Free Ghost Town by Phoebe Rivers Page A

clouds blanketed the sky. The foam-capped waves broke rapidly on the shore. Today wasn’t going to be a beach day. I was fine with that. I’d found an old wooden tray in one of the rooms, and Lady Azura said I could have it. I planned to decoupage it with the photos of shells and sea life I’d taken, along with real shells and sea glass I’d collected. It’d be a 3-D collage that’d be useful, too. Maybe I’d send it to Aunt Charlotte.
    A wiry woman with a long metal stick wandered several feet ahead. She waved it along the sand, searchingfor buried treasure—loose change and rings that slipped off fingers. I was curious to see what she’d find.
    Frantic splashing made my head turn. I gasped. A girl with dark hair bobbed in the choppy waves. Seagulls cried overhead as I craned my neck to see her. No one else was out swimming.
    â€œLily?” I jogged in her direction, the shells jangling with each quickened step. “Lily?” I was having trouble seeing her now.
    What was Lily doing in the ocean?
    Cold water lapped my ankles, tingling my feet, as I ran toward her. She seemed to shimmer in the sparkling water. “Lily!”
    She didn’t respond. Instead she faded in and out. There and then not there. Slowly, she dissolved into the air.
    I kicked the sand angrily. She wasn’t Lily. She wasn’t even alive. A spirit forever swimming in the Atlantic. I hated the confusion. I hated not knowing who was real.
    I continued down the beach. I kept my eyes on the sand, concentrating on shells and sea glass. When I finally looked up, the beach entrance to the boardwalk stood before me. I gazed up the wooden stairs.
    I thought of my dad. He wanted me to stop being afraid. It was definitely faster to get home this way than going back down the beach. I didn’t have to go anywhere near the haunted house, I reasoned. I should just do it. Right?
    I hesitated, then began to climb.
    The color and energy were missing from the boardwalk on this overcast morning. All the stands and booths were boarded up. No laughter, no shrieks, no piped-in music. Just the cries of the seagulls and the footsteps of elderly power walkers.
    â€œStorm’s coming,” a woman carrying a Yorkie in a pink sweater warned.
    My hair blew across my face as the wind picked up. Flags along the pier flapped, and the sky grew darker. I glanced down the pier. The rides and games were closed. Midnight Manor loomed like a purple mountain against the gray clouds.
    Every logical part of me knew I should turn right and head toward Beach Drive and home. I wanted to. I didn’t want to make Dad worry. But my body wasn’t communicating with my brain. My feet walked down the pier as if guided by a remotecontrol. There wasn’t a choice. There was only one direction to go.
    I don’t want to be here , I thought as a powerful force drew me ever closer to the haunted house.
    No one was around. The attraction was closed. I stared up at the abandoned house. In the quiet, it seemed almost harmless. The MIDNIGHT MANOR sign squeaked on its hinges as gusts of wind rippled off the water. I leaned back on my heels, surveying the old house. No sadness came from the building. Everything seemed fine. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Dad was right.
    I swallowed, then gagged as a sour taste invaded my throat. Chills snaked along my skin. A throbbing pulsed in my temple. I realized that I wasn’t alone.
    He was back.
    I turned to run, but the old man blocked my path.
    I need you . . . there is no more time. His strained voice reverberated in my ears. No longer could I hear the wind. I could hear only him.
    I tried to dodge around him, but his frail form was everywhere. I couldn’t escape.
    Any day now . . . help save the children . . . stop . . . stop the tragedy . . .His voice pleaded.
    â€œWhat tragedy?” I cried. “I don’t understand. What tragedy?”
    He didn’t react. His eyes remained