[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 1

As a car sped over the blacktop, yellowed leaves tumbled across the road like nature's confetti.  Around them, water from the recent rain pooled, splashing into a fine mist when disturbed by the sedan's rolling tires. With her forehead against the window, Sarah looked at the passing scenery without truly seeing it.

In her mind, she was still back on the West Coast--not because she had liked it there so much, but merely because it was the only place she had ever known.

Until now.

It had taken seventeen years, ten months, and two days, but she had finally left California. She had finally left her mother.

"We should almost be there," said the Uber driver, a Middle Eastern man in his sixties with a Martin Scorsese movie-worthy Boston accent as he slowed to take a right hand turn.

On the corner lot, a two-story house caught Sarah's attention. With its black clapboard siding, harshly gabled roof, and symmetrical proportions, it was straight out of a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel. For a second, she half expected Hester Prynne to peek through a window, but the only sign of life was a man hammering an orange-colored paper onto a post out front.

A foreclosure sign, maybe? From the state of the building, more like a condemned notice. Sarah didn't get a good look. By the time she had shown interest, the car had already moved past.

Up ahead, the tree-lined route led further into the autumn fog. They weren't palm trees like she was used to, though. What did they have in New England? Oaks? Maple? Her hardwood knowledge pretty much ended there. The crisp fog was new, too. Back home, it would be mixed with smoke from the ever-present fires to cover the city with a gross haze, although right now it was probably in the high nineties there with no clouds in sight.

No, not back home. That place was in the past. This small town in Massachusetts would be her home now, at least until her eighteenth birthday. Then she could finally do as she pleased with her life. In less than two months, she'd be free.

At the end of the road, another house slowly came into view. Unlike the derelict Colonial on the corner, this had no written warnings or strange vibes. Instead, the red brick cottage topped with slate shingles and a central tower practically screamed its seasonal welcome.

Uncarved pumpkins and gourds in yellows, oranges, and greens had been piled on either side of the main entry, flanked by bundles of dry corn stalks. Small hay bales holding crimson potted mums dotted the steps leading to the porch, and if visitors still had any doubts as to the reason for the season, a large wreath with a banner proclaiming "Happy Fall" hung on the front door.

"Is this the place?" asked the driver as he pulled the car to a stop at the top of the circular driveway. The road had led straight to this house. From here, there was nowhere else to go, but back.

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know. It's my first time here," she said with hesitation, unsure of how to proceed if not even the GPS could get them to where she needed to go. When the front door opened and a familiar face emerged, she breathed a sigh of relief. "No, this is it."

As the driver got her luggage, Sarah met her aunt Jane at the foot of the stairs.

"Oh, sweetie! It's so good to see you," Jane said, wrapping her niece in a warm embrace. "Wow, you've grown. When did you get taller than me?"

"Fifth grade?" Sarah guessed as she tried to recall when they'd last seen each other in person.

The reminder didn't go unnoticed, and Jane hugged her harder. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you earlier. It's just that I thought things would get better--"