Chapter One

Some Definite Advantages

"None of this would be happening if I had normal parents. If I had normal parents they would buy a house in the suburbs with a nice lawn, flowers lining the walks, maybe a pool in the backyard. I really liked the bedroom that would have been mine in the last house we looked at. The planetary mobile I made in fourth grade would have looked great hanging in the window that looked out onto the backyard. There was no pool, but in a normal family it would be high on the to get list.
"I think we're looking for something with a bit more character," Mom said.
Character--just what we don't need more of.
"There's an ad here for a house well within our price range," Dad said. "And it's nearer the center of the city. What do you say we go take a look?"
I watched the suburbs stretch away behind us. Well, maybe this house would be in a nice, quiet, inner-city neighborhood, though, to be honest, I've never heard of such a thing.
We drove around for quite a while. I think I even fell asleep. When we finally found the place all I could do was hope they still had enough of their sanity to realize that no self-respecting kid could live in a house like that.
It stood alone in the middle of the block. Weeds and bushes pressed around its gray, stone walls. Piles of broken bricks and mortar made the area look like a gravel pit. A hand painted sign hanging from the doorknocker read: Genuine Haunted House--FOR SALE!
"Oh wow!" Mom stopped the car in front of the house.
"Looks interesting," Dad said.
I looked at them. Were they serious?
"Let's go have a look," Mom said as she hopped out the door. Dad followed.
"Coming Stevie?" he called.
"Are you serious?" They were already walking toward the house so I guessed they were--serious that is.
The house looked solid enough despite its surroundings. Mom counted the stairs to the door. "Nine. Now is that a good or a bad luck number? I can't remember. I'll have to look it up when we get home."
I ask you, is that any way for an unemployed journalist to behave?
The dark green paint on the door was cracked and faded with age. Mom's reflection stared at me in the door's rectangular left window. Her frizzy hair seemed electric, leaping out of the elastic that attempted to hold it back. Towering over her, the sunlight gleamed off Dad's bald head like fluorescent lights off an egg. I bet they call him Professor Egghead behind his back. He teaches high school history classes. I just hope I don't end up going to that school when I graduate.
The other window showed a medium sized girl with short, curly red hair and a nose that never seemed to get any longer. With looks like these, why do my parents think we also need a house with character? I pushed forward to look inside but it was too dark to see anything. The doorknocker hanging between the two windows had the shape of an anchor. I pulled it up. It was like trying to pick up my backpack--heavy.
"Must be what keeps this place from floating away," I said. I don't know where that idea came from. That kind of thinking doesn't normally appeal to me, but there wasn't much normal about the situation, so I guess it fit. The knocker fell and a dry thud echoed through the empty house.
"Nobody here," I said. "Let's go."
"It says 'open house today' in the paper," Mom said, balancing her knuckles on her hips.
Dad reached over and turned the age-blackened door handle. With a click and a sigh the door swung inward.
Strange… the air that rushed from the opening door carried the distinct smell of chili and tacos though the place looked like it had been empty for centuries. Dust coated the dark wood floors and had drifted into corners making them soft and gray. Mom and Dad, making approving grunts and squeals, wandered off to peer into closets and cupboards. I stayed where I was and examined the staircase leading to the second floor. Half way up the light disappeared.
"Genuine Haunted House! What a gimmick to sell this old wreck." I planted my foot on the bottom step and started up the stairs. My feet slowed as I approached the dark, but believe me it wasn't because I was scared.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts," I said aloud, "because there is no such thing."
By the time I reached the top of the stairs my eyes had adjusted to the gloom. A hallway stretched out on either side of the staircase. Across the hall were three doors. The dust swirled around my feet as I moved to the door on the left. The cold white door handle turned smoothly and the door swung inward without a creak or a groan. Late afternoon sunlight poured over cracked white tiles and an ancient bathtub with feet and claws. Whoever invented that design had a strange sense of humor.
I left the door open and crossed the hall. The large square room was empty. Near the window another door revealed a narrow closet.
I'd heard enough sales lingo in the past few weeks to know that it must be the master bedroom. In my best, nasal, sales-woman voice, I said, "Just look at the high ceilings and the lovely finishing around the doors…" Sometimes I think I should become an actress, but I'm sure it would be less interesting than studying biology.
The first door beside the bathroom turned out to be a closet full of shelves. The room beside that was a small rectangle, a study, or maybe a guest-room, or a baby's bedroom. I hoped it didn't give my parents any ideas. They have enough to do already.
Across the hall was the last room on the second floor. It was smaller than the master bedroom and quite ordinary. The door beside the window that looked out onto the street was probably another closet, but I opened it anyway. It was definitely a closet, but much deeper, wider, and darker than the one in the master bedroom--a hideout--somewhere to go to think. This bedroom wasn't as nice as the one in that last house, but I could see some definite advantages to it.
"If it's really haunted we could try to document it," I heard Mom say nearby. "That would be just the thing to kick my career back into gear!" Their footsteps echoed through the empty house as they came up the stairs.
"We could make a movie… or write a book… or both."
"We could open a Bed and Breakfast," Dad said. "Rest in peace at the Haunted House B&B."
Oh brother. I hurried out of the closet accidentally banging the door shut. Mom gave a stifled screech.
"Must've been the wind," Dad said, "or maybe Stevie."
"No--not Stevie--or the wind," Mom said. "It's the ghost letting us know it wants us to move in."
Double brother. As I opened the door they gasped.
"Boo," I said.