CHAPTER 1

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

the story begins ...

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

Ana Riley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

BRAIN WAVE INK 2004

brainwaveink@yahoo.ca

BRAIN WAVE INK 2004

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

By Ana Riley

CHAPTER 1 – Page 1

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

CHAPTER ONE

“Hi, Jen. Can you talk?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that obvious?.”

“I hear it in your voice. Spill it. What’s up?”

“There’s a small glitch in the plans. My brother’s friend, Harley, will be here at the same time you are.”

“Is he cute?”

“Jen, this is serious. My brother’s bad enough. Adding his friend is double trouble. Alex and Harley will cause us grief, pure grief! They’ll do weird stuff and screw up the project. Four months of planning down the drain!”

“Whoa, Girl! Slow down a minute. Let’s start with your brother – he’s not so bad – just young. Sometimes I wish I had a brother.”

“You wouldn’t if you knew what brothers are like.”

“So, back to Harley, how old is he? Can he drive? Does he have a car? Details, girl, details!”

“He’s sixteen, he drives, and his full name is Harley Davidson. Anyone named after a motorcycle has got to be a jerk!”

“Does he drive a Harley Davidson?”

“No, that’s just his stupid name.”

“Relax, Gia. Take a deep breath. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll be going different places and doing our own thing. It’s not going to affect us. Maybe it’s not such a big deal after all because it’ll keep Alex occupied and out of our hair.”

“It is a big deal. You’ll see when you get here.”

“As long as you have the car and we stay on the project, everything will work out fine. Speaking of which, any news?”

“We heard her again last night, clear as a bell.”

“I just hope she doesn’t quit singing before I get there. I’ve been reading these books on ghosts. There are so many theories. My parents don’t believe in ghosts. They wouldn’t be happy hearing that I’m on a ghost hunt, so I’m keeping quiet about all this. What should I wear?”

“Jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirt and runners. Leave designers at home. Well, maybe bring one dressy outfit.”

“Shorts, tank, bathing suit? How about sandals?”

“Sure, whatever. It gets hot here. Real hot.”

“I’m so excited, Gia. This’ll be the summer of a lifetime! No parents, no school, no work – it’ll be fabulous!”

“I hope so.”

“See ya in eight days. Ciao!”

Jenny doesn’t take me seriously at all. She’ll find out for herself how horrible it’s going to be.

“Dad… Dad?”

“In the kitchen.”

“When does Mom get home?”

“Three weeks. Depends on the baby. Sounds like Alex is…”

“I’m home! Hey, everybody, I’m home!”

“We know! The whole world knows! Do you have to yell out every detail of your life and slam the door so loudly that the neighbor’s cows moan?”

“Gia, cool it. He’s your brother.”

“He walks like an elephant and he yells like Tarzan. Are you sure he wasn’t traded by mistake at birth? He can’t be a product of this environment. He’s nothing like me. I’m a logical outcome of your minds, your education, sophistication, grooming. He’s from another planet.”

“Hi, Dad. What’s in the fridge?”

“Your mother left a cake. Save me some, will you?”

“Sure, Dad. One piece – saved.”

“Would two be pushing it, son?”

“Two small ones or two big ones?”

“How about I designate two pieces and then you don’t need to worry about making a miscalculation. Gia, do you want some cake?”

“You didn’t say anything about her!” Alex grimaces the worst grimaces and he thinks he’s being expressive!

“Don’t worry about me, not that you ever do, Marti, dear. Eat it all

and watch your face pop, pop, pop out all over with zits, zits, zits!” I love sarcasm.

“Gia, cut it out. There’s enough for everyone. Want some, or not?” Dad’s a bit impatient with us today.

“Chocolate? I don’t think so, Dad. Marti can have my share of zits.”

I have to get out of here before I throw up. My brother, Alex – I call l him Marti – is one of the most disgusting creatures ever made and I have no idea as to why it is my destiny to co-exist with this moron.

“Hey, Dad, can I finish the iced tea?” Marti siphons everything in sight.

“Gia, do you want iced tea?”

“No thanks, Dad. I’ll have green tea.” I’d rather have coffee, but I heard it makes your teeth go black. Black teeth and purple lipstick would be awful together.

If you could see Alex eating his cake right now, you’d agree with me in an instant how disgusting he is. Jenny’ll understand when she gets here.

“Hear the news? Harley’s coming?” It surprises me how Marti can talk with his mouth full, food oozing out on his lower lip and then sliding on his chin a little. Doesn’t he feel it there? Feel – nah! Too human for him.

“My stomach is lurching.”

“He’ll be here in a week. Everyone says he’s changed. He’s got a job and everything. He even has his own business.”

“What kind of business? Delivering newspapers?”

“He fixes computers.”

“Computers? I doubt it. He couldn’t find the ‘Enter’ button if it was painted neon orange.”

“He’s changed, I tell you. He even talks differently on the phone. He’s grown up. He’s driving.”

“Driving? No authority in its right mind would give that measle a license. He's a menace to society on his feet. The damage he can do on wheels is unthinkable."

“Still like him, don’t ya? These put-downs are to cover your true, heart-felt feelings for him. Bet you’ll fall harder for him this summer than before.”

My brother’s dramatization of these last comments has done it – especially when he slaps his heart with his hand, and raises his voice like some soap opera diva. Suddenly tea isn’t that important. I’m out of here.

”Dad, I need to go on-line. May I use your computer?” Dad has the coolest computer. You can see it working through the plastic casing. Finally, manufacturers are thinking creatively about the appearance of technology.

“It’s yours for an hour or so. Check our E-mail, please.”

Any reason to get out of the kitchen is good enough for me. Besides, the Study is cooler. We don’t have air conditioning. I wish we did. My parents are trying to save the environment. If they would only understand that by working more efficiently in a cooler workspace, one would use less electricity in the long run, thereby saving natural resources. I can’t imagine that a little freon is going to undo all the sky in Saskatchewan. We have so much sky here in Saskatchewan. It’s impossible to damage it. By the time the freon would reach the sky, it would dissipate because there’s so much smog free, sound pollution-free, freon-free air here.

In Saskatchewan, there is nothing but air. That’s one of the reasons we moved here, so we wouldn’t be breathing smog. My mom is into health and fitness. She thinks I’ll live a more productive, enriched life if I eat right, drink buckets of water and breathe clean air. This is over and above the exercising she signs us up for, which I don’t really mind since it helps me get into my swimsuit in the summers. I disagree with her that chocolate once a day is bad for me. In fact, I read somewhere that chocolate is good for a person. I’ll have to find that article and show it to mom. She’d be proud to know that I walked away from her divine chocolate cake just a few minutes ago.

We moved from our ultra-modern, suburban home in Calgary to this one that’s over a century old. A century! Now that’s old!

One thing good about this hundred-year-old house is that it has a lot of windows. I just wish they weren’t hundred-year-old windows. New windows open easier, without announcing to the entire world with squeaks and the scraping of wood, that I’m opening a window.

The Study is one of my favorite rooms – with all the books and the computer. I love this computer. It’s fast and it looks nice. Nice – that’s an odd word when I look around and see all the antiques in this room. The computer is somewhat out of place. On the other hand, maybe that’s why it looks ‘nice’. It’s modern – it’s with the times. My dad might be forty, but at least he’s got some neoteric parts to his personality. I like that word, ‘neoteric’.

I wonder if that book on ghosts is in the Public Library. I’ll just scroll down – the glare on the screen from the window doesn’t help – yup! Book’s there. I’ll put it on hold. Done. I love on-line access to the Library. Now, let’s see if I can get into the GHOST-TO-GHOST web site. I’m in. What’s new? Oh, wow. Jenny should see this. This is loaded with information… This is hot… When was this posted? Two days ago – it’s fresh… I can’t believe this guy. He’s really convinced that ghosts exist in Saskatchewan... Some of these actual accounts are from around here – Willowbrook, Ituna, Ebenezer. Jen and I’ll have to check into this. Maybe we could scout out these areas and learn something... I’ll mail this to her... Better check E-mail. Alex has mail from Harley. Maybe he’s not coming.

“Hey, Marti, you’ve got mail from a motorcycle.” I should have waited. Now he’ll stomp down the hallway and never leave me alone. Dumb mistake.

“The name’s not Marti! You’d think that by now you’d know that. You’ve had fifteen years practice. Some girls are so slow.”

“Marti’s a great name for a Martian. The sooner you realize that you’re not from this planet, the sooner you’ll realize you haven’t a chance in a lifetime of ever succeeding here. Go home to Mars and leave this civilization in peace.” Why did I ever tell him about the email? I just ruined a great time for myself. Dumb mistake. It’s the heat.

“Let me on there. I need to write him back.” Marti’s manners are non-existent.

“Wait a minute. Dad said I could have the computer for an hour. Beat it! I’ll save your stupid message for you.” I’m calm.

“Let me read my E-mail, or better yet, why don’t you just paraphrase it, since you probably read it anyway.” I don’t know why he has no faith in me.

“I didn’t read it, but I’d be glad to do so and let you know the abbreviated version – once you get your paws off the monitor!” Marti’s hands are always dirty. Do boys ever wash?

“I’ll do my own mail. Let me on this thing.”

“It’s mine for another twenty-five minutes.”

“I’m timing you!”

“You’re not running my life, LITTLE bother!”

“You’re so tough! If Ethan knew how mean you were, he wouldn’t be taking you out. Maybe I should warn him.”

It’s the smirk on his face that makes me want to slug Alex, but those days are over. Dad would take away the car for sure. “If you say ONE word to Ethan, I’ll…”

“Dad, Gi’s threatening me again!”

“Whiny little brat. You’re such a baby. Run to daddy whenever someone stands up to you. Grow up, will ya?” He’s leaving the study. I win…

“Ethan MacDonald – should be in the phone book…” Marti’s not serious. He wouldn’t. Would he? Brothers!

“God, how could you birth this creature to my parents? This is what You call a product of Love? You couldn’t love me very much if You thought he’d make a good brother. Sometimes I wonder if You really do plan ahead, or are we simply biological by-products of irrational human sexuality?”

“Gia, your puppy is whimpering.”

“I’ll be done in a minute, Dad. I’ll take him for a walk.”

At least the dog loves and needs me. It’s the one logical thing I have in my life. I play with Shakespeare and he’s happy. I toss him the ball and he’s tripping over his paws with delight. I give him a doggy treat and he’s rolling on his back for me. I wish everything in my life could be so logical.

I like my Dad, too. He’s a science teacher, so he’s logical. Also, he’s home all summer, so I get to spend time with him.

“I left the computer on for you – you have mail. I’m taking Shakespeare out to the east pasture. See ya.”

I love going for walks in the east pasture. The tree groves there are so full, I feel like I’m in another world. Shakespeare loves to track the deer scents. “Let’s go, Shakespeare.”

“Wear a hat. That sun’s hot.”

“You sound like Mom. See ya.” My dad really does care about me, but hats – I don’t think so. I need a few highlights in my hair and that sun will do the trick.

“Smell the air, Shakespeare! It’s the purest air you’ll find anywhere in the world. They say it’s because the wind blows non-stop, but we never get wind down here in the grove. It’s because the sky is so far away from the earth. The altitude is lower here. Shakespeare, are you listening to me? Do you really hear what I’m saying, or is it all mumble-jumble? I wish you’d answer me with a knowing growl or bark every so often. Grunt, like Marti does. At least then I’d know you hear me, not that Marti has the capability to understand anything I say. I think he grunts because he was trained by mom and dad to acknowledge intelligence when he hears it. At least he recognizes intelligence. Too bad he doesn’t grasp it fully and incorporate it into his life.

“Shakespeare, I need a job. I need money to buy my own car. Mom and dad are on this kick of me having respect for a dollar – a loonie. Do you comprehend how illogical it is to respect a loonie? It’s a ludicrous concept! A loonie is a vacuous name for a coin. No doubt some Martian named it. Now, to respect a Grand or even a hundred-dollar bill would make sense, but a loonie is ridiculous.

“Oh, I know ‘respecting a dollar’ is just an expression, but people should be more careful as to what they say when they express themselves. If we were clearer in our conversation, maybe the world wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in.

“Hey, God, Shakespeare and I were wondering why there isn’t one simple, precise language for the entire world, so communication wouldn’t be hampered? Why did You have everyone speak different languages? Why can’t Shakespeare understand English and why can’t I understand doggy talk? It’s logical that if You loved the world, You’d have created humans to live harmoniously at all costs. Maybe if we all spoke the same language, religion wouldn’t be causing wars and destitution. Maybe we wouldn’t have ethnic cleansings tainting the decades.

“Or, maybe You decided out of Love, to separate us by language. Why? What good does separation do? I’m frustrated that after spending seven years in school learning French, I still can’t understand Monique, unless she slows down and speaks monosyllabically.

“If she barked, I’d understand more. And I’m intelligent. I’m an Honors student. How ever are the less intelligent like Alex ever going to get along in this world? Is this why he’s always causing trouble? Is he the future of our nation? Since You created differences, why didn’t You create some method whereby we could cross these differences without too much trouble?

“Keep in mind, God, that most people don’t have my academic background or standing. I’m in the top one per cent of our society. That means that ninety-nine per cent of the world is more intellectually handi-capped than I. It’s no wonder that we have wars. The few beings that are capable of ruling the world and making intelligent decisions, are never understood by the ones they rule. Therefore, we have up-risings and revolutions.

“Shakespeare, tell God how difficult it is for us to understand Alex. Tell God how much easier it would be if Alex could speak intelligently so canines could understand. Then man and beast alike could live in harmony.

“And God, this brings up another issue – Harley. Marti said I still liked him. You know I don't. I was a little girl. I was a child. That was at least three years ago. You know how mature I am now. Save me from Marti’s lies, please.

“And one more thing, God, please zip Marti’s lips if he really does intend to tell Ethan something bad about me. You know life would be unbearable without Ethan. He’s the only one, aside from Jenny, who really knows me and really cares. It’s hard to find a guy with a brain. I don’t want to lose him. I’m not saying I want him forever, but I do want him for the prom next year. God, I hope you’re listening. I’d say all this in Arabic or Hebrew or any other ancient language, if You wanted me to. Just let me know if You’re listening. That’s important to me. Grunt or something. Thanks.

“Okay, Shakespeare, stay close. I see porcupine nuggets. Shakespeare … Shakespeare … Shakespeare, where are you? Shakespeare…”

Now you're ready to read CHAPTER 2 !

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