Page 54 of How to Fake a Haunting

It was starting to get dark. Callum and Joe were at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Morgan was standing against the sink, asking if I wanted her to put on the water for tea.

“That’s okay,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I . . .” I what? Needed a second? More like a lifetime to make sense of the past two days.

“I’m so sorry this is happening,” Morgan said.

I looked into her face. I didn’t even recognize her as the woman who used to lobby the Preservation Society to bring ghost tours to the mansions.

She was wholly new to me in this posthaunting world, where the ghosts of one’s past haunted their present so hard that it affected the future.

I moaned, unsure what to do. It occurred to me that I hadn’t called my parents since that morning. “I need to find my phone,” I said. “To check on Beatrix.”

Morgan nodded and turned to the stove, intent on making tea anyway.

I went to the charging station and pulled my phone off the cord.

The moment I lifted it, I knew something was wrong.

Twenty-seven missed calls and almost as many texts.

They were split in terms of caller; about half from my mother, the other half from Adelaide.

“Shit,” I said, panicked.

“Everything okay?” Morgan asked.

I didn’t answer, just opened the text messages from my mother. The last one she’d sent caused a lump of terror to well up my throat:

Not sure why you’re not answering, but the ambulance has arrived for your father.

It’s his heart. He’s conscious, but I need to follow him to the hospital.

I was going to leave Bea with Francine next door, but Adelaide called.

She’s been looking for you too. I told her what’s going on, and she picked up Beatrix. They’re on their way to you now.

My heart thundered in my chest. I checked the time stamp on the message. Twenty minutes ago. I looked up, horrified, just as Callum said, “Someone’s pulling in.”

I didn’t bother with shoes but, on mothering autopilot, grabbed Bea’s iPad and headphones, then ran out the door and down the front walkway.

I met them at the edge of the drive, my heart soaring and then plummeting at Beatrix’s happy-go-lucky skips across the pavement, the purple cast—and Love, the koala—held to her chest, the ecstatic expression on her face.

“Mommy, Mommy!” she cried. “I missed you! My head feels all better, but Papa is sick. Gram went to the hospital.”

I scooped Bea into a hug. She smelled like honeysuckle and laundry detergent, and I wanted to hold her forever. Over Bea’s shoulder, I caught Adelaide’s eye. “Did you talk to my mom? Is my dad okay?”

Adelaide’s face was pale against the fuchsia waves of her hair.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “They’re hoping it was minor.

He was stable before they transported him.

” Her eyes darted up to the house. “Why didn’t you answer our calls?

I haven’t heard from you since last night, when you left me that super-weird voicemail.

” She widened her eyes as if to say, You know, the one we shouldn’t talk about in front of your daughter?

Adelaide’s attention wavered. “Is that Joe and Morgan’s truck?” Her eyes narrowed. “What are they doing here?” She looked at the house again. “Lainey, what the fuck happened to all the windows?”

“Language, Auntie Adelaide,” I said, and she rolled her eyes.

I set Beatrix down and she looked up at me. “Can I go on my swing set?”

“No!” I cried, but she took off running anyway.

I spun on Adelaide. “She cannot stay,” I exclaimed, and held out the iPad and headphones, but she didn’t take them. “I need you to take Bea somewhere—anywhere but here!”

Adelaide opened her mouth but was cut off by a shout from Beatrix. “What’s wrong with the yard?” she cried, darting in and around the holes.

“Woodchucks,” I called back. “They wanted to move into your fairy garden, but there was no room; they got mad and dug up the grass.”

I turned back to Adelaide; her mouth was open, and she was staring at the yard in dismay.

“What is wrong with the yard?” she demanded. “And the windows? And that voicemail? What is wrong with every-fucking-thing right now, Lainey? Start talking!”

It flooded out of me in a pressurized deluge of words, everything from discovering Chris was the blackmailer to the revelation that Callum and I were being haunted by ourselves.

“But what about the other two ghosts?” Adelaide asked. “Neither of you have ever been a corpse or dragged your mangled body out of wreckage.” It was just like Adelaide to accept everything I’d said at face value and go right for the plot holes.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but they’re terrifying in different ways.”

Adelaide stared up at the house. “So . . .what now?”

I was about to respond when I heard the door to the house open in the garage. Morgan poked her head out. “Um, hi, Adelaide. Nice to see you. Uhh, Lainey, we need you in here. Now.” There was urgency in her voice.

I stared at Adelaide, wild-eyed. “Take her somewhere?” I pleaded.

“Where?” she asked.

“Your house?”

“I guess I could—” Her eyes fell on the playhouse at the top of the swing set. “What about there?” she asked.

I looked in time to see Beatrix disappear through the door of her fortress. “Pinecone House?”

“It’s far enough from the main house, don’t you think? And no ghosts have incorporated a trip down the slide into their wanderings. At least, not yet.”

I frowned at her bad joke. “I don’t know—”

“I’m worried about you. What if I need to be here? To help somehow?”

“Lainey?” Morgan called. She was back in the doorway again. “We need you in here.” The urgency had climbed up a notch.

“Arghh!” I shouted in frustration. “I can’t think straight. I don’t know what to do.” I took off toward the swing set, and Adelaide followed. At the bottom of the ladder, I turned. “Give me a minute,” I said.

“Of course,” Adelaide replied.

I climbed up and knocked. When there was no answer, I pushed open the door.

Bea’s gone, my brain screamed. The ghosts got to her somehow!

The house swallowed her whole! Then I realized Bea was surrounded by blankets and stuffed animals at the center of the snug space. I smiled and held out the headphones.

Her face lit up. “Shows in the playhouse? I’ve never done that before!”

“I know, right? It’ll be fun.” She took them while I propped the iPad on a pillow shaped like a whale.

My stomach twisted. She was so sweet, so innocent.

How had this gone so wrong? How was my daughter, whom I’d wanted to protect more than anyone, thrust into this madness?

I looked at her. The cat ears of the headphones poked out from between several plush horses and a second whale pillow.

I pressed play, and cartoon dogs twirled on a swing while a smiling Dad-dog looked on with affection.

Despite the holes in the yard and my terror at what would come next, despite the malevolent chaos in my house—and my relationship—the image of Bea watching her favorite show, the show I usually made an exception for, putting down whatever work or household chore needed finishing to indulge in the delightful program with my daughter, injected something like hope into my heart.

I paused the show and lifted one side of Bea’s headphones from her ear.

“Which episode is this?” I cooed.

“‘Double Babysitter,’” Bea squealed. I swore that whenever she watched the show, her voice took on the higher-pitched notes of the titular character.

“I love this one,” I said. Beatrix reached for the iPad to restart it, but I put a hand on her arm.

“Sweetheart?” I asked. She blinked her large gray-gold eyes at me.

“Can we pretend it’s like the babysitter episode tonight, and Adelaide is like Frisky, and Mommy has to go do something for a bit but will be back very soon? ”

She thought this over. “Where are you going?” she asked.

I forced myself to appear calm, to keep up the facade that things were normal. “Nowhere. But I still need you to stay in here with Adelaide, no matter what. Just for a bit, okay? Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Beatrix shook her head.

“Good, so you stay here with Adelaide, watch your show, and I’ll come back shortly.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Bea reached for the iPad again.

“One more thing, ’kay, sweetheart?” I leaned forward and rubbed Bea’s cheek with my own, then kissed her several times, my heart aching more fiercely with each kiss. “I love you. So, so much.”

I replaced the headphones and pushed play. A moment later, Bea’s laughter, infectious and more real than anything, rang out. I shut the door and climbed down from the fort. Adelaide was staring at me. “You okay?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Not at all. Take care of her while I’m in there, okay?”

“I promise.”

I held her gaze. Who would have known her batshit plan to make my life better would have brought us here? As terrifying as it was, I felt like we belonged in this moment. When you realized you’d been haunting yourself, that meant things really needed to change.

Tell her thank you! a voice in my head howled. Tell her how much you appreciate her! You suck at showing your emotions. It’s okay to be vulnerable! And this time, instead of letting the moment pass, I grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you,” I said. “For all your help. For everything.”

Adelaide held me a moment, then pulled away. As she did, I felt a lump in my pocket. I slipped my hand inside and pulled out the knife I’d brought with me into the tent.

“Here,” I said. “I know, it’s absurd. A knife against a ghost. But it would make me feel better if you had it.”

She nodded and gave me a gentle shove. “Don’t come out here again until you fix whatever’s going on in there.”

I nodded and started toward the house. I tried to look unafraid, in case anything was watching from the broken windows, but I was a mess of swirling terror and uncertainty.

“Hey,” Adelaide called.

I stopped, looked back.

“Remember my advice.”

“What advice is that?”

She winked. “Serial killer confidence, baby. Don’t let those ghosts know how scared you really are.”