The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Read online

  It must only take a few minutes, because my dad is still banging on the door with only a little worry in his voice as he calls out. It feels like a lot longer, but I stumble back up to my feet and rush to my door before the banging stops. My dad’s panicked face confronts me as I yank the door open. He takes in my flushed appearance and sweat-beaded skin and his worry doubles. “Echo, what on earth is going on in there?”

  “Sorry, Dad. Spider. Crawled right up my leg while I was sitting at the desk. Nearly knocked over the whole set trying to get it off me.”

  My dad shakes his head. “Everyone okay?”

  “Yeah. Holden squashed the spider. We’re good now.”

  He sighs and shakes his head one more time. He mumbles something about spraying for bugs as he walks away. Completely shaken by what just happened, I do my best to pretend I’m fine and am about to suggest we get the heck out of here when I turn back to my friends and stop.

  Scrawled across the blackboard in huge, angry letters are the words, LET ME GO! All I can do is stare in shock. This psycho ghost has been stalking me for almost a month, but he’s never attempted to communicate before. I feel lost and scared as I try to understand his message.

  “Uh,” Holden says, “any clue what that’s about?”

  The rogue’s three words send a chill down my spine, but I’m completely baffled.

  2: Trouble Is

  (Malachi)

  Tired after a late night at work, I unlock the door to the apartment I share with my best friend Kyran, glad to be out of the humid Georgia air.

  “Malachi!” Kyran yells as soon as he hears the apartment door open.

  I’m not really in the mood to try and keep him alive on whatever video game he’s playing. “I’m not helping you,” I call back.

  I toss my keys in the dish on top of the entertainment center and head for the kitchen. For the millionth time I wonder why we hooked up both our PS4s in my room and the XBOX to the main TV. We both know Kyran spends most of his time on the PS4 getting massacred by other players. He’s been my best friend my whole life, but I’d really like to just go crash in my room without him in there yelling at the TV.

  I’m reaching for a glass before I realize Kyran isn’t in my room. He’s planted at the kitchen table, eyes glued to his laptop screen. “You’ve gotta watch this! Hurry up and get over here,” he demands.

  This new plea doesn’t make me any more inclined to do what he wants. “Kyran, I’m going to bed. I’ll watch it in the morning.”

  I don’t know how he manages to get any schoolwork done between video games and YouTube. Shaking my head, I fill my glass with water from the tap and drink it down. You wouldn’t think playing the piano at a swanky restaurant all night would be thirsty work, but I’m not allowed to have drinks at the piano, not even water. It makes for a long night sometimes.

  “Do I really have to drag you over here?” Kyran snaps. “Come watch this. Now.”

  Rolling my eyes, I give in. I’m too tired to argue, so I drop into the seat next to him. I wish I hadn’t as soon as I see the title of the video. “The Ghost Host?” I start to get back up, but Kyran grabs my arm.

  “Come on, man,” I complain, “you know I’m not into that stuff. Call Cerise and nerd out with her.”

  “Sit down and watch this,” Kyran demands again. “It’s about Grandma Maddie.”

  That gets my attention. Kyran’s always been fascinated with the supernatural. Southerners tend to hold onto superstitions, and Georgia’s no different in that regard, but I don’t have the patience for it. However, the mention of my great grandma Madeline will stop me in my tracks no matter what the context. Kyran hits play, and for once, I’m glued to the video he’s trying to show me.

  I’ll admit, even after being spooked by hearing the name of Grandma Maddie, my first thought when the video starts is how hot the host is. Her hair is practically orange, but not an obnoxious orange. It’s more of a burnt orange, dark, rich, and nearly as captivating as her smile. I forget why I’m watching this as I simply stare at her.

  Honestly, I don’t even know what it is about her that’s caught my attention so much. Just a pull, something begging me to pay attention. When I come out of my fog, I notice her tense posture and the way her eyes keep darting around the set. What is she afraid of? Is it just an act?

  I perk up when she says she has a guest ready to play her question and answer game. Her handwriting is nothing like my sisters’, whose pride in being cultured Southern girls insists that they have handwriting which could be framed if someone actually cared to do such a thing. This girl, Echo I think she said her name was, scribbles out her rules as if she couldn’t care less if anyone can actually read it.

  When she finishes, something weird happens. I assume it’s just part of the act when her posture changes and her eyes seem to lose focus, but the second she starts writing again, my blood goes cold. It’s been eight years since Grandma Maddie died, but I still have letters she wrote to me during the school year. I know her handwriting. I have no clue how to react to seeing it scrawled out across Echo’s chalkboard.

  Madeline Crew.

  I reach for the necklace tucked under my shirt, and notice Kyran has done the same. Gifts from Grandma Maddie, she gave them to us the first year we were old enough to spend the summer at her estate. At five years old, we both thought necklaces were for girls, but she insisted we wear them every day, no matter what, to protect us. From what, we had no clue at that age. I still don’t. Grandma Maddie said to wear them, so we did. Kyran’s told me since then that the Celtic shield symbol really is used for protection, but it’s always just been a reminder of her for me. Nothing more.

  Keeping a hold on the necklace, I’m drawn back to the show when Echo’s voice relates her first question. The next twenty minutes leave me completely unhinged as I read the responses to Echo’s questions. Who is Tommy Sharp and what does my great grandma have to do with Nazi secrets? I thought she was a secretary during the war. The only answer I don’t have a problem with is the JFK comment. The rest…I don’t know what to think.

  The handwriting is hers, but where are these answers coming from? I can’t even tear myself away from the video to ask Kyran what’s going on. Is this show just a big hoax? Do Echo and her friends dig up information about people who’ve passed on and try to trick people into believing they’re actually talking to real ghosts, or is there more to it? I’m still hung up on the handwriting when Echo says the supposed ghost of my great grandma has a message.

  Ignoring Kyran’s protest, I pull the laptop right in front of me. I don’t think I could have looked away if our apartment spontaneously caught fire. Until my name shows up. Jumping back in my chair at the sight of, “This message is for my great grandson, Malachi Fields,” sends a shiver down my spine.

  Turning to look at Kyran, I ask, “Dude, what is going on?”

  Kyran points back to the screen. “Keep watching! Don’t miss it!”

  It doesn’t matter that I can always play back the video if I miss something. I snap my attention to the screen, fixated on what’s about to happen. The message continues, talking about the old estate—which amps up my freaked-out status even more—to the old die cast trucks and army men Kyran and I used to play with every time we went to Grandma Maddie’s house, to something she left for me, something she wants me to risk going back there to get.

  As soon as the message ends, Echo seems to shake off the presence…act…whatever, and go right into closing up the show. Leaning back against the chair, a million thoughts run through my mind, but before I can consider any of them, I jump forward again, my fingers clenched around the laptop screen.

  I have no clue what’s going on when Echo’s face drains of color and she starts chanting “no, no, no,” but I know it isn’t good. The panic rising in my chest doesn’t make any sense, because I’m almost positive this is all a huge prank, but I can’t help feeling like I need to do something to protect her. I’m almost too fixated on her to no
tice the single piece of chalk, moving on its own, scraping out an angry message.

  Let me go!

  A burst of white flashes across the screen before everything cuts out and the video ends. A collage of other videos I might want to watch pops up, and I lean back against the dining chair feeling completely spent. What just happened?

  I turn to Kyran for answers, thinking he’ll be just as on edge as I am, but his eyes are burning with curiosity as well as an intense fear. “Well?” he asks.

  “Well?” I just stare at him. Is he nuts? “The old estate?” That’s the only thing I can say in response.

  That sobers Kyran up. “Yeah, that’s uh, I don’t know. Goin’ back there?” He shakes his head, not to say he won’t go with me, but to try to get rid of the skin-crawling feeling that thought inspires.

  “How did they even know about that? It wasn’t in the papers. That superstitious lot down there was too scared to even mention what happened.”

  Kyran only shrugs. “What about that other stuff?”

  “No idea.” I push the laptop away, even though I’m dying to watch the video again. “Stuff they made up, most likely.”

  I’m caught off guard when Kyran bristles. “They don’t make stuff up. You’d know that if you ever watched the show.”

  Rolling my eyes, I don’t dignify that with a response. Ghosts? I have a few superstitions like any other Southerner, but this isn’t one of them. Something’s going on here, though. Half of what they said, they shouldn’t have known. Even if they did, no one in their right mind would be making a joke of it.

  Knowing this is going to keep digging at me until I figure it out, I search the page for some way to contact this Echo girl. I come up empty on the YouTube page, but Kyran realizes what I’m looking for and sends me to their website. There’s nothing listed for Echo, but some guy named Holden says he takes care of any correspondence.

  She doesn’t answer her own fan mail? I’d almost think she was a bit high on herself, but I suspect there’s a deeper reason for that. Something having to do with whatever happened at the end of the video. Who is this girl? Part of me wants to pass the whole thing off as plumb crazy and be done with it, but something won’t let me. Trouble is, I can’t figure out whether it’s the girl, the message, or what happened at the end of the video. Unable to decide, and incapable of putting it to rest and walking away, I start typing.

  3: Crazies

  (Echo)

  “Echo!” my mom calls out, stopping me before I can reach the door. She hurries up to me with a hopeful smile. “This came for you in the mail.”

  The envelope in her hand makes my stomach twist. The university logo on the top left corner is what does it to me. Every other college and university I’ve applied to has rejected me. One year of stability and mostly good grades doesn’t come close to wiping out three years of abysmal academics. This is my last chance outside of our local community college. Instead of opening it, I snatch it out of my mom’s hand with a quick thanks and escape to my car.

  I don’t forget about the letter. It stays purposely buried in my backpack until lunch when I sit down at my usual table in the corner where Zara and Holden are waiting. As usual, the cousins are arguing about something or other. The chatter dies down as soon as I drop the envelope on the table and plop into my chair. Holden is the first to pick it up.

  “Want me to open it?” he asks.

  Hesitating, I finally nod when I realize it has to be opened at some point. “Go for it.” The news isn’t going to change just because I wait longer to find out. Even still, I close my eyes when I hear Holden tear open the paper. I can’t help holding my breath as I wait for his response. When he sighs, my last hope shatters.

  “Sorry, Echo.”

  Zara reaches over and pats my arm. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with community college. That’s where I’ll be, too. You know, if I go to college at all. Right now I’m leaning toward taking a year off. Roaming around or whatever. My parents are totally all for it.”

  Her parents would be, I think to myself. Sometimes I wonder if her mom and Holden’s dad are really related. Holden’s dad is a lawyer, and fully expects his son to jump into his precisely plotted five year plan the day after graduation. Zara’s mom is all about letting her kids explore the world and discover themselves when they’re young, before the soul-stealing world of adult life sucks out all their joy. My parents, they’re so focused on making sure I don’t implode, they tippy-toe around every decision, carefully mapping out my future in the safest route possible. I appreciate that they care, but sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating.

  “Taking a year off,” I say quietly. “What do you think it would take to convince my parents to let me do the same thing?”

  Holden frowns, his overprotective side spawning a heavy dose of concern. Zara only shrugs. “It’s not like you actually need permission, Echo. You’re eighteen.”

  Shaking his head, Holden says, “It’s not about permission, Zara, it’s about being careful. Running off on her own might not be the best thing for Echo. Think about your friend instead of just having fun and playing around.”

  Zara glares at him, but I look away. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Holden. I don’t say it out loud, but keeping quiet doesn’t do anything to stop the sting of his words. They’ve both known me since kindergarten, before things got bad, but not before the ghosts. The ghosts have always been there. Even now, there’s at least six of them standing around the table, hoping I’ll acknowledge them. I don’t.

  Somehow, I always knew the people I saw hovering around looking aimless were ghosts, and it never really bothered me. Sometimes I talked to them when I was little. They never talked back. Sometimes they would play with me, though. My mom used to tell people what a good baby I was, how I never cried or fussed. She thought she had just lucked out with an easy first kid. Really, I always had someone standing over my crib smiling at me or making silly faces. Ghosts really seem to like being around babies for some reason.

  It wasn’t until I got a little older that I realized some of my ghostly friends were hanging around for a reason. A few of them were just lonely and either weren’t ready to move on or didn’t know how. I haven’t got a clue about how to send them on their way, so I figure the least I can do is keep them company.

  Others, they had messages they wanted to pass on. At first, I didn’t know how to do that without getting into trouble. My mom refused to make phone calls or send my letters to random strangers. I found ways to get the letters in the mail without her knowing, but it wasn’t easy and they occasionally got sent back to us when the address proved inaccurate. Mom wasn’t happy when she found one and realized what I’d been doing.

  Holden was the one who came up with the idea for the webshow. It made things a lot easier since my parents think it’s just a hoax we like to pull for attention, and it gives us a hobby and keeps me out of trouble, for the most part. That’s the biggest reason they let me do it. As I got older and more capable, more able to help the ghosts, they became more insistent. That’s when things got really bad.

  Up until that point, I didn’t know the ghosts could affect my dreams, and not in a good way. The nightmares got progressively worse, morphing into full on screaming and thrashing fits I couldn’t wake up from. The migraines followed, though I’m still not sure if the ghosts were trying to talk to me, or just doing whatever they could to get my attention. Sometimes, their presence would become so oppressive as they tried to communicate I would completely zone out…which sent my grades into the toilet and my behavior into the realm of unmanageable. The worst, by far, is when they try to touch me.

  I shiver as I take a bite of my salad, thoughts of yesterday’s incident way too fresh in my mind. That ghost…I have no idea what his message meant, or what he wants from me, but I felt his agony when he touched me. Saying I was freaked out would be putting it lightly. I’ve got to find a way to get rid of him before things get worse.

  Yanking me out of m
y thoughts, Holden slides his phone across the table to me. Curious, not to mention glad for the distraction, I grab the phone. The screen has gone dark already, so I bring it back to life with a quick tap. I’m greeted by a rather confusing email.

  So, I’m not really sure if I’m even sending this to the right place, but a friend of mine had me watch your show last night on YouTube after he saw the live show and heard my name mentioned. I thought he was just punking me until I watched it.

  I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Malachi Fields and my great grandma was Madeline Crew. That stuff on the board about the estate and the metal trucks and army men…it’s all true. How did ya’ll know about that stuff? And how did ya’ll know about my great grandma? The things said about the Nazis, is that true?

  Sorry, this is all just freaking me out a little. What am I supposed to get from the estate? I mean, was that all a joke, or am I really supposed to look? I’ve never seen the show before last night. I’m really not sure what it’s about or whether ya’ll are just playing games to be funny or whatever. I don’t know.

  I guess, I just need to know what really happened last night.

  Malachi

  I set the phone back on the table for just a minute. Getting a response from someone who’s watched our show isn’t all that unusual. Holden is in charge of answering any messages we receive. He’s also the one who tries to track down whoever the ghost left their message for. Having the person drop us a line in less than twenty-four hours, that’s a new one. And this poor guy seems pretty torn up about it.

  I glance up at Holden to find him arguing with Zara about finding herself versus college. Normally, I’d hand this off to Holden and let him deal with it. I’m not allowed direct contact with viewers. For good reason. Something about this message gets to me. I do something completely out of character and hit reply before I can reconsider. Tapping quickly, I do something Holden will no doubt gripe at me for later.