Manifest by Artist Arthur Read Free Book Online

out and no stars. A few minutes ago—back on the patio—I was hot. Now I fold my arms over my chest and fight against chattering teeth.
    The cry echoes in the air from behind me. I turn quickly, see the tall woman in the long white gown and fall flat on my butt.
    Help me, she says, reaching her hands out to me. My gaze follows the length of her arms to the tight bodice of her gown, up her neck and to her face—to her half face. The other half is completely rotted. The scream that ripples through me should have been loud and eardrum shattering but just then a huge wave comes rolling in. From the corner of my eye I see it building and know that when it comes crashing down it will take me with it. So I roll in the sand, get to my knees then struggle to stand. Breaking into a run, I refuse to look back. Heading straight for the house, I go upstairs to my room where I close and lock my door.
    My chest’s heaving as I sit on the floor trying to catch my breath. I wonder if a lock and a fear as big as the continent would keep that woman and any other ghosts away.
    Oh, God, I hope so.
     
    Sleep hadn’t come easy but it finally came and I didn’t dream, thank goodness. I don’t think I could have handled another traumatic experience like a nightmare.
    It’s Sunday and I know Janet isn’t going to church. She hasn’t been since we left New York, which also means I haven’t been either. Grandma Bentley would have a heart attack if she knew that.
    Hey, maybe that’s what I needed—Jesus or an exorcism.
    You need to get up out of this bed. It’s almost noon.
    I jump at the sound of his voice, immediately pulling the covers up to my chest.
    “Get out!” I yell, not loud enough for anybody to come running to my room full of questions. But at just the right tone so he can tell I’m serious.
    Calm down. You’re all uptight first thing on a Sunday morning.
    “Uptight!” I say, sitting up in my bed, forgetting all about the sheets until I see his gaze drop down.
    I don’t have big breasts but they’re still there and they’re just barely covered by a thin tank top. I pull the sheet up again and tuck it under my armpits. “Listen, I don’t know what type of game you’re playing but I’m not in the mood. In fact, I think you and your girlfriend need to find somebody else to help you.”
    He laughs but I don’t see what’s so funny.
    “Just get out of my room. Out of my life.” I sigh heavily then fall back onto my pillows. “Isn’t my life bad enough without dead people waltzing into it?”
    Why do you think your life is so bad? From where I’m standing, you’ve got it all. A great house near the water, almost near the Richies. You have your mother and your stepdad living with you, taking you out to dinner and all that wholesome family stuff. What could you possibly have to complain about?
    I turn my head toward the sound of his voice. He’s standing to the right of my bed, in front of the nightstand with my clock radio and lamp.
    “You have no idea what my life is really like. All this,” I say, waving my arm toward everything in the room, “is like a stage, set up for the performance of a lifetime. But happily ever after isn’t in my future. I’m definitely no Cinderella.”
    You got that right. Cinderella would have been up by now scrubbing those floors.
    He’s laughing harder now and I can’t help but crack a smile. That dimple in his cheek is just too cute.
    Still, he says, trying to stop laughing, it can’t be that bad.
    “It is.”
    Tell me about it.
    I shake my head. “That’s not why you’re here.”
    No, but maybe we can make a trade. You help me. I help you.
    “How can a spirit help me with my life?”
    I won’t know until you tell me what’s so wrong with your life.
    He has a point there so I sit up again, resting my back against the headboard. I could probably tell him what is going on in my life that has me so pissed off and depressed at the same time. Who is he going to tell if