The Ghost Files

Chapter Eight

Three days after my chat with Officer Dan, the hospital staff still had no idea what caused my massive brain blow-out. So, they let out with strict instructions I was to come straight back if I had any more symptoms. As if! I hate, hate, hate, hospitals! Though to be fair, I'd only seen one real ghost while I was there this time. I still don't know why they all stayed away, but I did say a prayer of thanks for the reprieve. My old Sunday school teacher used to say that God only gives us what we can bear, and there was no way I could bear another ghost after Mirror Boy. Little miracles I'll take any day of the week.

It's raining. It fits my mood. Mrs. Olson is singing along to Keith Urban on the radio. Her voice isn't half bad, but I can't really concentrate on it. No one will tell me anything about Sally, except that her case is being "investigated." Bah. I even broke down and tried to call Officer Dan. Me, actually call the cops for once? Well, yeah, who knew? I got his voicemail at the police station both times. I stopped calling after the third try. I guess he can't bring himself to believe me. I know I sounded crazy, but I had hoped Officer Dan would come around. Oh, well. I'll figure it out on my own. I always do. I've never needed anyone before and I don't need them now. I'm a tough, resourceful cookie.

Well, tough is maybe a stretch, especially at this particular moment. We have just pulled into the driveway. All I can think about is Mirror Boy. He can hurt me. My heartbeat accelerates and my breath swooshes out of my lungs. Calm down, I tell myself forcefully. Gotta hold it together or Mrs. Olson will turn around and take you right back to the flippin' hospital.

That hospital stuff I can't have. I need to move freely to investigate. Mirror Boy will just to have to deal if I see him again. I will find Sally and if that means finding Mirror Boy and disrupting his little reign of terror, so be it. I refuse to be afraid of a stinking ghost. No way am I gonna get bullied by anyone or anything – especially by ghosts.

"Mattie, you okay?"

Mrs. Olson is eyeballing me with concern. I haven't moved to get out of the car. "All good, Mrs. O," I smile weakly at her. "Just tired." Taking a deep breath, I open the door and force myself out. I am not afraid, I chant over and over.

The other kids are still at school, so the house is pretty empty. Mrs. O had told me earlier we had a new foster kid in the house, but I'm betting he's at school too. She sends me upstairs with the promise to bring me a sandwich and a glass of milk. The doctors said no caffeine for a while, so my favorite drink in the world, Coke, is off limits. At least until I can escape and get to a gas station. I need it like an addict needs crack.

My room is exactly as I left it, the bed turned down and my clothes thrown into a corner. A simple white dresser and mirror, desk, and a twin bed covered in my worn out quilt decorate the room. My desk, made of black metal, is the only thing of color in the whole stark-white space, really. Mr. Olson gave it to me when I'd asked if I could use it for a desk. It's a work table more than a desk. The floor is a dingy gray carpet; nothing special, but the place is clean, to include bare walls. After all, I never stay anywhere too long. There's no point in cluttering them up with posters of bands and the latest teen hotties. I'd only have to pack them again in a few weeks anyway.

My eyes travel to the slightly dark spot on the carpet. They're blood stains – mine. No matter how much she cleans, I don't think Mrs. O will get them out. Not that they are all that obvious; it's just a dark spot on the carpet. Only I know what the spot is, but doubt anyone else would. Unfortunately, that means my room doesn't feel like the safe place it once did, and that's just not fair. I need my safe haven back. There's only one way to get it back and that's to figure out where Sally is. That means facing my gift, my curse. I can't run from it anymore.