The Ghost Girl Chronicles

Counting Cars

"How could you be so stupid" Crazy Girl shouted at her, "You know it's forbidden to let them see our true selves. Are you trying to get us into trouble? First you get involved with that boy, then you let him see what you are? Do you want her to find out?"

"I couldn't help it, it just happened," said Mariah sadly, "But maybe she won't find out."

"I wouldn't count on that," Crazy Girl grumbled.

"Michael, Michael." Someone was shaking him. He hoped it was Mariah, it had to be her. But when he opened his eyes he saw Kit's anxious face.

"Michael, you were having a nightmare or something. You looked really scary." Kit's young face looked worried. Suddenly his kid sister looked far too old for her age.

"She shouldn't look that way," he thought, "She's only a kid."

"Hey Mike." Dewey stood next to the sofa and punched him gently on his shoulder—fortunately not his injured one. He looked for a chair close to the sofa, then, finding none, sat on the floor. He accepted the cold can of coke Kit fetched for him, careful not to encourage her too eager smile.

"Some privacy, Kit?" Michael said and she shrugged her shoulders, then with one last look of longing at Dewey, went upstairs.

"What have you done to my sister?" he asked, only half in jest. She's got a crush on him. I don't know if I like that, he thought.

"Transference," Dewey replied. His parents were psychologists, and he could pull psychobabble out of the air like a magician. "I was on the bus and I saw her. I was coming over here anyway, so I told her I'd walk with her." He dropped his light tone and became more serious, "She really is afraid of that house, you know."

"She may have a good reason, but I don't know how to prove it. I can just see me telling the cops that I believe there are two bodies buried in the basement of a house up the street. That would go over really well, don't you think? Especially if I told them that I knew because a ghost of one of them told me." Michael laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Speaking of ghosts, where..."

Michael cut him off. "I don't want to talk about that, okay? Just leave it."

"Touchy." Dewey stretched out on the floor. "But okay, I'm cool. Your business, your problem. If you want my help, you'll ask for it."

Michael smiled. That was the thing about Dewey--he could back off something and not take it personally. Short Round was intense, and sometimes he'd go off on you for some reason only he understood. Dewey was more laid back. There was a strange chemistry between his two best friends. They complimented each other in a way that Michael could see, but not quite understand. Sometimes he'd even feel like an outsider in their company because he had no part in that strange synergy.

"What are we going to do about your sister, Mike?" Dewey took a long drink of his coke. "She's always been afraid of her shadow, but that house has her really freaked out. Spring's coming, we're going to start having a lot more daylight and maybe she'll feel safer, but she shouldn't have to be afraid to walk down her own street."

He glanced down at the newspaper and did a double-take, "Hey, what's this?" He picked up the paper and started skimming an article. "Mike, have you seen this?"

"It makes me dizzy when I try to read. What did you find?"

"I'm not sure you'll want to hear this."

"C'mon dude, what is it? You can't just tell me about something, and then say, 'oh, never mind!'"

"Why not? You and Short Round have been doing it to me for years." He let out a theatrical sigh, "Okay, here goes: 'Disappearance of 15-year-old girl puzzles police'."