Michael's Ghost Girl

The Star Child

The shop had blue neon stars and a silvery-white moon in its windows, the plate glass window in the door shielded by a lace curtain. The sign in the window read, "The Star Child", advertising books, herbs, incense, candles—and "Tarot and Psychic Readings".

"What the hell am I doing here?" he wondered. He'd die if Short Round and Dewey found out. This was an act of desperation and he knew it. He would not be here if he knew what to do. All his life he'd scoffed at the paranormal; as far as he was concerned, ghosts didn't exist. If Grandfather Van were still alive, he wouldn't need to be here, but this was a problem he couldn't solve on his own or share with his parents. Dealing with ghosts was beyond his experience. He just hoped he wasn't making a fool of himself. Plenty of time to leave if he wanted to, he told himself.

He stood in front of the door, his heart pounding as it did before a skateboard competition. He took several deep breaths, then forced himself to turn the doorknob and push the door open.

The proprietress of the shop was a tall African American woman who looked about Molly's age. A red and gold silk scarf was wrapped around her head and the polish on her nails matched the color of her scarf. Her gold hoop earrings had snake's heads, making her seem like a voodoo queen in a movie. He was feeling creeped out and almost ready to walk away when she spoke to him.

"I don't sell no skateboards here, hon. Sure you at the right place?" She looked pointedly at his skateboard, then he saw one side of her bright red lips curl into a smile. Her expression was bemused, her dark brown eyes showed a friendliness that told him she was teasing.

He started to open his mouth. He wanted to say, "I was wondering if you could help me," when the expression on her face changed.

He watched as she crossed to the door and locked it, flipping over the open sign. She gestured to him to follow her into a room hidden by a curtain. "You don't need to be afraid of me," she said as she saw him hesitate, "You came here because you need help, and that's what I'm going to give you." She sat him in a chair and went about the room, swiftly lighting candles and sticks of incense. She took a candle that was sitting on an altar and placed it on the table between them.

She sat at the opposite end of the table. "I know why you're here," she said, "Someone else knows because she followed you here. She's standing in front of the curtain. She wants you to turn around and look at her."

He shook his head. "No way, I want her to leave me alone," he said fiercely, "I want my life to go back to normal. She wants something from me and I don't know if I should help her. It could be dangerous, for all I know. I'm only fifteen; I'm too young to deal with a murderer."

"How do you know that she was murdered?" The medium looked at him, her eyes looking deep into his as if she could see his life written in them.

He gave the only answer that he could. "I don't know how I know, I just...know."

The medium looked at him intently. "Do you think anyone else in your family has seen her?"

"No, just one of my friends. He's Hmong, he says there are shamans and priests in his family and that's why he can see her. They sort of live half in the spirit world, that's what he told me anyway. He said she's here for me, but I want her to go away."

"I don't think it's going to be that simple. Now sit and be patient for a moment while I try to talk to her." The medium closed her eyes. After what seemed like an eternity she opened her eyes and looked straight into Michael's.

"I'm getting a name: Maria? No, Mariah. It's definitely Mariah. The house you're living in, she's telling me that was her house. She says your room was her old room. She also told me that she was your age when she died."