Rules for Ghosting by A. J. Paquette Read Free Book Online Page B

easy—like I’m not even trying!”
    With that, Dahlia lost her focus and fell through the bottom of the couch, so fast and hard that she cleared the wood floor and was halfway into the foundation before she was able to stop herself. Shooting back up with a mouth tasting of expired dust bunnies, she quivered with delight.
    â€œI think one might call you a victim of your own success,” Mrs. Tibbs said upon seeing her face, which Dahlia knew was beaming like an electric lightbulb. “You must learn to contain your excitement if you want to hold on to your progress!”
    â€œNever mind all that,” Dahlia gushed. “I did it! I did it once and I’ll do it again. Dust bunnies be gone, my rear will no longer be stuffed with fluff. Or not for long, anyway.” She giggled. “Can I go start practicing now? Give me a couple of hours, Mrs. Tibbs, and I’ll be a Contact
expert
. I want to be able to touch
everything
in this place!”
    â€œI think that sounds like a capital idea. If there is a better time than the present for beginnings, I’m sure I’ve never found it.”
    Dahlia was already busy at work: focusing, clearing, toppling halfway through all sorts of substances. Many were ones she’d never fallen into before, and over the course of tumultuous minutes she learned that porcelain has a far creamier residue than plain old glass; that those candlesticks her mother had been so proud of were not, in fact, made of pure silver; that the warmth of sunlight pooling on an old carpetcounterbalanced its musty gruff overtones so that it felt like a scratchy bubblebath.
    She was just starting to get the hang of this technique when a loud slam from the rear of the house diverted her attention. “Did you hear that?” she said to Mrs. Tibbs, who had been watching her with amused satisfaction. “Who could it be? We should go investigate!”
    Mrs. Tibbs murmured agreement and Dahlia took off like a shot. She slipped through two or three walls before coming to the source of the noise. It was a large bedroom with an old fireplace in the corner and a door leading to the outside. Next to the door was a pile of boxes and jumbled machinery that had obviously been recently brought in.
    â€œThe guest bedroom,” Dahlia said to Mrs. Tibbs. “I suppose this is where they’re putting that Wiley guy. Mrs…. my mother always kept this room done up, even though I don’t remember anyone ever staying in here.” She frowned. “She always put a chocolate on the pillow when someone was coming over.”
    There was no chocolate on the pillow now, but a neatly folded pile of bedding rested on a chair next to the door. Obviously someone had already been in to make Mr. Wiley feel welcome. But then a flicker of motion caught Dahlia’s eye, standing out like a spotlight in this see-through room of living people. It was the blur of something about to expire.
    â€œWhat do you see?” Mrs. Tibbs asked curiously.
    Dahlia wasn’t sure at first. It was something small,something … “A pillow-chocolate!” she squeaked. And then she dove—a spectacular dive, full-body, head forward toward the floor beneath the chair. At the last minute she remembered the rules, focusing her ghost breath to clear her mind and concentrate on the hard oak-board surface, so that as she landed she glided smoothly across it. She squished her ghost-body up into a twisty noodle that slid right between the chair legs, only slipping into the floor the tiniest bit at the end. And there it was: caught between the back chair leg and the heating vent was a small square of chocolate, half-melted, nearly flattened out of existence.
    Perfect.
    Dahlia had to wait only a second or two while the last edge of the chocolate nugget pulled loose from the wreckage of its living form. She had just snatched the expired treat when the vent next to her began to hammer so loudly that she