southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits Read Online Free PDF

ghost town behind. No doubt someone had loved that place a long time ago, like I loved Sugarland now. But the relic of a town didn't feel right. 
    Maybe I was merely unsettled about how easy it was to lose a home, a road, an entire community.
    We drove until the road went from asphalt to dirt. 
    "Kill your lights," he ordered.
    "Dang it, Frankie," I muttered. But I did as he asked.
    Now we were really asking to hit something. 
    "Drive straight," the ghost said quietly, as we crunched over dry ground.
    Off in the distance, I saw a single porch light. "That's Maisie's house, isn't it?" I murmured. We were in about the right place for it, although I couldn't see the rest of her 1940's-style bungalow. The place was too dark. 
    Frankie straightened in his seat. "Follow my lead. Sneaking's one of the things I do best." He shot me a dark look. "Stop the car." 
    He sounded like we were about to rob a bank or something. I didn't like it. "I never should have agreed to this," I muttered as I ground the car to a halt. The engine clicked and protested as I shut it down. 
    Frankie adjusted the Panama hat low over his eyes. "The widow's been looking in the ground. That's the wrong place." He shot me a grin. "Oskar hid the cash in the old family homestead."
    "You mean the haunted house on the hill?" I shot back. We'd told stories about the old Hatcher place, an abandoned Civil War-era two-story where candles still glowed in the upstairs window and the ghost of Jilted Josephine threw rocks at people. Word had it she'd pitched her lover head first out of her window before she'd hung herself. The widow Maisie hadn't let anyone near the place in forty years and I didn't blame her. "I'm not going in there."
    Frankie shot me a dry look. "You'd rather take your skunk and live in an apartment by the railroad tracks?" 
    "That's not fair."
    He disappeared from the seat next to me, and materialized about ten yards ahead. 
    Crimeny.
    I popped open the locks, grabbed the bag with the urn, and hurried after him. "Can't we discuss this like rational human beings?" I hissed. It was dark and freaky and he'd better not leave me alone. "I thought you said you couldn't go anywhere."
    As if determined to prove me wrong, he disappeared completely, abandoning me in the darkness. It was colder than it should have been. Blacker. A bloodcurdling cry rose up from the woods to my right and a twisting, hollow fear settled into my chest.
    "I didn't go far," Frankie said, right up against my ear.
    If I'd had a heart condition, that whisper would have been the end of me. "Stop it."
    "Relax," he said, shimmering into view. "I'm just messing with you." 
    I shot him my dirtiest look. "Have you heard the stories of Jilted Josephine?"
    "No," he said. "Focus on the prize." He motioned me forward. 
    I took a few tentative steps. A dark mass loomed up ahead, surrounded by an overgrowth of woods. Josephine's lair, no doubt.
    This time, Frankie stuck close. "If this Josephine dame lives up there, and she's a little squirrely, that's good for us. Most folks don't like that, so they won't have come close to the loot. We, on the other hand, don't care. We need the cash."
    I stopped. I'd thought I was up for this, but I had my limits. "I'm not going to sneak into a haunted house."
    He turned back to me, surprised. "What? Are you afraid of ghosts?"
    I planted my hands on my hips. "I don't like them very much."
    He broke into a grin. "That's only because you met me."
    Heavens to Betsy. This was different and he knew it. He also knew I didn't have a choice. "You have to admit this is creepy." It wasn't merely the pitch black, middle of nowhere spooky forest. I pointed to the shadows of the towering oaks surrounding us. "Did you see these trees? They have no leaves. I know it's almost October, but still. Nothing. They're all gnarled and dead."
    "You done?" Frankie asked, completely unaffected by my outburst.
    "I need my flashlight," I gritted out, fumbling for the one on my