I stop at the threshold, not sure why. The hairs rise on the back of my neck, and I whirl around, sure I’ll find one of the house ghosts lurking at my back.
But Finn, Aisha, and Sloane are nowhere to be seen.
My attention drifts to the trees. In the twilight, the shadows stretch, tree branches resembling long arms and spindly legs. I stare into the dark long enough that the image blurs, and my eyes play tricks on me.
But even when I tear my gaze away, that feeling lingers. The eyes within the trees follow me all the way inside until the door swings shut behind me.
Twelve
I’ve jammed half a sandwichinto my mouth, Margot and Paige on the other side of the table, each with some tub of leftovers, when Finn pops into the kitchen. My sandwich tumbles out of my hands, deconstructing on the way down, and I cough up the scrap of turkey threatening to take me out.
Finn, standing behind my sister and aunt, cracks a grin. He inclines his head and asks, “All good, sweetheart?”
My cheeks flame and I cough again, fumbling for my water bottle.
Paige and Margot give me inquisitive looks. I fight to keep my gaze off Finn.
“Need the Heimlich?” Margot asks.
“Like you know how to do that,” I choke out. Finn snorts.
I abandon the remains of my sandwich, dumping it into the trash. When Margot and Paige turn their eyes away, I jerk a thumb at Finn, gesturing for him to follow. He trails behind me up thestairs, all the way to the bedroom. He skips ahead once we reach the second floor, and I practically chase after him.
“Don’t do that,” I say, swatting at him as he jogs into my room, and though none of my punches gain purchase, he jumps out of the way anyway. “You could have killed me.”
“Someone’s dramatic,” Finn says. He drops onto the end of my bed, leaning back onto his palms. He’s effortlessly comfortable, like it’s his bedroom, complete with fuzzy pillows and string lights.
“This is funny to you,” I say.
He shrugs.“Not much as far as entertainment goes around here.”
“My family already thinks I’ve lost it.” After a beat of hesitation, I make my way to the digital piano and its thin bench. He’s entirely non-corporeal, but the thought of sitting down next to him makes my stomach coil and snap. “I don’t even know how to explain to them that the ghosts they joke about are real and only I can see them.” I clear my throat. “I don’t know why I can see you either. And why now?” I frown.
“I saw you the first day you and your family moved in, but me and Sloane and Aisha tried to keep a low profile. We didn’t know if any of you could see us,” he says, words coming out in a rush.“None of us had ever met someone who could, but I guess a while back, there was a handyman who kept going on about seeing some missing kid in the yard, and it was a whole thing, so we usually try to stay out of sight in case.”
The anxiety and intrusive thoughts still batter around my skull, but the more Finn talks, the less I’m thinking of anything but what I’m hearing.
“And then one morning, your aunt and your mom took Margot and Jasper to the store, and you stayed back. You guys had only been here for like a week. The movers came with some of the big boxes, andthey brought in the piano and the guitars, and they set it all up, and you sat down at the bench for ages. I didn’t really think much of it.
“Sloane and Aisha were living it up, going through all of the new stuff in the house, but I don’t know, there was something about the way you looked at the instruments. I sat back on the stairs waiting for you to do something.”
I remember that morning. I couldn’t explain the urge that came over me after the movers left. As if my feet and hands weren’t my own. The pull to be close to the music, even if I couldn’t make any.
“And did I do something?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
I flick a glance in Finn’s direction. He tosses me a soft smile.
“You played a song,” he says, “and for a second there, I felt like I was alive again.”
Silence hangs thick in the air long enough to make even me squirm.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” I almost sayghost. “I swear I’ve heard another girl.”
He’s listening now. Every inch rigid, putting too much effort into appearing unbothered.
“It’s Aisha or Sloane,” he says, a second too late to be believable. Finn hops onto the ground, wandering over to the window like something has caught his attention.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “It’s not Aisha or Sloane. I know what they sound like. This is…someone else,” I say.
