Walking With a Ghost

Peter came home around dinner time and asked me how my first day went.

"Interesting." I had simply answered.

Moira's dessert was to die for. Balled dough filled and covered in chocolate. She disappeared after dinner, but not before cleaning up after everyone. I helped her. She waved me off, but I insisted. It was the way I was raised.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" Moira asked me.

"Yes and no. I'd rather be here than where I was, though." I replied, scrubbing circles on a white ceramic plate and passing it to Moira.

"This place is not a place to rehabilitate abused and neglected children. This place is a death trap. I've watched too many residents die in this house. This is a good family and you all are good people, well-behaved kids, but if you don't leave this house, you'll be stuck here with the rest of us bad souls in eternal despair." she explained in such a tone that made me scared for my life. She looked over at me and I looked back into that one ghostly eye.

The eye she'd been shot in.

"We could end this cycle of wrongful deaths." I said, trying to sound convincing.

"How?" Moira asked, desperate for an answer.

I didn't know yet.
~
I spent the next day exploring the house and asking Bo where all of the deaths took place. I have to admit, this was the best summer vacation I'd ever had alongside the time Mom and Dad took me to France—right before things started to get bad...

I also got to know Bo a lot better. He's lived with the Manson's since he was 2-years-old—after his actual parent's abandoned him—and they were like real, biological parents to him. Bo's actual parents died together in a sort of lovers tryst act when he was 7-years-old. None of his biological family members were fit to raise him. He used to go to public schools, but because of constant bully reports his teachers wrote about kids picking on him, Peter and Alice had Bo homeschooled. Bo also told me how everyone at school had been scared of him at some point because of all the anger and ill emotions built up inside of him that made him eventually lash out on his teacher's, peer's, and his parent's.

"After talking to Dr. Harmon," Bo had said. "I've learned how to cope with my anger and how to channel it without lashing out directly at people."

"What do you do?" I had asked.

"I write a song about it or make it into a comedic act. I pretend it's all funny and I don't give a shit. When people laugh at me for actually trying to be funny, it makes me laugh and feel better."

Bo dealt with his pent-up anger through comedy. I wasn't talented in the comedy department. So, how could I vent? Dr. Harmon and I were going to have to have a talk.

On Friday, a woman came by for piano lessons with Bo. She was tall and thin, almost fragile looking. She had golden waves of blonde hair, tied in a low bun on the back of her head with multiple hair pins to keep stray strands down. She wore a small bowl-shaped, maroon hat and a long peacoat to match. Underneath she wore a flesh colored dress with a black netted overlay. Her cheeks were plump and healthy, her lips were small, red, and pouty, and her eyes reminded me of a doe, but with blue irises. Everything about her reminded me of a porcelain doll.

I sat in the living room with Dakota, watching her play with her various princess dolls. She introduced me to each one and gave me some background history of each. But I selfishly tuned her out and listened to Bo play melodies on the piano. He seemed so advanced for his age. His teacher must have worked him over really hard to get him to the level he was at now. I only know "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" on piano and I don't even know how to read music.

When the woman finally left and Dakota was down for a nap, I approached Bo to compliment him on his skills.

"Thanks. Nora's a real hard ass about making this perfect, but, I learn pretty quickly." Bo said confidently.

"Nora? As in Nora Montgomery?"

"Yeah, but, she's harmless. Well, she'll lash out at you if you aren't polite, but, other than that, she won't hurt you. She's quite old-fashioned."

I decided against mentioning she committed a murder-suicide because I wanted to believe Bo, but, I was pretty convinced by Moira and Bo that every ghost trapped here was thirsty for blood.
~
Saturday night, Alice had a book club meeting to attend and Peter was working over time. Alice left Dakota with a babysitter to give Bo and I time alone to chill. I'd never been alone with a boy before and it intimidated the hell out of me. I knew Bo was harmless, but I'd developed a slight crush on Bo and was terrified of being left alone in an entire house full of ghosts and a teenage boy.

To calm my nerves, I stood outside on the gazebo and took long, deep breaths. The moonlight made my naturally pale, freckled skin glow like a white fire blaze. My wavy, blonde hair looked like a waterfall of Dijon mustard running down my shoulders and upper arms. It reminded me of my dad's hair. But I looked more like my mother. I had her blue-violet eyes, her long nose, her thin lips, and her skinny, spidery frame. I wasn't busty like her, though. I had small c-cup breasts like my grandmother. How disappointing.

"Don't be nervous," a young girl's voice said from behind me. I spun and held my breath. I recognized her.

"You're Violet," I blurted. But she already knew that.

"Yeah, and you're Lita. What of it?"

"You scared me."

"Happens," she shrugged indifferently. "He likes you, you know."

"Who?"

"Bo. Not the mutant in the attic. Though, I think he's starting to like you too, but, in a playful way."

"How do you know?" I asked, tucking some of my hair behind my ear.

"He told me. And I can pick up on vibes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Violet began, taking a slow, cautious step toward me. "For starters: you have a pulse. Second of all: before you moved in, Bo and I talked all the time everyday. At first I was just talking to him to tease Tate, but, Bo grew on me. I started to fall in love with him—I think it was those dimples of his that got me. But I had to tell myself I was dead, and he wasn't. And I was afraid Tate might do something irrational. Typical Tate."

Violet paused, watching me. I cleared my throat, leaned against the boards of the gazebo, and distracted myself with a splinter.

"You like him, too." Violet spoke again.

"Tate?" I exclaimed.

"No, Bo."

"Oh. What makes you think that?" I stared into the sky, trying to get lost in the moon.

"First time I noticed was the night you had an asthma attack. You didn't call for Peter or Alice. You called Bo's name. You automatically felt secure with him at your side."

That was true. My first night, Tate caused me to have an asthma attack. I called for Bo. He did make me feel safe, like everything was going to be okay. I looked away from the sky and at Violet.

"So, what's your point?" I questioned quizzically.

Violet smirked and shrugged one shoulder. "Tell him," she said. "Tonight's the perfect time. Home alone."

"I'm n-nervous."

"I can tell. That stutter is a dead give away, y'know."

I'd been taking speech classes to perfect my stutter, But then everything got bad.

"Just talk to him. Don't try to impress him or anything. He likes you the way you are. Stutter and all."
~
Bo was in his room, scrawling in a notebook and ripping out pages. I inhaled, exhaled, and knocked on the door, though it was already cracked open.

"Come in." Bo said, sitting up quickly and closing the notebook.

"What are you writing?" I asked, idly rubbing at my arms.

"Er, uh, some poetry. 'Skinda personal, so." He began fixing the pillows on his bed. "Is, uh, everything okay? Is anyone bother you?"

"N-no, actually. I just came to see you. Thought you'd want some company."

"Oh, yeah. It does get pretty lonely here. I used to talk to..." Bo's voice faded quietly and he looked away from me.

"Violet," I supplied. "She told me."

"Oh!" Or in other words, "Awkwaaaard!"

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a solid two minutes before Bo shifted and stood to leave.

"Bo, wait," I pleaded. He turned back to me. "I wasn't trying to stir anything up. Violet told me you two were just friends. She wasn't trying to scare me away from you. She actually encouraged me to come talk to you."

He raised an eyebrow and gave and exaggerated frown. "Talk to me about what?"

My heart raced as I tried to think of the right way to answer him. Do I flat-out tell him? Do I hint it? Do I lie? What do I do, Violet?

"Tell him," Violet's voice whispered to me. Somehow Bo didn't hear her. Could she be making herself known to only me? Could she really do that? "Hurry, he's waiting for an answer. Just tell him already."

"I-I-I—" I was so horrible under pressure.

"Breathe, Lita," Violet coached me. "What's the worst that could happen?"

It could make things really awkward between us, I thought, wishing I could say it out loud to her. We have to live together, y'know.

"Talk to me about what, Lita?" Bo asked again.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound downstairs that cut me off. Bo and I ran out of the room to see what had happened. As soon as we hit the bottom of the stairs, there were loud footsteps and children's laughter coming from upstairs. The lights flickered and surged, doors opened and closed, and there were murmurs and screams surrounding us.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"WHERE IS MY BABY?"

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

"VIOLEEEEET!"

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

"LEAVE THIS HOUSE!"

"Look what he did to us."

"Excuse me, ma'am. I don't want to bother you but I'm hurt and in need of some help."

"I'm going to be famous, you know."

They were all around us, near and far.

"They're trying to scare us," Bo said to me. "I hate when they do this."

"What do we do?" I asked in a panic.

"Wait it out. Watch each other's back."

In a way, I'm thankful that the ghosts started acting up. I don't think I'm ready to tell Bo I liked him. Maybe it's just a petty crush and I'll get over it in no time.

Then there was this painful blow to my gut that knocked the wind out of me. It felt like I'd been hit in the stomach with a sack of quarters. I lost my balance, grabbed blindly at the air to catch myself. Black spots dotted my vision, literally blinding me. I was gasping and choking because the hit left me breathless.

"Lita!" Bo exclaimed. "Shit!" I heard him rustling around and felt the floor vibrate when he knelt down next to me and turned me on my back. "Deep breaths, Lita. I'm gonna try to find your inhaler. Slow, deep breaths."

I tried to breath slowly like he coaxed, but my windpipe seemed to have betrayed me and was squeezed closed by invisible hands on my neck. Blood pounded in my ears, my chest tightened and ached, and the black spots finally disappeared. All of the lights went out and the ghosts were whispering now. I saw Bo run back downstairs, his expression was panicked.

"Where the hell is it?" Bo shouted, searching in the dark.

It isn't in the medicine cabinet where I always keep it? The ability to breathe came back to me for a second and then was gone again. My pulse was thudding in my ears and rippled through the rest of my body.

Hands around my neck...bruises...choking...blue-violet...dead.