The Ghost Girl Chronicles

Hidden Figure

Kit watched the summer sky grow darker as the bus made its way to her stop. I stayed too late, she thought, I should have left earlier and let Lisa's parents give me a ride home. She tried calling her parents on their cell, but all she could get was their voicemail. I waited too long, she thought again, then took herself to task for not leaving with her friends sooner--and for being such a baby.

The boys had been her guardians for months. Someone had always been at the bus stop to walk her home. Once in a while, she would even see her mother waiting patiently when her brother couldn't make it. It had been a relief to know that her parents had taken her and Michael seriously, but her father had stated plainly that he did not want to coddle her. He had no answer for the man and his attack on her, but he wanted her to get over her fear. I'll get over my fear all right, she thought, once that monster is arrested, and his house burned down and collapsed into a pile of rubble.

Don't go fast, don't go fast, she told the bus and started counting the stops before it came to hers. She tried to distract herself by guessing who would get off at which stop, but the game only worked for a few minutes. Why why why had Michael gone to the party? Would anyone be there when the bus finally came to her stop?

She found her answer as the bus rolled to the stop at her corner. No one was waiting for her beneath the street light. The early summer sky had darkened to a deep blue, and each shadow seemed to hold a subtle threat. She stood at the corner and called her parents' number again, but no one answered. She shoved the phone in her purse, angry at everyone. The fear from that night had come back as she took one tentative step, then another, then another as she came closer to the house she feared more than death.

Thea slipped away from the party, dabbing at the angry tears falling from her eyes. She felt like a fool and she hated it. She had hoped that Michael at least would notice her, give her a compliment or something—but he had acted as if she wasn't even there. He'd seen her and ignored her, and that she could not forgive. She had received looks and compliments and some unwelcome, inappropriate remarks, but from Michael, nothing.

She got in her brother's car and drove off. She wanted to stomp the accelerator to the floor, but getting a ticket, especially if a cop found out she'd been drinking, was not on her agenda. She cried as she drove through the city streets, noticing that her lace handkerchief was now stained by her makeup. When she pulled into her driveway, she carefully wiped away the mascara stains beneath her eyes. She sat for a moment, hoping that her parents had gone upstairs to their bedroom to watch TV so she would not have to explain why she looked like such a mess. They'd be sympathetic, and the last thing she wanted right now was sympathy. She was angry and she wanted to stay that way.

The front door had been left unlocked. She took off her heels and walked as quietly as she could up the stairs to the bathroom. Removing her makeup and washing her face made her feel a little better. She went into the darkness of her bedroom, wanting badly to not cry even though her heart was broken into a million little pieces.

She got up and turned on her lamp. She unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, removed her stockings and dumped her clothes in a pile. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: apretty girl on the short side with eyes and nose red from weeping. Even though her face appeared sorrowful, the mouth with traces left of her lipstick had a look of determination and stubbornness. This may be a girl who was sad, but it was not a girl defeated.

A crazy idea came to her, so crazy that she knew it was madness to follow it, but right now she was madness. That house, that eerie, spooky, "Twilight Zone" house, suddenly she had an urge to see it—and to prove to Michael he was full of it. She had a small supply of gear her soldier brothers had given her. Glow sticks, a boot knife, a length of rope. There were also two small but powerful flashlights. She could wrap the rope around her waist and hide it under a t-shirt. The boot knife would fit perfectly into the top of her Doc Martins. All she needed to do was get dressed and slip quietly out of the house. No problem.