I stopped cold in my tracks and looked up at the dark house that used to be mine. Now it belonged to a spirit.

“Do you think she’s still there?” I whispered to Mom, and a gust of wind blew the dead leaves across the street.

“I—” she shook her head, “I don’t know. We should go. You’re almost late to school.” She tugged my hand, but I watched the second-story window where she usually stood. There were only the closed blinds of my old bedroom.

“I just want it back.”

“I know.” Mom ran her hand through my hair. “Me too.” Wisps of her wavy brown hair floated in the breeze.

I slipped my hand out of hers and walked toward the small red wooden gate.

“Emily, don’t!” Mom reached for my arm.

The stone cabin looked gray and abandoned. She couldn’t still be there.

“I’m just looking.” We had packed the night of the seance. Not much, though, just essentials. Then left before she could track us.

Mom crept up to me at the gate. Her face was a blank stare, the corners of her lips turned down. This was the first house she was ever able to save up for.

I flung the gate open. “I have to get it,” I called, barreling to the front door.

“Emily!” Mom ran toward me, but it was too late. I was already in the house. The air was chilly and still. My eyes darted all over the shadows in the living room and up the dark staircase when Mom peeked in the doorway.

“Emily?” her voice shook. “Get. Out.” Her face went stern when I didn’t move, and she came in to get me.

“It’s okay.” I lifted my hands. “I think she’s gone.”

Mom squinted up the staircase.

“I need to know,” I pleaded.

She took a deep breath. “Let me go first.”

Mom squeezed my hand as we made our way upstairs, with her in front. I slid my other hand up the wooden banister like I used to, and dust and grit built up underneath.

My stomach dropped when we reached my bedroom door. Mom reached for the knob, twisted slowly, and pressed the door open. The spirit wasn’t there.

My room was small, with pale wood furniture and a scattering of plants. Some of them had died and wilted over the edge of their pots. The window above my desk let in rays of sunlight. Then something caught my eye.

I smiled and ran to my dresser with the wide mirror above it. There it was—my favorite pen. Mom joined me. I never noticed how much I looked like her—the same wavy brown hair and olive green eyes.

Then I stared at my Montblanc pen—a gift from my grandma with my birthstone on it: ruby.

“You know you can’t take that,” Mom whispered.

“Why? She’s gone.”

Mom shook her head and frowned. “You can’t know for sure.”

I reached for my pen, and there were flashes in my head of us taking it to a new home, and there she was—following us. A dark shadow flashed across the mirror. My face smiled at me in the reflection, and my blood froze.

Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me to the door, but the shadow chased us like a heavy weight on our backs. We raced down the stairs with loud thumps and tried not to fall.

“Take it. Take it. Take it,” her whispers bounced in my head.

“You gave that to me, remember? Why would you take it back?” her voice hissed.

We screamed as our furniture lifted and slammed into the front door, and blocked windows.

I felt a strange pull—one I only felt around the spirit. Like dread and lost hope.

“Hide!” Mom threw us in the coat closet. “Shh.” She squeezed her eyes shut as we pressed into the leather and fleece.

“Emily, where’d you go?” Morrigan’s voice changed, sounding like her old self. “Don’t you wanna play?”

She knew where we were, but hiding made it feel like she didn’t. There was the pull again, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Her voice changed back to a darker tone. “You don’t have to hide.” She tapped on the closet door. “I got what I needed.” She whooshed past. What did she mean?

When all was quiet, Mom cracked the door open. “Come on.” We ran around the mess of furniture, and Mom slid the couch away from the door. We ran out, pushed through the gate, and onto the street, where we caught our breaths.

There she was, looming in my window again. Her pale-purple dress and blonde hair billowed as she floated. Static flitted through her ethereal form. We jumped when the front door slammed shut. Then Morrigan shot us a sly smile before fading into the darkness of my old room.

We shuffled a couple of steps toward school.

“Emily,” Mom’s voice was soft, but firm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Sorry. I really thought she was gone.” I stared at the road.

We walked to school in silence for a while.

“When do we lose it?” I mumbled.

“Around November,” she sighed.

“Is there anyone who can help?”

“No.” She turned and stared into my eyes. “There is no one who will believe us. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if the cops thought I was crazy.“ Mom whispered as some people walked around the bend in the street.

After they passed, she dropped to one knee and held my hands. “I could lose you, Emily. Don’t tell anyone about her.”

Some people already knew about it. The girls who performed a seance that temporarily banished Morrigan. It created a disconnection between us, so I couldn’t feel her presence anymore. But she’d found us again through my favorite pen. She’d tricked me into giving her something to… connect with? I wasn’t sure how it worked, but she’d found me through the mirror at my cousin Sarah’s.

“Emily?” Mom shook my hands slightly and frowned.

“I miss our house. And the car.” I stared at my brown boots, remembering our rust-red beetle. I hated walking to school. Mom had put the car up for auction for extra money.

Mom hugged me and stood, bumping into a wide man with gray hair as he passed.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized over her shoulder.

He grunted and walked at a brisk pace.

“Huh.” Mom stared as his windbreaker blew in the wind.

“Must be having a bad day?” I forced a grin.

“I guess so.” We walked on.

“Can we still get the car back?”

She frowned, “Kind of. We’d have to sell one of the houses.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

My stomach sank. Mom had taken on more work, and we had bought nothing besides necessities since we moved. It’d been almost a year now. She couldn’t even read her thrillers anymore since she had less time. Or maybe because she was worried about me. My blood boiled when I thought about how it was all my fault, and Mom had to pay the price for it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mom patted my shoulder. “I’ll figure something out.”

She’d said that a year ago. I was afraid to face Morrigan, so I was happy to let Mom take over. Until we got the notice in the mail that we were about to lose the house.

I’d gotten a book on spirits from the local library. If I could figure out how to get rid of Morrigan, we could have our house back. We could have everything back.

***

I went to my usual Sugar Maple tree during recess and sat underneath. Dead leaves covered the ground. They always reminded me of Halloween, which was strange. Our city never celebrated it. But that didn’t bother me. I never felt like getting scared or eating enough candy to make me sick.

I pulled the spirit book from my blue-jean bag, Dealing with Spirits. There had to be something useful.

Branches loomed over me, and a pale light shone through, leaving a scattering of bright light and shadows on the pages. I shivered, pulling my jacket closer. My cheeks froze, and my nose burned when I wiped my red sweater sleeve across it.

Leaves rustled behind me, and I whipped my head around. Austin and his friends leaped toward me with their hands up and yelled. I jumped, screamed, and threw my book.

They burst into laughter, bent over, holding their stomachs.

“She scares so easily.” Marco wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

I balled my fists and stood, swiping my nose again on my sleeve.

“Don’t cry.” Marco laughed.

Austin chuckled, “Sorry, Emily, I had to.” He was way taller than me, and he looked older, too. He had spiky blond hair and wore a blue sweater with the collar of another shirt sticking out.

“Forget it.” I started packing my bag, but I couldn’t find the book.

“What’s this?” Austin had it, and my face burned. What if he found out about Morrigan?

“Spirits?” He asked with a half-smile and flipped it over, reading the back. I reached out, but he pulled it away as the boys looked over each other to see it. “Are you sure you should be reading this? It sounds a little too scary for you.”

His friends laughed. Marco pulled his shirt collar over his face and raised his hands in a horrible impersonation of a sheet ghost, making wobbly, woo-ing sounds. Of course, the other idiots followed, except Austin. He shoved the book into Marco’s gut. “Shut up! That’s annoying,” then handed the book back to me.

“I thought you were done with scary stuff when you scared that girl Desirae to move to a whole other school.”

I threw it in my bag—which I would usually never do with a library book—and slung my bag over my shoulder.

I hadn’t scared my best friend away. Morrigan did. I didn’t know where I was going, just away from them. I could read it at the library. That was where Desi and I used to read Detective Penny books together.

As I stomped to the doors, everything kept replaying in my mind: how it could have been different. I could have cried like I really wanted to. Maybe that would make them feel bad—doubtful, though. If I hadn’t used that Ouija board, Morrigan wouldn’t be here, and Desirae would. But Morrigan was the one who brought us together.

Everyone knew I was afraid of everything. How could I ever become a detective? I forgot about making friends after everyone heard I scared Desi away.

A wave of warmth hit me when I pulled open the faded blue door, melting the freeze off my face. It felt weird walking around school when everyone was outside. Would I get in trouble? Should I go back? I turned, and a small group of kids talking to each other came around the corner. Then it should be okay?

I crept down the hallway, and voices came from the teachers’ break room. My mood lifted; eavesdropping was always fun. I slowed to listen, but I also wanted it to look like I was passing by if anyone came out.

I recognized some teachers’ voices.

“I can’t believe they want us to condone this,” a lady said.

“Exactly!” another lady spoke, “Why would we want to send our children by themselves to this? It just glorifies that rotten family.”

“Mh-hm. I’m not handing them out to my class,” that was Mr. Weston.

“Well…” Ms. Bailey, my homeroom teacher, murmured. “I think it’d be nice for the kids to do something new and exciting for once. Town’s so boring—especially around Halloween. Everyone takes on an unfriendly attitude.”

“That’s true,” Mr. Weston said, “but you might be too young to remember what happened. That family brought a bad reputation to our city.”

There was silence for a moment, then a woman said, “Are you still trying for that counselor opening?”

“Yeah, it’s been a process for sure.” Ms. Bailey said.

That was new. Our school never had a counselor before.

The woman spoke quieter now. “To be honest, I don’t know why we even need one. These kids won’t change unless their parents work with them. There’s nothing we can do. They’re shaped by their environment.”

“That’s somewhat true.” Ms. Bailey said, “But they still need someone to talk to. Just because they can’t talk to anyone at home doesn’t mean they don’t get to talk to anyone.” It was silent for a moment, then she added softly, “I grew up in it. I know what it’s like to be pushed away.”

“Hm.” The other woman said, and I imagined her sipping coffee.

Papers ruffled.

“Well—” Ms. Bailey said as the door opened, shooting pain into my shoulder.

“Whoops! I’m so sorry, Emily. Are you okay?” She leaned to check my shoulder and let the door close. Her rose perfume tingled my nose. I crushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, feeling like I could taste it.

She clutched orange pamphlets in her elbow. I could only see the backs and an envelope with a name on it. Her arm covered some of it, but it looked like it said “Jacob.”

“Yes.” I smiled and slipped past her.

“Where are you going?” Her shoes clicked twice behind me.

“To uh,” I turned around, “to the library.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder.

Her face soured. “They…” she glanced at the doors. “Those kids weren’t being mean to you, were they?”

I sighed and looked away.

Looking at the ground, she nodded and tucked a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine, I’m just gonna go read.” I picked at my thumb.

“Okay…”

I turned toward the library. What were they arguing about? Sending kids away somewhere? And Ms. Bailey as the counselor? She was my favorite teacher. What if she had to leave?

***

When I got to my homeroom, I walked through rows of kids chattering and throwing things across the room. I tried to read the book in the library, but after the teachers’ conversation, I couldn’t focus. And the writer’s personal experience with spirits wasn’t helpful. I sat down right as Ms. Bailey came in, and the door clicked behind her.

She cleared her throat. “How was recess?” she asked with a forced smile. Was that because of the conversation in the break room?

Kids talked over each other about games they played. When it quieted, Marco said, “Except Emily was crying again.”

“Shut up!” Austin whispered, thumping Marco in the back of his curly black hair. “Wanna get us in trouble?”

My stomach flipped. Why did he have to bring that up? Ms. Bailey glanced between us. “Are you alright, Emily?” She looked like she was about to come over, and everybody was watching me. I hated that.

“Yes, I was fine, just cold is all.” Everyone turned back to Ms. Bailey. She still looked unsure. “Alright.” She watched me for a second as if to make sure I was really okay. “Well, I have some exciting news.” She took the same orange papers off her desk and ruffled them, but her smile didn’t look right. Like when you can tell the adults are pretending to be happy.

“The Full Moon Festival is this year on Halloween weekend.”

Some kids looked at each other in excitement while others, like me, were confused.

“For those who don’t know,” she set a flyer on the far left desk, “the Full Moon Festival only happens when there’s a full moon on Halloween night. It’s only about every nineteen years. It’s a very special occasion.”

She placed a flyer on my desk. Scrawly font covered the orange and black paper decorated with pictures, pumpkins, and food.

Grayson leaned over to Brady’s desk in front of mine. “They say strange things happen there every time it comes around. They’ve never figured out who or what was doing it. And some people think it’s haunted because of the accident.”

Brady scoffed and shook his head. “It’s not haunted.”

I couldn’t help but grin. A skeptic. If he only knew.

“Where’d you hear about this?” Ms. Bailey’s eyebrows pulled together.

“I have family in other schools and they already got these papers.” Grayson held up the flyer. “I just heard it from them.” He shrugged and flopped his arm back on his desk.

She turned to Brady.

“Yeah.” He glanced at Grayson, then back at Ms. Bailey. “I heard about it from other kids.”

She leaned against her desk and stared out the window.

The pamphlet said it was in Belmon, which was about two hours away. It would go on all that week for ages eight to twelve.

I was eleven. Most kids in my class were. “Aren’t we a little old for Halloween?” I asked, then regretted it because those jerks snickered at me.

“It’s all in good fun.” Ms. Bailey smiled.

“Don’t you wanna get the grand prize?” Thomas asked, pointing at something on the paper.

“What is it?” Leah asked.

“No one knows. It’s always unique to the festival, though. Everyone’s gonna try to win.”

“We know who’s not going,” Austin mumbled to Marco while grinning at me.

“Hey!” Ms. Bailey wrinkled her forehead. “See me after class. I will not allow bullying.”

He sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“And I want you to apologize to Emily.”

He grinned. “How’d you know who I was talking about?”

Her head dropped, and she blushed. Everyone knew he was talking about me.

“Sorry, Emily.” His smug grin still plastered on his face.

“So,” she said before the bell, “I have some bad news about the festival. The only way to get in is if you have tickets.”

At least half of the class groaned.

“Well, there’d be too many people there. You have to enter your name and a raffle will be called for the winners. But first, I need everyone to get this form signed by their parents.”

If I didn’t get mine signed, they’d never let me forget it. Mom would understand. I hoped.