Elle leaned over my mom’s shoulder, checking out her technique as she applied another sticky coat. “I would kill for those eyelashes, and you don’t even appreciate them.”
Mom stepped back and admired her work, then glanced at Elle. “What do you think?”
“Gorgeous.” Elle flopped down on the bed dramatically. “Mrs. Waters, you are the coolest.”
“Be home by midnight or I’ll seem a lot less cool,” she said on her way out.
Elvis peeked around the corner.
I walked over to pick him up. He froze, his eyes fixed on me, before he turned and tore down the hall.
“What’s the deal with the King?” Elle asked, using her favorite nickname for Elvis.
“He’s been acting weird.” I didn’t want to elaborate.
I wanted to forget about the graveyard and the girl in the white nightgown. But I couldn’t shake the image of her feet hovering above the ground—or the feeling that there was a reason I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
CHAPTER 3
Blackout
The house was dark when Elle dropped me off five minutes before curfew, which was strange because Mom always waited up. She liked to hang out in the kitchen while I raided the fridge and gave her a slightly edited play-by-play of the night. After my self-imposed exile, she’d be amused when I reported that nothing had changed.
Elle had dragged me around the lobby with her while she flirted with guys she would never go out with, and I got stuck making awkward small talk with their friends. At least it was over and no one asked about Chris.
I unlocked the door.
She hadn’t even left a light on for me.
“Mom?”
Maybe she fell asleep.
I flipped the switch at the base of the stairs. Nothing. The power was probably out.
Great.
The house was pitch-black. A rush of dizziness swept over me as the fear started to build.
My hand curled around the banister, and I focused on the top of the stairs trying to convince myself it wasn’t that dark.
I crept up the steps. “Mom?”
When I reached the second-floor landing, a rush of cold air knocked the breath out of my lungs. The temperature inside must have dropped at least twenty degrees since I left for the movies. Did we leave a window open?
“Mom!”
The lights flickered, casting long shadows down the narrow hallway. The panic increased as I stumbled toward my mom’s bedroom door. The memory of the tiny crawl space in the back of her closet fought to break free.
Don’t think about it.
I took another tentative step.
Her door was open, a pale yellow light blinking inside. This end of the hall was even colder, and my breath came out in white puffs.
As I edged closer, a stale, bitter odor like cigar smoke hit me. A rising sense of dread clawed at my insides.
Someone’s in the house.
I stepped through the doorway, and the wrongness of the scene closed in on me.
My mom lay on the bed, motionless.
Elvis crouched on her chest.
The lamp in the corner flashed on and off like a child was toying with the switch.
The cat made a low guttural sound that cut through the silence, and I shuddered. If an animal could scream, that’s what it would sound like.
“Mom?”
Elvis’ head whipped around in my direction.
I ran to the bed and he leapt to the floor.
My mother’s head was tilted to the side, dark hair spilling across her face, as the room pitched in and out of darkness. I realized how still she was—the fact that her chest wasn’t rising and falling. I pressed my fingers against her throat.
Nothing.
I shook her roughly. “Mom, wake up!”
Tears streamed down my face, and I slid my hand under her cheek. The light stopped flashing, bathing the room in a faint glow.
“Mom!” I grabbed her shoulders and yanked her upright. Her head swung forward, falling against her chest. I scrambled backward, and her body dropped down onto the mattress, bouncing against it unnaturally.
I slid to the floor, choking on my tears.
My mother’s head lay against the bed at an awkward angle, her face turned toward me.
Her eyes were as empty as a doll’s.
FOUR WEEKS LATER
CHAPTER 4
Grave Jumping
My bedroom still looked like my bedroom, the bookshelves crammed with sketch pads and tins filled with broken pencils and bits of charcoal. The bed was still positioned in the center like an island, so I could lie on my back and stare at the posters and drawings taped to my walls. Chris Berens’ Lady Day still hung on the back of my door—a beautiful girl imprisoned in a glass dome floating across the sky. I had spent more than a few nights inventing stories about the girl trapped inside. In the end, she always found a way out.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I had two days to take this place apart and pack up everything that mattered to me. The things that made this room mine—the things that defined me. I’d tried a hundred times over the last month, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I enlisted the only person left who loved this place almost as much as I did.