She tiptoed down a corridor, and I was forced to follow her. More moonlight spilled into the hallway, so bright I had to blink against it. The door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, and I could smell the scent of a man’s cologne, heavy and…

  Cheap.

  The woman kept moving forward in that eerie, ghostlike fashion.

  When we reached the room, there was someone else in it. I couldn’t make out the figure ahead of me, though I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. Wind picked up outside and the house shifted and groaned, as restless as I felt. The creak of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet could barely be heard over the racket of the tree branches scraping against the windows and the howling of the wind.

  I could just make out the lumpy shapes of a couch and armchair nearby. My hand braced the wall, and awareness dawned on me that this was a living room.

  Now things were going to change. Now he was going to realize he didn’t have the final say.

  Stop! I told myself, but it was as though my own voice didn’t exist. All I could hear was this woman’s angry and polluted thoughts.

  He’d tell me what I wanted to know, or he’d get exactly what he deserved.

  I hit the threshold of the door and could go no further. I could only watch from afar as the woman’s body separated from mine and I was no longer her shadow. As she moved forward, she disappeared into the darkness of the room, disappeared into the pitch black.

  There was a flash of lightning that illuminated the darkness and in it, I saw a lopsided shadow against the far wall. The shadow was stooped over the couch, where someone sat with his head hanging back, like he’d fallen asleep watching TV. And the shadow was enormous, taking up the majority of the wall, looming over the man like some kind of monster.

  “Time to wake up,” the creature grunted in a deep and gravelly voice.

  Even though the shadow creature appeared almost like an animal, it stood upright and its limbs trailed to the floor, its arms longer than its legs. Long and spiked shapes jutted, antler-like, from either side of its skull.

  The man opened his eyes and let out an ear-splitting shriek.

  A shriek I echoed as I bolted upright in bed.

  I threw a hand over my mouth to muffle my cry, so I wouldn’t wake Finn who was sound asleep in the bed next to mine.

  It was just a dream, I tried to calm myself, but my heart was throwing itself against my ribs and my breathing was coming in quick pants.

  It was just…

  A figment of your imagination!

  True, but…

  No, buts…

  It’s just… that was the same monster I saw in the graveyard, I finally finished the thought.

  I took a deep breath at the memory of the woman walking through the gravestones and then the shadowy creature that appeared moments later.

  And then I remembered that monsters weren’t real and that the light of the dying sun had simply been playing tricks on my eyes.

  Right and somehow you channeled whatever you thought you saw in the graveyard and it appeared in your dream, owing to your hyperactive imagination.

  That made sense.

  Magic was real, yes, but no one in my family had ever mentioned monsters and owing to the fact that we possessed magic, if monsters were real, I would have known about them.

  The things that did exist—witches, gypsies, ghosts, the fae—they were all, ultimately, human. Ghosts had been people. Witches, fae and gypsies still were human—we just possessed magic.

  And monsters weren’t human.

  At least, that’s what I told myself as I lay back down, taking a deep breath and trying to calm myself.

  Chapter Three

  Today was move-in day!

  I woke Finn up and even though he grumbled and groaned and pulled the covers back up to his chin; he was up and brushing his teeth in another few minutes. We packed our things and then started for the lobby, where I grabbed a cup of coffee to go and we piled into the Jeep, eager to meet the moving trucks.

  Yes, tonight would mark our first night in our new house, which hopefully wasn’t haunted. I even crossed my fingers as the thought raced through my head. And of course that weird dream was still lingering, even though I did my best to push it to the dark recesses of my mind.

  It was just a dream, nothing more, I told myself. And, besides, nothing is going to ruin this fantastic day! This is the first day of the rest of our lives!

  “Are you excited?” I asked Finn as I reached over and squeezed his knee.

  “I guess,” he answered.

  “This is going to be great,” I said with another nod. “We’re going to have a new start and life is going to be one big adventure from here on out.”

  He looked at me and smiled, his braces glittering in the early morning light. “Okay, Mom.”

  ***

  Seven hours later, Finn and I were exhausted. The moving trucks were gone and all of our furniture was unloaded and I was sorting through the myriad boxes that covered the floors. I’d decided to start the remodel in the kitchen area, so I was trying to clear all the kitchen boxes away, storing them in the dining room. Tomorrow I’d start looking for general contractors.

  “It looks good in here,” I said as I looked around Finn’s room, which was adjacent to mine. His bunk bed was set up in the corner and his steamboat trunk was in the other corner, overfilled with Nerf guns. His bookshelves lined the opposite wall, housing Legos in half-built condition, board games, books and other toys that hadn’t found a permanent home yet.

  “Yeah, I like my room,” Finn said as he glanced around himself, pausing in his unpacking.

  “Well, think about what color you want to paint it,” I started as the sounds of yelling erupted from downstairs.

  “What was that?” Finn asked, eyes going wide.

  I took a deep breath. “You stay right here and I’ll go find out.”

  “Mom, what if it’s ghosts?”

  “It’s not ghosts,” I said, hoping I was telling the truth. The last thing we needed was another ghost. “I’ll be right back,” I said as I gave him a smile and started for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  A chorus of ghoulish voices drifted through the half-opened door. A pair of them, raised and angry, but definitely human.

  Poltergeists weren’t big on witty repartee. It was usually ‘grab, smash, scream’ and not always in that order. The poltergeist that targeted Finn at our last house had been a big fan of the ‘grab and scream’ combo, waking him almost every night. That is, until I banished the SOB. But, by then, the damage was already done and Finn wanted no part of the house any longer. So we moved… to Haven Hollow.

  I didn’t remember leaving the front door open and was tempted to slam the heavy oak into the faces of my evening visitors for scaring the life out of my son. But, on closer inspection, one of the people standing on the porch was holding a keychain with the Hallowed Realty logo on it.

  So this person must have been Ophelia Ponsobby, my realtor. We’d talked briefly on the phone about the selling points of the house: that it was four thousand square feet and had once been a general store, and before that, a post office. Built in 1854, the house was the longest surviving on Orchard Street.

  If the fashion police could have put Ophelia on trial, she’d be in for life, without the possibility of parole. Her checkered pantsuit had to have been pulled straight from a 70s catalog. And the boxy shoulder pads made her look like she was ready to fill in for the linebacker at the local college football team. The string of pearls around her neck looped down to her slightly protruding navel and looked well-suited for strangling someone. Her boots were heeled and witchy looking with long and narrow points.

  Rose-colored glasses perched on her hawkish nose, not completely concealing the pair of beady black eyes that stared over the rims. Ophelia Ponsobby’s bio on the Hallowed Realty website said she was around my mother’s age. If so, she hadn’t aged half as gracefully. My mother was sixty-eight and her wrinkles looked artful, her age spots few and far between, her hair settling into a fluffy, cotton white after she’d given up dyeing it.

  Ophelia looked like time had hit her with a two-by-four. More than once. The lines were deep cracks in her face, carved by an eon of misery. Had this woman ever smiled a day in her life? I doubted it.

  “Get off the lawn this instant, you charlatan!” Ophelia shrieked, turning around to face a man who stood just below her, on the stairs. There was a basket of what looked like spa products sitting next to her, and the man below her was holding another gift basket, almost twice the size of hers.

  “I’m hardly a charlatan, Ophelia,” he muttered, the gift basket obscuring his face.

  She flourished a menacing black-polished nail at the stranger. “You’ve been warned once already, Mr. Zach!”

  “Don’t get your granny panties in a bunch, Ophelia, I’m just here to be a good neighbor.”

  She threw her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Well, how about you be a better neighbor by going home this instant!” She narrowed her already small eyes as she added, “And it’s Mrs. Ponsobby to you!”

  “Okay, but before I go, I have one question for you.” His voice was deep and had a happy quality about it. Like he was used to laughing. I could just make out his profile behind the clear wrap of the basket.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  Then he glanced up at the plop of velvet sitting atop her head. “What is up with that hat?”

  It looked like steam was going to come out of her ears and her face took on a purplish-red hue. I couldn’t help my smile.

  “This is a Victorian Chenille Hat!” she insisted as she stomped her foot on my porch and I half-worried she was going to go right through it. “Though I don’t expect you to have the mental capacity to reason that out, you philistine!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, feeling the need to play peacemaker, not that that was anything new. “What in the world is going on?” I asked, looking between them both. The man lowered the basket slightly so I could see his eyes, which were smiling.

  Then they both looked at me and were quiet for two seconds before they opened their mouths and a litany of angry words emerged, each defending his or her reasons for being on my front porch.

  And then there was the hat. My God, the hat.

  Maybe I was the philistine, because it didn’t look like a hat. It looked like a flock of birds had built a nest on Ophelia’s head and an overstuffed crow had settled in to die on it. The beady black eyes of the crow almost matched its owner’s.

  Ophelia brandished a cane, again topped with a raven. She was wielding the cane like a shotgun at the stranger. I half-expected the metal tip to roll back and reveal it was really a small-caliber handgun.

  The man she was pointing it at, in comparison, appeared pretty… normal. I mean, handsome normal. He was tall—maybe six-two, six-three, and good-looking, even as he held up the gift basket to avoid the swipe of Ophelia’s cane.

  He looked like he was in his early forties, his hair and the stubble on his face peppered with gray. He wasn’t just a tall guy, but he was also broad-shouldered with really long legs. He looked like he’d give good hugs…

  As he shifted the gift basket, I was able to see his black T-shirt. What appeared to be a dust bunny (as in a bunny made of dust) was being swept up by a faux proton pack, and there was a vague knockoff of the Ghostbusters logo beneath that. In white lettering, it read: ‘Hallowed Cleaners: Exorcise Your Dust!’ The utility belt strapped to his waist didn’t make the t-shirt any less odd.

  “Why are you shouting at each other?” I asked, frowning at them both.

  They started speaking at the same time again, a jumble of defensive syllables and high-pitched accusations.

  “This charlatan is attempting to…”

  “I was just coming to be friendly and welcome you to our town, but she…”

  “Stop, stop, stop,” I muttered, holding up my hands. I pointed at the less conspicuous of the pair. Mostly because he wasn’t so intimidating. “You first...”

  “Marty Zach,” he mumbled and held out his hand, which I shook. My hand was completely lost in his enormous one. His skin was calloused and roughened with work, but it was warm. Just like his smile.

  “Holly Morton,” I answered, giving him my full name. No one really called me Holly, though.

  “I know what you’re thinking... Don’t ever trust a man with two first names, right?” Then he laughed.

  “Fitting,” Ophelia sniffed.

  Marty Zach lowered the basket so I could see him better. His smile momentarily knocked the breath out of me. Broad and infectious, with perfectly straight, white teeth and a slight underbite that gave him a boyish quality. Most of the smile was in his eyes though. Deep blue.

  He lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug and motioned to the gift basket in his arms. “It appears I’ve entered into a round of dueling gift baskets.”

  “Oh, how nice,” I started. “Of both of you…”

  He nodded. “I heard someone had actually moved into this old wreck and thought I’d give you my condolences with a gift basket.” He chuckled then, and I couldn’t help my own laugh, even if his words were true. I’d gotten in over my head with this place. I just didn’t have the sense to walk away yet.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Do not thank him just yet!” Ophelia nearly interrupted, her whispery voice cutting through the haze of effusive gratitude like a stinging papercut. “He wants something from you, girl. Or else he wouldn’t be here.”

  “Ophelia,” Marty started, shaking his head.

  She continued to glare at me. “You’ll find very few men will grant favors unless they want something in return.”

  I guess I couldn’t argue that—it had been my experience, thus far.

  Marty’s salt-and-pepper brows scrunched down over those big, blue eyes in a way that was too attractive to be allowed.

  “Come on, Ophelia,” he said, giving her a smile that said her anger wouldn’t take him down. “I know you were born sometime in the late Mesozoic Era, but here in the 21st century, we’ve evolved past that logic.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  “Watch yourself,” Ophelia answered, glaring at him.

  “I’m here to say welcome to our new neighbor, that’s it,” Marty said as he turned his attention to me again.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Mom?” I heard Finn’s voice from behind me. “Is everything okay?”

  I took a deep breath, letting some of the tension ease out of my shoulders. Then I turned around to face Finn. “Yep, everything’s fine. Two of our neighbors came to visit,” I called out, looking at my little guy, where he stood at the top of the stairs. Or, really, my not so little guy…

  Then I looked at my visitors again. “I’m going to invite you both in, but no more arguing, deal?”

  They both exchanged an unfriendly glance before Ophelia bent double, setting her offering on my faded welcome mat that read: ‘Ring Bell. Pull weeds until someone answers’.

  “Hallowed Realty hopes you enjoy your new home, Ms. Morton,” Ophelia said, maintaining her haughty expression. “Please accept this gift basket on our behalf.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you, Ophelia, and it was nice meeting you.”

  She nodded and then straightened as swiftly and stiffly as a fan being snapped shut. She turned on her heel and left, creaking and thunking her whole way down the driveway. How hadn’t I heard the two vehicles (one of which was a hearse) pulling up? I needed a security system or something. Maybe a gate.

  I expected her to climb into the black hearse. Instead, she folded herself into the white 1964 Dodge 330. She turned on the engine which flared to life and then spluttered until I half-expected it to break down. But, Ophelia threw it into reverse and then performed a thirty-point turn before starting down my driveway. Marty and I watched her with equal bemusement. Only after she’d gone did I notice the apple tree beside the house.

  “Oh my God,” I said as I stared at it, openmouthed. Half the leaves had fallen off and the apples closest to the porch were withered up and rotting. “My apples!”

  I looked at Marty, who didn’t appear surprised.

  “This morning the tree didn’t look like this!” I insisted, thinking he must think I was nuts. “It’s the weirdest thing! I mean… what in the world could have happened to it?”

  Marty nodded. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  I looked at him, and he let out a great big breath of air. “Can we try this again?” he asked.

  Chapter Four

  “Come in,” I said as I glanced at him. “But I warn you, the smell inside is an instant cure for your appetite.”

  Marty flashed me another of those glittering grins. “I’ll chance it.”

  And with that, he followed me into the fragrant foyer, shutting the front door gently behind him.

  “So, you said you weren’t surprised by the state of my apple tree,” I started. “Is there an apple-tree disease or pest invading orchards around here or something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Those sounds weren’t ghosts?” Finn asked as he walked into the kitchen and studied Marty with caution. Even after Marty had tramped very noisily across the kitchen in his heavy work boots, Finn still didn’t seem convinced he was human. That was probably owing to the fact that Finn could see ghosts as easily as I could—in 3D—like they were flesh and bone.

  “Finn, this is our neighbor… McFly.”

  Marty blinked and looked at me in confusion. “Um... what?”

  I laughed because I thought my new pet-name for him was pretty funny. Maybe I was the only one? “You know… like Marty McFly? Back to the Future?”

  “No one has called me McFly since high school,” he returned the laugh.

  “Well, you can’t say that anymore, can you?”

  “Great Scott!” Marty said as he faced Finn, who laughed.

  “This is Marty, Finn,” I introduced them, thinking it felt really good to laugh again. “He’s our new neighbor and he brought us a gift basket.”