Five Days of the Ghost Read Online Free PDF

looks and John had taken after Dad. Instead, I was the stocky redhead with the freckles.
    Sometimes I wondered why Mom dressed so nice when she spent most of the day wearing one of those long white coats the phony doctors in the TV commercials wear. She was a radiologist over at Soldiers’ Memorial Hospital.
    My Dad came into the kitchen from the study, carrying a big white coffee mug with The World’s Greatest Dad written on it in red. He wasn’t dressed up at all . He had on cut-offs, his leather sandals, and a tank top. His muscles bulged all over the place.
    â€œMorning, Karen.”
    Dad filled the mug up with coffee from the pot on the back burner. He always had a coffee resting on his drafting table. I thought he had coffee in his veins instead of blood. He leaned against the stove and took a sip. Quietly. He looked lost in thought—probably stuck on his picture book about the fat magician. After a moment he stepped over to the table and gave Mom a kiss. Then he wandered back into the study.
    When he had left I said, “Mom, do you believe in ghosts?”
    She put the last bit of toast into her mouth and dabbed with the napkin.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so, dear.”
    â€œHow come? I mean, a lot of other people do.”
    She took a sip of her tea, holding the white china cup with both hands so that it seemed to hang between her fingertips.
    â€œI’m a scientist, Karen. All my education has been in the sciences. I’ve never read a word in my whole life that even began to prove the existence of the supernatural.”
    â€œOh,” I said. What else could I say?
    â€œGhosts, miracles—all those things are things some people like or need to believe in. But that doesn’t make them real.”
    She took another sip of tea and put her cup down on the saucer. “I wrote out a menu for you kids for when Dad and I are away. Try to follow it this time.”
    â€œIt’s John who won’t, Mom. You know what a piglet he is.”
    Mom laughed. Her laugh is really funny. She always looks so sophisticated and sort of … formal , but when she laughs she sounds like a ten-year-old girl giggling.
    â€œAnd,” she went on, “I’ve put some sanitary pads on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in the bath—”
    â€œ Mom! ” I hissed, shooting a look down the hall towards Dad’s study. “Dad—”
    â€œIt’s best to be prepared,” she said. “You never know.”
    My mom. She thought I couldn’t wait to get my first period. I couldn’t blame her, I guess. I mean, the girls in my class didn’t talk about anything else . The whole grade eight year was like a big competition. Girls who hadn’t had theirs yet kept their mouths shut—or lied. Girls who had theirs strutted around like queen bees, talking about different brands of pads and pretending everything was so inconvenient. The whole topic bugged me.
    â€œTry not to be so worried, dear. It’s part of growing up, becoming a woman. It’s—”
    â€œLet’s just drop it, okay, Mom?” I said harshly. A little too harshly, I thought. Mom looked hurt.
    â€œAll right, all right. There’s no need to talk like that.”
    Mom stood and carried her dishes over to the sink. A few minutes later I kissed her goodbye—she was leaving for work—and took my tea out into the yard. The grass felt cool on my feet, although most of the dampness had already been cooked away by the hot morning sun. I walked out onto the narrow dock, feeling it creak and sway a little under me. I put my tea down on the boards beside the lounge and jumped into the water.
    It was cool and it felt great. Most of my friends liked the lake to be warm as a bathtub, but I didn’t. When it was cool it felt clean, and when you jumped in the coldness made you suck in your breath. And when you got out again, your skin tingled. But later in the summer