Free Whispered Magics by Sherwood Smith Page A

time Ben wanted to run. At least
we’d stay warm, I thought.
    “What light?” He paused and squinted at me. Those shadows were
still on his face, and they hadn’t moved. “Street lights? Store lights?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “It just said ‘light.’ And you’re
supposed to tell them to go toward it. What is that on your face? Bruises?”
    “I fall down a lot,” he said. “So sue me. That ‘light’ stuff
sounds like a load of crap.”
    I snorted. “That’s what I thought. Hanging out in the dark is
cool. That’s what I’d do if I was a ghost. But that’s what it said in this
article I found on the Internet.”
    “Why waste time reading that junk?” he snarled.
    “You’re sure in a good mood,” I snarled back. “Anyway, it was
better than yawning over that covalency snore in the science book.”
    Ben snorted. “Old Man Mattson let you read during class?”
    “He ignored me like I wasn’t there,” I said.
    He shook his head. “Geez. Some people have all the luck. I
drop a pencil on my desk, and he gives me an hour of detention. I miss an
assignment, and I get sent to the VP.”
    “I haven’t handed in any work for a week.” I smirked. “All the
teachers act like I’m still their perfect little super-student.”
    “Geez.” Ben shook his head again.
    We reached the park, and it looked like the ghosts were
waiting for us.
    Only there were more of them—maybe forty. As soon as we
appeared, they all ran toward us. The grass waved in the cold wind—I could see
it through their feet.
    Then I was surrounded by them. Mostly girls, some hopping and
dancing. The one in the pinafore was there, her wide eyes staring and staring.
She reminded me a lot of my cousin Sarah, except this ghost was skinnier and a
couple years younger, and Sarah wasn’t dead. The others pressed close, though
not close enough to touch.
    I walked slowly toward the swings, and the ones in front of me
backed away. When I reached the swings, I sat on one and for a time there I
was, pumping high, with ghosts on either side of me, blown back and forth by
the wind.
    The ghost that reminded me of Sarah swung next to me, her
pinafore and hair fluttering, her solemn little face angled my way, as though
she was listening. Remembering what I’d read about the lights, I wondered if I
should try to talk to her, but it seemed so stupid. If she couldn’t see the
streetlights as plainly as I could, what good would asking do? And what if it
did somehow make her disappear? She was cute and fun to watch. I didn’t want
her to go.
    I thought about asking Ben, and looked around. I was alone
except for the ghosts.
    Ben wasn’t in the park at all, but running with a big swarm of
ghosts up the steep embankment to the bridge.
    Swinging high, I caught a glimpse of them through the trees
sheltering the bridge. Then I heard brakes squealing.
    My crowd of ghosts all drifted toward the carousel, looking
back at me.
    Sarah hopped from one foot to the other, her bare feet passing
through the sand. It looked weird, and I laughed. The ghosts all laughed as
well, their mouths round and wide and dark.
    Then we were on the carousel. The cold metal burned my hands,
so I rubbed them together, then pushed with all my strength. The ghosts piled
on and we went round and round, the winter wind streaming through my hair and
their bodies.
    When Ben reappeared, I jumped down reluctantly, though my
teeth were chattering again. I said, “What’s so great on the bridge?”
    “Scaring drunks.” He grinned as we began to trot. “You can see
’em coming up from Main, driving like this.” His hands wove back and forth.
    “The ghosts jump in front of the car and it goes right through
the ghost, and the guy inside goes totally buggy. Did ya hear that one idiot?
He nearly went right off the bridge.” He laughed, a hoarse, high laugh.
    “Stupid drunks.”
    Pain lanced through me when he said Scaring drunks , but I wasn’t about to show it. Besides, why