Raising the Dead

A Past Midnight Novella

Mara Purnhagen

Charlotte Silver's world is like no one else's…

As the daughter of the famous Silver Spirits paranormal investigators, Charlotte Silver is used to all things weird. But when coffins start floating down her street during a flood, life turns extra strange. And wonderful, when her friend and crush Noah signs on to help Charlotte and her folks in the aftermath. Cemetery cleanup might not sound exciting, but as shocking discoveries and a lurking stranger come to light, Charlotte learns that sometimes, raising the dead can bring unexpected rewards.

Also available from Mara Purnhagen and Harlequin TEEN

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And watch for more books in the Past Midnight series

Past Midnight
Available Now

One Hundred Candles
Available March 2011

Beyond the Grave
Available September 2011

Mara Purnhagen cannot live without a tall caramel latte, her iPod or a stack of books on her nightstand. She has lived in Aurora, Illinois; Kalamazoo, Michigan; Dayton, Ohio, and Duncan, South Carolina. She currently lives outside Cleveland, Ohio, with her family, two cats and a well-meaning ghost who likes to open the kitchen windows.

Visit Mara online at her website www.marapurnhagen.com and her Facebook page www.facebook.com/mara.purnhagen

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

I was not morbid, but I had already written my epitaph: Here lies Charlotte Silver, who died at 17 from excruciating boredom. Composing an appropriate epitaph was an old trick I used to keep myself awake during one of Dad’s lectures. The historical ones were particularly painful, even when I was supposed to serve as his assistant and had little jobs to perform, like setting up the PowerPoint presentation and making sure we had enough copies of his book for the signing afterwards.

I looked out at the eager crowd. The ancient auditorium was filled to capacity, people drawn in by the allure of listening to a semifamous paranormal investigator despite the raging weather outside, which the local meteorologists said was an effect of the latest hurricane to batter the South Carolina coast. Dad had been speaking for almost an hour, and the mostly middle-aged men who comprised his core audience were still dutifully taking notes and nodding in excited agreement.

“Originally, it was not pumpkins that were carved for Halloween, but the more plentiful turnip,” Dad said.

That was my cue. I retrieved a tiny turnip from our box of props and handed it to him, then sat back down. A few cameras flashed. The audience liked to take pictures of Dad, and I knew they liked to get me in the shot, as well. We looked so much alike, both of us tall and with the same straight, dark hair. There was no mistaking that I was Patrick Silver’s daughter.

“You may ask how it was possible to carve such a small gourd and insert a candle into its belly.” Dad held up the withered vegetable. More nodding from the audience. “The answer is simple. Europeans used to grow much larger turnips.”

I handed Dad a bigger turnip, this one made from papier-mâché. He lifted it up and the audience applauded. They actually applauded. I felt sorry for them. Then I remembered that I was the girl spending a Friday night listening to her dad’s stock speech on the history of Halloween and handing out turnips. I had no right to judge others.

“Now,” Dad said, clapping his hands together. “Who wants to talk about ghouls?”

After the lecture, Dad signed copies of his books while I packed up our props and shut down the computer. Once everything was packed, I sat on the edge of the stage. Through the auditorium’s open doors I could see the long line for Dad’s book signing and knew I was stuck for a while. I let my legs dangle off the stage. Thunder rumbled outside, the lights flickered inside, and I hoped the auditorium was equipped with a good backup generator. As the daughter of paranormal investigators, I wasn’t scared of the dark—or much else. But the thought of sitting in a vast, windowless room with a crowd of anxious people made me uneasy. How would I find my dad in the dark? I was identifying the nearest exit when I heard a familiar voice.

“Nice job.”

“Noah?” He was standing near the back of the huge room, but his voice echoed towards me. My heart beat a little faster. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he walked down a side aisle.

He hopped up onto the stage and sat next to me. His khaki rain jacket was covered with dark patches of water and his brown hair was spiky from the rain. “How could I pass up a chance to hear about the true origins of Halloween rituals and traditions and their impact on modern society?”

“So you read the flyer. Why are you really here?”

He sighed. “We lost power at our apartment. My mom decided we should go to Shane’s place. I knew you were here, so I asked her to drop me off. Can you give me a ride later?”

“Sure.” I suppressed my inner urge to squeal. Noah came here because he knew I was here? That was positive. Although his only other option was to hang out with his mom and her new boyfriend, and I knew he’d rather pour Tabasco in his eyes than watch the two of them swoon over each other. Shane was like an uncle to me, and while I thought his new relationship with Noah’s mom was wonderful, I could see how it might bother Noah. A week earlier he had walked into his living room to find Shane and Trisha locked in a passionate embrace, and he said he still had nightmares. Noah believed that moms should wear loose-fitting jeans and kiss on the cheek only.

Another growl of thunder caused me to flinch. “I can’t believe this storm is getting worse. I thought hurricane season was almost over. How bad is it outside?”

Noah swung his legs in rhythm with mine. “Lots of downed power lines. There’s a flash flood warning, too.”

“I wish I was home.”

“You don’t like thunderstorms?” He sounded surprised.

“No, I do. But I like to enjoy them from home, where I can curl up on the sofa in my pajamas and keep a flashlight nearby.”

Noah laughed softly, a sound that warmed my stomach and caused it to flutter at the same time. “I know what you mean. When I was a kid, my brothers and I would turn the dining room table into a fort whenever there was a bad storm. We’d sit underneath it and Mom would bring us cookies.” He smiled wistfully. “Nothing scares them, though. They’re both serving in the military now.”

The lights flickered again. I clenched my fingers on the edge of the stage. Noah noticed.

“Hey. If the lights go out, don’t worry, okay? I’m right here and I won’t leave you.”

Now I was hoping the power would go out. Immediately. Noah and I had been friends since my family had moved to town over the summer. He was with me in Charleston a few weeks earlier, when I’d experienced the most surreal moment in my life, the moment I made contact with a girl who’d been dead for a century. And more recently, he’d been my date to homecoming.

Through all of this, my feelings for Noah had grown. There were nights when I would lie awake just thinking about him, imagining him in his own bed and wondering if he was staring up at the ceiling, thinking about me. But he’d had the perfect chance to reveal his feelings at homecoming, and instead of trying to get closer to me, he had pulled away.

Maybe he needed me to be more direct. Maybe I had unintentionally sent out mixed signals. If we were suddenly submerged in pitch blackness, I could lean over and accidentally let my lips brush his neck. If he responded, great. If not, then I could pretend that it was a colossal mistake due to the fact that I couldn’t see.

More thunder growled outside, this time so close that I was sure the storm was directly over the building. The lights blinked but stayed on.

“Charlotte?” Dad stood in the doorway. He was putting on his trench coat. “We need to go. It’s really coming down.”

“Sure.” My hopes of a possible kiss and a romantic beginning to a new relationship officially dashed, I hopped off the stage. “Can we give Noah a ride?”

Dad was examining his cell phone. “I have a text here from Trisha. She’s with Shane at our house. Noah’s coming with us.”

Noah lowered himself from the stage and stood next to me. “Great,” he muttered. “More quality time with Shane.”

“It’s fine,” I said as we began walking down the aisle. I carried the box of props while Noah held the computer. “I doubt they’ll be making out with everyone around.”

Noah snickered. “You underestimate them.”

I laughed, but when Dad held open the doors leading outside, I stopped. Rain slammed the ground as if it was being fired from a machine gun. “I’ll get the car!” Dad yelled. He darted toward the parking lot and disappeared in the wall of water gushing from the sky.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I had to practically scream at Noah so that he could hear me over the roar of rain.

“Welcome to hurricane season in South Carolina!”

Dad pulled the car around a few minutes later. Already the water was several inches deep. Noah opened the back door and I dove in. He tucked the computer under his jacket and followed. Inside the car, it was quieter, but Dad had the wipers going at full speed and they were barely clearing his window.

“We don’t need a car to get home,” I joked. “We need a boat.”

Dad didn’t even smile. Around us, people raced to get to their cars. “I can’t believe this,” Dad said. “We were only in there for three hours.”

He drove slowly, stopping several times when he couldn’t see the road. Our house was less than five miles away, but it felt like a hundred. I held the wet box of props in my lap and tried to look out my window, but the streetlights were just a blur against the rain.

Dad’s phone rang. He handed it to me.

“Charlotte, where are you?”

“Hi, Mom. We’re in the car. It’s taking a while.”

“Tell your father to drive slowly.”

“He is, don’t worry.”

Dad stopped again. I automatically looked behind us to make sure no one was driving too close. I couldn’t see any headlights. I couldn’t see anything.

“Mom? I’ll call you when we’re close, okay?” I snapped shut the phone. Dad was staring out his side window.

“Do you see it?” He pointed.

I leaned over Noah to look out the window. Something was in the road, bobbing along the water.

“Looks like a little canoe,” Noah said.

“That’s not a canoe,” Dad said. “That’s a coffin.”

Chapter Two

Coffins continued to float down Main Street throughout the night, bobbing along the raging brown water until they lodged in between buildings or came to rest against fallen trees. We watched the macabre footage from home, where Noah, Trisha and Shane had been stuck with us since Friday evening.

“Are you seeing this?” I asked Avery. On the TV, a newscaster dressed in a bright yellow poncho tried to shield his face from the pounding rain.

“It’s crazy,” my best friend agreed. Avery lived at the bottom of our neighborhood hill. I had called her right away, concerned that the water was running down our street and into her front yard. It was, but so far her house was holding up against the flood.

“Think they’ll cancel school on Monday?” I asked her.

“Definitely. No one can drive in this. And if it keeps up, they’ll probably cancel Halloween next week, too.”

That wouldn’t be a bad thing, in my opinion. I hated dealing with people on Halloween. Our house always drew a crowd, even though we didn’t decorate and tended to keep the lights off. People associated my family with the paranormal, so they would show up and linger on the front lawn, snapping pictures in the dark and waiting for something to happen. Did they really think a gang of ghosts was going to visit us on Halloween?

The raging flood wasn’t the only reason I was calling Avery. Seeing a coffin carried by the river that was Main Street automatically made me think of Avery’s late boyfriend, Adam, who was buried in a local cemetery. I didn’t know where the caskets were coming from, but I was sure that Adam’s cemetery was not the source. I wanted to make sure Avery knew that.

“So listen,” I began. “The flash floods have gotten really bad.”

“Uh-huh.” I could hear Avery’s TV in the background.

“And they’re saying that it’s affected some cemeteries.”

The TV went silent. “Who’s saying that?”

“The local news.” I paused. “And we saw a casket in the street when we were driving home last night.”

“Oh.”

“The flood is hitting an older cemetery,” I rushed to say. “My mom is looking into it. She works with preservation societies all the time, and she’s seen this kind of thing before. I don’t want you to worry, okay?”

“Sure.” Avery’s voice was listless.

“Modern burials are different now,” I explained. “They don’t just dig a hole and throw a coffin in.” I cringed at my own words. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“What I mean is, coffins today are put into a cement vault, then covered with dirt. Adam’s cemetery isn’t the source, I promise.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She hung up, and I returned to the dining room, which my family used as a den, and where everyone was now gathered, their attention focused on the local news.

“So far, over a dozen caskets have washed away,” the rain-soaked newscaster announced.

“Authorities are determining their point of origin. Stay tuned for dramatic—and exclusive—footage of a man and his dog being rescued from their submerged car.”

Mom hit the mute button. “Who wants to help me with dinner?”

Trisha and I immediately went to the kitchen, leaving Dad, Shane and Noah in front of the TV. I was happy to leave the local news behind and focus on something else instead.

“So,” I said. “What are we making?”

I knew better than anyone that my mom did not cook. Her culinary talents included reheating restaurant leftovers in the microwave and turning on the coffeemaker in the morning.

Trisha opened the freezer. “How does pizza sound?”

“Perfect,” Mom said. “I’ll see if we have enough to make a salad.”

I wasn’t about to return to watching the local news, so I offered to set the table. While I went about my chore, I listened to Mom and Trisha chat. They talked about the incessant rain, with Trisha apologizing for taking over the guest room and Mom assuring her that it was no problem, and how the town would clean up after the storm passed.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I was able to relax and let my mind wander. I thought of Noah in the next room, stuck with my dad and Shane and the endless news broadcast, which trumped the reruns of sitcoms that normally aired during weekend dinnertime. I worried about Avery and hoped that her house would be safe from severe water damage. And, as it had happened so often over the past few weeks, I thought about Charleston and the girl in the pink dress.

It had been only three weeks since I had stepped into the afterlife. Three weeks, and already a part of me was doubting the details of the experience. Had I really spoken to a dead girl? If so, I had achieved more contact with the paranormal in a moment than my parents had throughout their decades-long career. I hadn’t told anyone about it, not even my parents, mainly because I was trying to make sense of it.

The logical side of me reasoned that it had been a stress-induced hallucination, brought on by lack of sleep and weeks of feeling watched. After all, no one had witnessed anything other than me placing my hand on an old tree. In that half second, minutes seemed to fold away as I tried to help a girl reconnect with her deceased parents.

At the time, it had felt so real. But later, as I tried to replay the incident in my mind, only a few details remained. The pink dress. The tree. The girl’s voice, so similar to my own, telling me that there was no end to life, no end to anything at all. I did not trust my own mind. What if I had somehow manufactured a memory using the details I was already familiar with? I had eaten lunch by that tree and viewed a faded photograph of the girl. My tired brain could have pieced elements together to form something resembling reality, something to which I could relate. The bizarre vision had given me the mental strength to continue on with a ceremony intended to bring about closure to restless spirits. But as my dad always wondered, why would the dead need the limited powers of the living? Anything we did to help the deceased was merely a guess, nothing more. We possessed no true knowledge of what it meant to be dead; therefore, we possessed no true knowledge of how to help them—or if they even needed help.

That was Dad’s other concern. He loved to debunk the psychics and charlatans who claimed that they assisted tortured sprits with the process of moving on. These people possessed no wisdom, Dad claimed. They had no idea what it meant to die, much less whether the dead needed assistance. No place was haunted by souls desperate to find the light that would lead them to eternal peace. Places were simply occupied by residual energy that was triggered by human action. The solution? Stop the action.

It was the driving principle behind my parents’ careers. But after Charleston, I’d noticed a shift in how my mother and my father approached their work.

While Dad continued his no-nonsense, scientific approach to all things paranormal, Mom seemed to take a step back. The first time I’d noticed the change was the day we returned from Charleston. Our house was a wreck, the result of two angry spirits. Furniture lay on its side and the hundreds of sheets of paper scattered throughout the downstairs made me think a tiny tornado had touched down in the center of our dining room. Immediately, Dad went about fixing the big things, such as returning chairs to their rightful place and inspecting the ceiling for cracks.

Mom took a different approach. She knelt on the floor, examining each piece of paper for clues and running her hands over every jagged line streaking the walls. She was searching for a pattern, I realized, some common thread that tied everything together. While Dad assumed it was all a random mess, Mom thought it represented something deeper and more complex. When she asked Dad to slow down, he laughed. “The sooner we put all of this behind us, the better,” he declared.

Mom tried to explain her ideas to him, that maybe they should catalog exactly what had happened, but Dad dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “It means nothing,” he said. “Nothing a couple hours of hard work can’t fix.”

Mom pursed her lips and looked like she wanted to debate the issue, but even I knew that when Dad decided upon something, it was final. Mom picked her battles, and this was one she couldn’t win. Yet.

“Ranch or Italian?” Mom asked Trisha, bringing me back to the present.

“Definitely Italian.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

I watched the way Mom talked with Trisha, the way she smiled and went out of her way to make Trisha comfortable. We rarely met Shane’s girlfriends. He only introduced us to women he had dated for more than a month, a population I could count on one hand. Trisha was special, and everyone in my family knew it.

While the pizza cooked we converged in the dining room, eager for new flood updates. The same footage aired on the news, though, an endless loop of water licking the bottom of stop signs and cars gliding along on dark waves.

“I haven’t seen a storm this bad since Noah was in diapers,” Trisha announced.

Noah winced. He’d endured a full 24 hours of discomfort, beginning with having to dress in my dad’s old sweatpants after we made it home, to sleeping on our sofa with a snoring Shane sprawled out on the floor, to watching his mom feed chunks of grapefruit to Shane at breakfast. Noah looked miserable, and I wanted to do something about it. While the adults stared at the TV, flipping between the weather channel and the local news, I invited him up to my bedroom.

“I think you need a break from all of this,” I told him.

“Anything’s better than staring at the TV,” he agreed.

As soon as Noah stepped into my room, I felt nervous and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. It wasn’t that I thought something would happen, but maybe being alone together would inspire him to make a move. I was suddenly aware of everything my room held and what those things might say about me. Would he laugh at the small pink teddy bear perched on top of my dresser? Would he dare open my closet? Normally my clothes were strewn in heaps across the floor, but when it became apparent that no one would be leaving the house Friday night, I had shoved everything into my closet. An avalanche of clothes waited behind the double doors, ready to tumble down on the unlucky person who turned the handle.

Thankfully, Noah did not venture near my closet. Instead, he went straight to my bookshelf while I sat on the edge of my neatly made bed. “These are all required reading,” he said as he examined my small assortment of books.

“Not all of them.” I was immediately defensive. I’d had no idea he would be drawn to my bookshelf, of all things. My desk was much more impressive, with a powder-blue laptop, a ceramic mug filled with pens in every color imaginable, and a framed picture of all of my friends—including him—at homecoming.

Noah held up a paperback copy of A Tale of Two Cities. “You bought this for recreational purposes?”

“It’s a classic.” It was also an assignment at one of the many high schools I had attended. We’d moved before I had finished the semester—or the book.

“Hmm.” Noah looked unconvinced. He ran his fingers over the spines of my collection, stopping when he came to a red paperback. “I like this one.” He held up a well-worn copy of Fahrenheit 451.

“That’s my dad’s,” I told him. “But it’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine too.”

This minor revelation made me majorly happy. Sharing the same taste in books, despite the fact that those books had been part of a school assignment, was a positive sign.

I wasn’t sure what to do after Noah finished examining my pathetic bookshelf. Invite him to sit with me on the bed? Offer him a peek into my dresser? Fortunately, he made the decision for me.

“I was thinking about the coffins,” he said as he sat down on the floor. “What happens after the rain stops? Whose job is it to go out and collect them all?”

“The police? Or the county coroner, maybe?”

“Yeah, but they’re going to be crazy busy with everything else going on. Retrieving old caskets might not make the list.”

“Maybe not.”

“Think your parents will get involved?”

I sighed. “Probably.” Mom would definitely volunteer. She would want to examine not only the coffins but their contents, as well. Both my parents had assisted in similar projects, but it had been a while—not since I was a toddler, at least.

“So Shane would help, right? I mean, he goes where they go.”

“Wait.” I narrowed my gaze at him. “You’re hoping Shane becomes totally occupied with work for a while so he won’t have time for your mom.”

Noah gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right. Nice try, but a few hours away at work isn’t going to stop those two from being a couple.”

He groaned. “Did you see them at breakfast? Can’t they at least tone it down when I’m around?”

“It was a little much,” I agreed.

He leaned his head against my bed. “And I’m so tired. Shane snores like a wild boar.”

“Wild boars snore?”

“You know what I mean.” He closed his eyes. “I need a nap.”

I got up. “Take my bed for a few hours.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” I had changed the sheets the night before, so I was pretty sure there were no drool spots on my pillow.

“Well, yeah, if you’re okay with me sleeping in your bed.” Noah pulled himself off the floor. We stood facing each other for a moment. He was so close I could smell the cinnamon on his breath and I wondered if I should just step forward and kiss him. I couldn’t, though. I wasn’t that brave.

“Sweet dreams,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart.

I closed the door behind me and went downstairs. Noah was in my room, in my bed. It made me giddy, and I tried not to smile too widely.

Downstairs, Mom was taking the pizza out of the oven. “Where’s Noah?”

I sat down at the table. “He wanted to take a nap. I guess he’s had a hard time sleeping because of Shane’s snoring.”

“Tell me about it,” Trisha muttered.

Mom and I shared an amused glance. “Well, dinner’s ready. We’ll save him some for later.”

After dinner, I stayed in the kitchen and called Avery. “Guess who’s sleeping in my bed right now?”

“Seriously?”

I curled a strand of hair around my finger. “He’s up there right now. That’s a good sign, right?”

“No.”

“What?” I was confused. Why wasn’t Avery excited for me?

She sighed. “I don’t think it’s a sign of anything, Charlotte.”

“But—“

“Look, I know you like him, but I think you’re setting yourself up to get hurt.” She cleared her throat. “I need to tell you something. You’re not going to like it, which I why I didn’t tell you earlier.”

I listened carefully as Avery described an encounter she had with Noah during the homecoming dance. She had watched as Noah and I danced to a slow song. When the song ended, I had gone over to talk with Callie and some of our other friends while Noah went to get us drinks. Avery went up to him. She mentioned that we seemed to be hitting it off, but Noah had shaken his head. “We’re friends only,” he said. His voice, Avery said, was emphatic. “She knows that, right?” he’d asked her. “That we’re friends and nothing more?” Avery said that I did know that. She then asked Noah to go out to her car and get a jacket for her. “I wanted to talk with you right away,” she said, “but then Jared and I started talking and I got distracted.”

“Oh.” The giddiness that had consumed me earlier evaporated.

“This is a good thing, Charlotte.”

“How is this a good thing? The guy I like wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true. He likes you, but not in the way you want.”

“Again—how is that a good thing?”

Avery was quiet for a second. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “Charlotte, now you know. Now you can move on and find someone who wants to be more than a friend. Instead of focusing on a relationship that will never happen, you can open to the possibility of someone else.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Not exactly.” She sighed. “I tried setting up Callie with someone once. She was really into him, but he didn’t return the feelings. It was a disaster.”

Now it was my turn to be quiet. Maybe Avery was right. It was time to accept a nice, simple friendship with Noah and put my romantic energy into someone else.

“You’re my friend,” Avery said. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s the only reason I’m telling you this.”

“I know.” I could hear everyone in the dining room discussing the storm. Then I heard Noah walking down the stairs. “I have to go. Noah’s awake.”

“Sure. And remember—there’s nothing wrong with having a great guy friend.”

“Right.”

“Besides,” Avery continued. “Callie says she knows a football player who would be good for you.”

We said goodbye and I hung up. Noah walked into the kitchen, his hair pressed to one side from where he’d slept on it. I resisted the urge to brush my fingers through it.

“How was the nap?” I asked.

“Good. I’m starving, though.”

I got up from the table. “I’ll reheat the pizza for you.”

He sat down, still looking sleepy. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” I took the pizza out of the fridge. “After all, what are friends for?”

Chapter Three

The rain stopped roaring on Sunday night. By Monday, it was barely a drizzle. The sky still loomed gray and bloated clouds moved fast and low, but the worst was finally over.

“I guess we’ll be leaving,” Trisha announced after breakfast on Monday. I had gotten used to having everyone around. We had developed a cozy routine revolving around simple meals and old movies. The house would seem empty without our guests, but part of me was relieved: it was difficult to be around Noah all the time. I kept noticing little things about him that I liked, such as the way he was careful to always clean up after himself and help my mom, and how he laughed at something on TV. It would be easier to see him as just a friend, I decided, once there was some distance between us.

With school officially canceled, I focused on helping my parents, who had reached out to overwhelmed authorities and offered to assist in their casket cleanup efforts. Over two dozen coffins had been unearthed during the storm, and it was essential to get them back to their proper burial spaces. One had been discovered wedged in the cart corral at a grocery store. Two were found lodged between trees at a local playground. And several had floated all the way to the high school, where they came to a strange stop on the drenched football field. The image of the splintered wooden boxes sitting near the 50-yard mark dominated the local media. Dad was not amused.

“There are thousands of people without power right now, and this is what makes the news?”

Despite the fact that he made a living off people’s intense interest in life after death, he was constantly annoyed by public fascination with the subject.

Mom researched local cemeteries, made endless calls, and confirmed that the coffins had come from a tiny graveyard a mile away.

“Some of them are from before the Civil War,” she told me and Dad. I had raided the pantry to produce dinner, which consisted of canned spaghetti with meatballs and buttered wheat bread. After a weekend without a trip to the store, canned goods were all we had left, but it was practically gourmet by my family’s standards.

I automatically grabbed ginger ale out of the fridge because I knew Noah liked it, then put it back when I remembered that he was gone. He was probably sick of sleeping on the couch and being surrounded by Shane and my family all day, I reasoned. He was probably sick of me, for that matter. After the time we spent in my room and his nap on my bed, he had seemed extra distant. Maybe he had sensed my crush, and was trying to define clearer boundaries. He wouldn’t need to worry about me, though—I was determined to take Avery’s advice and move on to someone who was interested.

“The police have taken custody of a dozen coffins so far,” Mom continued. “They moved them to the morgue already.”

“How?” Dad asked. I couldn’t imagine a flatbed truck stacked with century-old caskets driving through town. That was definitely an image that would attract the local news. Mom’s reply surprised me.

“Garbage trucks.”

“They put them on garbage trucks?” I couldn’t disguise the disgust in my voice. It seemed so disrespectful.

“Yes,” Mom confirmed. “The trucks are big enough to hold the coffins and don’t attract attention.”

“Still,” I said. “It seems so gross.”

“It’s practical,” Dad said. “These people have been dead for so long that they have no family members who would remember them. It’s the best way to transport them without attracting unnecessary attention.” He nodded, satisfied. “Very smart.”

It may have been practical and smart, but I couldn’t help think of the other Charlotte, the girl who had died over a hundred years earlier and who had spoken to me in Charleston. I wouldn’t want her thrown into the back of a garbage truck. I wouldn’t want anyone carted around that way. It was dehumanizing.

“We’ll meet with the caretaker tomorrow morning,” Mom said. “It’s such an old, tiny little cemetery that it’s basically been forgotten. The man I spoke with mows the grass twice a year, and that’s about it. This whole situation has him rattled.”

“But he’s willing to accept our help?” Dad asked.

“Yes.” Mom played with her fork. I was pleased to see that she had eaten all of the dinner I had single-handedly prepared, even if it was simply canned food heated in the oven. “He understands that the bodies need to be interred as quickly as possible. He also understands that we have an historical interest in the work.”

Historical interest. It was a fancy way of saying that my parents like to look at old dead bodies. One of Mom’s stock lectures focused on historical burial rites and practices. This was like winning the corpse research lottery.

She explained that she wanted to visit the cemetery first. A geological survey team would be there to make sure the ground was safe and that the caskets could be returned to the earth.

“How are you going to match the bodies with their gravestones?” I asked.

“That’s where my expertise comes in.” Mom finished her dinner and moved her plate to the side. “We’ll start by examining artifacts left with the bodies. How they’re dressed will help narrow down a time frame, as well. But we may not be able to correctly identify each one.”

“We’re talking about centuries-old wood,” Dad said. “How many even survived the flood intact?”

“Not many. But there’s about a dozen complete caskets. Cracked, but whole.”

“So some of the caskets aren’t whole?” I looked down at my half-eaten spaghetti. I wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“No. Most of them were damaged too heavily. Chances are the remains inside weren’t substantial, though.”

I hoped not. I could imagine someone emerging from their house after days stuck inside, only to discover a withered arm resting on the sopping wet lawn. My parents’ task was a strange one, but it held importance. It helped restore a kind of peace.

“How can I help?”

Mom and Dad looked at me. “We weren’t planning on having you help,” Dad said.

“We didn’t think this would be something you would be interested in,” Mom rushed to add.

“I’m not.” I had no intention of lifting coffin lids and peeking in. But I was used to being a part of the family team. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be involved in some small way. “I was thinking of clerical stuff or research or whatever. But if you don’t need me, that’s fine.”

“Clerical work,” Mom repeated. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”

“You could work from home.” Dad smiled. “We’ll call you if we need anything.”

It was a brush-off, and despite the fact that this was not a project I was eager to get too involved with, my parents’ quick dismissal of me stung. After dinner I went to my room and called Annalise.

“I need some big sister wisdom,” I told her.

“And you called me?”

“Ha. Seriously, do you have a minute?”

“I always have a minute for you. Talk to me and I’ll do my best to impart my wealth of knowledge and experience upon you.”

Annalise already knew about the flooding and the damaged graveyard. She had talked with Mom several times a day since the storm began to assure her that everything was fine and she was riding out the storm. I suspected she had spent the weekend curled up with her boyfriend, Mills, and had barely noticed the weather outside her apartment. She was lucky—the guy she liked was definitely into her as much as she was into him.

I explained everything to my sister, particularly my hurt feelings at Mom and Dad’s brush-off.

“I don’t know why this bothers me,” I said. “I’m not even remotely interested in any of this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Um, no. I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“Ready for some big sister wisdom?”

“I truly regret ever using that term.”

“Live with it. Here’s what I think.”

What Annalise thought was important to me. As my only sibling, she had been my constant companion on hundreds of our parents’ research trips, from crumbling castles in Europe to hollow prisons in North America. She was the only one who truly understood me, so her opinion carried more weight than anyone else’s.

“You haven’t processed everything that happened in Charleston,” Annalise said. “These coffins are from about the same era as the family we were researching. You feel a connection to them and want to know more. That’s why this project is important to you.”

She was right. She was right and I knew it and I hated to say it, but that was the reason I had called: I needed Annalise to clarify something I felt but could not put into words.

“Well?” she asked.

“I don’t like the term ‘process.’ Since when does everyone need to process everything?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m right.”

“Fine.” I looked over to my nightstand, which was still covered in a silk scarf. If I tugged at the scarf, it would reveal the wood underneath, and I did not want to see it, did not want to be reminded of the jagged words that were etched there.

“You’re right,” I told Annalise. “I feel like I need to know more. And somehow, this—this incident, has occurred, and I wonder if I’m supposed to help, supposed to follow where this leads.”

Annalise was quiet for a few seconds. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah. I guess I do.” I’d needed my sister to say it, though. It was time to help my parents.

It was time to open the lid and look inside.

Chapter Four

For months I’d seen a dead girl in my dreams. She wore a pink dress and shared my name, and she’d reached out to me, asking for my help. And I’d helped her, even though I hadn’t really had a choice. I reunited her with the spirits of her long-dead parents. My reward was a moment spent on the other side.

I thought.

With each day, the memory of that strange experience became foggier. At the time, it had felt so real, so authentic. I had seen a glimpse of life after death. But then doubt began to sink its teeth in me. It had been a long day. I was tired and hungry and maybe my mind had conjured it all up using pieces of what I had heard throughout my life about other people’s views of ghosts. Maybe none of it had been real. There was no proof. The video cameras had malfunctioned, failing to capture the lights we had all seen. And no one but me saw the girl. As the days went by, I wondered: was my experience real or a very detailed figment of my subconscious?

Real or not, that moment had changed me, and something about the flooded graveyard awakened the investigative instinct inside me. As grotesque as it sounded, I wanted to look inside those caskets. More than that, I wanted to make sure that the people inside them were returned to their rightful places. It mattered. Maybe not to them, but to me. Dad always said we held funerals to comfort the living and not to appease the dead. Well, I was living and I wanted the assurance that everything was being done right for the remains of the dead.

The next morning I approached Mom as she sipped her coffee in the kitchen.

“Mom?”

“Morning, Charlotte.”

I sat across the table from her. “So what time do you leave?”

She glanced at the clock. “We meet with the caretaker in an hour.”

An hour. That was enough time for me to shower and dress and be ready to go. I wasn’t quite ready to ask, though.

“Can you get there?” I asked. “I mean, are the roads okay? Because on the news last night everything was still flooded and they were telling people not to drive.”

Mom set down her coffee mug. “Charlotte, is there something on your mind?”

I was a terrible liar with no acting ability whatsoever. I couldn’t dance around the issue. If I wanted something, I had to ask. I took a deep breath.

“I want to come with you.”

“Can I ask why? This isn’t the type of investigation you’re normally interested in.”

How could I explain? No one knew about my otherworldly encounter. I still struggled with it. But I agreed with Annalise: maybe immersing myself in a project involving people from the same era would help me to understand.

“I just want to.” I looked at my hands. “And I don’t have school all week, so it wouldn’t interfere with that. Can I go?”

Mom considered my request. “I suppose it would be okay.” Before I could thank her, she held up a hand. “But Charlotte, this is very sensitive. We’re dealing with actual human remains here, not an empty house. I expect absolute professionalism.”

“Of course.”

“In fact, that’s the reason why Dad and I didn’t ask you to join us yesterday. You haven’t participated in something like this before, and it’s a very different project than what we normally work on.”

“I can handle it,” I assured her. I stood up, ready to prepare for the day, and began to walk towards the stairs.

“Charlotte?”

I turned around. Mom stared back at me. “When you’re ready to tell me the real reason why you want to go with us, I’m here to listen, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Mom’s response was unsettling, but at least I could go with them. Maybe the experience would help me, maybe it wouldn’t. I had to try something, I thought, something to settle my confused mind.

I was ready in less than an hour and waiting in the dining room while my parents packed their computers and cameras and files. Dad didn’t ask about my joining them, so I guessed Mom had briefed him while I was in the shower. He did have a request for me, though.

“I want you to keep an eye out for people who might be hanging around,” he said.

“Weirdos?”

“Yes.” Dad gathered up his bags. “There’s been plenty of media coverage. I’m worried that it might attract onlookers with a morbid curiosity.”

Like me, I thought. After all, I had no practical reason for tagging along with my parents. Was it merely a sick curiosity? Or did I really think I could find answers? I had no idea, but my gut instinct told me to go with them, to follow the path that had unexpectedly appeared in front of me.

It was a short drive to the cemetery, if you could really call it that. It was basically a plot of land about the size of our backyard and situated in a rural area. We passed a small lake and a lot of woods. It seemed as if no one would live out in the remote area, but a white farmhouse appeared, and we pulled into the driveway. A white-haired man greeted us before Dad put the car in park.

“Hello!” he called out from his wide front porch. The yard was filled with deep puddles, the same as all the other flooded yards. I’d worn red rain boots at the insistence of my parents, who’d both dressed in rubber overalls and hooded jackets.

“Mr. Kitsman!” Mom acted like they were old friends. She waved from the passenger seat and when she got out of the car, she hugged the man, then introduced me and Dad. Mr. Kitsman shook Dad’s hand and nodded at me. “So glad you’re here.”

Shane arrived moments later in the Doubt van. I waited an anxious second to see if Noah and Trisha were with him, but they weren’t. After the introductions, Mr. Kitsman got down to business.

“The county surveyors were here yesterday,” he said, growing serious. “Let me show you.”

He led us through his soggy backyard and up a short hill, where crumbling stone steps ended at the entrance to the graveyard. As we walked, he told us how he’d been raised here and spent his whole life in the house. “Everything you see here has belonged to my family for over a hundred years,” he said, waving an arm. “Hundreds of acres. The woods and even the lake are in our name.” The woods formed a horseshoe shape around the cemetery, almost like the trees were protecting the parcel of land. From the top of the hill, no other houses were visible.

Mr. Kitsman explained that living on the property came with the solemn responsibility of caring for the cemetery. He hung a wreath on the stone fence every Christmas, and mowed the property during the summer. He also kept an eye out for people who lingered too close for too long, especially around Halloween.

“Two dozen souls rest here,” Mr. Kitsman told us. “After the storm, we were missing twenty-three. As you can see, most of the grave markers were damaged.”

The thin tombstones were either lying flat on the muddy ground or tipped at unnatural angles. “I know this place,” Mr. Kitsman announced. “Know it well. My great-great-grandfather was buried here. A few other ancestors, too.” He looked around at the swamp of stones. “These people deserve to rest in peace. And for decades I’ve made sure that was the case.” He turned his attention to the four of us. “Now I need your help to make sure that continues.”

Mom stepped forward. “You can count on us,” she said. “We’ll do what we can.”

A large chunk of the hill had been washed away, taking the coffins and half the gravestones with it. Wooden stakes had been planted along the property by the geological survey crew. They’d spent several hours there the day before, working into the night. “A good thing, too,” Mr. Kitsman said. “Some strange fella dressed in a long black coat kept driving by. Said he was lost.” His gaze lingered over the tombstones. “He wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was.”

Dad looked at me. “See? Too much media coverage.” He turned to Mr. Kitsman. “Let’s get down to business. Where would you like us to start?”

I knew this was merely a formality. Dad already had a plan in mind, but asking the property owner always helped things move more smoothly.

“I’ve put back the stones as best I could in their correct places. I need help making ‘em straight.”

Shane stepped forward. “I can do that.”

“And it’s all right with you if we film some footage?” Dad asked.

Mr. Kitsman nodded. “Of course.”

I acknowledged Dad with a slight dip of my head. I knew he wanted everything captured on film, and I had hoped he would ask me to help. I was good behind a camera. It was a familiar friend, and it offered me a comfortable distance from the project.

Most of the stones were slanted to the side. I positioned the camera and panned across the area slowly, zooming in on individual stones. After a few minutes of this, I turned off the camera. I knelt before one of the stones, careful not to let my knee touch the muddy ground. The name and dates etched into the gray slab were worn and faded, making the words difficult to read. Cracks ran through like the lines on my hand. I touched the letters.

“Who were you?” I asked softly.

“That’s Jeremiah Pickett.” Mr. Kitsman was standing behind me. “He was a Confederate soldier. Killed in battle when he was nineteen.” He sighed. “So young. I doubt he understood what he was fighting for—or against, for that matter.”

“How do you know?” I stood up. “I mean, I can’t really read it.”

“I did a rubbing of each of these stones decades ago,” Mr. Kitsman said. “I researched the names, tried to determine who they were. I knew I had family buried here, but until I looked ‘em up, I had no idea how many cousins! Jeremiah is one of them. I’ll bet it sounds strange that I feel a kinship to a boy I never knew.”

“That doesn’t sound strange to me.”

He smiled. “Well, good. And thank you, young lady, for helping out here.”

I held out my hand. “Charlotte.”

He returned the gesture. “A pleasure. And please, call me William.”

William and I righted Jeremiah’s gravestone, then moved on to help the others. We consulted a map William had made, and within a couple hours, each stone was in place. Some had suffered deep cracks and one had broken in half, but the cemetery was looking more like it should when we were done.

Above us, heavy clouds darkened the skies. We gathered toward the front of the graveyard. “Ready for the next step?” Dad asked.

The next step involved driving to the morgue. The next step meant viewing the remains of men, women and children. I was not ready for any of it, but I followed the others down the stone steps and back to William’s house. As we filed through the back door, I turned and looked at the cemetery perched at the top of the little hill. Dark clouds created an appropriately dreary backdrop to the scene.

And then I saw movement. A flash of black moving swiftly through the cemetery, like a person hunched over. The figure glided past the stones and into the nearby woods so quickly that I wasn’t entirely sure I’d seen it. But I could see the flicker of something between the gaps in the trees.

I tugged at Shane’s jacket. “I think someone’s up there,” I whispered, pointing toward the hill.

The others were already in the house. Shane stopped and followed my gaze. “I don’t see anything.”

“Something was moving around. It went into the woods.”

We stood next to each other for another minute, waiting. “You sure you saw a person?”

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t know what it was. Could have been a large animal, but I don’t think so.”

Shane ushered me into the house. “I’ll check the woods tomorrow, see if there’s footprints. Let’s not say anything to William until we have something concrete to tell him though, okay?”

“Okay.”

It made sense to me. I didn’t want to worry an old man over nothing. But I knew I had seen someone, maybe even the same guy William saw hanging around the day before. The only direct path that led to the cemetery was up the hill behind William’s house. Beyond the property were several square miles full of woods, and past that was a river. So if someone was on William’s land, it meant they either lived in the area or had come from the woods. A curious neighbor was one thing. A strange man emerging from behind the trees? The thought made me shiver.

No one had come up the hill while we were there. If someone had been hiding in the woods, it meant they had probably been there all day, watching us and waiting for us to leave. If that was the case, I didn’t want to go back. But I also wanted to know what the strange figure was looking for—and I wondered if we would find it first.

Chapter Five

Principal Carter’s email to the student body was short and succinct. “Classes WILL resume on Monday,” it read. “The school sustained MINIMAL damage. ALL students are expected to be present on Monday morning.”

Avery thought it was funny. “Were the caps really necessary?”

I balanced the phone on my shoulder as I scrolled through the rest of my messages. There weren’t many: a couple from Annalise and one from a prince somewhere offering to send me a huge sum of money in exchange for my bank account information.

“The caps add needed emphasis,” I told Avery. “How else are we supposed to know that it’s important?”

“Right.”

I heard Avery’s dog growling in the background. “Is Dante okay?”

“He’s fine.” Avery shushed him. “He doesn’t like the thunder.”

The approaching storm had everyone worried. Our town was beginning to dry out, and added rain was not welcome.

“So what are you doing all day?” I asked. “Have you left the house yet?”

“Nope. I’ve been homebound.” She sighed. “Mom’s car is sitting in two feet of water in the garage, so she took mine to work. Unless I rent a boat, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I should come visit you.”

“Do you have a canoe? Because I think that’s the only way down the hill.”

“Seriously, Avery. Do you need anything? Are you going crazy being stuck inside?”

“No and no.” She paused. “I’ve been spending a lot of time online with Jared, actually.”

“Yeah?” Jared and Avery had been close friends for a long time. That had ended with the death of Adam, who had been Avery’s boyfriend and Jared’s best friend. Everyone had thought that Jared was responsible for the car accident that claimed Adam’s life. Now that Avery knew what had really happened, she was trying to restore her friendship with Jared.

“It’s not romantic or anything,” she rushed to add. “It’s stupid, really. We’re competing in this online movie trivia challenge, and he asked me to be on his team.”

“Sounds fun,” I said. “Are you winning?”

Avery laughed. “We are creaming the competition.”

“Well, congrats.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“All online competitions are a little weird.”

“No, I mean—what do you think about me and Jared? Being friends.”

“You were already friends. If you want to spend more time with him, I think it’s great. I really do.”

Avery sounded relieved. “Good. I’m still getting used to it.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Dante to growl. “So, how is the outside world? You’ve been out and I haven’t, so spill.”

“The outside world is very wet.”

“You’re kidding. Tell me about the whole cemetery restoration thing.”

It wasn’t a restoration, exactly, but I knew what she meant. So far, we had accomplished little more than pushing tombstones upright. The real work—identifying the bodies—was scheduled to begin the next day at the morgue, but I wouldn’t be there. While Mom and Dad examined skeletal remains, I would be home, sleeping in.

I told Avery about Mr. Kitsman and the job that lay in front of us. After I finished describing our first day, I mentioned seeing something near the woods.

“I think it was a man. I think he was hanging around while we were there.”

“You think he was watching you? Creepy.”

“This kind of thing always brings out the psychos.”

I ignored my internal voice, which pointed out that my parents had been immediately drawn to the situation and so had I. Maybe I was the psycho one, and the mysterious man was simply a guy surveying the damage to his neighborhood.

“It was probably nothing,” I said. “He didn’t bother us. He could have been a concerned citizen.”

“Because concerned citizens like to inspect local cemeteries?”

She had a point. Why would someone hide behind trees and spy on people? If he was worried about making sure we were working, he could have approached us and asked a few questions. Something was not right.

The thunder grew louder and Dante’s barking became so insistent that Avery had to get off the phone. I turned off my computer and got ready for bed.

Silent lightning illuminated my dark room. I watched the walls, waiting for the bright flashes, then counted the seconds until I heard a rumble of thunder. The storm was getting closer. I hoped it would hit and move on quickly.

There was a light knock at my door. “Still awake?” Mom asked.

“Yeah. Come on in.”

She walked over to my bed. I scooted over so she could sit next to me. “I just wanted to check in,” she said.

“I’m not afraid of the storm,” I told her.

“I know.” She leaned back against my headboard. “You’re not really afraid of anything, are you?”

“Only rabid dogs. Or rabid raccoons. Anything rabid, really.”

Mom chuckled. “That’s a perfectly logical fear.”

We were quiet for a while. Random flashes of lightning brightened my room, but the following thunder was softer, more distant.

“Do you think a lot about what we saw in Charleston?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes.” I sat up against my pillow. “I’m not sure what I was supposed to take away from it. I don’t know how to interpret it. And Dad says it was nothing, just a weird natural phenomenon.”

“Is that what you believe?”

The dead girl. The way she spoke and moved, the way the world was darkening around her. It had happened, I knew it. But if I been on the other side, shouldn’t that have changed me in some way? I was exactly the same person. Or was I? I wished there was a test I could take to see if I now possessed the ability to wander across the boundary between the living and the dead. I would talk to my grandmother. I would solve mysterious murders. I would chat with the people whose faces I saw in the pages of my history book. Emily Dickinson could write my English research paper for me. If I had crossed over once, did that mean I could do it again?

“I don’t know what I believe,” I said.

“Well, I was there, and I say that something happened.” Mom patted my knee. “And I think those dreams you had were real, too. I think you did something truly remarkable, Charlotte, I really do.”

She got up from my bed. “Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

I listened to her footsteps as she walked down the stairs. I heard Dad’s voice, asking a question, and Mom’s low reply. Their conversation continued for a while. I couldn’t make out the words, but when their voices got louder, I knew they were having a disagreement. Unable to sleep and wanting to hear what they were arguing about, I got out of bed and crept down the hallway so I could stand at the top of the stairs. I leaned forward, one hand on the banister. I couldn’t see my parents, so I guessed they were in the living room. Their voices carried, and I could hear them clearly.

“How can you possibly rationalize this?” Dad said angrily. “Encouraging her to grab onto a paranormal explanation is destructive.”

“Destructive how?” Mom’s voice was equally angry.

“Karen, we have a duty to examine all rational, natural causes to an event. We can’t have our daughter thinking that she saw ghosts.”

“She can think what she wants to think, Patrick. And so far, I haven’t heard you come up with a single plausible explanation for what happened that involves natural science.”

Dad’s reply was terse. “I’m working on it.”

“Fine. While you’re working on it, Charlotte and I will go with our guts. We saw the lights, and we believe it was something paranormal. Until you prove us wrong, that’s what we’re going with.”

“I want to talk with her.” Dad began walking toward the staircase. I immediately backed away.

“She’s asleep! It can wait,” Mom said.

I tiptoed back to my room. Downstairs, my parents continued to argue, but not quite as loudly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had heard them fight. It had been years. I knew they disagreed about things, but they never fought in front of me or Annalise. It wasn’t like them at all.

Soon, I couldn’t hear their voices any more. I was tired, but I couldn’t fall asleep and I didn’t want to obsess over my parents’ argument. Images of Noah napping in my bed flashed across my mind in the same way the lightning streaked my room. Had he thought about me as he closed his eyes? Probably not.

I had to resign myself to the fact that we weren’t meant to be together and move past my crush. There were lots of available guys at school, and Callie was constantly offering to set me up with someone on the football team. It was time to take her up on the offer, I decided. At lunchtime on Monday, I would ask her to introduce me to someone.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the walls, followed almost immediately by a boom of thunder. The storm raged directly over our house. I snuggled under my comforter and squeezed my eyes shut, then fell asleep fantasizing that Noah was curled up next to me.

Chapter Six

I awoke on Wednesday to a quiet house. My parents had left already for the county morgue, leaving behind a note that they would call before lunch. I was in no rush to get ready for the day, so I poured a bowl of cereal and settled on the dining room couch to watch TV in my pajamas.

Luckily, the previous night’s storm had resulted in only minor damage to our town. A few roads were still closed and some more trees had succumbed to the strong winds, but that was it, and clear weather was in the forecast.

A perky news anchor confirmed that local schools would be back in session on Monday. She talked over a montage of footage showing cars slowly driving through foot-deep water and people struggling to push grocery carts through flooded parking lots. There was also a shot of a long plank of wood leaned against someone’s garage.

“A local man made an odd discovery this morning when he tried to drive to work,” the news anchor said. “When his garage door would not open, Shawn Burton investigated and found the lid of a casket had washed in front of the door, jamming it from the outside.” The camera zoomed in on the splintered wood. “Fortunately, it was determined that the lid is from a very old casket—probably over a hundred years old—and it is not expected that the remains which were once interred inside it will be found.”

Remains that old were probably little more than a few bones and scraps of clothing, I thought. The camera pulled back to reveal a small crowd of people standing across the street from the house, holding umbrellas and pointing. Before the camera panned away, I saw a man in the background. Dressed in a black trench coat, and with his head down, he could have been anyone. But his height and swift strides away from everyone else reminded me of the figure I had glimpsed at the cemetery. I gasped—was it the same guy?

The news went back to showing the anchor, who shuffled a few papers. “Not a great way to begin the morning, though, wouldn’t you agree, Jeff?”

The weatherman smiled. “I prefer a strong cup of coffee over a coffin any day, Diane.”

I ignored Jeff the Weatherman’s amazing wit and turned off the TV. Was it possible that the person I’d seen hiding behind trees at the cemetery was the same man from the news feature? The chances were slim. Many men wore black trench coats. He was probably a concerned neighbor, someone who lived on the street and saw the commotion and walked over to see if he could help.

I got up from the sofa, took my bowl to the kitchen sink, and decided to shower. I stood under the steaming hot water for a while. My thoughts kept returning to the possibility that someone was strangely interested in William’s cemetery. I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this person was hanging around, looking for something. But what?

As I got out of the shower, I heard a noise coming from downstairs. I tied my robe around me, wrapped my dripping wet hair in a towel, and made my way slowly down the steps. Before I reached the foyer, a hard knock on the front door startled me. I made sure my robe was secure before unlocking the door.

“I’ve been standing here forever!”

“Avery?”

“Seriously, I was about to give up.” She eyed my towel. “It’s almost noon.”

I opened the door wider and let her in. “I slept in.”

“Obviously.”

We went to the kitchen, where Avery flung open the refrigerator and surveyed its contents. “I’m starving. We were finally able to get out of the house, so Mom’s at the grocery store. She dropped me off here. I figured you’d have food.” She frowned. “I figured wrong.”

“You’re very cranky when you’re hungry, you know that?”

“Sorry. It’s a combination of hunger and cabin fever.” She closed the fridge and went to the pantry. “I’m so happy to be out of my house, you have no idea. I’ve spent the past four days organizing my mom’s photo albums.” She retrieved a box of macaroni and cheese. “You mind?”

“Help yourself.” I got out a pot and filled it with water. Avery sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her blond hair into a ponytail.

“When will your parents be back?”

I turned on the stove. “Should be soon.”

“I can’t believe they’re hanging out at the morgue.” She shuddered.

“It’s nothing new to them.” I sat across from her while the water heated up. “Most of the remains will be skeletal because they’re so old. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“So how will they identify the people and match them to their graves?”

I explained that they would be examining clothing and any mementos or artifacts left in the caskets, such as letters. They could also use the bones to determine age.

“In the end, they’ll be making an educated guess,” I said. “But the coroner will help them, too.”

The water came to a boil. I dumped the macaroni into the pot and searched our cabinets for a strainer. The phone rang, and Avery answered it while I worked on the pasta.

“Hi, Mrs. Silver! Charlotte’s making me lunch.”

I grabbed milk and butter from the fridge while Avery talked to my mom about flood damage. “It’s not too bad, really. We’ll need to recarpet the living room, but Mom wanted to put in hardwood anyways. Here, I’ll let you talk to Charlotte.” Avery handed me the phone.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, hon. I’m glad you have something for lunch. We’re going to be here longer than expected.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“We’ve made a very unique discovery. I’ll tell you about it later. You okay until dinner?”

“That depends on what you’re bringing home to eat.”

Mom laughed. “How about Giuseppe’s?”

“Perfect. Can Avery eat with us?”

“Of course.” She put her hand over the receiver. I could hear her muffled voice as she spoke to someone. It sounded like she said, “You’re sure about that?” A second later, she was talking to me. “Sorry. Have to go. We’ve found another one.”

“Another what?” I asked, but she had already hung up.

“Everything good?” Avery was stirring the noodles.

“Yeah. They’re bringing home Giuseppe’s pizza for dinner.”

I could practically see her mouth water from across the room. “And yes, you can stay.”

“I’ve been dreaming about that pizza.”

“For now you’ll have to settle for mac and cheese.” I turned off the stove. Avery got out the bowls while I stirred in the neon-orange cheese powder. When everything was ready, we sat down.

“This is so good. I’ve been living on frozen waffles and granola bars.”

After we ate lunch, I got dressed and we settled in to watch one of my favorite old movies, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, which Avery had never seen. Then we described our dream houses, which would of course be on a quiet beach like the one in the film.

“But mine won’t be haunted by a dead sea captain,” I said.

“No, you’ll get a gnarly surfer dude ghost.”

I gave her a playful punch. “Gnarly? Did you really use that word?”

“He’ll wear baggy shorts and nothing else,” Avery gasped between giggles. “And he’ll turn up the radio every time a Beach Boys song comes on.”

“The horror!” We laughed and watched more movies and turned on the stereo as loud as it would go so we could dance on the furniture.

Around five, the phone rang. I was expecting my parents to call, so I went into the living room with a finger pressed against my ear to block out some of the music and answered with a perky, “Silver Family Disco. We shake our butts like we’re nuts.”

“Um. Charlotte?”

I felt a little flash of embarrassment. “Hi, Noah.”

“You okay?”

I was relieved that he couldn’t see me and my lack of dancing skills. “Avery’s here.”

“Right. Say no more. Listen, your folks wanted me to get your pizza order.”

“Oh.” I looked over at Avery, who was dancing on top of the coffee table. “Sure. But why didn’t they call me?”

“Change of plans. My mom and I are bringing the pizzas over. Your parents and Shane will be home soon, but I guess they made some great discovery, so they’re heading back to the morgue after dinner.”

“Do you know what the discovery is?”

“No clue, but they’re giddy about it. So, what do you like on your pizza?”

After consulting with Avery and placing our order, I ran upstairs to change out of my sweaty T-shirt and less-than-flattering sweatpants.

Avery stood in my doorway and smirked. “Any particular reason you’re changing your clothes?”

I dug through a heap of jeans on my floor. “I’m sweaty and gross, that’s why.”

“Right.”

“You can borrow something, if you want,” I offered.

“I’m good, thanks.”

I settled on dark wash jeans and a tight-yet-comfortable T-shirt. A quick spritz of lavender-scented body mist and I was good to go.

My parents arrived before the pizza. Dad immediately went to the computers set up in the living room and began downloading his digital camera. Mom stopped to say hello to Avery. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m afraid I smell like formaldehyde,” she said with a shrug. “It’s an occupational hazard when you spend all day in a morgue.”

“Please change,” I said. “No offense, Mom, but you reek.”

“I’m going to take a quick shower. Dad can fill you in on what we found.”

I was dying to know about their big discovery, but the moment I approached Dad at his computer, I had to cover my nose. “You smell worse than Mom,” I choked.

“Yeah.” He was focused on the thumbnails of over a hundred pictures.

“Dad, please wash up before dinner. No one will be able to eat with that stench in the air.”

“Sure.” But he didn’t take his eyes from the computer.

“Dad.” I pulled on his arm. “Please.”

“Hold on.”

I hated when he became focused like this. Whatever they’d found in the recovered coffins was now more important than personal hygiene or communicating with more than one-syllable words. The doorbell rang and Avery, probably eager to escape the stench of death, rushed to answer it.

“Dad. Trisha and Noah are here with dinner. You have to change your clothes or disinfect or something.”

“Right. I’m going.” He reluctantly left his computer and went upstairs. I made sure he was really gone before walking into the kitchen.

Trisha was standing at the counter, opening the flat pizza boxes. Avery stood next to her, breathing in the hot garlic goodness.

“Does she always sniff her pizza like that?” Noah whispered to me. He was at my side and watching Avery with a confused expression on his face. I felt tingly with him standing so close to me.

“Only when she’s been exposed to formaldehyde,” I whispered back.

Now his confusion was directed at me. I tried to ignore the fact that he looked good. How could he transform a simple blue T-shirt into a statement of casual confidence? He wasn’t allowed to look this perfect. I couldn’t overcome my crush when Noah was sauntering around like a magazine model.

“Where’s Shane?” I asked aloud, hoping it would break the nervous tension that was building in my brain.

“He said he needed to clean up before he came over,” Trisha answered. “I don’t know why. It’s not like this is a fancy dinner.”

“Trust me,” Avery told her. “You’ll be glad he did.”

We went ahead and served ourselves. I was on my second slice of cheese and meatball when Mom emerged, freshly showered and sporting damp hair, into the kitchen.

“That smells like heaven,” she sighed.

Dad was right behind her. His hair was also wet, and I pushed the possibility that they had showered together out of my mind. Although, I reasoned, maybe it was a good sign. Maybe they had gotten over last night’s argument.

Shane showed up, took a seat next to Trisha, and we were finally settled and ready to hear about their amazing find at the morgue.

“Most of the coffins had shattered,” Dad explained in between mouthfuls of pizza. “The wood was so old to begin with that it was mostly decayed even before the storm. We were only able to recover shards.”

“What about the insides?” Avery asked. “You know, the people? What happened to the people?”

“Nothing but a few scraps of cloth and pieces of bone.” Dad wolfed down another slice, but Mom picked up on Avery’s concerned tone of voice.

“There was nothing left that could be identified,” she explained kindly. “We’ve arranged for everything—the wood, the bones—to be cremated. Then we’ll bury a little bit of the ashes at each grave site. We’ll use urns and only bury them where the ground is most stable.”

Avery nodded, satisfied.

“What about the caskets that weren’t destroyed?” Noah asked. “Can you identify the people in those?”

Dad wiped a strand of melted mozzarella from his chin. “The coffins that were totally intact?” He smiled. “That’s where it got interesting.”

Chapter Seven

William was waiting for us at nine sharp the next morning. He waved from his front porch, a thermos of coffee gripped in one hand. Trisha pulled her car into the driveway, gathered her purse and laptop, and turned around in her seat.

“You two ready?”

“I think so,” Noah replied. With my parents and Shane busy at the morgue, Noah and Trisha were helping us out with the project. I was nervous about having Noah around. What if he decided my family was nuts?

Trisha checked her lipstick in the side mirror.

“He’s really nice,” I said. “You’ll do fine.” I opened the door and slid out, not wanting to make William wait any longer. Noah was right behind me, dressed in black rubber boots and an army green rain jacket. The sky above us threatened rain, even though the hyperactive weatherman had assured us a clear day.

We paused to let Trisha take the lead. I knew she was nervous and determined to make a positive first impression.

“Mr. Kitsman!” She stretched out her arm to shake his hand, stumbling a little on the steps. The old man reached down to steady her. “You okay?”

“Oh, yes.” She thrust out her hand again. “I’m Trisha Elliot. Karen Silver spoke with you last night about my being here today?”

“Of course, of course.” William ushered us inside. “I’m very eager to hear about the findings.”

We went into the kitchen and gathered around a small table. William offered us coffee cake, which Noah and I happily accepted. Trisha plugged in her laptop, then thrummed her fingers on the tabletop as the computer warmed up.

I wished she wasn’t so anxious. It was a minor assignment, little more than a favor to my parents, who wanted to spend another entire day at the morgue.

“Mom and Dad wanted to be here today,” I told William. “But there’s not much time to document their findings. They said they’d be here tomorrow, though.”

“That’s fine. Plenty of folks have been in and out the past couple days.”

“Like who?”

Mr. Kitsman sipped from his thermos. “Well, let’s see. There was the geological survey team, for one. And the county sent over some people to take note of the damage. A few reporters…and one real strange fellow.”

Noah glanced at me. I had told him about seeing someone near the cemetery, someone who obviously didn’t want to be noticed. “What did he look like?”

“Young. Wore a trench coat. He was hanging around near the back of the property.” Mr. Kitsman looked out the back windows, where there was a clear view of the crumbling stone steps that led up the hill and to the cemetery. “I think he’s the same young man who was driving by every so often. When I asked him who he was, he mumbled something and took off through the woods.” He shrugged. “He’s trespassin’ but I didn’t think I could chase after him. Doubt he’ll be back, though. Once you confront someone, they don’t want to be seen again.”

Noah and I shared a knowing glance. Trisha looked up, smiled, and turned her laptop towards Mr. Kitsman.

“Here’s what we’ve found.” She explained the situation and the plan to bury the ashes at the oldest grave markers.

“Sounds fine.” Mr. Kitsman set down his thermos. “It’s unfortunate they couldn’t be saved, but as long as we bury something, I think it should be enough.”

We nodded our agreement. It was the best we could do.

Mr. Kitsman addressed Trisha. “So what’s this big discovery?”

She opened a file on the computer. “This.”

He squinted at the screen. “Looks like regular coffins. Old, but nothing unusual.”

“They’re lead.”

“Lead?” He stared at the digital photos my parents had taken. “Well. Isn’t that something.”

From his reaction, I could tell Mr. Kitsman knew a little about the significance of lead coffins, but probably not much. Definitely not as much as Dad, who had prepared several lectures over the years about this very subject, talks I had heard dozens of times, including once last night, when Dad slipped into lecture mode in order to illuminate Noah, Trisha and Avery after dinner.

“Lead coffins are rare,” Trisha said, echoing Dad’s bullet points. “They’re usually found in Europe because royalty were buried in them. They preserve the body longer than wood.”

“Royalty,” Mr. Kitsman repeated.

“Not that we think these coffins hold royalty,” Trisha said quickly. “But we also don’t think the names on the tombstones represent the people inside the lead coffins.”

“Why’s that?”

This was the part that had confused me, as well. Lead coffins were rare, in part, because they were incredibly expensive. Even now. But over a hundred years ago? It would have been an impossible sum of money for the average family. Only people of great wealth and stature could have afforded them, the same kind of people who would have paid for burial in a prominent location with a huge, towering tombstone or elaborate family crypt. Having them in the humble little graveyard behind Mr. Kitsman’s house did not make sense, and the simple names carved into the stones did not indicate a family of prominence, despite the fact that they had owned so much land.

Mr. Kitsman frowned. “I know that most of the folks buried here are family. Of course the names are right.”

“How do you know for sure that these are your ancestors?” Trisha asked.

She was treading on delicate ground. You didn’t walk into someone’s house and announce that things they believed to be true were not. I felt a stab of anxiety and hoped we hadn’t offended William. When he stood and pushed his chair back, I wasn’t sure what to do, what words I could offer that would smooth things over.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

Trisha was upset. “I blew it, didn’t I? You dad said to be careful about how I approached this and I ruined everything.”

“We can fix this,” Noah assured her. He looked at me. “Right?”

“Yes.” I had no idea how, but there had to be a way to assure William that everything was fine. Otherwise, we faced the real possibility of being kicked out of his house—and the restoration project.

Down the hallway, drawers opened and papers were shuffled. When William returned to the kitchen, he was holding a massive photo album. “Found it.” He set the album onto the table gingerly and opened it, then slowly turned the thick pages. Noah and I scooted closer so we could see the book. It held not only black-and-white pictures, but newspaper clippings, as well. Images of serious-looking people dressed in formal clothing shared pages with wedding announcements and obituaries.

“Here’s one.” William pointed to an obituary. “This was for my great-great-grandfather. See here, at the bottom. Says he was buried on the family property.”

Trisha nodded. “That’s one confirmed, then. What about the others?”

William smiled. “Looks like we need to do a little research.” He patted the book. “And this is the best place to start.”

It was fascinating to pore through the album with William. This was his personal history, organized with meticulous care. He explained that his grandmother had started the book and passed the duty down to his mother. “And now it’s mine, but I haven’t had much to add. Military records, a few pictures of my grandchildren.”

The pictures were amazing. A woman dressed in a black, knee-length bathing dress stood on a beach. “Reminds me of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” I murmured.

William smiled. “I like that movie, too.”

A young man waved from the driver’s side of a car I had seen only in museums. Small children sat in their mothers’ laps. Couples posed in front of churches on their wedding day. I could have spent hours examining the photographs, but it was the obituaries that contained the most useful information. They were much more detailed accounts of an individual’s life than the obits I’d read in recent newspapers. And they confirmed what William believed: his family was buried in the cemetery on his property.

I read aloud from an obituary dated June 24, 1929. “He will be laid to rest next to his beloved wife on the family plot, where he will join his father, mother, sister, and grandparents.”

“The names match the graves,” William said, satisfied. “I didn’t know they were buried in lead coffins, but it’s them.”

I believed him. “So the real question is, why?”

“Don’t know,” William admitted. “They weren’t rich, I can tell you that. Weren’t royal, either.”

“Does it matter?” Noah asked. “I mean, it’s unusual, but it’s not crazy. The important thing is that we rebury this family and make sure we do it right.”

Trisha beamed at her son. “Absolutely.”

I agreed, but not completely. Yes, we needed to see our job through to completion, but Noah and Trisha really had no idea how strange this was. It wasn’t simply unusual—it was so rare that it could be considered an archeological discovery. Something didn’t add up.

We thanked William for his time and hospitality, then asked his permission to visit the cemetery again. Dad wanted footage taken in better light, and the weather was cooperating. I wanted to inspect the area for myself. Would there be traces of the mysterious presence I had glimpsed earlier?

The geological team had been busy. The chunk of hill that had washed away during the worst of the storm had been bulldozed into a heap, and the sections considered dangerous were carefully marked with stakes and red plastic strips. Recently recovered gravestones had been relocated to safer spots of land.

“We should zoom in on those,” I said, pointing to the stones on the far side of the cemetery.” I don’t think I got footage of them on our first visit.”

“I’m on it,” Noah said.

While he took one camera, I grabbed another. I wanted to get some nice, slow shots of the entire area.

“Can I help?” Trisha smiled. “After almost ruining everything, I want to feel useful.”

“Sure.” I handed her the camera. “But you didn’t almost ruin anything. You did great.” I gave her instructions about what Dad wanted. It was perfect—while Trisha and Noah were busy, I would be able to scour the ground for signs of someone. Although, I soon realized that would be nearly impossible. So many people had been through the area. How was I supposed to know if the shoe prints embedded in the mud belonged to a member of the survey team or a potential weirdo?

I gave up after a few minutes and decided to join Noah. I was interested in seeing the recovered gravestones. How old were they? What names were inscribed on them? Now that I’d seen some of William’s photographs, I could picture the faces of his family.

Noah turned off his camera as I approached. “I got a good minute of each one,” he told me. “Might be overkill.” He looked around. “Lead coffins are heavy, right?”

“Yes. Very.” I squatted down to look at the stones. A few were the tall, thin kind, but most were chunky squares.

“So how could they wash away? I understand the wooden ones were light and fragile, but lead? How is that possible?”

I showed him where the hill had broken off. “The coffins fell away. They didn’t float as far as the wooden ones--in fact, most were found right at the bottom of all that mud.”

Noah nodded. “Got it. Something about this whole thing is weird, though, right?”

“Yep.” I returned to examining the tombstones.

“I thought this one was interesting.” Noah pointed to a stone in the middle. It read, simply, Daughter. Beneath it was a year: 1888.

“A baby,” I murmured. “William didn’t mention a baby was buried here.”

It always made me a little sad to see the gravestones of children. I wondered at the weight of the grief those stones represented. If the living could leave a piece of themselves behind through intense emotions, every single grave of a child was loaded with residual energy.

Across the yard, Trisha’s cell phone rang. A moment later, she was at our sides. “That was Shane,” she said. “I guess they’ve made another amazing discovery. We need to go.”

Noah and I began following her across the muddy land. “So we’re going home?” I asked.

“No.” She stepped around a large puddle. “They need us at the morgue.”

Chapter Eight

Most people can count on one hand the number of times they’ve visited a morgue. I can’t, not even with both hands and both feet and whatever else people use to count things. I stopped keeping track after I hit the double digits.

To be fair, the majority of those morgues had long been empty. They were usually located in the bowels of a deserted hospital and the room held few reminders of what its purpose once was. This would be different. This was an actual working morgue, occupied by coroners and the recently deceased.

And also the not-so-recently deceased.

“I really don’t want to be here,” I muttered to Noah. We were walking down the long white corridor that led to the morgue. Shane had met us at the entrance, and now he and Trisha were absorbed in conversation in front of us.

“I’m not too thrilled, either,” Noah said. “Why couldn’t we have been dropped off at your house?”

“Because my parents found something and they want me to see it. I think it’s their way of trying to include me in the family business.”

As we got closer to the double doors at the end of the corridor, I could hear the distinctively horrifying sound of a saw. I stopped. “No way. I’m not walking in on an autopsy.”

Shane turned around. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “Trust me. None of this is what you think.”

I wouldn’t budge. “Cryptic messages will not get me to move from this spot.”

“It’s okay, Charlotte.” Shane motioned towards the doors. “This is the area they’re letting us use. There’s no bodies there.”

“Really?”

“There are some bones, of course.”

I could handle bones. I’d seen those before. “Okay. I’ll go. Noah?”

“Yeah. I’m in.”

Shane pushed open the doors. The smell was the first thing I noticed. It hit me hard, a hurricane-force wind of the sour odor of embalming fluid. I knew it would be stuck in my nose for weeks. Mom and Dad were standing over a table. A slender lead coffin sat on it. They both wore white lab coats and little white nose masks. Dad held a saw in his hands. Before he could start cutting, Shane announced that we had arrived.

“Good!” Dad pulled the mask from his face and set down the saw.

“What are you doing?” I asked, unwilling to move from the door. I recognized the silver doors of walk-in refrigerators used to store bodies, and the rolling exam tables which were slightly tilted so that fluids could be drained. Against one was a row of white cabinets and counters that looked like they belonged inside a modest kitchen. But the countertops were covered with dozens of pairs of scissors, rolls of gauze, and shallow plastic trays. It was a working morgue, and I doubted Shane’s assurance that it was not currently in use.

“We are discovering the truth,” Dad proclaimed. He seemed genuinely excited. Mom read the apprehension on my face.

“We’re the only ones using this room,” she said. “They have another room next door they’re using for bodies. We can have this space for one more day.”

“I think we’ll need more time than that.” Shane was slipping his arms into a lab coat. So was Trisha. Noah and I hung back.

“Why are you cutting into that coffin?” I asked. It was smaller than I had envisioned, and was the same color as cement.

Shane was positioning a camera over the box. Dad beamed. “This is better than a museum. It’s a hands-on learning experience! Come on over.”

I glanced at Noah, hoping he would give me a signal to stay next to him. But he walked forward, ready to see the great new discovery. I followed and wished that we could just get it over with and go home. This entire project was not turning out the way I wanted. If I had been searching for some kind of closure to my experiences in Charleston, I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to find it on the morgue’s exam table. I would have to call Annalise later and complain. She was the one who had convinced me I needed to do this.

I stood around the exam table with the others and peered into the coffin. To my relief, it was empty.

“We placed the remains over there,” Mom said. I looked over to a table, where white towels had been bundled around the bodies. From the size of the towels, there hadn’t been much.

“These aren’t lead coffins,” Dad said. “I mean, they are, but they are also much more than that.”

I was done with the drama. “Can you just tell us what’s going on?”

“Of course.” Dad positioned the surgical lights so that they shone on the side of the coffin. “I thought it was strange that a lead coffin could be washed away. Granted, the hill broke apart, but still, we found some of the coffins much farther than I would have thought possible. That’s when I realized they weren’t made entirely of lead.”

He nodded at Shane, who directed the camera at the side of the coffin. Dad started up the saw and sliced through a piece of the bottom side of the casket. It shouldn’t have been so easy for him to saw through, I thought, but he was cutting through, creating a chalky dust. I pulled the top of my shirt up to my nose so I wouldn’t breathe it in.

Dad turned off the saw. “That should do it.” He reached a gloved hand into the hole he had made. His eyes widened as he grabbed onto something and began to pull it out. “Just as I thought!” He withdrew his hand, but it was empty. “This is more than a coffin. It’s a treasure chest.”

Mom pointed a small flashlight into the crevice. “There’s something in there.”

“It’s stuck,” Dad said. “We’ll insert a camera, see if we can get an idea of what we’re dealing with.” He turned to me and Noah. “There’s a hidden drawer. That’s why it was so light—most of it was hollow.”

There was nothing particularly interesting about the coffin. It was a gray box. The only thing difference between it and a regular coffin was the fact that it was smaller.

“A hidden drawer? Why would someone do that?” Noah asked.

Dad grinned. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out.”

The double doors of the morgue swung open. A man wearing a lab coat walked in. I could tell immediately that he wasn’t happy.

“Bad news, Patrick.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“They’re already on their way. The team should arrive in a few hours.”

Dad’s shoulders sank. Shane pulled me and Noah aside to explain what was happening. “Some museum heard about this. They say we don’t have any authority to be here, and they have clearance from the state to conduct the investigation because of the historical interest.”

“Well, they’re right, aren’t they?” I said. “We don’t really belong here.”

Shane shrugged. “We offered to work with them, but they want us out completely. It’s not exactly fair. We’ve done so much work already, but they’ll get all the credit for it.”

Mom came over to us. “Charlotte, I need you to go back to Mr. Kitsman’s house. See if anyone from the museum is there, and ask him if he’ll request to keep us involved. Will you do that?”

“Sure.” While the project wasn’t something I was thrilled about, it was important to my parents, and the fact that they were trusting me to help in this way was a high compliment.

“Can I help?” Noah asked.

“Yes, you can go with Charlotte.” Mom looked toward the tables. “The rest of us need to stay here. We don’t have much time.”

“Um, Mom? I need keys to your car.”

“Take the van. Shane has the keys.”

She walked away before I could protest. I hated the van. It was a huge, bulky black box with the word Doubt painted in silver across the side. I didn’t like to be seen near it, much less behind the wheel.

“Wonderful,” I muttered to Noah. We escaped the confines of the morgue and walked to the parking lot. It didn’t take long to spot the van.

“You remember how to get there?” Noah asked as he buckled up.

“Yeah. Help me back this thing out,” I said.

He checked his mirror. “Looks good.”

I was always anxious when I had to drive backward in the van. I had no visibility. And forget parallel parking. If I couldn’t drive directly into a space, then I kept looking. Fortunately, I had limited experience driving the thing, and it was usually over short distances, like one end of a parking lot to the other.

As I drove back to William’s house, I told Noah what we had to do. “We need to emphasize how much this means to my parents and how their work shouldn’t be tossed aside.”

“Agreed. But does William have any say over it?”

I checked my blind spot and merged onto the back roads that would take us to William’s. “He should. It’s his property and his family.”

Driving in the van with Noah as my passenger, it almost felt like we were a couple. An old, married couple. It wasn’t even remotely romantic, and I couldn’t help sighing.

When we arrived at the house I realized it was almost two in the afternoon and the only thing I’d had to eat all day was a slice of coffee cake. “Think he’ll feed us again?” I asked Noah.

“I hope so. That was good coffee cake.”

I climbed the porch and rang the doorbell. Noah and I waited, then rang again.

“Maybe he’s not home,” Noah said.

“Maybe. We’ll try the back door.”

We walked around to the back of the house. I peered into the window of the kitchen door. The half-eaten coffee cake still sat on the table. William’s thermos was next to it. “Let’s go up to the cemetery,” I said. Something bothered me about seeing the cake and thermos on the table, but I didn’t know what, exactly.

When we reached the top of the hill, two things grabbed my attention. William was lying facedown in the middle of the cemetery. And squatting by his side was a man wearing a long black trench coat.

“Hey!” Noah yelled. He ran forward. The man in the trench coat immediately sprinted away, towards the woods. I saw William’s hand twitch, so I hurried over to him as Noah raced after the guy.

“It’s okay,” I said to William. I wasn’t sure if I should try to roll him over, but I didn’t know how well he could breathe with his face squashed to the ground, so I carefully pulled him toward me. He was heavy, and I wasn’t having much luck. When I heard him moan softly, I yelled to Noah.

“I need help!”

Noah was almost to the woods, but he looked at me, probably decided the trench coat guy was too far ahead to catch, and ran back. “Help me roll him over,” I said. After we had William on his back, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911, my hands shaking.

Noah pressed two fingers against William’s neck. “There’s a pulse.”

I felt mild relief but wondered what had happened and how long it would take the ambulance to reach us. “Did you see him?” I asked. “Did you get a good look at the guy?”

“I got a good look at the back of him, but not his face. You?”

“Only a glance.” I cradled William’s head in my lap. “Mr. Kitsman? Can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered. I held his hand and squeezed. He tried to squeeze back, but I barely felt it.

Noah stood and paced, his eyes scanning the woods. “Who was that guy?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, but I knew he was the same figure I’d seen on our first visit to the cemetery, the same guy I’d spotted in the news segment. William began to mumble. I leaned in closer, tucking my hair behind my ear so it didn’t fall into his face. He whispered something, but I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

“Say that again.”

An ambulance wailed in the distance. William whispered again. It was a single word, one I’d heard a thousand times while helping Dad with his presentations, but it made no sense coming from the injured man on the ground. He was confused, I thought. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He said it again, slightly louder this time, and I knew I’d heard right. The sound of the ambulance siren was getting closer. I looked toward the woods, William’s single word sparking fear inside me. If the word was real, we needed more help than the paramedics could give us.

Chapter Nine

“Tell me about ghouls,” I said to Dad.

He didn’t look up from his computer. “You know about ghouls. You’ve been to my lectures.”

I sat down in a chair across from him. “Pretend that I haven’t been hanging on your every word. Pretend I need a refresher course.”

Dad sighed and swiveled his chair to face me. “Are you saying that you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said all these years?”

“I’ve listened! I just can’t remember every single detail about every single lecture.”

“Right.” Dad shook his head. “Why do you need to know about ghouls?”

“Because of what happened yesterday.”

After William was loaded onto a stretcher, Noah and I had followed the ambulance. While doctors were examining William, Noah and I went to the hospital cafeteria for a quick lunch of lukewarm hamburgers and green gelatin. Shane and Trisha met us there. We tried to get updates from the nurses, but we weren’t family, and all they would tell us was that William was stable. A few hours later, we went back to my house. I felt defeated and confused. What had happened in the cemetery? And why had William repeatedly whispered the word ghoul?

Dad folded his hands. “I know that what happened yesterday was difficult for you. I’m proud of the way you handled it.”

I told the police about the guy and how I thought I’d seen him in a news segment. They were going to the TV station to review the footage.

“Have you heard from Mom yet?” She had gone to the hospital earlier that morning to check on William. The museum team had arrived at the morgue the day before, and for the moment, they weren’t allowing access to my parents.

“Not yet, but she’ll call as soon as there’s news.” He turned back to the computer. “I can pull up a lecture here,” he murmured. “Do you want the entire history of the term, or more recent stories?”

“I’ll take anything you’ve got.”

I soon regretted my words. What Dad had was extensive notes on the history of ghouls, beginning with the first mention of them in Arabic texts. He discussed translations and stories and stuff I could barely follow. My head was spinning.

“So, we’re basically talking about a monster that hangs out in cemeteries and eats flesh, right?”

Dad looked disappointed. “That’s a simplistic way of looking at it.”

But that’s the way I liked things: simple. I didn’t really believe that the guy who attacked William was a real, mythological ghoul, but William had used the term and I needed to know why.

I read through more of Dad’s notes while he made lunch. There were stories going back hundreds of years, all claiming that a ghoul had been spotted in graveyards where bodies had been disturbed. Witnesses claimed that these zombielike monsters were fast and ugly and could be scared off with a crucifix. Dad’s notes also mentioned a logical explanation for the discovery of ripped flesh: wild animals dug up bodies that had not been properly buried.

Dad came back into the room munching on a sandwich. “These things sound like a combination of zombie, werewolf and vampire,” I said. “People thought they could turn into huge hyenas, that they drank blood and that they were undead. It’s like a crazy combination of horror movies.”

“Not quite as romantic, though.” Dad sat back down in front of the computer. “The one common thread with most monster lore is the desecration of cemeteries. It’s an occurrence throughout history, and people needed to find a nonhuman cause for it.”

“Why?”

“Because no one wanted to believe that a fellow human could do such a thing.”

The kitchen phone rang and I got up to answer it. It was Mom.

“They’re keeping William for one more day, just for observation,” she said. I could hear the noise of the hospital in the background, people talking and machines beeping.

“Is he conscious?” I asked. “Has he said what happened?”

“Yes and no. He’s awake, but he can’t remember what happened. He has a concussion and they’re still running tests. Right now, the doctors think he suffered a mild stroke and fell.”

“So the doctors are talking to you?”

Mom chuckled and lowered her voice. “They think they’re talking to his niece.” She cleared her throat. “I’m trying to locate his family members, but I don’t think he has any. None that he can remember at the moment. Tell Dad I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Sure. Give William my best, okay?”

I updated Dad, then called Noah to fill him in. He sounded relieved.

“Are you going over to William’s house tomorrow?”

“Yes. Mom thinks he’ll need help, you know, with dinner and stuff.”

“Right. Well, count me in.” He paused. “Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

I had forgotten. And with our street still covered with several inches of water, I felt relieved—no curious fans would be stopping by. We usually went out on Halloween night and kept the house dark.

“Halloween brings out the crazies, doesn’t it?” Noah continued.

“Sure.” I wasn’t sure where he was heading with this.

“What if this guy comes back tomorrow night? To William’s, I mean.”

“I’m sure the police will check it out.”

“Not all night. They have other problems to deal with.”

He was right. And if this guy was hiding out in the woods—which the police had checked but hadn’t been able to cover completely—and knew William had returned home, then what? Would he break in? “I’ll talk to my dad,” I said. “He’ll probably stay the night.”

“Good. That makes me feel better.”

I was touched by Noah’s concern for a man he barely knew. “Can I ask why this matters so much to you?”

“I don’t know.” Noah cleared his throat. “He reminds me of my grandpa, I guess. And he’s alone, and I can’t stand the idea that someone preyed on a nice old guy like that.”

“Yeah.” I hated seeing William on the stretcher. He had looked so frail.

After I hung up with Noah, I called Avery. She knew about the attack and was happy to get the update. She was also happy about something else.

“Jared and I won our movie trivia game and it’s thanks to you.”

“Me?”

“Guess what movie was our final question? The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. And I nailed it.”

I laughed. “Congratulations. What’d you win?”

“Bragging rights. And a certificate that I printed out. And, you know, time with Jared.”

“So things are getting intense with you two?”

I could practically feel her blush through the phone line. “Not exactly. I’m not looking for a romantic relationship, but Jared and I have a bond. I want us to be close.”

“How close?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about yet. I need more time.”

We talked about our Halloween plans. Or lack of them. Avery wasn’t planning on doing anything. The storm had pretty much ruined any potential parties.

When I hung up, Dad was still at his computer, staring intently at a digital photo of a sword.

“Research?” I asked.

“Not quite.”

I sat down and looked more closely at the image. It had a long, silver blade and a brass handle. “Looks like something from the Civil War.”

“I agree. I think this is a cavalry sword from 1864.”

“Cool. Why are you looking at it, though?”

“Because this is what they pulled out of the first coffin.”

Chapter Ten

I spent Halloween morning planning a funeral with Avery.

“What do you think about white lilies?” she asked me.

“Reminds me of Easter,” I decided. “Let’s get something seasonal.”

She frowned at the florist’s website. “Our options are limited. Unless you want to go with carnations.”

I sighed. “No. You’re right. Lilies would be appropriate.”

Although really, how was I supposed to know what was appropriate for this kind of thing? We were arranging a funeral ceremony for people who had been dead for over a century.

While Avery perused the flower selections, I pushed back the living room curtain to look outside. It was gray and windy, which somehow made sense. Halloween weather should be slightly creepy. Mom had already left for the hospital to pick up William and Dad was at the funeral home to collect the cremated ashes of William’s ancestors so we could bury them.

It had been Trisha’s idea to hold a small ceremony at the cemetery, so I wasn’t sure how most of the planning had been thrown at me. But William had liked the idea, so we were doing it.

“What day do we need these by?” Avery asked.

“The ceremony is next Saturday morning. So maybe they should be delivered Friday?”

Mom didn’t think William would be well enough before then. He was still weak and couldn’t remember what had happened to him. I was surprised that he was being released from the hospital so soon, but Mom said it was an insurance thing. She wasn’t happy about it, and had decided to hire a nurse to check in on William for a few hours every day.

“Okay.” Avery typed at the computer. “I think this should do it. Do you have the credit card?”

I looked at the arrangements Avery had selected. Simple white lilies and a few cream-colored roses would adorn the gravestones. “Looks good. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. What else needs to get done?”

I plugged in Dad’s credit card info and completed the order. “We’re supposed to order some food.”

Avery nodded. “This might sound bad, but this reminds me of planning a dance. The food, the flowers. We don’t need to find a DJ, do we?”

“Sort of.”

She looked surprised. “Seriously?”

“My dad wants to track down a Civil War group, see if they can send some people to play music.”

“This could get expensive.”

I shrugged. “Mom says they have a special account for stuff like this.”

“A funeral account?” Avery wrinkled her nose.

“Not exactly. They keep their book money separate from their DVD money. We use the book money for travel expenses, but since we’re not planning a big trip this year, my parents are using those funds for William.”

“But they hardly know him,” she pointed out.

“True. But we can use the footage from his property for a future DVD, so we owe him, really.”

The items being retrieved from the lead coffins were all from the Civil War, a fact Dad wasn’t really supposed to know. The museum group was carefully guarding their newfound treasures, but Dad’s friend at the morgue was sneaking in after everyone left to take pictures. So far, half a dozen swords, a few guns and a bugle had been discovered. There were still three remaining coffins to examine, including a tiny one. I guessed it belonged to the gravestone Noah had pointed out to me, the one that simply read Daughter.

I didn’t understand why the rare items had been hidden inside the coffins to begin with. Neither did my parents. Shane and Trisha were investigating the names on the gravestones at the local historical society. Now that we had been kicked out of the morgue and off the project, we had a new plan: uncover vital information before the museum team did. They might have the artifacts, but we could at least understand what they meant.

Avery and I ordered deli trays and fruit platters from a local caterer. Before we could move on to finding the Civil War band my dad wanted, he called. He was going to be at the funeral home for longer than he had anticipated and wanted to know if Avery could drive me to William’s house. “Your mom could use some help, I think.”

I told him it wouldn’t be a problem. I was eager to see William. I wanted to erase the image of him lying on a stretcher from my mind. I also wanted to find out if he remembered anything else about the attack.

“Noah thinks the guy who hurt William might come back tonight,” I told Avery as she drove us out of town.

“I thought about that, too. The police will be busy with Halloween.” She turned down the country road that led to William’s house. “And this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

“I wonder what he wants.”

“The attacker? Who knows.”

It all came back to the coffins. It had to. “This guy showed up after the storm, right? So maybe he knew what was hidden in the caskets. Maybe he’s been waiting for the right time to steal everything.”

“Makes sense.” Avery slowed down as we approached a dip in the road. “But how did this guy know anything was inside those coffins? Besides bodies, I mean? No one knew.”

That was true. I cringed at the thought that it was the actual bodies he was after. A modern-day ghoul roaming around town was a disgusting thought. A ghoul on Halloween was worse. Dad had thoroughly questioned me the night before about my belief in the creatures, concerned that I was taking them too seriously. I assured him I wasn’t, which led to a speech about how I shouldn’t dwell on the events in Charleston.

“I’ll figure this out and you’ll see,” he promised. “There’s a natural explanation.”

“Sure,” I said. But I knew Dad’s theories would never be strong enough to change my mind. I had glimpsed the paranormal.

We arrived at William’s house. Mom led us inside to the kitchen, where I was surprised to see Noah. “Hi,” I sputtered, suddenly overcome by a flutter of happy nervousness.

“William’s napping right now,” Mom explained. “We’re making him lunch.”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” Noah said. He smiled at Avery. “You here to help?”

Avery walked over to the stove and picked up a spatula. “Grilled cheese is my specialty.”

“I know how to stir soup,” I offered. Seeing Noah making lunch was oddly unsettling. I hadn’t expected him to already be here.

“We’ve got it covered. Maybe you could find some plates and bowls?”

I dug through the cabinets until I located the plates and bowls. They looked dusty, so I took them to the sink for a quick wash. Avery and Noah chatted about school and Mom went outside. As I washed the dishes, I looked out the little window over the sink. I could see the hill and a few gravestones. I also saw people.

“Who’s out there?”

Noah came up behind me. “Oh yeah. The museum people. They’ve been here for hours.”

“Really?” I craned my neck to get a better look, but the hill blocked most of the action. “How long have you been here?”

“Mom and Shane dropped me off an hour ago. William was asking for you.”

I turned around. “He was?”

“Yeah. He really wanted to see you.”

“Huh.” I wondered if he had remembered something about the attack. I looked out the window again. This time, I saw Mom walking away from the cemetery. A minute later, she walked in through the kitchen door, her cell phone pressed against her ear.

“I can meet you in twenty minutes,” she said. “Right. Sounds good. See you then.” She shut her phone. “Good news and bad.”

The good news was that the museum team was open to allowing our family into the morgue, but only for a few hours. The bad news was that she had to go now. Dad, Shane and Trisha would meet her there.

“I hate to leave like this,” she said.

“We’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We can sit with William and give him lunch and everything.” Noah and Avery agreed.

“Okay, well, I’ll try to be back before dinner. And Shane said he’d spend the night tonight.”

I was glad to hear it. Mom left, and I saw a few more cars follow. Avery and Noah finished making lunch just as William woke up.

“Why don’t you take it to him?” Noah said. “It’ll give you a chance to talk.”

Avery ladled the soup into a bowl and arranged triangles of grilled cheese on a plate. “And Noah said he’d go out to the cemetery with me.” She carefully handed me the tray. “I want to see the place that’s causing such a commotion around here.”

William’s room looked like how I might have imagined it would. Brown plaid wallpaper covered the walls. A double bed sat in the middle of the room, and a tall wooden dresser was pushed against the wall. William was sitting up in his bed, dressed in pale blue pajamas.

“Charlotte.” His voice was soft.

“I brought you some lunch.” I felt awkward holding the tray. “Are you hungry?”

“Not at the moment. I could use some water, though.”

I set the tray on his nightstand and handed him the glass of water I’d brought with me. His hands shook slightly as he sipped from the cup. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I waited until he finished his drink. “Noah said you wanted to see me.”

He set the glass back on the tray. “Yes. I wanted to thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” I looked around for a place to sit. There was a wicker chair near the closet, so I pulled it over to the side of the bed. “Do you remember anything about the attack?”

William sighed. “I remember seeing someone in the cemetery. I remember walking up the hill to talk to him.”

“And then?” I wasn’t trying to push him too hard, but I did want some answers.

“And then I was on the ground.” He furrowed his brow. “And the young man said something to me. Something strange.”

His eyes seemed to be looking at something else, something in the past. “He apologized. He said he couldn’t help what he was.”

I waited, not wanting to say the wrong thing. William coughed. “He said he was sorry. And then he told me that he was a monster. He said he was a ghoul.”

“What do you think he meant by that?”

“I don’t know.” William closed his eyes. “It scared me, though. My grandfather used to tell me stories about the strange people who would visit our cemetery. He called them ghouls. He said it was our job to guard the land.”

Even though he had just taken a nap, William seemed drained. His breathing slowed and he kept his eyes closed. I wanted to leave him alone so he could get some rest, but I didn’t know when I would have another chance to talk with him about what had happened.

“This guy said he was a ghoul after he attacked you?” I tried to keep my voice soft and calm so it wouldn’t feel like I was interrogating him.

“I can’t remember.” William opened his eyes. “He was standing over me, apologizing. And then you and your friend were there. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

“Oh.” I could tell William was tired of talking, so I promised to check on him in a little while and left him to rest. I didn’t understand why a self-proclaimed ghoul was hanging around William’s property, but neither did William.

Noah and Avery were sitting in the living room when I emerged from William’s room. “Look what’s on!” Avery pointed to the TV. My mother’s face appeared on the screen. I’d forgotten that one of the cable channels was airing a Silver Spirits marathon all day in honor of Halloween.

“I hope I’m not in any of these episodes,” I groaned. I flopped down on the sofa next to Noah. On the TV, my father appeared holding an EMF reader. He looked younger. “It’s an old one,” I said, feeling relieved. I knew I wouldn’t be in it.

“This is so cool,” Avery said. “I’ve never watched a show and known everyone on it.” She looked at Noah. “Isn’t this cool?”

He just nodded in response, and I wished I could tell if that was good or bad. “So how’s William doing?” he asked me.

“Okay, I guess. He seems tired.”

“Do you think it would be okay if I invited Jared over?” Avery asked. “He would love this.”

“I think so,” I said.

She stopped with her hand on the phone. “I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? But hey, if we’re going to be here for a while, let’s have fun.”

“Tell him to bring snacks,” Noah said. While Avery called Jared, he leaned in toward me.

“I checked out the kitchen. Unless you want to eat dried prunes and saltines, we’re going to need reinforcements.”

I laughed. “Fine. But we’re here for William first, and having fun second.”

“Agreed.” Noah got up. “I want to keep an eye on the cemetery. Jared and I can make rounds once an hour.”

We both went over to the kitchen window. “I hope he doesn’t come back,” I murmured. What kind of person calls themselves a ghoul? He had to be mentally unstable.

Noah stared out at the hill. “If he does come back, he’s in trouble.” He touched my shoulder. “I’m ready for him.”

Chapter Eleven

I was impressed with Jared’s pumpkin-carving skills. “That’s not a jack-o-lantern,” I told him. “It’s art.”

He eyed his work, a striking image of a raven perched on a tree branch. “Needs a little more off the side.”

I was glad he’d come over to William’s house. And I really appreciated the grocery bag full of snacks he’d brought with him, as well as the plump pumpkin. “It’s not Halloween without one,” he’d declared. Avery spread out newspapers on the kitchen table. Noah found a sharp knife, and Jared went to work while the rest of us gathered in the living room. Avery had insisted on watching the Silver Spirits marathon, despite my halfhearted protest.

“I’ve never seen an entire episode,” she explained. “And how cool is this?”

We were four episodes into the marathon when Mom finally called to check in. “We’re about to open the last coffin,” she said. I could hear the excitement in her voice. “So far, we’ve uncovered so many artifacts! It’s really amazing. And the museum team is allowing us to stay for the final coffin, so we may be awhile. Everything okay there?”

I looked over my shoulder. Avery and Jared were sitting on the sofa together, sharing a bowl full of jalapeño chips. Noah was lying on the floor with his elbows propped up. His comment about being ready if the attacker came back was still lingering in my mind. I felt safe with him around.

“Yeah, things are good. William’s been sleeping a lot, but he ate some lunch an hour ago.”

“The doctors said he should take it easy. Rest is what he needs.”

Mom said she’d call back later and we hung up. The episode came to an end, which automatically prompted Jared and Noah to get up. They were making rounds in the cemetery at the end of each hour.

“It’ll be dark soon,” I said as I sat next to Avery.

“We can light the jack-o-lantern for trick-or-treaters.”

“Do you really think we’ll get any tonight? The nearest house is two miles from here.”

“No.” Avery dug into the bowl of chips. “But I really want to see Jared’s pumpkin lit. It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s beyond good. It’s great.”

“He’s so artistic.” Avery examined a chip, then let it fall back into the bowl. “I’m not trying to be self-absorbed, I swear. But I worry about what people will think. About me getting closer with Jared, I mean.”

I thought about my response. Avery had loved Jared’s best friend. Adam had died, and now she was taking those first careful steps toward a new life. A life that included Jared. I knew that might fuel rumors. I understood her concern: would people think she hadn’t loved Adam because she had moved on with Jared? I knew Avery. I knew how much she had struggled, and I had no doubt that if she felt a connection with Jared, then that connection was real. I knew all of that. I also knew that people on the outside might not see it that way, so I understood what she was really asking me. She wanted to know if people would perceive any type of relationship with Jared as wrong.

“He’s a really nice guy,” I said. “And if he makes you happy, then I think that’s great.”

“Yeah.” Avery poked at the bowl of chips. “I don’t know. It’s too soon.”

I didn’t disagree with her. Adam had been killed less than a year before. I understood that Avery felt a certain loneliness, but I also understood that she needed time. Thanks to my parents’ career, I’d been around enough grieving people to know that everyone needed time, and the people who moved on too fast ended up regretting it. I didn’t want to push Avery in either direction. I wanted her to realize what she needed to do on her own, but no matter what she decided, I would be there for her. I could do at least that much for my best friend.

The guys returned from their hourly inspection of the cemetery. “All clear,” Noah announced.

Jared immediately sat next to Avery on the sofa. Noah plopped down on the floor, and I got up to give William his medication. As I tipped the brown bottle into my palm and counted two pills, I glanced out the window. The sun was setting, casting a deep red glow across the sky. Halloween. My parents were spending it in a morgue while I was in an old house with three friends and an old man recovering from a brutal attack. Somehow, it seemed fitting. I took the pills down the hallway. At least I wasn’t at home with the lights off, hoping that morbid fans weren’t descending on my front porch.

I rapped three times on the door to William’s bedroom.

“Come in.” His voice was soft and slightly hoarse. I pushed open the door. He wasn’t sitting up this time. Instead, he was lying down with blankets tucked all the way to his chin.

“I have your medicine,” I said as I slowly approached his bedside and handed him the pills and the water from his nightstand.

“Thank you, dear.”

The tone of his voice made me feel like I was his granddaughter. And that made me feel a rush of affection I was unfamiliar with. I hadn’t known my grandparents. They had died when I was little, and all I had was a few faded photos in an album stored on a bookshelf. If I could have chosen my grandfather, though, I would have chosen someone like William. Someone caring and sweet and full of passion when it came to his history. William didn’t have any family that we knew of, but he had spent years trying to protect his ancestors. And his memory book was a kind of Bible. It held information sacred to him. He was basically the last thread, the final branch of his ancient family tree. He knew that, and he took his responsibility with a sad, fierce seriousness.

“It’s Halloween, isn’t it?” He asked the question with his eyes closed. He was exhausted, even though he’d spent all day in bed. I wondered if that was a bad sign. Should he be so tired? Was that a bad sign? But Mom had said he would need rest.

“Yes, it’s Halloween.” I stood near his bed, unsure what to do. I knew he wasn’t sleeping, so I kept on talking. “It’s almost sunset. Some friends of mine are here. If we’re too noisy, let me know, okay?” I rushed to add. “We’ll keep it down.”

“No, you’re fine.” William coughed. “I’m glad you have friends here.”

I waited. It seemed like he wanted to say more.

“Charlotte.” I instinctively moved closer to him after he said my name. I hated the way he looked: small and pale in his bed, his eyes tightly shut. I hated the way I felt: awkward and desperate to help, but also desperate to leave the room.

“You’ve been so kind to me,” he began. “My wife and I were never lucky enough to have children. But if I could choose a granddaughter…” His voice trailed off. I was suddenly anxious. Was this a deathbed confession? If it was, I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t handle emotional moments. Forget end-of-life pronouncements. I couldn’t do this.

William seemed to sense my discomfort. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.”

“Charlotte, listen to me. I’m sorry.” I had never noticed before the color of his eyes. They were pale blue, almost gray. And they were focused on me with a strange intensity.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry for what you’re about to go through.”

I begged him to explain, but his medication made him groggy and sleepy and nearly incoherent. I couldn’t decipher his mumbled words. After an initial moment of panic, I tried to tell myself that he didn’t know what he was saying. The weird apology didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was having some kind of medication-induced flashback to a sad time in his life. He’d been through so much. He was traumatized.

I returned to the living room, determined to push past my anxiety and enjoy a little time with my friends. Mom and Dad would be back soon, which would basically mark the end of my evening.

“We saw you!” Avery squealed when she saw me.

“You what?”

“On TV,” Noah explained. “There was a shot of you with your mom. You were really cute.”

“Cute?” The Silver Spirits episode on the screen was an old one. A really old one. Dad looked wiry thin as he examined a basement and concluded the mold was probably the cause of the home owner’s hallucinations. I tried to remember the house, but I couldn’t.

“You looked like you were about eight or nine years old,” Jared said. “Was that strange for you? To be so young and wandering around haunted houses like that?”

I sat down and grabbed a handful of caramel corn. “It wasn’t haunted.”

“Yeah, but you were a little kid in a dark, strange house. You didn’t know what would happen,” Noah said. “I couldn’t have done that at nine. I was nowhere near that brave.”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t, either. All I knew was that I was with my family and had no reason to be scared.”

Two hours later, I felt that same sense of security with my friends. It was Halloween night and we were miles away from other people, but I was happy. The threat of an attack by a strange guy seemed remote, for some reason. Everything was fine. If it wasn’t, would I be able to stand outside and smile like this?

Under the cloak of the cloudy, moonless night, the glow of Jared’s jack-o-lantern became an eerie beacon. The four of us stood across the street from William’s house to get the full effect. Away from traffic and streetlights and even stars, the pumpkin blazed, blocking out almost everything else.

“This is just so cool,” Avery murmured.

It was. And it was so much better than how I had spent last Halloween, holed up in the apartment my family was renting, trying to catch up on a semester’s worth of American History. Standing in the slightly chilly night with three friends, admiring a gourd before we went back inside to watch TV and stuff ourselves full of caramel corn made this the best Halloween ever. I knew it was one of those moments I would always remember because it was so simple, so unplanned. It was close to perfect. And it would have been totally perfect except for one thing: William’s words.

I’m so sorry for what you’re about to go through.

“We should go back in,” Jared announced. “Check on William.”

We headed up onto the porch. Avery and I went inside, but Noah and Jared hung back. “We’re going to take another tour,” Noah explained. He and Jared had started calling it that: their tour. Like a tour of duty. They carried large flashlights and scanned the ground, the stones, and even the outer ring of the woods. They hadn’t seen anything, and Avery said if the guy was in the woods, the constant lights might make him think the police were patrolling the area.

“When did your mom say they’d be back?” Avery asked. She was evaluating our snack supply, which we’d managed to cut in half. I had just poked my head into William’s room, where he was sleeping soundly.

“At least an hour,” I told Avery. “They found something interesting in the last coffin, but she didn’t say what it was. Probably more Civil War stuff.” I scooped up some wrappers from the coffee table. “Are you okay with staying here or do you need to head home?”

“No, it’s fine. I called my mom and checked in.” She poured the last bag of chips into a plastic bowl. “This has been great, actually. I never thought I’d enjoy a quiet Halloween like this.” She chuckled. “A Silver Spirits marathon with an actual Silver spirit.”

I followed Avery into the kitchen. “Very funny. We don’t have to watch it, you know. I’m perfectly happy with a good slasher flick. You know, something with an abandoned campsite and screaming models posing as teenagers.”

I threw away the trash and waited for Avery to respond. But when I turned around, she was at the back door, gazing out the glass.

“What is it?”

She squinted like she was trying to see better. “I don’t know. I think something’s happening up there.”

I moved next to her. The hill blocked a lot, but I could see the occasional flash of light coming from the cemetery. Avery frowned. “It’s like—“

“They’re running,” I finished.

Avery pulled at my hand. “We have to go help them.”

My mind was twisting itself around what was going on and what we needed to do. “Flashlights,”

I said. “We can’t go up there in the dark.”

Avery began to dig through the kitchen drawers. I kept my eyes on the hill, where two beams of light zigzagged around the cemetery. Noah and Jared were shouting to one another, but I couldn’t make out their words.

“I could only find one,” Avery said.

I took it from her. “I’ll go. You stay here with William.” She began to protest, but I stopped her. “Someone needs to stay here, and I know the cemetery better than you. Make sure the front door’s locked, okay?”

Avery nodded and went into the living room. “Is it locked?” I called. She didn’t answer. I listened, but the house was quiet. The only noise was the muffled commotion coming from the cemetery.

“Avery?” I crossed the kitchen and stood in the hallway. I could see the living room. Avery had her back to me. She was simply standing there, with her arms at her side. Why wasn’t she moving? The front door was open a tiny bit. “Avery?” I knew she heard me, but she didn’t turn around. I took a few more tentative steps until I was also in the living room.

And then I saw the man sitting on the sofa.

“You!” It was the same man I’d glimpsed so many times, dressed in a black trench coat. I guessed him to be in his early thirties, but his skin was unnaturally haggard. Folds of skin sagged under his eyes. I was so intent on his facial features that it took me a second to register that he was holding a gun.

Chapter Twelve

“Where is he?” the man asked.

I was shoulder to shoulder with Avery, whose mouth was slightly open in surprise. “He’s still at the hospital,” Avery said. I nodded in terrified agreement, barely able to hear her over the pounding of my heart.

“Liars.” He tilted the gun slightly, as if he wanted to make sure we noticed it. “I need to see him. I need to end this.”

“End what?” I asked. Jared and Noah would burst through the back doors at any moment. Mom and Dad might have left the morgue. Maybe Shane and Trisha were on their way. If we could keep this guy talking long enough, we would have help.

“I’m so tired,” the man said. I had to agree—the bags under his eyes suggested major lack of sleep. “You know how long it’s been since I slept more than two hours in a row? Years. But that’s about to end. Tonight.”

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Avery must have had the same idea as me: keep him talking. But something about her innocent inquiry set the man off.

“Because he won’t let me!” The anger in his voice made me take a step back.

I wanted to ask who wouldn’t let him sleep. Was he talking about William? But I didn’t want to trigger another outburst. He was tired and crazy and armed. And I didn’t know what he wanted or what would make him snap.

A soft cough came from down the hallway. William was awake. He would need me to bring him his medication.

The man smiled. “Good. I need to speak with Mr. Kitsman.”

Stall, I thought. Every second helps.

“Why?” I blurted out.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re pointing a gun at me and my friend,” Avery said. “That concerns us.”

He narrowed his eyes. Avery jerked her head toward the front door. “Thank God you’re here!”

As soon as the man looked at the door, Avery lunged. I didn’t think about it—I rushed forward, too. While Avery grabbed the gun, I held back the guy’s other arm, which was surprisingly bony. It was like he was a skeleton beneath the oversized coat. He barely resisted as I pinned down one side and Avery pinned down the other. The three of us were on the sofa, stunned and completely unsure what was going to happen next, when Noah and Jared burst through the back door.

“We saw someone out there!” Jared said as they rushed through the kitchen.

They were red and panting, and I saw the panic in their eyes as they registered what was happening.

“Get over here!” Avery yelled. They immediately sprinted forward. Jared took over Avery’s spot and Noah came over to me. The man didn’t even attempt to struggle.

“We have to get that gun out of here.” I began looking around the floor by the sofa.

“Gun?” Noah was practically sitting on the man’s arm.

I saw the gun’s black handle near Jared’s foot. “Don’t move.” I didn’t want to pick it up. I’d never held a gun, and I was terrified that I would handle it wrong and it would go off. I nudged the gun with my foot. It was so light that it skidded into a corner. “It’s fake.”

“You sure?” Jared asked.

I knelt down and grabbed the handle. “I’m sure. It’s plastic.” I felt a fast rush of relief. Even if this guy got away, at least he couldn’t shoot us.

“Call 911,” I said to Avery as I handed her the toy weapon. “I’m going to check on William.”

But it was William who was checking on us. He was standing in the entryway dressed in a blue bathrobe, looking confused. “I heard yelling.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” I tried to guide him back to his room, but he was focused on the strange scene taking place on his sofa. “I know you,” he said to the man. “You were there when I fell.”

“That’s the man who attacked you,” I whispered.

“Attacked?” William took a wobbly step forward. “I wasn’t attacked. I felt a pain in my chest and I fell. He was all the way across the cemetery when it happened.” He furrowed his brow. “But why are you here now? And what were you doing on my property?”

The man shifted slightly in his seat, which made Jared and Noah automatically tighten their grip. “I need to talk with you.”

“You look so familiar.” William took another step, but I could tell it was difficult for him so I went to his side and put my arm under his.

“I should look familiar.” The man sighed. “I’m family.”

“That’s impossible.”

For the first time, I saw more than fatigue in the man’s face. I saw a flicker of anger. He sneered. “You wish it was impossible.”

“Who are you?” William was leaning on me. His left hand was shaking and I knew he needed to sit down. This was too much for him. I nodded at Avery, and she came over and helped me walk William over to a chair across the room. We stood on either side of him like guards. If the stranger sitting on the sofa so much as flinched, I would make sure William was safe, and I knew Avery was thinking the same thing.

“My name is Jeremiah Pickett.”

The name was oddly familiar to me. Then I remembered: it was the name etched on one of the tombstones. On my first visit to the cemetery, William had told me it was the grave of one of his ancestors, a young Civil War soldier who died in battle.

Jeremiah was watching William’s face like he was waiting for him to recognize the name. When William didn’t say anything, Jeremiah continued.

“He didn’t die childless like everyone thought. Which makes me your cousin. And we have family business to discuss.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” William said. His voice was soft and strained.

“The police are on their way,” Avery said. “You can discuss things with them.”

Jeremiah looked past us. His eyes focused on something in the hallway. “I’m trying,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Who are you talking to?” Noah asked.

“He’s right there,” Jeremiah said. “You see him, don’t you? Standing in the doorway?”

It was a diversion, a trick to get us all to look at the same time so he could try to break free. Noah and Jared didn’t fall for it. Neither did Avery. But I turned my head so I could see what Jeremiah was talking about.

I didn’t see anything at first. The hallway was dark, the kitchen lights turned off. It was dark. Against that darkness, though, I thought I saw a curl of white smoke. It was faint, like a puff of breath against a cold winter’s night. But it was something. Wasn’t it? I didn’t feel a cold breeze or obvious presence, but something about the mist was unsettling to me.

“Do you see him?” Jeremiah’s eyes were wide, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the space. “I’m trying!” he yelled. “I’m trying to fix this!”

“What is that?” Avery whispered. The little cloud of smoke had become a more visible shade of white.

“It’s him! He won’t let me sleep until I take back what’s his.” Jeremiah began to struggle in Noah’s and Jared’s hold. “Give it back to me!” His wild eyes were fixed on William. “Give it all back!”

Behind his frantic screams I could hear the distant wail of a police siren. Help would be here in minutes. The white cloud was still there, hovering in the hallway. Noah noticed it. I saw him cast a confused glance in its direction before trying to reposition himself on the sofa. Jeremiah was thrashing, but it seemed like he was trying to curl up, to shield himself from the ball of pale mist.

“He’s been visiting me for years,” Jeremiah whimpered. “He says I’m his great-great-grandson, and it’s up to me to restore his memory. He won’t let me rest until I do it. You have to help me.”

Red and blue lights flashed outside. “Everything’s okay now,” I told William. He was watching Jeremiah with a strange mix of wonder and fear.

Avery opened the door for the two police officers, who quickly placed Jeremiah in handcuffs. My parents arrived a minute later, followed by Shane and Trisha. Trisha sobbed as she hugged Noah, then cupped his face in her hands and made him promise a hundred times that he was all right. Mom was the same way with me. She didn’t cry, but her wide eyes told me that she was about to. Dad and Shane were more stoic, immediately trying to assess the situation and speak with the officers.

It was a calm commotion. There were a lot of people talking, but it felt under control. We had to give statements to the police. They tried talking to Jeremiah, but he simply closed his eyes and refused to speak.

“Did you see it?” Avery asked me. “The misty cloud thing?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it was, you know, a real ghost?”

Jeremiah was curled up on the sofa, his arms behind his back. It looked like he was sleeping. “He thought it was,” I said.

Mom walked over to us. “Well, this has been quite an eventful Halloween.” She rubbed my shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Tired.” I was tired, but not exactly fine. My pulse was still racing, and I felt jumpy.

“We’ll leave as soon as the police are finished here.”

“How was the morgue?” Avery asked. Then she giggled, almost hysterically. “I’ve never asked anyone that before.”

Mom smiled. “We have a lot of artifacts to catalog. The child’s coffin wasn’t really a coffin at all.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“It was a storage box filled with papers and documents. And this.” She showed us a small leather book. The brittle pages were yellowed with age and filled with tiny, neat handwriting. “It’s the journal of Jeremiah Pickett. We think everything we found in the coffins belonged to him, that he was hiding weapons and information from Confederate troops. This journal will probably help explain everything.”

“And maybe it will help him.” I motioned toward Jeremiah. Now that he was safely subdued, I was feeling calmer. But I was angry, too. It didn’t matter that the gun was a fake. He had threatened us, made us feel fear. “He said he had to restore his ancestor’s memory,” I said. “The book might help do that.”

“I hope so.” Mom sighed. “I’m going to talk to William. Shane’s staying here tonight. We should be able to go home in a few minutes.”

“I’m going to say goodbye to Jared,” Avery said. As soon as she left my side, Noah came over.

“I’m wondering if I should thank you,” he said.

“Thank me for what?” He was the one who had helped restrain Jeremiah. I should have been thanking him.

He grinned. “For throwing the craziest Halloween party I’ve ever been to.”

“I do my best.” I yawned. “I’m so ready for bed.”

“Me too.” He paused. “You saw the mist thing, right?”

“Yes. So did Avery.”

Noah shook his head. “My life has been a lot more interesting since I met you, Charlotte.”

“Is that a compliment?” I hoped it was.

“It’s the truth.” He smiled. “And a compliment.”

As soon as the police had finished with us, we left. I fell asleep in the car, happy that Halloween was over. Everything could return to normal now, I thought. We had uncovered the secrets of the dead. Now they could rest.

Chapter Thirteen

“Have you considered a career in party planning?” I asked Avery. “Because you’re really good at this.”

“This isn’t a party,” she reminded me. She pulled back the foil covering a casserole dish and set the dish on William’s kitchen table amongst the other dishes and trays full of food. A single lily stood in a vase at the center of the table. Avery surveyed her work. “I think we’re all set.”

“The band’s here,” Jared announced. He stopped at the table to swipe a canapé, and Avery swatted at his hand with a smile.

Noah came into the kitchen carrying a plate of vegetables. “A news van just pulled up out front,” he said. “Should I let them in?”

“No.” I knew William was still getting ready for the ceremony. “Could you have the reporters follow you up the hill? I don’t want them inside.”

“Sure.” Noah looked at the table full of food. “Are those cheese puffs?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Avery said. “You can have one later.”

Jared laughed. “I’ve already been scolded. Come on, I’ll help you outside.”

The guys left. “I’m looking forward to this,” I said as I rearranged the vegetables, “but I don’t know what to expect, really.”

“I know.” Avery fussed with the flowers. “But we’re not a part of the ceremony. Our work is done.”

“I guess.”

Our work today meant preparing the post-ceremony luncheon. Avery had taken care of nearly all of the details. I felt a little useless. But maybe the real work had already been done. Preserving old graves and returning remains to their rightful resting place was important, too, and I knew I had helped in some small way.

The front door opened. I was thrilled to see Annalise, who was holding hands with Mills. She let go long enough to give me a hug. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Mills gave me a stiff hug. “I’m looking forward to this,” he said. I knew he would be. Genealogy was a passion of his. I directed him to the cemetery so I could speak with Annalise in the living room.

“So?” she asked as we sat down. “How are things?”

“I’m drowning in homework. The teachers don’t care that it wasn’t our fault school was cancelled for a week. They’re doubling up on everything.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I understood that, just as I understood what she really wanted to know. She was the one who had encouraged me to participate in our parents’ strange investigation. If I hadn’t talked to her, I probably would have spent the past week watching TV in my pajamas or begging Avery and Jared to join their online movie trivia team or obsessing over Noah. Instead, I had stepped into a cemetery—and into William’s life.

Jeremiah wouldn’t be attending the ceremony. It was kind of a shame, since most of the people we were reburying were his ancestors, as well. But Jeremiah would be spending the next few weeks in a “special care facility,” which was a polite term for a mental institution. He had spent two nights in the local hospital for exhaustion. During his brief stay, the doctors had concluded that Jeremiah was not mentally stable. I agreed with that, but I also wondered about what he had seen. Wasn’t it possible that some of it was real? It was real to him, just as the girl in the pink dress had been real to me. I had been looking for a sign that my paranormal experience had truly happened. Now I worried that I was sliding into the same kind of instability that Jeremiah had sunk into.

“I don’t know what any of this means,” I said to Annalise. “I thought there was a chance I would find some answers, but I didn’t.”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to find all the answers.”

I loved my sister, but there were times when her vague wisdom was exasperating. “You said I would find something! You said this would help me!”

Annalise shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I said you needed help processing your experience in Charleston.”

“Well, I didn’t get help processing anything.” I was reminded of how much I hated the term processing. It made me feel like a meat product.

With her usual infuriating calm, Annalise stood up. “Charlotte, maybe you have the answers you need. Maybe it was the questions that were wrong.”

She walked out the back door to join the others on the hill. I remained on the sofa, wallowing in my confusion about the week mixed with the annoyance I was feeling with Annalise. A door opened down the hallway. I heard William and jumped up, ready to assist him. He was still recovering from the stroke and I knew it would be a long day. I didn’t want him to overexert himself.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving me away. “Although, maybe you could help me with my tie? I can’t seem to keep my hands steady.”

“Of course.” I wasn’t an expert at knotting a tie, but I’d helped Shane a few times when he needed to get ready for a cable awards show. “Are you ready for the ceremony?”

“I think so.” William stood still as I arranged his tie. He was dressed in a navy suit, and his tie was red with thin white stripes. “It’s a good thing, I think. A chance to say goodbye, a chance to acknowledge my family. It’s a shame Jeremiah couldn’t be here.”

William had visited Jeremiah in the hospital, where more of his strange story was revealed. Their ancestor, Jeremiah Pickett, had been accused of aiding Confederate deserters. The newly discovered journal shed light on the truth: Pickett had been helping wounded men who were expected to keep up an impossible marching pace but had fallen behind. These men were labeled “stragglers,” and many did not survive. Pickett kept their personal effects and weapons hidden in case others came looking for them. His goal, according to the journal, was to stay out of the conflict, but when weary men showed up at his doorstep, desperate for rest and water, he could not refuse them a place to hide.

I finished knotting the tie. “Will you see Jeremiah again? Is he family now?”

“He was always family. I just didn’t know it.” William inspected my work in the living room mirror. “Very nice. Thank you, Charlotte.” He looked toward the back door. “Your parents are already up there?”

“Yes.” I could see a steady stream of people marching up the hill and to the cemetery. A man holding a bugle walked next to a well-dressed news reporter. “The museum people are here, too.”

William frowned. “Not my favorite people at the moment, I’m afraid.”

The museum had basically declared all the artifacts their own. They claimed that William had no rights because the coffins and their contents had been discovered off the property. William threatened legal action, but Mom managed to come up with a compromise: the artifacts would be in William’s name and “on loan” to the museum for an exhibit.

I’d told Mom about the mist, but I hadn’t said anything to Dad. I knew Mom would listen, whereas Dad would ask questions and point out logical causes. But like so many things, I didn’t have an explanation for it. And maybe that was something I would have to live with, the fact that not all my questions would ever be answered.

I could hear music coming from the cemetery. “It’s time to go,” I said.

William held out his arm and I took it, feeling like he was escorting me to a formal event. I opened the back door with my free hand, and we began the short walk up the hill together.

It was time to say goodbye to the past.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-8878-6

Raising the Dead

Copyright © 2011 by Mara Purnhagen

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