The Ghosts Read online

  “I’m Jennifer,” the smaller of the girls said.

  “Hi, Jennifer. That's a pretty name.”

  “It’s my mom’s name, too.”

  “What about you?” I asked the oldest. “What’s your name? If you tell me your last name, I might be able to help you find your mom.”

  “Michelle Baxter,”

  I asked Mel to Google the kid’s names and the timeframe and see if she could find out anything.

  “I’m on it,” she said.

  “Did your dad come with you on the picnic?” I asked.

  Michelle shook her head. “We don’t have a dad.”

  “Oh.” What does one say to that?

  “What about a grandma? You got one of those?”

  “Uh huh,” Mikey said. “She’s fat and funny.”

  Jennifer laughed, and so did I. “Mine was too. Grandma's are the best, though, aren't they?”

  “Mine gave me a bike,” Jennifer said. “It had a basket and a pink seat with yellow flowers on it.” She stared at the ground. “I wish I had my bike now.”

  “Honey, we’ll get you another bike,” Ma said. “You’re gonna love it where we’re goin’, I promise.”

  “Ang, look at this,” Mel said, handing me her phone.

  I pulled up the Google link for the county paper archives. Local mom Jennifer Baxter dies in single vehicle accident on Highway 20.

  I scanned the article, but her children weren’t mentioned, so I went back to the search results and found what I wanted.

  Still no leads on whereabouts of missing Baxter kids.

  I read through the article.

  Authorities have no leads on the whereabouts of the children of Jennifer Baxter, killed Sunday in a single-vehicle accident on Highway 20.

  “She said she was taking them on a picnic,” Baxter's mother Diane Baxter, said. “Those babies are out there somewhere, and no one can find them.”

  Volunteers came together and searched the area surrounding the accident, but no signs of the children or their belongings have been found.

  Deputy John Hunt said the Sheriff’s Office is actively working the case. “We’re doing everything we can to bring these children home.”

  If you have any information on the whereabouts of the Baxter children, contact Deputy Hunt at 770-555-5100.

  “Oh no.”

  Mel nodded. “I think I get what’s happening here.”

  I flipped to my mother to let her know, but she was gone.

  “Great. Just great.”

  “What?” Mel asked.

  I waved her off for fear of freaking her out. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I got back down to Michelle’s level. “Honey, I want to show you something. Can you read?”

  “I’m twelve.”

  I ignored the snark and showed her Mel’s phone. “Nowadays we can read newspapers on these special things. We can even read news reports from a long time ago, like Sunday, November 10th 1974. Do you remember that day?”

  She nodded just a touch, and I knew she knew something bad was coming.

  “This is a report from that day. It’s about your mom. I think you need to read it.”

  I flipped the phone toward her and watched as her face changed from determined to realization and sadness. Seconds later, her resolve strong again, she faced her siblings and took the lead I’d imagined she’d taken since that fateful day. “Mama’s not coming back.”

  Both Jennifer and Mikey bawled and ripped my heart to shreds. Mikey cried for his mama, and Jennifer screamed louder. Michelle shot daggers at me with her eyes, and I steadied myself, fearful the room would explode.

  My fear wasn’t in vain. The floor shook again, and Mel ran for cover under the table. I dodged trash and knick-knacks flying at me, but I didn’t lose my balance. I waited out her anger, knowing soon she’d collapse into tears, at least the kind a spirit could cry.

  “Stop it, stop it right now Michelle.”

  Everything stopped. I swiveled around to see where the voice came from, but I already knew.

  Floating at the parlor doors was my mom, along with their mom. Still dressed in 70’s clothing too, and so beautiful, Jennifer Baxter flew over to her children, stopping at her oldest. “I’m here. I’m back.”

  I sniffled, and Ma smirked.

  “Mama, we've been waiting, and we didn't leave just like you said,” Mikey said. “Even when they came looking, we hid in that dark room.”

  She hugged her little boy, and the girls joined in. I’d never seen spirits touch like that. It was as if they had bodies again, and could touch and feel like just like they were all still alive.

  “I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to come back,” she said. “But it’s okay now. We’re all going to be okay.”

  Michelle pushed back. “But I don't understand. That lady, she showed me something, and it said you died.”

  The mother made eye contact, and I gave her a half smile. “She's right Shell, I did die, and I'm sorry, but you all did too.”

  I knew Michelle knew that, but hearing it from her mom must have made it real for her because her energy lightened from a dark gray to almost white.

  “We can help you,” I said. “But please, can you tell me why you didn’t come before?” Maybe it was none of my business, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know.

  “I couldn't,” she said. “The accident, it confused me. I was lost, and I couldn't remember where I'd taken them. I've been searching, but I couldn’t find them.” She paused and smiled at my mother. “Until she found me and told me where they were.”

  “I got me some great celestial super sleuth juju, that’s for sure,” Ma said.

  I didn’t even try not to laugh. “That you do, Ma.”

  “May I have a moment with my children?” Jennifer Baxter asked.

  “Of course,” I said. I pulled Mel from under the table. “It’s good. Let’s go outside for a minute.”

  “I’m not gonna get pelted by a candlestick, am I?”

  “Not unless I hit you with it you big weenie,” Ma said.

  I didn’t repeat that. “No, we’re safe. I’ll fill you in outside.”

  I filled Mel in while the family reconnected. A few minutes later Michelle floated out and asked us to come back inside.”

  “We’re going now,” the children’s mother said. “Thank you all for helping us find each other again.” She floated to my mother. “You’ll never know what this means to me, being with my children again.”

  Ma looked my way. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I know.”

  The family held hands, and Ma and I watched as they slowly shimmered away.

  “They’re gone,” I told Mel, tearing pooling in my eyes.

  “I’m outta here,” Ma said. “Got me some stuff to do up there.” She pointed to the ceiling, but I knew what she meant. “Arrivederci.”

  “Let’s go home,” I said.

  “I’m all for that,” Mel said.

  I threw her the keys. “You drive, I’m not up for it.”

  As Mel pulled away from the house, she turned up the radio and sang along to Jesse’s Girl. I gave the old house a quick once over. I didn’t know who came to me in that dream, but I knew my work there was done. I rested my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes, never even noticing the ones staring back at me from the upstairs window of the old abandoned home.

  The End

  Preview of

  THE INN AT LAUREL CREEK

  by carolyn ridder aspenson

  "I don't believe in miracles," I told Stan Brinker, the owner of The Inn at Laurel Creek Bed and Breakfast. I'd just checked in, and as we walked to my room the old man told me stories of miracles and romances that happened when people stayed at the one hundred and twenty-two-year-old home.

  "You don't got to believe me," he said. "Just you wait and see. All sorts of miracles happen here." He pointed to a set of opened French doors at the end of the hall. "Seems a lot of them happen right out there, too." He dragged my suitcase to
the last door on the right, right next to the French doors, labeled the Serenity Suite, and opened the door with his key.

  That's just what I needed, too. Serenity. "Thank you, Mr. Brinker," I said, grabbing hold of my suitcase and pulling it into the room. "Like I said, I don't believe in miracles but if I do happen to see one, I'll make sure to let you know."

  "It's Stan to family, and anyone that stays with us here at the Inn is family, you hear?" He tipped his beat-up, brown cowboy hat toward me and smiled. "You have a mighty fine stay, Ms. Howard. My wife, Lou, serves dinner in the dining room at six o'clock sharp. Tonight's fried catfish, her specialty. You ought not to miss it. If you need anything before that, just holler at one-a us. We're here to please."

  "Thank you," I said, closing the door behind him.

  I flung myself onto the four-poster bed. "Ah, serenity," I said out loud. "Exactly what the doctor ordered." I scooted to the top of the bed and lay my head on the pillows. They were soft and fluffy, and all I wanted was to bury my head into them and sleep for five days straight. Unfortunately, sleep wasn't what I came to the Inn for. I'd come to have a little me time, to gather my thoughts and figure out how to mend my shattered heart. I was determined to pick up the broken pieces of it that Matthew Bollander left three months ago when he walked out of my life and straight into the arms of another woman. While Matthew and his fiancée—yes, it happened that fast—spent the weekend with friends and family during their elaborate southern wedding, I intended to move on with my life. I didn't know how, but I had five days to figure it out, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't succeed.

  I dragged myself off the cozy bed and meandered around the room, inspecting every corner and knickknack, my hand sweeping over the furniture like a kid in a candy shop. The soft pink chair, pushed into the corner by the window, reminded me of my grandmother's. I plopped onto the cushion and wiggled into the seat. "This one's just right," I said. "Perfect spot to list the reasons I'm better off without Matthew."

  I dragged myself from the snug, cushy pink patterned chair and wandered over to the fireplace, a bricked in, old school one, with three logs all set for a relaxing fire. I imagined sitting next to the fire that night, working through my emotions with a bottle of Alto Adige Pinot Bianco. I opened my suitcase, took out the bottle and placed in on the dresser, and then unpacked the rest of the suitcase, placing my toiletries in the bathroom.

  "Oh wow," I moaned. "That tub is amazing." An old-fashioned copper claw-footed tub sat in the corner of the room, surrounded by candles in all different shapes and sizes. A white velvet robe lay over the tub. I picked it up and held it to my face. The silky smooth material melted into my skin. "Perfection."

  I finished unpacking, changed into a fresh pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank top, grabbed my journal, my iPod, a pen and my ear buds and headed downstairs. Lou was dusting furniture in the main sitting room. "Hi," I said. "I'm Carly Howard. I'm staying in the Serenity Suite."

  Lou smiled, wrapped her arms around me squeezed. "Oh, blessed to meet you, my dear." She stretched out her arms, holding me at arms’ length. "Why, aren't you just the prettiest girl ever?"

  My face warmed with both pleasure and embarrassment. "Thank you."

  From the looks of her skin, she'd spent too much time in the sun, age and laugh lines imbedded into her face. Her long, white hair, pulled back into a bun, was smooth as satin, and she had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Lou was probably fifty to fifty-five but looked older. She absolutely radiated sincere sweetness and I instantly adored her.

  "My husband said you got here safe and sound. He didn't go on about those miracles now, did he?"

  I nodded. "Maybe a little."

  "That Stan." She waved her hand. "He's always tellin' our guests about 'em. I keep tellin' him he's gonna scare away our visitors, but he keeps on talkin'. Yackity, yackity, yack, all day long. Lawd, my ears. He's lucky he's cuter than a pig's tail or I'd-a kicked him to the curb by now." She winked. "But even though this old house is full of miracles, talkin' about it doesn't make it happen for ever'one. Sometimes it don't happen at all. It's gotta be the right person, and the right time."

  I giggled. "It's okay. I don't believe in miracles anyway."

  "Oh, well you just might after a night or two here." She went back to her dusting. "And it just might be you one happens to."

  "I can deal with that," I said. "Oh, do you happen to have a bottled water? I'd like to take a walk by the creek and maybe sit there for a bit. It's a little warm out, and a water would be nice."

  She put down the duster and motioned for me to follow her. "I've got just the thing for ya," she said. We walked into the back hall near the kitchen, and she pulled open a drawer under the stairs. "This here's our hiking kit," she said, handing me a small drawstring bag. "It's got a little throw to sit on if you need to rest for a spell, some bug repellant, because them bugs over at Laurel Creek are ever'where this time of year." She crooked her finger and headed into the kitchen. I followed. "I'll get you a few bottled waters and some snacks. Skinny thing like you." Her eyes traveled down my body and back to my eyes. "You could stand to get some meat on them bones."

  I wasn't as skinny as she thought, but I wasn't going to turn down snacks. She handed me two bottles of water and a bag with homemade chocolate chip cookies. My mouth watered from the smell of the freshly baked little bites of heaven. "Those look yummy," I said.

  "Just baked them a bit ago. It's my momma's secret recipe. Been in the family for years, but if you're as nice as you seem, I might could give you a few hints."

  I took a cookie from the bag and bit into it. "Oh my gosh. This is incredible."

  Lou winked. "It's all about the secret ingredient," she said. "Now, you take that bag, and you go and have yourself some good ol' quality time up by the creek, ya hear?"

  I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  Lou walked me to the door. "Thanks for the snacks, and the throw," I told her. "I didn't think to bring a throw with me."

  She patted my back. "Don't you worry about a thing, honey. That's what we're here for. We aim to make you feel right at home." She patted my back one more time, and as I walked down the front porch steps said, "Now, walk on out that-a-way, and go left on down yonder by the fence gate, and the creek is just a stone's throw up the path. Now don't you be late for supper, you hear? It's at six o'clock on the spot."

  "Yes, ma'am." I said.

  ***

  The path had a slight incline that continued to build, and I was surprised to realize it wasn't as easy to navigate as I'd expected. I needed to get in better shape once I got back to the city. The path curved and dipped around sugar maple trees with wild, florid azalea bushes covered with pink and purple flowers growing beneath them. Springtime in northern Georgia was stunning, ablaze with vividly colored flowers in yellows, purples, pinks and reds. If anything, the timing of Matthew's wedding gave me a chance to relish in the beauty of nature. And sneeze. A lot. I knew my allergies would be assaulted, so pulled out my allergy spray from the bag and gave myself a few shots up my nose—never enjoyable, but always effective.

  The creek began at a dip in the path, and I followed it for a bit, listening to the water bounce off the rocks and travel upstream. I found the perfect spot just where the creek turned and began its descent. I spread the throw Lou gave me and lay down on it, the sun hitting my skin as it peeked through the trees. The rays were the perfect temperature, heating my skin but not making me sweat.

  "I could do this forever," I said, closing my eyes and relaxing.

  I wasn't sure how long I lay like that, my eyes closed, breathing in the fresh scents of lavender and pine, but the slight sound of soft, muted and rhythmic tones vibrated through the air and grabbed my attention. Someone was playing an acoustic guitar nearby, keeping me from dropping completely into slumber. I sat up and scanned the area for the sweet-sounding melody.

  I found the strummer across the creek. A man with shaggy blond hair, just a little too long, wearing a blue
t-shirt and khaki shorts sat on a similar throw, with an exact copy of the drawstring bag Lou gave me. He caught me gazing in his direction and our eyes locked. He lifted his mouth into a smile so sexy my body lurched forward, as if being pulled to him. I pushed my hands into the ground to stop myself from running across the creek to him.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Did I wake you?" His voice was low and sultry and had me melting into a puddle of Carly mush before he finished a sentence.

  My voice came out high and pitchy. "Oh no, not at all. I was just lying here relaxing. Please keep playing. It's beautiful."

  "Thanks, it's just a little something I've started working on. It's not finished." He smiled again, and very specific parts of my body became fully aware of his presence.

  "You wrote that? Wow. That's really good."

  He nodded. "Thanks. It's what I do. I write music. Name's Ben." He raised a hand and waved it, and I couldn't help but notice his long, thin fingers, how they swayed as he waved, and how he spread them wide, only to fold them back together again.

  I breathed in a quick breath, catching myself before I let out a squeal of pleasure from watching that small but alluring hand gesture.

  What was wrong with me?

  Ben. Ben was cute. And Ben played the guitar. Ben wrote music. And Ben had a smile that made my stomach jump. Not to mention that Ben had broad shoulders and thin, muscular arms that filled up and busted out of the short sleeves of his shirt. I reached my arm out, hoping it could stretch across the suddenly monstrous sized creek to touch his muscles. I thought Ben might be just what I needed to fix my broken heart. "Hi Ben, I'm Carly. Nice to meet you." I waved back.

  "You too," he said. "I'll let you get back to your relaxing. Got any special requests? I can play and sing just about anything."

  I didn't want him to play the guitar. I wanted him to strum his fingers all over my body instead. I bit my lip to stop myself from making that suggestion.

  Of course, when it came to figuring out a song, my mind went blank. "Uh." I pulled my blonde curls back and wrapped them into a ponytail holder. "I can't think of anything, but please, keep playing."