Seeing Ghosts
Gina

Theclapping and cheering of the crowd was marvelous and washed over me like atidal wave of happiness. I gave the decent crowd in the gymnasium a coy smileand bowed low so that the long, stringy black hair on my head hid most of myface from them. Next to me, my best friend Ria bowed too, with much twirling ofher hands.

“Howabout that!?” said Rodger Cunningham, the Student Body President and directorof this year’s high school talent show. “Well done ladies! How about one lastround of applause for the Twisted Witches, Gina Wellington and Honoria Amos!”

Overthe noise of the audience cheering our performance once again, I heard Ria huffangrily. She always hated it when people called her by her full name. Ria’sfull name was pronounced “On-NOR-ee-ah” but people had a tendency to pronounceit so that it rhymed with gonorrhea. I grinned at her and the two of uswalked off the stage so Rodger could bring up the next performance.

“We’vebeen in the same class since fifth grade,” said Ria. “Rodger knows to call me Ria. Everybody exceptmy mother calls me Ria, why does hehave to announce it like that.”

“Don’tread into it too much,” I said. “He probably just wants to be formal.”

“It’sa high school talent show,” said Ria, glancing around at the gymnasium in whichwe were performing and scowling. “What is there to be formal about? I mean, look at us.”

Ilaughed. Ria was right. We didn’t look formal at all. She was wearing fishnettights under short cut-off black jeans and combat boots along with an American GothicT-shirt. I was no better with black slacks that I’d cut up and safety-pinnedtogether and a black vest that had originally been a Halloween costume until Icut it up. I also had some gaudy jewelry and we were both wearing a lot ofmascara and black lipstick.

Thiswas something of a running joke between us and the rest of the school. You see,I am not really a Goth and neither is Ria. The costumes are just something wedo for fun whenever we sing. We dressed up like this for Halloween back inseventh grade and we got up and sang “I Put A Spell On You” in choir class. Weall laughed about it but then people started suggesting that we do the samething on karaoke nights at a local pizza parlor. So we did and it turned out tobe a lot of fun. We’ve been singing karaoke dressed like Goths ever since. Weeven came up with names for our singing alter-egos. My name was Raven and Riawas Dead Alice and we were the Twisted Witches.

Wewent into the girl’s bathroom to get cleaned up. My long black hair is actuallya wig, which I was very relieved to be rid of when I took it off. I ran myfingers through my real hair, which is short and brown and had streaks ofartificial hot pink in it, and tried to fluff some life back into it. Ria wasalready washing the black make-up off her face. Her black hair was real, unlikemine, and it was elegantly wavy when she didn’t tie it back in a braid. Herskin was perfectly tan and she always wore just the right amount of make-up.

Idon’t have that kind of luck. I’m too tall and too skinny and my nose is toolong. My eyes are black, so it looks likeI have no irises, just really big pupils. Basically, when comparing the two ofus, Ria was Cher and I was Ichabod Crane.

“Nottoo bad for a talent show,” said Ria, who was washing her face of the last ofthe make-up. “Looks like the Twisted Witches strike again.”

“Yeah,”I replied. “Next to us, the best act was probably the Girl with the OrangeHair. Her dance routines are unrivaled.”

Riasnorted. “That walking enigma? Right. Sure she’s got rhythm, but she’d bebetter received if she wasn’t so weird!”

“Benice,” I warned her, good naturedly. “Still, it was a good show. Too bad Momand Maggie couldn’t come and see it.”

“DidMaggie have preschool?” Ria asked.

Inodded. “And Mom had to work. Shame. I was looking forward to having them hearus.”

“Wouldn’tthe Goth costumes scare Maggie?” Ria asked. “She’s only four, right?”

“Maggie’sbrave,” I told her. “Plus, she’s already seen my costume so she knows it’s me.”

“Yourlittle sister is so cute,” said Ria with a sigh. “I wish I had a sweet little sister like her but no! All I’ve got are a couple of bratty cousins.”

Ismiled. Ria was my best friend in the world, but she was kind of a complainer.She wasn’t without reason, though. If her parents knew that she was dressing upin Goth clothes and singing karaoke in restaurants and bowling alleys, they’dprobably ship her off to private school somewhere. They were super strict andhad more money than most in the mediocre town of Ammonville. I was middle class but herparents still seemed to like me so they didn’t mind our being friends. If,however, she brought over a friend with a tattoo, face piercing, or anythingremotely abnormal then they would disapprove and forbid her from seeing themagain. Ria hated it, but put up with it as best she could. She could alwayscomplain to me, however. I’m a good listener.

Ifinished washing off my make up and got back into my normal clothes. In thepocket of my jeans, there was a silver charm bracelet that I slid onto mywrist. This bracelet was a gift from my dad and always gave me good luck, butonly when I put it in my pocket, never when I wore it. So, if ever I needed abit of luck I would slip it off my wrist and put it in my pocket. Works every time.

“Youstill have that thing?” Ria asked, noticing my bracelet and glowering at itwarily.

“Ofcourse,” I said. “Why would I not have it?”

“Becausethat slacker gave it to you,” said Ria. “Isn’t that all he does? Send you acharm every year to put on that bracelet to make up for the fact that he dumpedyou and your mom?”

“That’snot it,” I said reproachfully. “Dad didn’t dump us! Mom dumped him and he’s nota slacker. He just . . . doesn’t really know what he wants, that’s all.”

“You’retoo forgiving to that guy,” said Ria, huffily. “He barely ever comes to seeyou. If my dad was like that, I wouldnever forgive him.”

Ijust let her rant. Ria doesn’t get my dad. Very few people do. Mom told me everything about her failedrelationship with Dad after he left when I was five. My dad was a really bigthinker and had all sorts of crazy ideas and get-rich-quick schemes. Actually,that was what drew my mom to him in the first place. He’s a really cheerful andenergetic guy, really fun and happy. When they got married, it seemed likeeverything was great. They loved each other, they had me, and everything wasgoing well. Then my dad’s schemes weren’t working out so well. Mom was workingtwo jobs to support us and Dad was getting involved in one failed plan afteranother. He never lost hope though; he was still happy and confident. I don’tthink Mom ever saw him mad or upset and I know I haven’t. But when he thoughtup this idea that would have us all move to India, Mom put her foot down.

Shetold him that things weren’t working out, that she was getting really stressedfrom working so much, that she was upset at not being able to be with me, andlots of other things. Via mutual understanding, they thought it was a good ideaif they didn’t stay together anymore. Dad moved to India without us and I’ve only seenhim a few times since then. He didn’t stay in India, but he’s moved other places,wherever the next promise of fortune took him. But he always made sure tovisit. I’ve seen him about two times a year since then and he always sends me acharm for my bracelet on my birthday. Some people may not think much of him,Ria included, but he’s still my dad. I generally had to come to his defense alot. Mom defended him too, but she doesn’t feel for him like she used to.

Oncethe talent show was completed, the bell rang and school had come to an end. Riaand I got into her car and started to drive out of the student parking lot.Ria’s car was a dark green Jetta that was some thirty years old. It was alittle run down and not the most reliable thing out there. Ria complained aboutit all the time. Her parents could afford to have given her a Mercedes or aMustang, but they’d given her this two-bit thing in order to “appreciate whatshe had”. I don’t think it worked.

“Theclutch on this thing always sticks!” Ria huffed, trying to get the car in gear.She always referred to her car as “this thing”. “And I’m already running out of gas! I swear I musthave a leak or something. This thing guzzles gas like a Hummer!”

“Doyou even know what guzzling gas means?” I asked, teasingly.

“Iheard those grease monkeys on my Dad’s car repair shows say it,” Ria grumbled.

“Greasemonkeys?” I said, laughing. “Did you seriously just call them that?”

“It’swhat Daddy calls them,” said Ria, blushing as she finally managed to start theengine. We drove off toward my house first. I have my permit, but not my owncar. We don’t have the money for one yet. I was going to start working in thesummer to start saving up for one. But, summer was a few months away, so Iwould have to keep riding with Ria for the time being.

Aswe headed down the road, a chill started in the small of my back and crawled upto my shoulder blades, making my whole being shiver wildly. “Brrr,” I said,shaking off the feeling.

“What’swrong?” Ria asked, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Nothing,”I replied. “Just another chill.”

Rialaughed. “Your ESP acting up again?” she asked.

“Idon’t have ESP,” I told her for the thousandth time, rolling my eyes playfully.“That kind of thing only exist in urban legends and horror stories and you knowit.”

“Youcould have fooled me,” said Ria.

I really don’t have ESP or anything of thesort. Ria just says that I do because I get those chills a lot, even if it’stotally warm out. I even get them in the middle of summer. I also get déjà vuat the strangest times. It just comes out of nowhere. Ria says that they’re themakings of psychic powers starting to form, but that’s ridiculous. ESP doesn’texist, of that I was sure. I mean, who doesn’t get chills and déjà vu? It’sjust another one of her jokes.

Wereached my house and Ria dropped me off. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,”she promised.

“Alright,”I said, waving to her as I closed the car door. “Bye!”

Myfriend waved and started to drive away. I watched her until she rounded thecorner and disappeared from view before I turned and headed for the front doorof my house. Our house had two stories and was white with dark green trim, anice little place. As I steppedonto the porch, fiddling with my key ring to replace the right key to the door, ithappened again. A chill crawling up my spine and an overwhelming déjà vu hit mysenses like a cannonball. For whatever reason, I raised my eyes and lookedaround. But everything was normal. I returned to the lock on my front door butthen froze, straightened, and looked around again. I had the weirdest feeling Iwas being watched, another unusual quirk with me. I shook my head to clear mythoughts and finally found the key I was looking for. I slid it into the lockand was about to turn it when it happened again.Instinct took over and I glanced around at the street and our neighboringhouses trying to discern what was giving me this feeling.

Thistime I saw it. In the shadow of the house left of mine, there was an outline ofsomeone there. Feeling puzzled, I leaned forward and squinted at figure. It hadto be someone young. Whoever it was wasn’t any taller than four and a halffeet. My first thought was it had to be one of our neighbor’s kids, but then Iremembered the lady who lived in that house didn’t have kids.

“Hello?”I called.

Noreply.

“Hello,”I repeated.

Thefigure stayed hidden and quiet.

Itsuddenly dawned on me that this might be one of those boys in the neighborhoodwho sometimes came into other people’s yards to play. For all I knew, I couldbe interrupting on a hide-and-seek game. I laughed at myself a little andopened the door. I glanced back once more right before I stepped into theliving room, just to laugh again at my own silliness.

Butthe figure was gone.