathwater looks disgusting.” Her mother stepped into Morgan’s doorway wearing a bathrobe, her expression sour. “I was really looking forward to a nice long bath …”
Morgan put her book down, her dread growing. It was probably nothing. Coincidence. But she couldn’t help asking, “Disgusting how?”
“See for yourself.” Her mother trudged disappointedly back to her own bedroom.
Morgan didn’t hurry to the bathroom, mostly because she was afraid of what she would find. And she was right.
The bathtub was filled with seawater and thin ribbons of seaweed.
“Whoa, that’s weird,” said her father as he peered over Morgan’s shoulder.
“Yeah …”
The sight of the seaweed floating in that grimy water sent a wave of nausea through her. She walked numbly back to her room, wondering what it all meant, and fearing she already knew.
She glanced over to the window. Since the weather had gotten cooler, she hadn’t opened it that night. Now she walked over and yanked it up.
It was that same crying as before—a heartbroken sob that simultaneously wrenched at her heart and made her want to crawl out of her skin. But it was louder this time. More insistent. In fact, her father could hear it from the bathroom.
“Yikes, what is that?” he called.
“Dad, come here!”
She heard his heavy tread down the hallway toward her. But just as he stepped into her room, the weeping stopped.
“What is it, honey?” he asked.
“Did you hear that?” she demanded. “That crying?”
He nodded. “Of course. It was probably a cat.”
“A cat?” How could he think that sounded like a cat?
He shrugged. “What else would it be?”
She wanted to shout at him, IT’S A GHOST NAZI!!! But she knew he didn’t believe in ghosts. Or he did, but only in some confusing metaphysical way … Regardless, she wouldn’t be able to convince him. Instead he’d be concerned that she was imagining things, because she was a lonely loser who had no friends and spent all her time in her bedroom reading silly Japanese fantasy stories.
So she reined in her emotions and forced a smile onto her lips.
“Yeah.” She slid the window shut. “A cat. That’s all it was.”
Morgan had promised to try harder to make friends, but the next day she just couldn’t muster up the determination, especially after rambling to Tressa and the others about ghost Nazis the day before. So at lunch period, she sat by herself and retreated into the familiar comforting world of the Night Queen.
After school, she passed the ice-cream parlor on her way home and saw Joel once again sitting at the counter. This time, she didn’t hurry past. Instead she looked more closely. He was reading the light novel for volume one of My Secret Dream of a Boring Life.
That was strange. He’d already read the manga, so it wasn’t like he needed to read the novel version. Was he reading it because she had recommended it?
A surge of warmth in her chest made her feel a little less alone. She couldn’t quite put it into words, but she found she wanted to answer the question he’d asked on Saturday. What was it like to live in a haunted house? She was pretty sure she knew.
She pulled open the door, walked into the ice-cream parlor, and sat down next to him. He didn’t notice at first because he was reading so intently. It reminded Morgan of how often her mom complained about her being the same way. Sometimes her mother would have to call up several times before Morgan heard her.
Once Joel finished the chapter, he closed the book, then his dark eyebrows jumped up on his pale forehead.
“Oh, hey,” he said.
“What do you think?” She nodded to the book.
He could have said something easy like “It was great” or even “okay.” Instead he frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “She’s a lot sadder than I realized.”
“Sad?”
“Yeah, it’s not as obvious in the manga. But with the light novel, you really do get inside her head, and you realize that even though she’s surrounded by all these generals and loyal soldiers—even Zsa Zsa—she’s actually pretty lonely. None of them really see the girl behind the Night Queen. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” The warm glow in her chest grew stronger. Joel got it. He really did. Maybe even better than Madison.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“You asked me what it was like to live in a haunted house,” she said.
“Oh.” He looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s horrible.” Her throat tightened up and suddenly she was fighting back tears. All the stress and fear rushed to the surface, like finally talking about it had unlocked a floodgate that she could now barely hold shut.
He stared at her.
Her chest tightened when she realized that maybe it had been a joke. Maybe she had completely misjudged him and he was going to laugh at her now.
But he didn’t laugh. Instead he asked, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice warbled, and the suppressed tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I found … a Nazi uniform in the attic.”
His eyes widened. “Nazis?”
“A kid Nazi uniform. And there was an old newspaper article about a boy named Joseph Klaus who drowned in the harbor.”
“Wait, he didn’t die in the house?”
Morgan shook her head. “The newspaper said he was running away from his summer camp for some reason? And he stole a boat, then tried to sail across the harbor to get home.”
“To your house.”
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other.
“So …” Joel hesitated for a moment. “Have you experienced any, like, ghost things?”
Morgan told him about the dripping and the crying, the seaweed and seawater. As she was talking, Joel’s eyes kept getting bigger. By the time she was done, he looked as scared as she felt.
They sat in silence for a moment, but now it was more tense than awkward. Morgan watched Joel anxiously as he thought about it, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed somewhere unseen.
“I don’t think your house is haunted,” he said at last.
She wanted to feel relieved, but the pinched expression on his face didn’t give her the impression that she should.
“No?” she pressed.
“I’m no expert, of course. But I think in order for a house to be haunted, the person has to die inside it.”
“Then what do you think is going on? Do you think I’m … imagining it?”
He shook his head. “I think this boy, Joseph Klaus, is still trying to get home.”
Something cold and dark filled her stomach.
“You think a ghost is trying to get into my house?”
He nodded. “Any way it can.”
“And … what happens if it does?”
“You remember what I said before about accidents? The last one happened ten years ago. I read about it. Apparently the mom slipped and broke her neck in the bathroom.”
“Is that a thing that happens?” Morgan had never thought of the bathroom of all places as dangerous.
“That’s what I wondered, so I looked it up. I guess like six thousand people a year in the US die from falling in their home,” said Joel. “But this gets weirder. The woman slipped because the bathroom was flooded. With seawater. And they could never explain how that happened.”
“Seawater …” The memory of her bathtub filled with seawater came back, bringing with it a swirl of fear and nausea. What if it had spilled over and her mother had slipped on it? She could have broken her neck …
“I’m worried that the ghost is going to keep trying to get in.” Joel broke into her thoughts. “And things are just going to get worse until something really bad happens.”
She stared at him, trying—and failing—to rid her mind of the image of her mom, neck broken, lying on the bathroom floor.
“Wh-what do I do?”
“I don’t know.” He leaned toward her, looking intent. “But … can I help?”
She laughed out loud with relief, her eyes stinging once more. “Yeah. That would be great.”
Morgan and Joel walked most of the way home together, but they spoke little. Morgan felt like there was so much going on in her head, she didn’t know what to say. On one hand, the idea of a ghost invading her home was terrifying. On the other, it was such a relief to feel like she didn’t have to deal with it alone anymore. Those girls got Joel all wrong. Maybe he used to be a creepy weirdo when they were all growing up together. But there was nothing creepy or weird about him now. He was a genuinely nice guy.
They reached Joel’s house first.
“I’m going to research Joseph Klaus,” he promised.
“Thanks,” she said.
She watched him walk up his drive and let himself into his house. It was getting dark, and she was now keenly aware that she was alone. It was only half a block from Joel’s house to hers, but it felt like a very long half block. As she walked, she wondered if the ghost ever appeared, or if it was only sounds and water. If it did appear, what would it look like? The boy had drowned, so he would probably be dripping and festooned with seaweed, gray and bloated, empty eye sockets and purple lips, skin half-eaten by crabs …
She shuddered. The problem with having an active imagination was that it often took her to places she did not want to go.
Finally she reached her house, which, at least for now, was safe. If the ghost was trying to get inside, that meant it wasn’t actually inside yet. Right? She really hoped that was what it meant.
Just like the sink, the bathtub had gone back to providing clean tap water on its own. Now it seemed like her parents had completely forgotten it even happened. When she asked her father, he’d dismissed it.
“Probably just some sort of temporary underground plumbing issue. We do live right next to the ocean, after all.” Then he grinned at her. “I mean the harbor, of course.”
She mustered a smile of appreciation for the callback, but it was a little forced.
After enduring another soggy tofu dinner, Morgan retired to her bedroom for some soothing Night Queen. Volume four was a big shift in the story, and a lot more fun. After reclaiming her throne, Zophia Zye tried to better integrate her human and nonhuman subjects so that humans, elves, dwarves, trolls, and oni all worked together harmoniously, making sure that Kosuke and her other human friends had a place at her court. A lot of the conflicts in volume four came down to silly cultural misunderstandings that she had to resolve between the humans and nonhumans. It was a nice break, both from the battles of volume three and Morgan’s real-life fears of an invading ghost.
“Morgan.”
Her father stood in the doorway. His eyes were so large and round, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
She sat up, her pulse racing. “Dad, are you okay?”
“Morgan,” he said again, his tone unsure, as if he could hardly believe what he was saying. “There is a boy at the front door who would like to speak with you. A handsome, well-spoken boy. I am not ready for this. Can I tell him to go away until I’ve had time to process the idea that my daughter is growing up?”
She sighed with relief. “Only if you’re striving for the worst parent in the world award.”
“Hmm, tempting …” His expression abruptly relaxed. “But it sounds like a lot of paperwork. I guess you should talk to him.”
Morgan went downstairs and saw Joel standing on the other side of the screen door.
“Did you find something already?”
“Yeah.” He held up his laptop. “Can I come in? You’re going to want to see this.”
As soon as she let him in, her parents suddenly appeared, which meant they had already been lurking. Morgan supposed she couldn’t blame them. This was the first time a boy had come over. They probably had all kinds of wrong assumptions.
“Who’s your friend, Morgan?” asked her mom.
“Uh, this is Joel,” she said.
“Joel Applebaum,” he told her parents. “I live a few doors down. It’s nice to meet you both.”
“See what I mean?” Morgan’s father whispered loudly to her mother. “So well-spoken!”
Morgan ignored that. “We’re working on a project for school together.”
“Right,” said Joel. “A, uh, history project.”
“Hmmm …” Her dad gazed at Joel, clearly trying to look intimidating, and just as clearly failing. “I suppose that’s okay.”
“If you work in the living room,” her mom said firmly.
“Okay, okay. Come on, Joel.” Morgan motioned for him to follow her into the living room. “But no spying, you two.”
