The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] (6 page)

Kaitlin squeals. “Look! It’s a Barbie dream house.”

I kneel next to her as we tear away the wrapping paper.

“Girls! Wait for Daddy,” Mom scolds.

“Daddy, don’t make us wait!” I yell at the ceiling.

Before we know it, Dad clomps down the stairs in his robe, his glasses askew on his face. A huge yawn lets me know now that he didn’t sleep very much that night, too busy getting everything in place for his daughters. Back then, I didn’t notice a thing and totally believed in the Santa legend.

“Okay, have at it,” Mom says.

Kaitlin and I exchange a knowing glance and then rip into everything.

“You two are a powerful force to be reckoned with,” Taylor notes.

I grin at the memory playing out before me. “We used to be.”

I watch as we open boxes of Barbie supplies, a couple of Bratz dolls, a Razor scooter for each of us, a bike for Kaitlin, and ice skates for me. Then we unpack sweaters, jeans, socks, stuffed animals, some collectible Beanie Babies, candy galore, Pokemon trading cards, and a few board games. My heart aches as I see how Kaitlin and I work in tandem, attacking the Christmas gifts, organizing them, and actually sharing with each other.

“I can’t believe how cute she is,” Taylor notes. “What a huge heart she has! And boy, does she idolize her big sister.”

I wave Taylor off. “No, she doesn’t.”

The ghost scoffs at me. “Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?”

I turn back and observe my younger self with my sister. Every move I make, Kaitlin does the same. I pick up my Barbie; she picks up hers. I grab the Bratz doll; Kaitlin does too. She’s watching me, smiling, and… glowing.

Mom steps into the living room with two plates of food that smells heavenly. “I have orange-glazed cinnamon rolls and regular cinnamon rolls.”

“Orange for me,” I say without a doubt.

“Me, too,” Kaitlin agrees.

The scene before me warms my heart and I feel tears might loom again. What I see is nothing short of beautiful and oh, so special. Two little girls—sisters by circumstance—completely into each other as they share pastries and glasses of milk while they sit nestled amongst their Christmas presents and the discarded gift wrap.

My younger self waves the Bratz doll at Kaitlin. “I want you to name her.”

Kaitlin’s smile is overwhelming and her eyes are huge. “You
do
? Oh, my gosh. Okay, okay… I’m going to name her… Emily.”

“Emily? Why Emily?” I ask.

“She’s your pretend friend, right?” Kaitlin asks. “The one you play with all the time instead of me?”

I reach for Taylor’s hand, listening to this exchange. I remember Emily, my birth mom, being with me. Only, I had no clue who she really was back then. I hadn’t realized Kaitlin knew about her. I didn’t know how my interaction with the ghost affected her. I watch and listen.

Young Kendall dives on Kaitlin and hugs her like crazy. “I’m sorry Kai-Kai. I’d rather play with you. No more pretend friend. I’ll tell her to go away.”

“Really? Then we can play more?”

“Sure thing. Let’s pick another name for the doll,” I say to my sister.

“Esmeralda,” Kaitlin says with a toothless giggle.

“That’s a silly name,” I say. “Just like you’re silly.” And then I dive on her again to start the Christmas tickle-fest.

I sigh long and hard as I witness two sisters totally crazy about each other, best friends and playmates.

“What happened to us?” I say the ghost, to myself, to no one.

“People change,” Taylor says.

My heart actually hurts in my chest as I try to figure out how Kaitlin and I grew so far apart. It happened mostly when we moved to Radisson and I started having my whole psychic awakening. I reached out more to Celia, Taylor, and Becca, and focused on our ghost hunting efforts. Kaitlin wasn’t even in the picture. I feel horrible over having ignored her and not including her more in my life after our big move. Leaving Chicago was difficult for all of us, yet I’d never stopped to really talk to Kaitlin about it. Maybe that’s why she became so bratty—she’s just been acting out.

I feel the spirit gazing at me, reading my thoughts.

“You can make it right with her,” Taylor says.

“I know. I don’t want to lose her. I want us to be best friends again like we used to be.”

“Then do it.”

The tears are warm on the brim of my eyes. “How?”

“You’ll figure it out. You’ve already seen how beautiful, special, and memorable Christmas can be,” the ghost says to me. “You’ve got to recapture that essence of the season and what family means. You can’t let—
sorry
—life’s bullshit get in the way of what’s really important.”

“Such language,” I say with a giggle.

“Whatever. I hope the memories of the past have shown you how important family is in our lives. Not just the family we’re born into, but he family that chooses us. You were chosen, Kendall. You’re special. Don’t ever forget that.”

I nod, unable to speak.

She glances at a crystal wristwatch hidden under her flowing sleeve. “Shoot! I don’t have much time left,” she says. “Hmmm, I wonder if when you’re done with me, I’ll have to give back this awesome robe and Miss America crown.”

I lift a brow. “Is that
really
what’s important here?”

She smirks. “Well, it is for me.”

My head aches from the time travel and the reminiscences of happier times. I don’t know if I can mend the broken fence between my sister and me. Can we ever get back those naïve days of just being little girls who played with dolls and dressed alike? “I can’t take any more of this.”

“Oh honey, don’t blame me for the things you’re seeing. They’re necessary,” Taylor says.

“Quit torturing me, Taylor. I want to go back to sleep!”

“So you’re done with me?” the ghost asks with a pout.

Hands on hips, I say flatly, “Yeah. I’m all set. I’ve got a shitload to do tomorrow and you’re keeping me awake. I appreciate the memory lane stroll, but it’s not going to change my exhaustion and attitude. Can we go home?”

Taylor’s bottom lip juts out. “Fine. Be that way.”

I reach forward and snag the tiara from her head. “You look stupid in that. You can’t keep it.”

Next thing I know, I’m back in my room and the spirit of Christmas Past in the form of my friend, Taylor, is gone in a burst of white light.

But the blinding spot flashes one more time and I see a ghostly hand reach through a misted vortex to snag the tiara away from me.

I bolt up out of the bed with a start, drenched in sweat.

What just happened? Was that real? Or was it a dream?

My chest is rising and falling at a just-ran-a-marathon rate and I kick the covers away. The cats growl at me and scatter away as the blankets interrupt their fifteenth nap of the day.

I run my hands through my damp hair and let out a moan. “What a weird-ass dream. That was messed up.” A tiara-fied, fancy-robed Taylor as the Ghost of Christmas Past. Yeah, right. I can’t wait to tell her.

Sheer enervation covers me in an intoxicating drowsiness.

I sink back into the mattress, curl up on my side, and slide into another deep sleep.

S
TANZA 5:
T
HE
S
ECOND
V
ISITING
S
PIRIT

My own snoring awakens me and I groan.

The grandfather clock sounds again.

Bong!

One bong. One freaking bong. Meaning it’s one in the morning.

Did I actually sleep for an hour or was it for a few brief moments?

I swear, the universe is totally mucking with me, not letting me sleep.

Somnambulism is only going to make me surlier come the morning.

I let out an impatient sigh and am shocked to see my breath dancing in the air. The temperature in my room hasn’t just dropped, it has plummeted. Either that, or Dad didn’t pay the power bill. Then, my ghost hunting instincts kick in and everything becomes clear. The abrupt and extreme cold can only mean one thing: A spirit is manifesting.

“Okay, who’s here now?” I ask. This time, I’m not going to be surprised by who’s visiting my bed chamber.

Nothing.

Waiting.

More sighing.

The reverberation of the clock bong echoes in my brain. I tangle my fingers together under the covers, not only for warmth, but in anticipation of my second visitor of the night, as predicted by Farah.

The minutes tick away.

So much that I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, this is ridonkulous!” I sit up and throw the covers away, this time actually getting up to make that bathroom visit.

As I reach to grasp the door knob, I hear a rattling in the direction of my closet.

“Really?”

Turning, I step over and put my ear to the door.

“I hear you, Kendall,” the voice says. “Come on in.”

“Come in the closet.” I put my hands on my hips. “Isn’t it more customary to come
out
of the closet?”

“Not in this case,” the voice tells me.

I huff my frustration and then pull the door open. The minute I step into the walk-in, it transforms right before my very eyes. Holly sprigs are everywhere and red berries hang from the leaves. Snow glistens in bunches on the tips of branches, hanging heavy with the wintry burden. The pungent aroma of mistletoe touches my nose as I move deeper into the Christmas-y scene. Lights sparkle up ahead, beckoning me with twinkling fingers. A saxophone plays a moaning version of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” Suddenly, I smell them, too. Sweet and woodsy. Piquant and fiery. As the sassy reed instrument continues to accompany my dream, I walk through the crowded evergreens, each decorated in white ornaments, silver tinsel, and golden lights shining bright. Ahead, a banquet table is spread out with enough food to serve the entire town of Radisson. A cooked goose with crisp buttered skin, sizzling sausages, a roasted suckling pig, heaps of dressing, mashed potatoes, peas, green bean casserole—my fave!—as well as a spiral ham with pineapples and cherries decorating the top. There are barrels of oysters, a tray of freshly peeled Gulf shrimp, and broiled Maine lobster tails. A fountain of melted butter flows constantly in the middle of the table, surrounded by hundreds of white candles flickering amongst the decorations of pine cones, greenery, and fresh cranberries.

I had no idea my closet was a veritable cornucopia of gourmet foods. My mouth drools involuntarily and I press forward to grasp one of the fine china plates at the edge of the table so I can help myself to the bounty.

What? I’m hungry.

“I didn’t say you could start eating yet,” I hear from behind me.

I jump a bit, glad that I’m not actually holding a dish because I would have totally dropped it. When I turn, I can’t help but laugh like a crazy person.

“What?” the ghost asks.

“You!” I point at the apparition before me.

“
You
need to take me seriously. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present,” it says.

“Then
you
,” I start, “need a better outfit.”

The spirit is literally cloaked in an old, white bed sheet with arms spread wide. Thick silver chains crisscross over its chest, clanging and banging together in a ghostly stereotype gone bad.

“Look, Kendall,” exclaims the ghost. “This is your dream, not mine. You’re the one choosing the costumers here.”

Taken aback, I snort. “Umm, okay. Didn’t know that. I, err, give you permission to change into something more… appropriate.

“Thank heavens.”

The chains fall to the ground and the ghost chucks off the white sheet, tossing it aside. When the spirit flips their head back, I gasp at who I see before me. Dark hair, clear eyes, and that perfect-straight smile that came from expensive dental work a few years back.

“Celia!”

“No,” she says. “I’m not Celia. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. I already told you that.”

She’s now wearing an emerald green robe trimmed in white fur around the neck, wrists, and hemline. A wreath of holly sits in her dark tresses with sparkles of icy diamond-like crystals spread about. She has a long, silver sword around her waist, as though she’s a knight of old.

I scrunch up my face. “Is that real fur? You know how cruel that is?”

Celia shakes her head. “Again… your fantasy, K. We’ll call it faux and be done with it, okay?”

Too stunned at the sight before me, I nod. “Sure.” I clear my throat. “So what are you here to teach me?”

“Not sure yet, but I have this.” From behind her, she pulls out a large golden torch, much like the one that’s used in the Olympics, and it immediately ignites itself.

“You’ve never seen anything like this before, have you?” she asks.

“Not in person.”

Celia smiles. “I think it’s, like, my magical Ghost of Christmas Present thing.”

“Whatever works,” I say with a snicker. “Where are we off to?”

“I thought I’d show you what’s in store tomorrow at the church and all around town. There’s so much more than what you see on the surface.”

“I’m ready when you are.” The meal beside me forgotten, I cross my arms over my chest and heave an intake of air. “Taylor schooled me on my Christmas past a little while ago. Really got me thinking about a lot of things. I suppose you’re here to do the same?”

“And how,” Celia says.

I stand tall, prepared for the next lesson. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

Celia walks toward me and brushes off the flowing sleeves of her velvety robe. “Touch it.”

My brow lifts. “I beg your pardon?”

Celia smirks at me. “My robe, dork. Touch my robe.”

I slide my hand up her forearm, clutching at her elbow.

And we’re off!

The banquet feast, all of the fowl, pork, veg, fruits, and decorations…
poof
…as if they were never there. The Christmas trees lift into the air and disappear, one by one, in a bubble-popping sound.