Part 2 (Jixanny Prompt Two: Who's the Boss?)
March 18
The Sleepyside High cafeteria was at its usual dull roar, a chaotic symphony of clattering plastic trays and shrieking laughter, tinged with the heavy, lingering scent of industrial-strength tater tot grease. Trixie managed to weave through the crowd, her face a mask of exhaustion, as she joined her friends at their usual table.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Suck Days?” she asked wearily. She dropped onto the bench next to Dan, the impact making his tray rattle slightly. She attempted a weak smile, nodding to the two girls across the table. “Hey, Di. Honey.”
“Maybe you might’ve mentioned it. Once or twice. I think,” Dan said. He reached out and took her hand, the warmth of his grasp a grounding contrast to the icy draft that followed her. He linked their fingers, but his eyes didn't stay on her face. They cut to a spot just over her left shoulder. “And who’s your new friend? He looks like he’s about to assign us three chapters of detention.”
“Oh!” Honey exclaimed, startled. Even without The Three’s ability to see lingering spirits, she was starting to often sense when the atmosphere turned brittle. She wondered if the presence of so many living people interfered with that. “You—uh, have someone with you?”
“Yep. Meet the amazing and wonderful Mr. Tetlow,” Trixie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He’s a former math teacher. The best ever in all of Sleepyside's history, according to him. He was unimpressed with my attempts to finish my algebra homework in the hallway this morning. He’s decided to accompany me to class. Permanently, it feels like.”
Beside her, the air shimmered like heat as Mr. Tetlow bristled at her tone. He was a study in overly formal academic austerity: a boxy brown suit that looked woven from iron filings it hung so straight on his thin frame, a razor-thin black tie, and a bulging leather satchel that smelled faintly of something akin to shoe polish.
“There was no excuse for your sloppy work this morning, young lady!” Tetlow’s voice was like dry parchment, cracking as he spoke. “Homework should be attended to the day it is given, not in the frantic, early hours when the mind is clearly unsharpened.”
Trixie closed her eyes, taking a slow, measured breath of the lukewarm cafeteria air. “As I told you near the lockers, and again in the stairwell, mister… I was working last night. Some of us have lives that don't involve finding X after death.” She gripped Dan’s hand harder, feeling the static-electric hum of the ghost’s proximity.
Dan studied the old man. He pegged his attire to the late fifties and figured he was the kind of guy who probably thought a slide rule was a wild technological advancement. “I bet you were a real riot at the faculty Christmas parties,” he said dryly. “Is there something we can actually do for you? Or have you just been lurking in the In-Between waiting for a math-hating witch to cross your path?”
Across the table, Di leaned closer to Honey, her voice a hushed whisper. “Help me out. I always feel like I’m a chapter behind. What’s the ‘In-Between’?”
“It’s the name Trixie gave the spirit world,” Honey murmured back, watching the way Dan’s gaze tracked the invisible teacher. “The place where they get stuck instead of going on.”
“Perhaps if you quit your job and focused on your studies,” Mr. Tetlow continued, looming over Trixie like a watchful vulture, “you wouldn’t be struggling as much as you evidently are. A mind is a terrible thing to waste on labor.”
Trixie turned slowly to look at him, her blue eyes narrowed. “You think I should quit my job?”
“Naturally. It is a distraction from the serious work of learning.”
“And would you be willing to help me out with that?”
The elderly man puffed out his chest and thumped his satchel against his leg. “If you are asking me to assist in a letter of resignation—”
“Leave.”
The word was quiet, but it carried the weight of the Belden lineage.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leave. Shove off. Move on. Take the light rail to the Great Beyond. Just... go,” Trixie said coolly. “Because helping spirits is my job. I didn’t interview for it, and the benefits package is crap, but it’s mine. And if you want to help me do it? You’ll go.”
For a heartbeat, the cafeteria noise seemed to dim. Mr. Tetlow blinked rapidly, his translucent figure flickering like a dying lightbulb. With a final, huffy adjustment of his spectacles, he dissolved into a faint cloud that closely resembled chalk dust which vanished just before it hit the floor.
Trixie’s shoulders slumped. “Great beejeebees,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “I would get a grumpy math teacher on a Suck Day.”
“Did, uh, did that work?” Honey asked curiously.
“Yeah,” Trixie sighed. “He’s gone.”
Dan chuckled, pulling her closer and planting a quick, affectionate kiss on her temple. “You told him to go, and go he went. You the boss, Freckles. Even the faculty has to listen to you now.”
“At least the dead faculty,” Trixie responded with a crooked grin. “I doubt Miss Banner would take kindly to any orders from me.”
Di straightened up, her expression shifting back to the worldly concerns of the living as she unwrapped her egg salad sandwich. “Okay, I’ve been thinking about Spring Break. Since the Cobbett’s Island trip went sideways, does anyone have any other ideas?”
“Uh, yeah,” Trixie said, reaching for her lunch bag. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. What if we start small? Like maybe just go to the city for a day or two?”
“I am sure somewhere in that odd head of yours, ‘small’ and New York City line right up,” Mart said as he set down his lunch tray to join them. “But I’m going to need an explanation before it makes any sense to me.”
Trixie glanced over at him. “Well, I was meaning more in distance, I guess. We haven’t left town since… you know, everything went all Sam and Dean Supernatural on us. Have you considered what it might be like out there?” she waved one hand vaguely in the air. “What we might run into? I just figured if we didn’t go too far away, we could hightail it back here pretty fast if we needed to. Besides, I still haven’t been able to quite shake that weird feeling I got this weekend. Something… happened. I don’t know what, but I feel like we’re just waiting for all the other shoes to drop.”
Dan shuddered and nodded. “Yikes. You have a point. But maybe not even the city? I am suddenly picturing millions of ghosts clamoring for our attention. Anything more local and less populated?”
“We could just stay,” Honey pointed out. “Plan some fun days right here in Sleepyside? We don’t have to go anywhere.”
“That really isn’t a bad idea,” Mart agreed. “I’m sure Regan would appreciate us taking the horses out and I’ll bet Moms would be good if we wanted to do a movie night at the farm. Meanwhile,” he added with a look at his sister and best friend, “the professor asked us to stop by the shop this afternoon if we can. He’s been researching animal spirits. He has some ideas he wants to run by us. Whether or not this is related to Trixie’s bad vibes or not, we still don’t know, but I think we need to be mindful of three things. One, we’ve noticed the uptick in ghosts turning up for Office Hours. Two, ghost dog.”
“Barney,” Trixie cut in.
“Right. Barney the Ghost Dog. And three, whatever it is that has Trixie’s internal spirit meter clanging. Something is up and we really should try to be as prepared for it as we possibly can be.”
“Yeah, okay,” Trixie said with a small nod. “But also? Before we hafta head back to class? I’ll take the hippie over there trying to hand out daisies if you guys can figure out why that lunch lady is swinging a tray at all the students passing by. Deal?”
________________________________________
The early evening light filtered through the lace curtains of Trixie’s bedroom window, casting intricate, web-like shadows across her white-painted desk. Outside, the Hudson Valley was settling into a quiet twilight, a peaceful end to the day that did not match her mood.
Trixie sat hunched over her laptop, the screen’s glow reflecting in her tired eyes. Behind her, the room was a sanctuary of wood and fabric, with a sturdy bed topped with a heavy, hand-stitched quilt, two delicate floral prints hanging precisely on the wall above the headboard, and a bookshelf packed with the familiar spines of her Lucy Radcliffe collection. At the foot of her bed sat a battered trunk, its brass fittings dull with age, holding secrets much older than her homework. It was here that she kept everything from Sarah Sligo’s precious journal to a mismatched assortment of charmed stones and herbal mixtures with various levels of potency, all carefully hidden beneath a mundane collection of old magazines and school folders.
“This better be really good, Vernon,” Trixie said, her voice flat. She didn’t look up from her screen, but her fingers hovered over the keys. “Because I remember very clearly we had an agreement that visiting us in our homes was strictly off-limits. This is my space. No dead people allowed.”
“Whoa!”
At his sudden, startled shout, Trixie spun her chair around just in time to see Vernon scrambling backward toward the far wall, his hands frantically clamping down on his head to keep it from tilting off his shoulders.
“Cat!” he exclaimed loudly. “You have a cat!”
Clyde, a small ball of black fur perched atop the colorful quilt, rolled languidly onto his side. He glared balefully at Vernon and let out a low, guttural growl, slowly extending one paw to reveal a set of very sharp claws.
“Mmm-hmm. Vernon, meet Clyde,” Trixie said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Clyde, this is Vernon. Be nice.”
“Does he - does he actually listen to you?” Vernon asked, eyeing the cat with profound doubt. “Is he going to be nice just because you said so? Because he looks like he's contemplating a spectral snack.”
“That was directed at you,” Trixie told him, her gaze traveling from the cat to the ghost. Vernon was still in his “respectable” suit, looking more like a mid-century actuary than the mobster she’d first met. “Why are you here, Vernon? And make it fast. Moms is just down the hall, and I really don’t want to explain why I’m talking to the corner of my room.”
Vernon straightened his tie, though his image flickered slightly. “Look, kid. You know I wouldn’t have broken the DMZ rules without a good reason.”
Trixie ran a hand through her curls, sighing as her gaze drifted to her bulletin board. Her eyes lingered for a second on a photo of her and Dan at Homecoming, grinning happily at the camera. Less than an hour after that shot had been snapped, they’d encountered their first poltergeist. She softened. “Yeah. Sorry about the attitude. It’s been a long week. I don’t know why, but we’ve been getting a lot of angry spirits lately. Mean ones. I’d give anything to go back to the dazed and confused ones. Remember that guy who couldn’t pick an ice cream flavor and chased the Mr. Softee truck for three miles?” She offered a small, weary smile, but it didn't last. “I’m betting whatever brought you here isn't a flavor dispute. If it couldn't wait for Office Hours, it’s bad.”
“Well, as you know, I’ve met someone…”
“Yes. And while I appreciate the insurance-salesman look is a hit with the ladies, I think I liked the old pinstripes better. They had more... personality.”
“Ha! You and me both, sweetheart. This tie is choking me, and I don't even breathe,” Vernon admitted, then his expression turned uncharacteristically somber. “But my friend. She’s new in town. She came up from Sleepy Hollow. Used to work for a pediatric dentist before a peanut butter milkshake took her out. Simply lovely gal. She tells me the word on the street — well, the other street… is to get to Sleepyside. Find the kids with the amulet. Get permanently out of Dodge, if you get my drift. Before the storm hits.”
Trixie’s hand dropped from her hair. She felt a sudden, sharp chill that had nothing to do with Vernon’s presence. “So definitely not good,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “We don’t have another evil, possessed witch on the way, do we?”
“Is that the sense you’re getting?”
Trixie looked out her window, past the lace curtains toward the dark silhouettes of the trees. “No. This doesn't feel like Luke. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s this feeling of foreboding I can’t shake. Like a weight.” She turned back to him, her face pale in the twilight. “If I had to pick one word, Vernon, it would be ‘relentless.’ And quite frankly, that scares the crud out of me.”
Vernon regarded her grimly, his slightly transparent form silhouetted against her bookshelf. “Coming from anyone else, I’d call that melodramatic. But this is you, a Belden. And not just any Belden. One day, kid, I have no doubt you’ll be able to give even old Sarah a run for her money. If you say it’s relentless, then I guess we’ve all got something to worry about.”
________________________________________
The cool, damp air of the Wheeler Game Preserve clung to the back of Dan’s neck as he stood in a clearing that felt far too crowded for being technically empty.
“Okay,” Dan said decisively, his voice dropping into a gritty, no-nonsense baritone that belonged in a black-and-white crime serial. “Here’s the plan. Officer Hopkins, you’re gonna approach the cabin from the north. We gotta make sure these guys don’t bolt out the back door. Sergeant? You’re with me. We’ll come at ‘em from the front. We’ll get these dirty, no-good moonshiners! Are we ready?”
He turned and took off at a quick trot, his boots crunching loudly through the dried leaves. He only made it about fifteen steps before the temperature behind him spiked from "chilly" back to "normal." He slowed to a stop and looked back over his shoulder. The two lawmen, clad in high-collared wool tunics and wide-brimmed hats that had seen better days in 1928, were silently dissolving into the evening mist.
“And… they’re gone,” he muttered.
He exhaled a low breath, leaning his hands on his knees for a moment. Patrolling the preserve had taken on a whole new meaning these past months. While he hadn’t once seen any evidence of live poachers, the kind that Regan and the Wheelers actually worried about, the non-living trespassers were turning up with an alarming, almost desperate frequency. It was like the woods were becoming a transit hub for the deceased.
He pulled his phone from his back pocket, the screen glowing bright against the deepening shadows of the trees, and sent off a quick text to the group chat.
Clear and done. Heading to the farm now.
The reply came almost instantly from Mart. Affirmative.
Shaking his head, Dan turned to make for the nearest path to Crabapple Farm. The familiar trail was bathed in the bruised purples and deep oranges of a Hudson Valley sunset. He arrived at the Belden farmhouse less than ten minutes later, cutting across the grass to find Mart and Trixie waiting for him on the back patio. The iron table held three glasses of iced tea and a plate of Mrs. Belden’s famous lemon cookies.
“Something occurred to me,” Dan began, even before his feet hit the first stone step.
“Trixie has news,” Mart said at the exact same time, looking up from a thick, leather-bound volume that he had probably spent a week translating.
There was a beat of silence as they waited for the other to take the floor. Trixie shrugged one shoulder, her lips curved into a small smirk. “You first,” she said to Dan. “You look like you’ve been thinking too hard. I can smell the smoke.”
Dan didn't take the bait. He sat down, his chair scraping against the stone. “Have you guys seen any new ghosts lately?”
“Uh, yeah. Loads of ‘em,” Mart replied slowly, closing his book with a heavy thud. “As you know. We’re getting slammed at Office Hours. I’ve had to start a color-coded spreadsheet just to keep the 'Unfinished Business' categories straight.”
Dan shook his head and waved one hand dismissively. “Not what I meant. I meant, like, new ghosts. As in newly departed. As in just shuffled off this mortal coil in, say, the last year or so? I feel like every one of them I’ve seen for the past week has been from at least half a century ago. Polyester suits, poodle skirts, and those Prohibition cops I just redirected.”
Trixie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she mentally scanned the faces of the spirits that had been haunting the fringes of her vision lately. “Now that you mention it… yeah. It’s all vintage. Where are all the new ghosts? Are people just staying alive longer this month, or are they going somewhere else?” She bit down on her lower lip before continuing. “Maybe this has something to do with what Vernon told me?”
“What did Vernon tell you?” Dan asked.
“He said his new girlfriend, a perfectly charming dental assistant by his telling, told him the ghost world is buzzing. It’s like a telegraph wire. There’s a warning going out: Find the kids in Sleepyside and get a one-way ticket out of the In-Between now. Maybe the long-time ghosts are taking that more seriously than the newly dead? The ones who have been stuck for decades know when the weather is changing?”
“Maybe?” Dan said thoughtfully, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the magic amulet through the fabric of his pocket. “Although not all of ‘em have been here looking for us. The two cops I just sent off weren't looking for a way out. They were just stuck in a loop trying to make a bust. But that could maybe explain the extra long Office Hours lines.”
“Ugh,” Trixie groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I feel like we just keep getting more and more questions and no answers. And while I thought what the professor learned about spirit animals was interesting, I don’t see how those indigenous legends are tying in here. At least not yet. But… there’s the deer, so there’s that.”
Both Mart and Dan stared at her, their expressions perfectly synchronized in confusion.
“The… what?” Dan asked.
“The ghost deer. Over there, by the edge of the preserve.” Trixie pointed toward the line of dark trees.
They turned in unison. Standing perfectly still at the edge of the shadows was a slender doe. But it wasn't the mottled brown of the local white-tails. It was a shimmering, pearly white, its form appearing almost like a double-exposure against the dark bark of the trees.
As if sensing their collective gaze, the animal’s head swung toward them. Its eyes glowed with a soft, pale luminescence. For a long, frozen moment, no one moved. Not even the wind seemed to stir the grass. Then, with a sudden, fluid grace, the deer leapt toward the cover of the rapidly darkening woods, vanishing in the evening gloom.
Mart blew out a long, frustrated breath, as he reached for his glass. “What is going on?”
________________________________________
March 20
The afternoon was bright and sunny, with a crisp, clean smell to the air that hinted at a pleasant weekend ahead. Only a few students lingered around the school. Most had left as quickly as possible, either by foot, car, or on one of the buses that had rolled out from the circular drive on the east side of the campus. Trixie leaned against a metal handrail, checking her watch. Eighteen minutes since the bell, and Dan and Mart were likely still caught up in some post-class debate with a teacher or, more likely, dealing with a reluctant spirit.
“Friday at last!” she muttered under her breath.
“TGIF!” a voice chirped beside her.
“IKR?”
“Huh?”
Trixie glanced at the slender girl who had materialized a few feet away. She looked like a neon time capsule. Her hair was a gravity-defying cloud of crimped waves, topped with an enormous fuchsia satin bow that sat like a tropical bird on her head. With bright blue eyeshadow, plastic bangles that clattered on each wrist, and a dayglow yellow blouse with shoulder pads wide enough to make a football player jealous, she screamed 1986.
“I-K-R,” she explained. “It means, ‘I know. Right?’”
“Oh.” The girl considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I never heard that one before. It works.”
“Yep,” Trixie agreed, shifting her weight. “Anyway. So, what’s your name? What’s your deal? What do you need me to do? I’ve got Office Hours at The Crescent Moon in twenty minutes, and then I am fairly certain I’m going to die if I don't get a burger at Wimpy’s.”
The ghost’s eyes lit up. “Well, like, duh. It’s Friday... let’s hit the mall and check out the fine boys! I heard the new Chess King just opened and the guys working there are totally choice.”
“Malls aren't really a Friday night thing anymore. Most people just shop on their phones,” Trixie told her, trying not to sound too discouraging. “And name?”
The girl rolled her eyes and paused to blow out a bright pink bubble from her gum. “It’s Lisa," she said finally. "What do you mean, not a Friday thing anymore? It’s the mall. Where else would anyone be? How do you meet people on a phone? That sounds, like, totally lonely and weird.”
“That would probably take me longer to explain than I really have time for at the moment,” Trixie said, her eyes scanning the courtyard for her boyfriend and brother. “Let’s work this out. You want to hang out and, uh, check out some fine boys? That’s why you’re still here? You’re stuck in the In-Between because of a missed date?”
“Well, I can’t exactly go home, now can I?” Lisa asked, her tone suddenly flat.
“Oh!” Trixie studied the girl with more interest. “I didn’t realize you knew you were dead. A lot of spirits we meet haven’t clocked that part yet.”
Lisa looked at Trixie with a skeptical expression. “How can you not know when you’re dead?” she asked incredulously. “Isn’t the ‘just about no one can see me and I can walk through walls’ bit a big clue? Like, I’m not a brainiac or anything, but I can put two and two together.”
“You would think,” Trixie agreed, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “But I guess maybe they can’t really face it? Denial is a powerful thing, even after your heart stops. We get a lot of them that seem to be literally stuck in some kind of loop where they play out a scene over and over. It’s like the DOA version of Groundhog Day.”
Lisa’s expression grew even more doubtful. “Why do a lot of ghosts get hung up on Groundhog Day? Of all the holidays possible... why not Valentine’s? Or even Halloween? I would think they’d pick Halloween first.”
Trixie chuckled lightly. “Sorry, I meant the movie. Bill Murray? Never mind. The point is, they keep repeating the same moments over and over again, and sometimes it’s actually pretty hard to snap them out of it. But once we do, usually they just take off. Poof! Moving on to the Great Beyond.” She regarded Lisa with slightly narrowed eyes, her Belden "gut instinct" starting to tingle. “So, again, what’s keeping you here? If you know you're dead, why haven't you moved on?”
Lisa gave her a blank look. “I don’t know. I just am? I feel like I’m waiting for something, but I can’t remember what.”
“Okay, not to be too nosy, but... how did you die? You don’t look like you met with any gruesome kind of accident or anything. No blood, no gross-out, mangled limbs.”
“I actually have absolutely no idea.” Lisa held up her hands and shrugged, her bangles sliding to her elbows. “One minute I was sneaking out of a pep rally at school to meet my boyfriend, Keith, behind the gym. It was the big game against Croton, totally high stakes. And the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of Main Street outside Crimper’s. A car drove right through me. It was totally wild. No pain, just... whoosh.”
Trixie’s heart sank. A girl sneaks out of a pep rally in 1986 and just wakes up dead on Main Street? That wasn't a "natural causes" scenario.
“Right. You know what?” she said, letting out a long sigh. “It would not surprise me in the least if now I’m supposed to solve your murder.”
Lisa’s jaw dropped, her blue-lidded eyes going wide. “My murder? Oh, my Gawd! You think I was murdered? Like, for real? Like on Miami Vice?”
“Maybe,” Trixie said grimly, spotting Mart and Dan finally heading toward her. “But if we’re going to find out, we’re going to need to look into some old Sleepyside Sun articles. And probably talk to Vernon. He might remember who was running the 'fine boys' scene back in the eighties.”
“Murdered!” Lisa said again, her tone somewhere between horrified and awed. “Holy cow!”
March 18
The Sleepyside High cafeteria was at its usual dull roar, a chaotic symphony of clattering plastic trays and shrieking laughter, tinged with the heavy, lingering scent of industrial-strength tater tot grease. Trixie managed to weave through the crowd, her face a mask of exhaustion, as she joined her friends at their usual table.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Suck Days?” she asked wearily. She dropped onto the bench next to Dan, the impact making his tray rattle slightly. She attempted a weak smile, nodding to the two girls across the table. “Hey, Di. Honey.”
“Maybe you might’ve mentioned it. Once or twice. I think,” Dan said. He reached out and took her hand, the warmth of his grasp a grounding contrast to the icy draft that followed her. He linked their fingers, but his eyes didn't stay on her face. They cut to a spot just over her left shoulder. “And who’s your new friend? He looks like he’s about to assign us three chapters of detention.”
“Oh!” Honey exclaimed, startled. Even without The Three’s ability to see lingering spirits, she was starting to often sense when the atmosphere turned brittle. She wondered if the presence of so many living people interfered with that. “You—uh, have someone with you?”
“Yep. Meet the amazing and wonderful Mr. Tetlow,” Trixie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He’s a former math teacher. The best ever in all of Sleepyside's history, according to him. He was unimpressed with my attempts to finish my algebra homework in the hallway this morning. He’s decided to accompany me to class. Permanently, it feels like.”
Beside her, the air shimmered like heat as Mr. Tetlow bristled at her tone. He was a study in overly formal academic austerity: a boxy brown suit that looked woven from iron filings it hung so straight on his thin frame, a razor-thin black tie, and a bulging leather satchel that smelled faintly of something akin to shoe polish.
“There was no excuse for your sloppy work this morning, young lady!” Tetlow’s voice was like dry parchment, cracking as he spoke. “Homework should be attended to the day it is given, not in the frantic, early hours when the mind is clearly unsharpened.”
Trixie closed her eyes, taking a slow, measured breath of the lukewarm cafeteria air. “As I told you near the lockers, and again in the stairwell, mister… I was working last night. Some of us have lives that don't involve finding X after death.” She gripped Dan’s hand harder, feeling the static-electric hum of the ghost’s proximity.
Dan studied the old man. He pegged his attire to the late fifties and figured he was the kind of guy who probably thought a slide rule was a wild technological advancement. “I bet you were a real riot at the faculty Christmas parties,” he said dryly. “Is there something we can actually do for you? Or have you just been lurking in the In-Between waiting for a math-hating witch to cross your path?”
Across the table, Di leaned closer to Honey, her voice a hushed whisper. “Help me out. I always feel like I’m a chapter behind. What’s the ‘In-Between’?”
“It’s the name Trixie gave the spirit world,” Honey murmured back, watching the way Dan’s gaze tracked the invisible teacher. “The place where they get stuck instead of going on.”
“Perhaps if you quit your job and focused on your studies,” Mr. Tetlow continued, looming over Trixie like a watchful vulture, “you wouldn’t be struggling as much as you evidently are. A mind is a terrible thing to waste on labor.”
Trixie turned slowly to look at him, her blue eyes narrowed. “You think I should quit my job?”
“Naturally. It is a distraction from the serious work of learning.”
“And would you be willing to help me out with that?”
The elderly man puffed out his chest and thumped his satchel against his leg. “If you are asking me to assist in a letter of resignation—”
“Leave.”
The word was quiet, but it carried the weight of the Belden lineage.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leave. Shove off. Move on. Take the light rail to the Great Beyond. Just... go,” Trixie said coolly. “Because helping spirits is my job. I didn’t interview for it, and the benefits package is crap, but it’s mine. And if you want to help me do it? You’ll go.”
For a heartbeat, the cafeteria noise seemed to dim. Mr. Tetlow blinked rapidly, his translucent figure flickering like a dying lightbulb. With a final, huffy adjustment of his spectacles, he dissolved into a faint cloud that closely resembled chalk dust which vanished just before it hit the floor.
Trixie’s shoulders slumped. “Great beejeebees,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “I would get a grumpy math teacher on a Suck Day.”
“Did, uh, did that work?” Honey asked curiously.
“Yeah,” Trixie sighed. “He’s gone.”
Dan chuckled, pulling her closer and planting a quick, affectionate kiss on her temple. “You told him to go, and go he went. You the boss, Freckles. Even the faculty has to listen to you now.”
“At least the dead faculty,” Trixie responded with a crooked grin. “I doubt Miss Banner would take kindly to any orders from me.”
Di straightened up, her expression shifting back to the worldly concerns of the living as she unwrapped her egg salad sandwich. “Okay, I’ve been thinking about Spring Break. Since the Cobbett’s Island trip went sideways, does anyone have any other ideas?”
“Uh, yeah,” Trixie said, reaching for her lunch bag. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. What if we start small? Like maybe just go to the city for a day or two?”
“I am sure somewhere in that odd head of yours, ‘small’ and New York City line right up,” Mart said as he set down his lunch tray to join them. “But I’m going to need an explanation before it makes any sense to me.”
Trixie glanced over at him. “Well, I was meaning more in distance, I guess. We haven’t left town since… you know, everything went all Sam and Dean Supernatural on us. Have you considered what it might be like out there?” she waved one hand vaguely in the air. “What we might run into? I just figured if we didn’t go too far away, we could hightail it back here pretty fast if we needed to. Besides, I still haven’t been able to quite shake that weird feeling I got this weekend. Something… happened. I don’t know what, but I feel like we’re just waiting for all the other shoes to drop.”
Dan shuddered and nodded. “Yikes. You have a point. But maybe not even the city? I am suddenly picturing millions of ghosts clamoring for our attention. Anything more local and less populated?”
“We could just stay,” Honey pointed out. “Plan some fun days right here in Sleepyside? We don’t have to go anywhere.”
“That really isn’t a bad idea,” Mart agreed. “I’m sure Regan would appreciate us taking the horses out and I’ll bet Moms would be good if we wanted to do a movie night at the farm. Meanwhile,” he added with a look at his sister and best friend, “the professor asked us to stop by the shop this afternoon if we can. He’s been researching animal spirits. He has some ideas he wants to run by us. Whether or not this is related to Trixie’s bad vibes or not, we still don’t know, but I think we need to be mindful of three things. One, we’ve noticed the uptick in ghosts turning up for Office Hours. Two, ghost dog.”
“Barney,” Trixie cut in.
“Right. Barney the Ghost Dog. And three, whatever it is that has Trixie’s internal spirit meter clanging. Something is up and we really should try to be as prepared for it as we possibly can be.”
“Yeah, okay,” Trixie said with a small nod. “But also? Before we hafta head back to class? I’ll take the hippie over there trying to hand out daisies if you guys can figure out why that lunch lady is swinging a tray at all the students passing by. Deal?”
________________________________________
The early evening light filtered through the lace curtains of Trixie’s bedroom window, casting intricate, web-like shadows across her white-painted desk. Outside, the Hudson Valley was settling into a quiet twilight, a peaceful end to the day that did not match her mood.
Trixie sat hunched over her laptop, the screen’s glow reflecting in her tired eyes. Behind her, the room was a sanctuary of wood and fabric, with a sturdy bed topped with a heavy, hand-stitched quilt, two delicate floral prints hanging precisely on the wall above the headboard, and a bookshelf packed with the familiar spines of her Lucy Radcliffe collection. At the foot of her bed sat a battered trunk, its brass fittings dull with age, holding secrets much older than her homework. It was here that she kept everything from Sarah Sligo’s precious journal to a mismatched assortment of charmed stones and herbal mixtures with various levels of potency, all carefully hidden beneath a mundane collection of old magazines and school folders.
“This better be really good, Vernon,” Trixie said, her voice flat. She didn’t look up from her screen, but her fingers hovered over the keys. “Because I remember very clearly we had an agreement that visiting us in our homes was strictly off-limits. This is my space. No dead people allowed.”
“Whoa!”
At his sudden, startled shout, Trixie spun her chair around just in time to see Vernon scrambling backward toward the far wall, his hands frantically clamping down on his head to keep it from tilting off his shoulders.
“Cat!” he exclaimed loudly. “You have a cat!”
Clyde, a small ball of black fur perched atop the colorful quilt, rolled languidly onto his side. He glared balefully at Vernon and let out a low, guttural growl, slowly extending one paw to reveal a set of very sharp claws.
“Mmm-hmm. Vernon, meet Clyde,” Trixie said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Clyde, this is Vernon. Be nice.”
“Does he - does he actually listen to you?” Vernon asked, eyeing the cat with profound doubt. “Is he going to be nice just because you said so? Because he looks like he's contemplating a spectral snack.”
“That was directed at you,” Trixie told him, her gaze traveling from the cat to the ghost. Vernon was still in his “respectable” suit, looking more like a mid-century actuary than the mobster she’d first met. “Why are you here, Vernon? And make it fast. Moms is just down the hall, and I really don’t want to explain why I’m talking to the corner of my room.”
Vernon straightened his tie, though his image flickered slightly. “Look, kid. You know I wouldn’t have broken the DMZ rules without a good reason.”
Trixie ran a hand through her curls, sighing as her gaze drifted to her bulletin board. Her eyes lingered for a second on a photo of her and Dan at Homecoming, grinning happily at the camera. Less than an hour after that shot had been snapped, they’d encountered their first poltergeist. She softened. “Yeah. Sorry about the attitude. It’s been a long week. I don’t know why, but we’ve been getting a lot of angry spirits lately. Mean ones. I’d give anything to go back to the dazed and confused ones. Remember that guy who couldn’t pick an ice cream flavor and chased the Mr. Softee truck for three miles?” She offered a small, weary smile, but it didn't last. “I’m betting whatever brought you here isn't a flavor dispute. If it couldn't wait for Office Hours, it’s bad.”
“Well, as you know, I’ve met someone…”
“Yes. And while I appreciate the insurance-salesman look is a hit with the ladies, I think I liked the old pinstripes better. They had more... personality.”
“Ha! You and me both, sweetheart. This tie is choking me, and I don't even breathe,” Vernon admitted, then his expression turned uncharacteristically somber. “But my friend. She’s new in town. She came up from Sleepy Hollow. Used to work for a pediatric dentist before a peanut butter milkshake took her out. Simply lovely gal. She tells me the word on the street — well, the other street… is to get to Sleepyside. Find the kids with the amulet. Get permanently out of Dodge, if you get my drift. Before the storm hits.”
Trixie’s hand dropped from her hair. She felt a sudden, sharp chill that had nothing to do with Vernon’s presence. “So definitely not good,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “We don’t have another evil, possessed witch on the way, do we?”
“Is that the sense you’re getting?”
Trixie looked out her window, past the lace curtains toward the dark silhouettes of the trees. “No. This doesn't feel like Luke. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s this feeling of foreboding I can’t shake. Like a weight.” She turned back to him, her face pale in the twilight. “If I had to pick one word, Vernon, it would be ‘relentless.’ And quite frankly, that scares the crud out of me.”
Vernon regarded her grimly, his slightly transparent form silhouetted against her bookshelf. “Coming from anyone else, I’d call that melodramatic. But this is you, a Belden. And not just any Belden. One day, kid, I have no doubt you’ll be able to give even old Sarah a run for her money. If you say it’s relentless, then I guess we’ve all got something to worry about.”
________________________________________
The cool, damp air of the Wheeler Game Preserve clung to the back of Dan’s neck as he stood in a clearing that felt far too crowded for being technically empty.
“Okay,” Dan said decisively, his voice dropping into a gritty, no-nonsense baritone that belonged in a black-and-white crime serial. “Here’s the plan. Officer Hopkins, you’re gonna approach the cabin from the north. We gotta make sure these guys don’t bolt out the back door. Sergeant? You’re with me. We’ll come at ‘em from the front. We’ll get these dirty, no-good moonshiners! Are we ready?”
He turned and took off at a quick trot, his boots crunching loudly through the dried leaves. He only made it about fifteen steps before the temperature behind him spiked from "chilly" back to "normal." He slowed to a stop and looked back over his shoulder. The two lawmen, clad in high-collared wool tunics and wide-brimmed hats that had seen better days in 1928, were silently dissolving into the evening mist.
“And… they’re gone,” he muttered.
He exhaled a low breath, leaning his hands on his knees for a moment. Patrolling the preserve had taken on a whole new meaning these past months. While he hadn’t once seen any evidence of live poachers, the kind that Regan and the Wheelers actually worried about, the non-living trespassers were turning up with an alarming, almost desperate frequency. It was like the woods were becoming a transit hub for the deceased.
He pulled his phone from his back pocket, the screen glowing bright against the deepening shadows of the trees, and sent off a quick text to the group chat.
Clear and done. Heading to the farm now.
The reply came almost instantly from Mart. Affirmative.
Shaking his head, Dan turned to make for the nearest path to Crabapple Farm. The familiar trail was bathed in the bruised purples and deep oranges of a Hudson Valley sunset. He arrived at the Belden farmhouse less than ten minutes later, cutting across the grass to find Mart and Trixie waiting for him on the back patio. The iron table held three glasses of iced tea and a plate of Mrs. Belden’s famous lemon cookies.
“Something occurred to me,” Dan began, even before his feet hit the first stone step.
“Trixie has news,” Mart said at the exact same time, looking up from a thick, leather-bound volume that he had probably spent a week translating.
There was a beat of silence as they waited for the other to take the floor. Trixie shrugged one shoulder, her lips curved into a small smirk. “You first,” she said to Dan. “You look like you’ve been thinking too hard. I can smell the smoke.”
Dan didn't take the bait. He sat down, his chair scraping against the stone. “Have you guys seen any new ghosts lately?”
“Uh, yeah. Loads of ‘em,” Mart replied slowly, closing his book with a heavy thud. “As you know. We’re getting slammed at Office Hours. I’ve had to start a color-coded spreadsheet just to keep the 'Unfinished Business' categories straight.”
Dan shook his head and waved one hand dismissively. “Not what I meant. I meant, like, new ghosts. As in newly departed. As in just shuffled off this mortal coil in, say, the last year or so? I feel like every one of them I’ve seen for the past week has been from at least half a century ago. Polyester suits, poodle skirts, and those Prohibition cops I just redirected.”
Trixie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she mentally scanned the faces of the spirits that had been haunting the fringes of her vision lately. “Now that you mention it… yeah. It’s all vintage. Where are all the new ghosts? Are people just staying alive longer this month, or are they going somewhere else?” She bit down on her lower lip before continuing. “Maybe this has something to do with what Vernon told me?”
“What did Vernon tell you?” Dan asked.
“He said his new girlfriend, a perfectly charming dental assistant by his telling, told him the ghost world is buzzing. It’s like a telegraph wire. There’s a warning going out: Find the kids in Sleepyside and get a one-way ticket out of the In-Between now. Maybe the long-time ghosts are taking that more seriously than the newly dead? The ones who have been stuck for decades know when the weather is changing?”
“Maybe?” Dan said thoughtfully, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the magic amulet through the fabric of his pocket. “Although not all of ‘em have been here looking for us. The two cops I just sent off weren't looking for a way out. They were just stuck in a loop trying to make a bust. But that could maybe explain the extra long Office Hours lines.”
“Ugh,” Trixie groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I feel like we just keep getting more and more questions and no answers. And while I thought what the professor learned about spirit animals was interesting, I don’t see how those indigenous legends are tying in here. At least not yet. But… there’s the deer, so there’s that.”
Both Mart and Dan stared at her, their expressions perfectly synchronized in confusion.
“The… what?” Dan asked.
“The ghost deer. Over there, by the edge of the preserve.” Trixie pointed toward the line of dark trees.
They turned in unison. Standing perfectly still at the edge of the shadows was a slender doe. But it wasn't the mottled brown of the local white-tails. It was a shimmering, pearly white, its form appearing almost like a double-exposure against the dark bark of the trees.
As if sensing their collective gaze, the animal’s head swung toward them. Its eyes glowed with a soft, pale luminescence. For a long, frozen moment, no one moved. Not even the wind seemed to stir the grass. Then, with a sudden, fluid grace, the deer leapt toward the cover of the rapidly darkening woods, vanishing in the evening gloom.
Mart blew out a long, frustrated breath, as he reached for his glass. “What is going on?”
________________________________________
March 20
The afternoon was bright and sunny, with a crisp, clean smell to the air that hinted at a pleasant weekend ahead. Only a few students lingered around the school. Most had left as quickly as possible, either by foot, car, or on one of the buses that had rolled out from the circular drive on the east side of the campus. Trixie leaned against a metal handrail, checking her watch. Eighteen minutes since the bell, and Dan and Mart were likely still caught up in some post-class debate with a teacher or, more likely, dealing with a reluctant spirit.
“Friday at last!” she muttered under her breath.
“TGIF!” a voice chirped beside her.
“IKR?”
“Huh?”
Trixie glanced at the slender girl who had materialized a few feet away. She looked like a neon time capsule. Her hair was a gravity-defying cloud of crimped waves, topped with an enormous fuchsia satin bow that sat like a tropical bird on her head. With bright blue eyeshadow, plastic bangles that clattered on each wrist, and a dayglow yellow blouse with shoulder pads wide enough to make a football player jealous, she screamed 1986.
“I-K-R,” she explained. “It means, ‘I know. Right?’”
“Oh.” The girl considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I never heard that one before. It works.”
“Yep,” Trixie agreed, shifting her weight. “Anyway. So, what’s your name? What’s your deal? What do you need me to do? I’ve got Office Hours at The Crescent Moon in twenty minutes, and then I am fairly certain I’m going to die if I don't get a burger at Wimpy’s.”
The ghost’s eyes lit up. “Well, like, duh. It’s Friday... let’s hit the mall and check out the fine boys! I heard the new Chess King just opened and the guys working there are totally choice.”
“Malls aren't really a Friday night thing anymore. Most people just shop on their phones,” Trixie told her, trying not to sound too discouraging. “And name?”
The girl rolled her eyes and paused to blow out a bright pink bubble from her gum. “It’s Lisa," she said finally. "What do you mean, not a Friday thing anymore? It’s the mall. Where else would anyone be? How do you meet people on a phone? That sounds, like, totally lonely and weird.”
“That would probably take me longer to explain than I really have time for at the moment,” Trixie said, her eyes scanning the courtyard for her boyfriend and brother. “Let’s work this out. You want to hang out and, uh, check out some fine boys? That’s why you’re still here? You’re stuck in the In-Between because of a missed date?”
“Well, I can’t exactly go home, now can I?” Lisa asked, her tone suddenly flat.
“Oh!” Trixie studied the girl with more interest. “I didn’t realize you knew you were dead. A lot of spirits we meet haven’t clocked that part yet.”
Lisa looked at Trixie with a skeptical expression. “How can you not know when you’re dead?” she asked incredulously. “Isn’t the ‘just about no one can see me and I can walk through walls’ bit a big clue? Like, I’m not a brainiac or anything, but I can put two and two together.”
“You would think,” Trixie agreed, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “But I guess maybe they can’t really face it? Denial is a powerful thing, even after your heart stops. We get a lot of them that seem to be literally stuck in some kind of loop where they play out a scene over and over. It’s like the DOA version of Groundhog Day.”
Lisa’s expression grew even more doubtful. “Why do a lot of ghosts get hung up on Groundhog Day? Of all the holidays possible... why not Valentine’s? Or even Halloween? I would think they’d pick Halloween first.”
Trixie chuckled lightly. “Sorry, I meant the movie. Bill Murray? Never mind. The point is, they keep repeating the same moments over and over again, and sometimes it’s actually pretty hard to snap them out of it. But once we do, usually they just take off. Poof! Moving on to the Great Beyond.” She regarded Lisa with slightly narrowed eyes, her Belden "gut instinct" starting to tingle. “So, again, what’s keeping you here? If you know you're dead, why haven't you moved on?”
Lisa gave her a blank look. “I don’t know. I just am? I feel like I’m waiting for something, but I can’t remember what.”
“Okay, not to be too nosy, but... how did you die? You don’t look like you met with any gruesome kind of accident or anything. No blood, no gross-out, mangled limbs.”
“I actually have absolutely no idea.” Lisa held up her hands and shrugged, her bangles sliding to her elbows. “One minute I was sneaking out of a pep rally at school to meet my boyfriend, Keith, behind the gym. It was the big game against Croton, totally high stakes. And the next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of Main Street outside Crimper’s. A car drove right through me. It was totally wild. No pain, just... whoosh.”
Trixie’s heart sank. A girl sneaks out of a pep rally in 1986 and just wakes up dead on Main Street? That wasn't a "natural causes" scenario.
“Right. You know what?” she said, letting out a long sigh. “It would not surprise me in the least if now I’m supposed to solve your murder.”
Lisa’s jaw dropped, her blue-lidded eyes going wide. “My murder? Oh, my Gawd! You think I was murdered? Like, for real? Like on Miami Vice?”
“Maybe,” Trixie said grimly, spotting Mart and Dan finally heading toward her. “But if we’re going to find out, we’re going to need to look into some old Sleepyside Sun articles. And probably talk to Vernon. He might remember who was running the 'fine boys' scene back in the eighties.”
“Murdered!” Lisa said again, her tone somewhere between horrified and awed. “Holy cow!”