Haunted by You

Prologue

The rain is cold and bites at my warm cheeks. The mist rising from the ground is so thick it looks almost unnatural and reminds me of the funerals. The mist, the rain, the hole in my chest, all of it is like reliving the day we put them in the ground. There are some mornings that as I wake, I am sure it was all a horrible nightmare, then reality crashes into me.

My life has been forever changed.

I am empty and full of pain at the same time. How is that even possible? Everything reminds me of them.

Standing on the empty street, rain distorts my vision of what was once my home. It looks exactly the same: still painted eggshell white with the big, happy, yellow shutters that Mom insisted the house needed. The lawn is still mowed and the beautiful flowers still bloom along the front of the house. More flowers line the stone walkway that winds its way from the front door to the driveway.

The gigantic willow tree in one corner of the front lawn brings painful memories: days spent climbing the tree, and the slumber parties with my friends and sisters in the tree house Dad built for us.

The tree house is still there, firmly attached like it has always been. Dad spent months making blueprints to build the perfect tree house for his daughters. Mom was so excited to paint it and hang curtains, but was so upset when none of us girls wanted to paint it bubblegum pink. After a heated debate, we all finally agreed on a lighter maroon. It was enough to satisfy Mom.

Memories continue to flood my mind, like the one hot day my younger sister came up with the idea to make our own swimming pool. I wasn’t sure we were going to survive when Dad got home from work and saw the muddy hole we had dug right in the middle of the front lawn.

I watch for any sign of life in the house now, even though I know there won’t be any. There are no lights, no happy sounds of a family eating dinner together, no music coming from the garage where my older sister had once tried to start a band.

The rain is coming down hard now. My sweatshirt hood isn’t doing much to keep me dry and the cold, wet fabric clings to my skin. I try to swipe the wet strands of my long hair behind my ears, but they fall back across my eyes almost instantly.

The rain pelts my face like slivers of ice, which makes the hot tears sting my cheeks.

Wishing I could go inside and get a warm, comforting hug from Mom, or listen to one of Dad’s horrible jokes, I turn my back on the only place I have ever felt safe and start toward the unknown.

End of August

Seven months earlier

Chapter 1

Genevieve

Looks are everything on the first day of school; first impressions can make or break you. Thankfully, my hair falls in just the right place and my first-day-of-school look is coming together nicely. I check my river-washed jeans and fitted burgundy T-shirt one more time in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

My mom’s high-pitched order rises from downstairs. Genevieve, you better come eat or you’re going to be late!

Charlotte, my mom, looks like an older version of me. We share the same auburn hair, dark green eyes, and are both covered in freckles. Mom is gorgeous, freckles and all, but my freckles make me look younger than my seventeen, almost eighteen, years.

She spent most of her adult years staying at home with my two sisters and me. When Violet, my older sister, started college this year, Mom decided to go back to work. She is a real estate agent, so she can schedule around things if she feels like one of us needs her to be somewhere.

A horn blast from the driveway sounds the arrival of Livi, my best friend. With one last look at my long, vibrant, auburn hair, I grab my backpack and run down the stairs and out the door, yelling, Bye, Mom! over my shoulder. Mom rolls her eyes and cleans up the uneaten breakfast. I hop into the front seat of the car and throw my backpack into the back, almost hitting my little sister, Konnie, who is already in the backseat. Livi backs out of the driveway and speeds toward Berkeley High School where Livi and I are seniors, and Konnie is a sophomore. It’s weird starting the school year without Violet.

What in the world are you wearing, Livi? I say, taking in Livi’s outfit. There’s no way your mom let you walk out of the house looking like that. Her skirt is so short, I’m not sure it can classify as one, and her top looks more like a sports bra than a shirt. You do remember our school has a dress code, right?

Livi grins. Mom had to work a double shift at the hospital so she didn’t see me this morning. Being the only child of a single mom has its perks sometimes. She throws a glance toward Konnie in the back seat. Most of the time, she adds.

Konnie glares at Livi. I don’t know why you’re looking at me. You know I don’t go and tattle everything I hear. You’d always be in trouble if I did.

Anyway, Livi interrupts, as for the dress code, that’s what the jacket in the back seat is for.

I raise my eyebrows. I still think they might notice you’re missing pants, even if you’re wearing a jacket, Liv.

Livi glares at me as she pulls into the school parking lot and parks. Get out of my car, you party pooper.

What would you do without me, you heathen? I laugh.

Well, I’d have a lot more fun, for starters, Livi grumbles. You’re like having my mom tag along with us all the time. Konnie and I burst out laughing.

At least you don’t have to live with her, Konnie pipes up, earning a glare from me as we climb out of Livi’s brand new, red, Mustang convertible.

Livi’s dad had it delivered for her birthday this summer. He isn’t super wealthy, but he seems to be trying to buy himself back into her good graces after missing over a decade of her life. She still refuses to talk to him, but regardless of what she says I know she loves the car, even if she did grumble about it when it showed up.

I follow behind Konnie on the sidewalk. Her dark brown, shoulder length hair is braided tightly into two French braids. I may be a carbon copy of Mom, but Konnie and Violet are female versions of Dad; olive-toned skin, brown eyes, and dark brown hair. Konnie even inherited Dad’s poor eyesight, they both wear glasses, which makes them look even more similar. In true Konnie fashion, she doesn’t look nervous at all as she waves a goodbye and heads into the school.

Livi bumps my shoulder with hers. Are you up for some fun?

What kind of fun? I ask warily, as we enter the red-brick, two-story building.

My friendship with Livi baffles me. We are best friends, yet we are polar opposites. Maybe it is because we balance each other out, keeping each other in check. I try hard to stay out of trouble and do what my parents and teachers expect of me, and Livi likes to push buttons and get a reaction out of people. She does what she wants, when she wants to, no matter the consequences.

Livi rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. The fun kind of fun, Genevieve. What other kind is there?

You know exactly the kind of fun I’m talking about. If your fun is going to some lame guy’s apartment to do who knows what, I’d rather stay home, thanks.

Ugh! You’re so boring sometimes. But as a matter of fact, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, no, that is not the kind of fun I was talking about. I want to go on a ghost tour in Charleston. I’ll even pay, just this once, if you’ll come with me.

Great. Apparently, the sudden interest in ghost hunting T.V. shows these last few weeks isn’t going to pass as quickly as I had hoped. Livi always looks for something new and exciting, sometimes obsessing over her latest interest until she’s exhausted her focus. Most of her passions fizzle out pretty quickly; I hope this supernatural one doesn’t stick around for long. I hate getting scared.

I give Livi a skeptical look. What is with your new obsession with the supernatural? And didn’t we already go on a tour this summer?

The tour this summer was a walking historical tour, it wasn’t a ghost tour. How do you not remember this? It was, like, two months ago.

Despite Livi jumping from one passion to the next, history has always been a constant interest. Not the type of history you learn in school; she loves the hidden stories of the forgotten people who came before us.

And you say I am the nerd, I laugh. Has anyone told you that you have quite the addiction to history? The supernatural I get. That is right up your alley, but the history just doesn’t go with your whole ‘screw the world’ motif.

Navigating through groups of students catching up after summer break in the senior hall, everyone looks so grown up. I have known most of these kids since kindergarten. They still clump together in the same groups: the jocks, the overachievers, the kids who don’t follow the rules. It is weird to think that if we hadn’t become best friends when we were three, Livi and I would be in different groups at school.

We pass our teacher, Mrs. Gnighting, wearing a below-the-knee pencil skirt and professional looking blouse. I have always thought she looks more like a lawyer than a high school teacher. Mrs. Gnighting raises her eyebrows at Livi and tells her that her skirt is too short. We continue down the hall with Livi acting like she didn’t hear a thing, weaving through students on their way to class in the packed hallway. How she gets away with her defiant attitude is beyond me. We stop at our freshly painted lockers and grab what we need for first period.

Livi flaunts down the hallway, a group of football players parting as she walks through the middle of their group toward her first class. Oh, and Genevieve, just so you know, a lot of history and the supernatural go hand in hand, so you and your opinions can go stuff it.

See you at lunch! I call after Livi, trying to hide my smirk.

Finding Livi at lunch is never a difficult task. Today is no exception. After a brutal first day in AP English, I walk into the lunchroom and see Livi sitting on top of one of the tables picking through her tray of food. The bright pink streak through her ebony hair catches attention. The color changes at least once a month.

Where’s your food? she asks, oblivious to all the sidelong glances that almost every male in the vicinity is throwing her way.

English ran late, I’ll wait for the line to die down a bit, I sigh as I sit down next to her. Remind me why I decided to take so many hard classes this year?

Because you’re brilliant and are going to be halfway done with college by the time you graduate. She slides her tray over to me. Here, eat mine. The protein bar in my backpack sounds better than whatever that is.

I laugh and look down trying to figure out what is on the tray. It might be an enchilada, maybe? At least that’s what I hope it is taking my first bite. Despite its unappealing look, the food tastes pretty decent, still not sure what it is though.

Look at this picture that Chad posted. Livi leans over and shows me her phone screen. I look hideous.

I roll my eyes. Livi couldn’t look hideous if she tried. She has perfect skin; I don’t think I have ever seen her get a zit. Her makeup is always exquisite and she pulls off her drastic A-line hairstyle flawlessly.

You look great, Liv, I say in between bites.

I still don’t get why your parents won’t let you guys have any sort of social media. It’s stupid.

I don’t really think I’m missing out on much.

Livi takes a bite out of her protein bar. I still think it’s ridiculous. Everyone has social media.

My parents don’t have social media, either, I point out.

Livi gives me an irritated look. Okay, everyone in the world besides the Clark family has social media. You guys are just weirdos.

The bell rings. Laughing, I gulp down my food and finish eating. Livi slides off the table and heads to class with a backward glance and a wave. Gathering my stuff, I drop my tray off and wonder if my teachers are trying to set a record for how much homework can be assigned on the first day of school.

After school, Konnie and I find Livi lying on the hood of her Mustang, sunbathing in the South Carolina sun.

How long have you been working on that tan, Livi? I ask.

Livi’s skin is pale and never tans during the summer, no matter how hard she tries, but she also never burns or gets a million freckles like I do if I am in the sun too long. She almost looks like a porcelain doll.

I haven’t been out here that long. Mrs. Gnighting told Mr. Hollman about my skirt and he said I needed to change my clothes. Livi rolls her eyes. I went home to change and never went back to class.

I am pretty sure Mr. Hollman, our principal, has Livi’s mom, Darla, on speed dial. I feel bad for Darla, who’s always getting calls about Livi and her behavior. I’m sure she will be getting a call today if she hasn’t already.

I look at Livi and raise my eyebrows. Skipping class on the first day. That must be a new record for you.

Livi slides off the hood and climbs into the driver’s seat. Taking a peek at her makeup in the mirror, she tucks her ebony hair behind her ear.

Have to make sure I soak up these last days of summer. Did you decide about the ghost tour?

A ghost tour sounds fun. Can I come with? asks Konnie.

Sorry Konn, ghost tours are for big girls. We’ll take you next time we go out for ice cream, Livi says with a snide smile.

Konnie looks irate. It drives me crazy that Livi treats her like she’s a baby. It’s irritating she always wants to tag along, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Before Livi can say anything else, I jump in with, Sorry Konnie. Liv is paying, and with all the new additions to her wardrobe I’m pretty sure her allowance is dwindling. Turning to Livi, I say, She isn’t two anymore, so stop being a brat. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take Konnie on the tour with you? She actually wants to go.

Livi just laughs. Do you guys want a ride home or not? Konnie looks at me with a hurt expression, but we throw our backpacks into the back seat and pile into the car.

Have you made a decision about the ghost tour? Livi asks again.

I shrug my shoulders. Sure, as long as my mom says I can go, and you promise you aren’t going to try to sneak into any college parties.

I think back to the first week of summer break. Livi and I decided to kick our summer off right with a day at the beach, which ended up with Livi trying to get into a party. A big crowd of college kids were having a huge summer kickoff event at one of the beach houses. We didn’t even make it through the door. Livi in her skimpy scarlet bikini probably would have been able to sweet talk her way in if she didn’t have me tagging along in my black polka dot one piece and a huge sun hat with terror etched onto my face.

The sunhat has been a cause of contention between us for years. Livi hates it, but I would rather avoid adding more freckles on my already freckled face. Not to mention that I burn anytime I am out in the sun if I don’t slather on an extreme amount of sunscreen. Livi regularly teases me that I could get sunburned if someone leaves a lamp on too long.

Livi’s voice brings me back to the present. Oh my gosh, I did that one time, and we didn’t even get into the party. I promise we’ll drive straight to the ghost tour and then home afterward. She pulls up to my house. Now, get your butts out of my car.

Konnie and I have just enough time to get out of the car and shut the door before Livi speeds away. Konnie gives me a skeptical look. I doubt Livi is going straight to the tour and back.

I sigh. I know, but at least if I’m with her she won’t get into as much trouble.

Who are you kidding? Nobody can get into trouble if you’re there, Konnie giggles.

I give Konnie a shove toward the house. Whose side are you on, anyway?

Neither. You’re both crazy, Konnie jokes, as she dodges another shove, and runs inside the house.

Chapter 2

Steve

If you would have asked me last year where I would be my senior year of high school, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine the reality I am living in.

Drying my hair after a quick shower I sigh, remembering that wearing a uniform is required here. I never would have thought that I would be starting my senior year of high school at a boarding school, but here I am. Don’t get me wrong, the Charleston Academy campus is awesome, it has really cool, old brick buildings nestled near the ocean. The glistening water can be seen over the tops of the buildings when I look out my Boone Hall Dormitory room window. Boone Hall is an old building that has been completely updated. Everything is pristine and new, but it is so far away from home.

Away from Gran.

Groaning, I look around my musty dorm room and the stacks of boxes piled everywhere. I really should finish unpacking. Probably should have spent more time unpacking during the weekend instead of going to all the welcome parties. Good thing I don’t have a roommate to worry about; I can leave my unpacked boxes on the empty side of the room for the whole school year. That way, when I convince Gran to let me come home, I don’t have to pack anything back up.

Guilt hits me again as I walk to my first class at Charleston Academy. It’s my own fault that I’m so far away. If I hadn’t gotten expelled from Brookhaven High, I wouldn’t be here. Gran made it really clear that this is my last chance.

I better make it work.

Last year I was able to stay home and do school online. I thought it was fun; I got to wake up when I wanted to, do my school whenever, and still hang out with my friends when I wanted. It was fun, until I realized that it’s easy to miss things with online school if you don’t read every word the teacher posts. I thought I was doing okay until I flunked out of the first online school. Gran thought it wasn’t the right fit for me, so we tried another online school. I flunked out of that one too. That is when Gran had the idea to get a hold of an old friend, Mr. Langston, who taught at a boarding school in Charleston, South Carolina.

At first I thought she was joking, trying to make me take school more seriously. I didn’t think she would actually send me away. Next thing I knew, Gran was packing up her things along with mine and getting her house ready to rent out to tourists. I fought her like crazy; I still don’t understand why she moved into an assisted living facility. I know she was struggling with a lot of her regular daily activities, but I was there and I was helping her with anything she needed help with. She told me I should be out living my life while I am young, not taking care of an old lady.

I would rather take care of an old lady than be 737 miles away from her. She is all I have left.

A fancy foreign sports car speeds past me and parks next to my old, beat-up, green Jeep, pulling me out of my self-torture. I watch Troy, a new classmate I met at one of the parties over the weekend, climb out and look at my Jeep with a disgusted look on his face.

Hey, Troy, nice car.

His face changes as soon as he sees me. Is that your Jeep? he asks pointing over his shoulder toward my car as he walks toward me.

Yep. Paid for it myself. I was so excited when I saved up enough money to get my own car. It may be old, but I love it.

Cool. Vintage.

I laugh. That’s one way to look at it I guess.

I don’t know why I even bother bringing my car to school. It’s almost impossible to get a pass to drive off campus.

My already foul mood plummets even further. Really? I was hoping to be able to explore the area a little bit.

Yeah, it’s really hard to get a pass. They usually only approve passes if a parent requests it, and if you get caught leaving without a pass it’s not good. A senior last year got expelled for driving to the beach at Isle of Palms without permission.

Well, that sucks.

At least we’re allowed to walk off campus without a pass, as long as we’re back before curfew.

Charleston Academy is only a short walk from the historic downtown Charleston. At least I will be able to do a little bit of exploring. I watch as Troy pulls out the newest iPhone to check the time; another reminder I don’t fit in here. All the students here have the newest, fanciest versions of everything. Phones, clothes, cars—you name it, and they have the model that comes out next year. There is no way Gran would be able to afford tuition here. The only reason I got into Charleston Academy is because Mr. Langston pulled some strings to get me in and helped me apply for some scholarships. How he even found scholarships to apply for with my grades baffles me.

All of that doesn’t matter, though. The truth is I should be home helping Gran. She shouldn’t be living in an assisted living facility.

Right after the accident that killed my parents, my paternal grandparents, and my little brother, Jeremy, Gran came to the hospital. She held my hand and told me not to worry; she was there and everything would be okay. I didn’t know then that my entire world had changed.

Where are you from again? Troy’s questions snaps me back to the present. He slides his new shiny phone back in his pocket and gives me his full attention.

Brookhaven, Mississippi. Moving after the accident, from the bustling city of Atlanta to a quiet little town in Mississippi, was a big change. Gran usually came to visit us; I barely remembered her house when it suddenly became my home. Gran made that little house feel like the best place on Earth.

I have no idea where that is. Troy chuckles. Sounds cool though. What made you transfer schools for your senior year?

I was an idiot and punched my principal in the face. In my defense, he deserved it.

Troy’s eyebrows shoot up. Really?

I nod. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on making a habit out of punching authority figures.

Laughing, Troy slaps me on the back. Not going to lie, there are some faculty members here that I would love to see you punch in the face, but try and stick around a while. I like you.

I follow Troy into my first class of the day and wonder why I always seem to find trouble. I swear I try to avoid it, but trouble likes to find me. Poor Gran. I love her with everything that I am, but I have definitely been a problem child. I don’t try to get into these crazy situations, they just happen. Like when Gran took me to the beach when I was eleven.

I don’t even remember what beach we went to, but one morning Gran woke me up bright and early and told me to get into the car. We drove for what seemed like forever and then there it was right in front of us. I had never seen the ocean before and seeing the endless water, feeling the salty mist on my face, was the best thing I could remember ever experiencing. We unloaded the car and walked down by the water where Gran spread out our towels and stuck a big umbrella in the sand for shade. We spent the day playing in the water and building big elaborate sand castles.

When your grandma is an artist, only a masterpiece is acceptable.

Gran read a book, while I dug a trench where the waves washed up onto the beach. Sand coated me from head to toe, knowing the waves could rinse it off I decided to wade out into the ocean. Soon the water was so deep my toes couldn’t touch the ground, instead of going back to shallow water I continued to swim around for a bit. There was quite the current sweeping down the shoreline so when I came back to shore to dig in the sand some more, Gran wasn’t there. Nothing looked the same. Panicked I searched all the faces on the beach for Gran, unfortunately walking in the wrong direction. Long story short, it was already dark when another family helped me find a lifeguard, who was able to help locate my frantic grandma. I thought she was going to break at least one of my bones in her vice-grip hug when she saw me.

Now I don’t have to take a long drive to see the ocean, I just have to look out my window. The bell rings and I follow the rest of the students out of the classroom and pull out my schedule. My next class is History of Charleston with Gran’s friend, Mr. Langston, as my teacher. I find his classroom and pick a desk in the back row next to Troy. I’m not sure how I ended up with a history class as an elective; a downfall of