Inside the mayor’s stuffy office, I suddenlyfeela wave of claustrophobia wash over me.I’venever been one to be uncomfortable with small spaces, but holy moly is this room cluttered. Every inch of the walls has been covered with framed photos, informational posters, and ghost-themed decor. The photos are self-explanatory, featuring various members of the town posing with the mayor, along with a few ribbon cutting ceremonies. In one,I’mpretty sureI recognize a man with shoulder-length white-blond hair.
The decor, however. Well…
“You collect ghost memorabilia?” I ask, amused.
He sits behind his desk and gazes at all the tiny ghost knickknacks scattered across the surface with a look of forced indifference. “Not exactly,” he explains. “They’regiftsI’vereceived over the years from visitors and tourists. They find it clever.” A contemptuous smile forms on his lips, but then it morphs into a genuine one. “So, what brings you to Shadow Hills?”
Still clutching the paperwork I was given, Itakethe cushioned chair in front of the desk and sink into it. A beat passes as I try to figure out the best way to explain my situation. “I actually grew up here,” I say, “So I’m familiar with the town.”
“Oh really?” He mutters under his breath. “Chesterfield. Chesterfield. That does ring a bell.”
As he stares thoughtfully at nothing,droning onabout time passing in the blink of an eye, I glance down at the papers and scan through the questions. My name and age are easy: Kennedy Chesterfield, 29 years old.
But then it asks about my current place of residence. Should I mention thatI’mcurrently tethered to a haunted house outside of town, or is that not theappropriate answer?
I quietly flip to the next form as MayorMusthavenwraps up his diatribe, and I swallow a lump in my throat.
Paranormal Registration.
Please fill out this form with the most up-to-date information you can provide. This ensuresan accuratecensusand allows us to better serve our citizens.
Welcome to Shadow Hills!
The first section wants me to circle whichtypeof paranormal I identify as, likeI’mchoosing my starterPokémon, and there are no options for ghosts. Suddenly, I feel like the dumb kid in class whodoesn’tunderstand the assignment. Panic seizes me, and my stomach starts to churn. Idon’tknow what couldpossibly beinside my stomach, butit’sbacktracking through my intestines and inching up my esophagus.
“Ah-ha!” The mayor’s sudden declaration startles me.“I remember now. One of our residents has that surname. Youwouldn’thappen to be related to Claudia Chesterfield, would you?”
My breath hitches. “Yes. She’s my sister.”
“Well,I’ll be,” theMayordrawls. “What a small world! Are you just visiting or staying? I just love Claudia’s donuts.They’rethe best in town.”
Idon’thear anything elseover the ringing in my ears. The words on the page in front of me start to blur together.I thinkI’mgoing to be sick.I stand, clutching my hands to mymouth,so Idon’tspew all over MayorMusthaven’sdesk.
“Are you alright?” The mayor asks, looking alarmed.
Ican’tanswer him. Instead, I burst out of his officeandsprintto the closest restroom Icanfind. Luckily,it’sjust down the hall from Pamela’s desk. My feet skitter to a stop in front of the toilet at the precise moment I can no longer hold it in.
Guess there was something in my stomach after all.
Chapter Fourteen
THEO
Iavoid slipping back into thevoidsoI’llbe here when Kennedy gets back. Waiting for her has triggered a nervous flutter in my belly that Ihaven’tfelt since I was a teenager. I was once a master at letting my mind drifttofar off places, unreachable by reality, but now thatI’mno longer alone,I’mforced to remain in the moment.
Itwasn’talways like that. There was another person’s company I enjoyed spending time with before everything changed, but after that, I spent my days floating through the spirit plane, purposefully losing all track of time and space. I needed the escape after what happened, but Ican’tdo that anymore knowing Kennedy could show up at any moment. It would be disrespectful to abandon her in a housethat’snot hers. Nor can I leave her to her own devices withouttruly understandingwhat it means to be a ghost.
Then there’s that part of me that wants to be near her, a part that fears I'll miss something if I’m not.
I pass through the wall of the foyer and float back into the living room where the fire is still burning low. The soft crackles of wood shiftingsoothesmy ears. I felt at home in the quiet forso long, but now it feels suffocating.It’sas if Kennedy’s presence has woken up the part of me that craves connection—suddenly Idesirea sign of life from anything, even just a flickering flame.
There was a moment last night, after Kennedy had gone to sleep in my bed, that I could swear the temperature of the house had risen.Perhaps suchan enormous disruption to my daily life was playing tricks on my mind, butI’malmost certain that having her here has made the room upstairs feel just a little bit warmer.
I wish to feel that warmth again. Though being able to feel her tether in the house comforts me slightly,it’snowhere near as powerful as whenshe’shere beside me.
Waking up and realizing she was gone affected me in ways Ididn’tthink were possible anymore. All it took wasforherto stayhere onenight,and my entireafterlifehas been uprooted. The house has always been quiet, but with Kennedy being goneit’soddly silent.I had gotten so used to being alone amongst the cobwebs and layers of dust that I forgot what loneliness actually feels like.However, now that her dynamic presence is missing, that emptiness crashes down on me like an anvil, the only sound being the occasional gusts of wind that shoves against the sides of the house, as if demanding to be let in and take part in it my anguish.
When I made my fateful decision all those years ago to remain in my family’s home, I thought I would eventually diehere, leaving no remains of my sins to taint the outside world. I thought Iwas beingheroic, but inrealityI cursed myself to be buried by my guilt for all eternity.
