Ghost Girl in Shadow Bay: A Young Adult Haunted House Mystery (9 page)

"What's wrong with focusing on my
present
?" Peyton challenged.

"Nothing, per se. But there's more to life
than having fun and being waited on hand and foot. You'll learn
that as you get older."

"Uh, I think I know that now, Vance." She
sneered. "And I'm certainly not aware of
anyone
around here
waiting on me hand and foot!"

"I'm sure he was only trying to make a
point," Melody said, circling her fork around her food.

"Why are you always defending him?" Peyton
glared at her mother.

"Oh, honey, I'm not taking his side over
yours."

"Sounds like it to me."

"We're all on the same side, Peyton," Vance
insisted. "I'm just trying to prepare you for life beyond the one
you have today. In less than two years you'll be eighteen, off to
college soon after, and we won't be there to guide you every step
of the way."

"Who says I'll need you to?"

"Now you're being childish," Melody said
harshly. "Vance isn't your enemy, Peyton. He only wants to help
you."

"Then maybe he could help by not trying to
run my life so much--as if he's my real dad!"

"Peyton..." Melody's eyes narrowed.

"It's okay," Vance said. "She's right. I'm
just the stepfather and not entitled to Peyton's full respect as a
father. But I am
still
the man of this house and I'll
continue to do the best I can for this family, even if it sometimes
makes me come off as the bad guy."

Peyton wasn't sure what had come over her.
Normally she didn't allow herself to get so easily riled. She
wondered if it had something to do with the notion of growing up
too soon when she was perfectly happy right now at sixteen.
Hopelessly attracted to Bryant Neville, Peyton just wanted to
freeze-frame this moment in her life, as though it would soon
vanish forever.

Another part of her felt trapped in a time
where she was unsure what was real and what was her imagination,
wanting only to get past it and see what else life had in
store.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was a feeling of déjà vu for Peyton as
she crept into the house. Her soaked nightgown clung to her like a
second skin and her bare feet ached like she'd been walking on hot
coals.

Peyton padded across the floor of the
darkened house and up the stairs, guided only by the sounds from
above. She moved down the hall till she reached the master bedroom.
The door was wide open.

In a trancelike state, Peyton stepped
inside. She saw a man standing at the foot of the bed holding a
shotgun. He was shouting at someone she could not see.

The man stopped talking and turned in
Peyton's direction. She quivered, expecting to be shot. Instead, he
seemed to look right through her. She turned her head and saw
another man sprawled on the floor. A gaping bullet wound spewed
blood from his chest.

Horror-struck, Peyton faced the one holding
the shotgun. Again his fierce gaze did not regard her directly, but
seemed to go beyond her. She heard footsteps and saw a teenage girl
rush past her. Their eyes locked and Peyton felt like she somehow
knew the girl, even if not sure how. She watched her move brazenly
up to the man at the foot of the bed.

Peyton was stunned as the girl, wearing only
a nightgown, grabbed the barrel of the gun. Only then did Peyton
notice the woman on the bed. Her pale face was etched in fear.

"Get out of the way, Caitlyn!" the man
shouted at the girl.

"No, I won't, Daddy!" she spat. "Don't hurt
Mama!"

He tried to shake the gun barrel away from
her as if a mere nuisance, but she showed grit and determination to
protect her mother.

In the process of their struggle, the gun
went off and the girl pedaled backwards, clutching her stomach with
blood spilling out. She fell down onto her back. Her nearly
lifeless eyes seemed to focus on Peyton, as if asking for her
help.

Peyton looked at the girl's father and cried
in desperation, "Please, stop this! Don't shoot anyone else."

As if deaf to her words, the man turned the
shotgun on the woman in bed, who was screaming hysterically.

Feeling she had to do something, Peyton
sprang toward him, hoping against hope that she could somehow
prevent further tragedy.

Before she reached him, the shotgun went
off. Peyton faced the bed, petrified at what she expected to
see...

* * *

Peyton opened her eyes to darkness. Drenched
in sweat, her heart was racing wildly, throat aching as if she had
been trying to scream with nothing coming out. She'd had another
one of her recurring nightmares. Only this time it was more
terrifying than ever.

While trying to make sense of it, Peyton was
given a start when, before her very eyes, a girl appeared at the
side of the bed. It was the same girl from the bay, mirror, and her
dreams. The one her father called Caitlyn. She even wore the
nightgown Peyton remembered in the dream. But there was no bloody
hole where she'd been shot.

Peyton's eyes widened in dismay and she
wondered if she might actually still be asleep. "Are you really
there?" she whispered, afraid to speak louder.

The girl nodded, but said nothing. Peyton
was still confused. If the girl was a ghost, she wasn't in a
ghostly form. Though there was a definite glow to her against the
backdrop of darkness, Peyton did not consider the girl to be an
apparition. She wanted to reach out and touch her to be sure, but
thought better.

"Are you Caitlyn?" Peyton sat up. "Weren't
you just in my dream--with your mother, father, and another
man?"

The girl looked confused, as if Peyton were
speaking in a foreign language.

"It's you and your parents in that picture
in the attic--am I right?"

There was no response.

Peyton was determined to get some answers
before her courage disappeared. "You were the girl in the bay; then
the mirror, right?"

The girl remained mute.

"Say something. Please tell me I'm not
imagining all this?"

The girl favored Peyton with a deadpan look,
but still did not speak.

"Why are you here?" Peyton asked with
trepidation, not sure she really wanted to know. "What do you want
with me?"

The girl seemed to ponder this and then
lifted a long, frail arm, pointing her finger at the wall.

Peyton turned and fixed her eyes on the
words in red that formed on the wall like fire.

"Yes, I'm Caitlyn. You must help me before
it's too late for all of us."

"How?" Peyton asked, even as she tried to
come to terms with the fact that she was apparently communicating
with a dead person. "I don't know if I can help you."

More words suddenly appeared on the
wall.

"It's the only way to prevent it from
happening all over again."

"Prevent what?" Peyton tried to play dumb,
but she had a pretty good idea what Caitlyn was talking about. The
dream said it all. Her father had gone berserk and shot her mother,
Caitlyn, and another man.

But if it really happened in the past, what
can I do to change history?

Caitlyn held her gaze before moving toward
the door. Peyton wondered if she would open it, go through it, or
what. Instead, when Caitlyn got to the door, she looked back once
more at Peyton, as though a final plea for help, then simply
vanished as though never there.

Peyton's first thought was that this was all
part of the same weird dream she was unable to escape. Even while
awake. Or was she actually still asleep, but didn't know it?

Then she realized Caitlyn must have wanted
her to follow her, sort of, into the hall.

Though frightened of what may be on the
other side of the door, Peyton was more afraid of doing nothing.
She reached over and cut on the lamp. After adjusting her eyes, she
looked at the wall where the chilling words were scribbled. They
were no longer there, which left Peyton wondering whether the whole
thing had only been an illusion or if she was truly losing her
mind.

Did I really see Caitlyn just now in my
room?
How do I know that's even her real name and not just
one my subconscious created?

Was she really asking me to help her?

Peyton climbed out of bed and went to the
door. After taking a deep breath, she opened it, expecting to see
the girl on the other side.

Instead there was only darkness, sliced into
by the light from Peyton's room. She stepped gingerly into the
hall, as if she might drop all the way to the ground floor. There
was no sign of Caitlyn.

Then Peyton spotted what appeared to be
drops of blood leading down the hall. She began to follow the trail
as if her life depended on it. The blood drops stopped at the spare
bedroom at the end of the hallway.

Peyton stood at the closed door, her pulse
quickening.
Should I or shouldn't I?

The decision was made.
I have to see if
Caitlyn is in there. Maybe she's hurt or something.

Peyton twisted the doorknob. Stepping inside
the room, she found the light switch. She gasped when she saw the
man on the floor. He had been shot in the chest and was moaning in
agony. A puddle of blood lay beneath him, a red roadmap leading
from the door.

The man looked familiar.

It was the man who had been shot by
Caitlyn's father in Peyton's dreams.

What is he doing in our house? Is the person
who shot him here, too?

"Help me..." the man slurred, reaching a
bloody hand out to Peyton.

She froze.

"Please..."

"I-I can't," she stammered. "I mean, I have
to get my--"

"No time--" he grunted, coughing up
blood.

Peyton took tentative steps toward him. "Who
are you?"

He moaned something indecipherable.

The closer Peyton got, the more she realized
he was in really bad shape--too bad for her to help him
single-handedly. She started to back away. But with speed that
caught her off guard, he latched a viselike bloody hand around her
ankle.

"Let me go!" she yelled, seeking to wriggle
free of his powerful grasp.

But he only tightened it, essentially making
Peyton his prisoner. His face was contorted in anguish and
anger.

All Peyton could see was that he was a
danger to her and her mother and stepfather. Using her other foot,
she kicked him in the side. He groaned in pain, spitting out more
blood, releasing her ankle in the process. She quickly backpedaled
toward the door, afraid to look away and allow him to grab her
again.

Peyton suddenly felt her shoulders gripped
tightly from behind. She screamed, knowing it must be the man who
had shot him--Caitlyn's father.

And now he planned to shoot her, too.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Peyton fought to break free from the heavy
hands on her shoulders. Through her scream, she heard the voice
bellow, "Peyton, calm down! It's just me...Vance--"

Swiveling around, Peyton looked up at her
stepfather's face, still apprehensive. She saw alarm etched in his
eyes.

"Vance...I thought it was--"

"What on earth has gotten into you,
Peyton?"

She stopped flailing, somehow feeling
protected by him, given the alternative.

Her mother came up behind Vance. "What is
it, honey?"

Peyton gulped. "That man...he's been
shot--"

"What man?" Vance asked.

"The one behind me...on the floor..." She
couldn't bear to look at him again.

"There's no man on the floor, Peyton."

"There has to be," she insisted.

"We don't see anyone," Melody stated.

Peyton sucked in a deep breath and forced
herself to look; sure she would see the bloodied man even if they
couldn't.

The floor was completely empty. There was
not even a trail of blood like before.

She broke free of Vance's hold and looked
around the room, as if expecting the injured man to be hiding
somewhere amidst the furnishings. But he had seemingly vanished.
Just like Caitlyn had at the door of her bedroom.

"You must've had another bad dream,
sweetheart," her mother said.

"No, it wasn't a dream, Mom." Peyton
shuddered. "He was here. I saw him and I wasn't sleepwalking! There
was blood leading down the hall to this room."

Vance cut on the hall light and peered.
"Where is this blood?"

Peyton moved past them into the hall and saw
no sign of blood drops. Had she conjured up the whole thing against
her wishes?

"But the girl..." she uttered weakly.

"What girl?" Vance asked.

"The one I saw in the bay."

"What's she got to do with this?"

"She asked for my help--well, I mean, she
kind of asked. There was
red
writing on the wall--" Peyton
looked at her mother, knowing how ridiculous this must sound. At
this point she didn't care, needing to speak her mind about what
was going on. "She appeared in my room. It was the same girl from
the photograph. Her name is Caitlyn--"

Melody cocked a brow. "How do you know
that?

"She told me."

"What photograph are we talking about?"
asked Vance, looking totally befuddled. "Would someone please tell
me what's going on?"

Melody frowned. "We were up in the attic the
other day and there was an old photograph of a family who
apparently once lived here." She paused. "Peyton thought the
teenage girl in it was the same one she saw in the bay..."

"You're not serious about this, right?"
Vance looked at Peyton.

"
Wrong
," she responded sharply. "It's
the truth!"

"She's just confused," Melody suggested.
"Whatever's happening to Peyton, I'm sure there's a perfectly good
explanation that we can figure out together."

"I'm
not
confused!" Peyton said
defensively, though doubting her own words. "This house is
haunted
, even if I'm the only one who can see it. That man
in the picture shot his wife and daughter, Caitlyn, and another man
a long time ago. Now they won't leave me alone and I don't know
why."