Unraveling Isobel (23 page)

“Did you? Make sense of things, I mean?”

“Not yet, but I haven't given up trying.”

I shivered. “The whole idea of ghosts seems weird.”

“Not that weird. There was a time when people would think it was weird not to assume there was contact from those who had passed on. People used to be more comfortable with the idea of an afterlife and the interaction between the worlds of the living and dead. For example, did you ever leave milk and cookies out for Santa?”

“Sure, but you aren't trying to tell me Santa's a ghost, are you?”

Mandy laughed. “No. No Santa zombies. However, there's reason to believe that came from the tradition in Ireland of leaving milk on the windowsill on Christmas Eve as a way to
welcome back the spirits of the family who were expected on that night. The ancient Greeks frequently made offerings of food for the dead. Or take Halloween. Everyone dresses up and goes on a candy search, but few people know the history of the holiday. It dates back to the ancient Celtic holiday of Samhain. It was believed the gates of the land of the dead were open at that time. That the barrier between the living and the dead was the thinnest on that night. People would set bonfires, leave out food offerings, and dress in costume to fool the dead.”

“You're ruining what used to be a great, candy-focused holiday for me.”

“Sorry about that.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “I guess I'm trying to tell you that while it may seem strange to talk about ghosts, it wasn't always that way. It used to be a common belief, accepted. There wasn't anything odd about it. I believe the gap between the two worlds used to be smaller. There was more communication.”

“So assuming there is a ghost, why am I so lucky to see things when no one else does?”

“I believe you
are
lucky,” she said, missing my sarcasm. “Ghosts wait a long time to find someone open enough to hear them. They see those people as a gift. It's too bad everyone doesn't have that gift.” Mandy looked almost ready to cry. All this talk about her friends was clearly getting to her. I bet she'd give anything to hear a word from her deceased friend, and I felt
ashamed for sounding more spooked than honored to have a possible ghost communication.

“So you believe ghosts exist?”

“I don't believe, I know.”

Her certainty surprised me. “Do you have any advice?”

Her eyes locked on to mine. “Ghosts are no different than people. There are those who are easy to understand, and those who don't speak clearly. Be sure to listen closely so you know what's being said. And be careful. Very careful.”

Chapter 31

“
M
aybe it would work better if we lit a candle or something,” Nate said, breaking the silence.

Figures. The undead bother you all the time until you finally
want
to talk to them, and then they can't bother to show up. What the heck else do they have to do in the great beyond? Am I supposed to believe they got caught up watching something on TV and lost track of time? I rolled my shoulders back. Hunching over the Ouija board that Nicole forgot at my house had left me feeling sore. So far it had given me zero messages from the other side and a backache.

“I don't get it,” I said. “You would think that a spirit who wants to get a message through would take this chance to say something.”

“Maybe it's me,” Nate offered.

“No,” I said, but I wondered if he was right. Maybe the ghost knew about his reluctance toward the whole communication project. For all I knew, ghosts were touchy and sensitive about that kind of thing. “I'm telling you, the night of the slumber party this thing worked.” I gave the board a tiny shove across the floor.

“Maybe this ghost doesn't have anything else to say.”

“One, two, three? I need more information than that. What am I supposed to make of numbers? That the ghost has mastered basic counting skills?” I winced as the words came out of my mouth. If the ghost was his sister, then I'd just insulted her. Evie had communication issues: she was most likely doing the best she could.

“What else do you have other than the numbers?”

“I have a few seashells and a piece of broken mirror.” I shook my head. “It sounds crazy, doesn't it?”

“Get everything out, and let's look at it all together.”

I got up and pulled the seashells and mirror out of the back of my underwear drawer and put them in the middle of the Ouija board. Nate picked up the piece of mirror and turned it over in his hand a few times. I tried to show him the partial image of a face, but with only a corner of an eye and the side of a cheek visible, I could tell he didn't see it. He suggested that maybe it was nothing more than damage to the silver backing on the glass. I pushed the shells around on the board until I noticed something.

“That's weird.” I'd pushed the shells into three piles. One shell, two shells, three shells. “The numbers line up.”

“Or it could be one pile of six,” Nate said, pushing them back together.

“Hang on, there was something else.” I stood back up and went to my bookshelf. I pulled out my copy of
Harry Potter
and found the torn pieces of the sketch from my first night in the house. They fluttered to the floor and Nate assembled them like puzzle pieces until the picture of the window seat was complete.

“If there's a clue here, I don't see it,” Nate said.

“We must be missing something.” I pushed the slips of paper closer together, trying to fill in the gaps.

Nate looked at the picture. “It's Evie's room, the way it looked when she was alive. She used to sit in that window seat all the time and look through books. My mom would read to her.” Nate pointed at the book that Mr. Stripes was leaning against in the picture. “That's my mom's copy of
Alice in Wonderland
. It was her favorite story as a kid, and for a wedding present my dad gave her a first-edition copy. He lost his shit when he saw Evie looking through it once, because she had jam on her fingers. My mom said it didn't matter, that books were like stuffed animals; they were better when they were well loved—more real, more alive. She used to read it to Evie all the time. To be honest, I'm not sure how much Evie understood, but at least my mom liked it.”

“Maybe there's some kind of other number message in the picture.” My finger trailed along the bookshelves in the sketch.
“There are twelve books in the picture. Twelve can be divided by one, two, or three.”

“Take this the nicest way, but I think you're stretching. My sister had a pretty significant cognitive delay; coming up with number and story problems wasn't exactly her thing.” He sounded annoyed.

“Well, if that's not it, maybe you can think of some other idea of what all this means, or do you not want to do this at all?”

“No, I don't want to do it. This whole thing feels wrong somehow.”

“I know thinking about your mom and sister upsets you.”

“Then let's not do it.” Nate stood and pulled me up from the floor. “Let's do something else, something fun.”

“This is what I need to be doing. Something is happening to me, and I need to figure it out. You said you would help me.”

“We tried to figure it out. How long are we supposed to spend on this project? This is the third night in a row I've snuck up to your room, and instead of doing anything else, we spend the entire time trying to talk to my dead sister.”

I took a step back. “Whoa. That's not fair. Are you saying the only reason I should invite you up to my room is to fool around?”

“That's not what I said.” Nate ran his hands through his hair. “Let's get out of here.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I'll go by myself. Tonight's the party out at the cove.”

“Tell me you're joking. I thought you weren't going to go, or do you like the idea of Nicole hanging on your every word?”

“At least she's interested in what I have to say instead of wanting to hear from someone who isn't even alive anymore.”

“Maybe the problem is you don't want to hear the message.”

“This is bullshit. I'm leaving.” Nate crossed over to the door.

“You're being a dick,” I called after him.

“And you're acting crazy,” Nate spit out.

I felt my face flush red-hot as if he had slapped me. Tears sprang into my eyes. His eyes went wide too, as if he had shocked himself.

“Isobel,” he stuttered. “I didn't mean that. I swear to God, it just came out.”

I crossed the room in three steps. “You meant it, but you're wrong. There's nothing wrong with me. Now get out.” I shut the door in his face before he could say anything else. I stood with my hand pressed against the door. I could hear him tap lightly, but I didn't respond. I had the sense he was standing pressed against the other side. After a few seconds I could hear him slip down the stairs.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor with my back pressed against the wood. I put my head on my knees and let myself cry.

Chapter 32

I
sat there until I didn't have any tears left. The whole thing was a waste. Trying to talk to the ghost was stupid; thinking I could have a relationship with someone like Nate was even more absurd. If I wanted to take control of some part of my life the way Dr. Mike recommended, then what I needed to do was come up with a plan for getting the heck off this island. I needed to make up with Anita, who was at least a real friend.

I called Anita's phone, and her voice mail clicked on. I shook off the feeling that she had seen my number and decided not to pick it up. “Hey,” I said into the phone, suddenly unsure of what to say. “I know you're ticked at me and I can't blame you, but I need to talk to you.” I felt the hot fist of fresh tears threatening to spill out all over again. “Things with me aren't so good. Call when you can, okay?”

I clicked the phone off. I'd talk to Anita and that would help. I'd also ask Dr. Mike if it made sense for me to try some kind of medication. Getting help wasn't losing, it was taking control.

I was considering digging out a calendar and calculating exactly how many days were left until graduation when I noticed that the room was colder. Much colder. The hair on my arms stood up as I broke out in goose bumps.

You've to be kidding me. Now she shows up?

“You better not start that knocking again,” I called out softly. “There's no need to repeat yourself after all. One, two, three. I got that part.”

My eyes slid around the room as I waited to see what would happen. The room was even colder. I could see the mist of my breath in the air every time I exhaled. I pinched my thigh. This was real.

Thump
.

I jumped. One of my books had fallen over on the shelf.

Thump.

Another book fell over and slid onto the floor. I pressed my back against the door and wished Nate hadn't left.

Thump

Thump

Thump

My remaining books started to fall off the shelf, onto the floor, one after the other. My clock radio next to the bed clicked on, blaring the radio.

“This is WXJZ, the voice of the island, wanting to know—who's listening tonight?” The radio clicked back off.

Thump

Thump

Thump

The numbers on the digital display began to spin around so fast that they were nothing more than a red blur.

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

“Stop. Stop it,” I begged, squeezing my eyes shut as if I could keep everything away by just not seeing it … and just like that, it stopped. I kept my eyes closed for a second. I opened them slowly. Every book I owned was in a pile on the floor. The cold was leaving, too. I could feel the room warming up around me, almost as if the furnace had kicked on full blast. I looked over at the radio. The time on the face was 1:23. Whatever had been in my room was gone now.