The Ghost of Ben Hargrove Read Online Free PDF Page B

you.”
    I bit down on my tongue, consumed with rage. A million curses ran through my mind, but I could barely speak through my fury—fury with him for all that he’d done, but mostly fury with myself for having followed his lead. I spat at him. “Go to hell!”
    I pulled until I thought my shoulders might come out of their sockets, not caring that I was bleeding freely now, praying to anyone and anything that the knots would give way at last. But it was no use. The ropes refused to budge.
    And then, the flapping stopped.
    I looked up—up into the dark, my eyes settling on a shape in the night. And what I saw . . . oh god. My screams tore through me, my throat burning.
    From the distance came Devon’s laughter—cold, quiet, hollow—and his reply, muted by the sounds of my screams. “You first.”

Chapter 1
    We’d left my old house as if we were stealing away in the night. Which, really, I guess we were. We’d driven out of Denver in the dark, stopping in Omaha, Chicago, and several forgettable truck stops over the course of the next day, coming full circle when we reached the sign at the edge of my new town at eleven thirty. Darkness to darkness. Welcome to Spencer , the sign had read. Population 814 .
    Shit.
    It wasn’t like I had anything against small towns in theory. But there were small towns . . . and then there was Spencer. My dad had grown up here, and every story he’d ever told me about his hometown had begun with an exhausted sigh and ended with the relief of moving away. So how else was I supposed to feel when Dad came to me a week ago and announced that moving to Spencer was the only answer, only option to contain the avalanche of debt that had befallen our family? I could still see him when I closed my eyes, standing there in the hall just outside my bedroom, his hair disheveled, a shaking hand clutching yet another stack of hospital bills. There was no arguing with him, but he acted like I was going to argue. “Stephen, we’re moving in with my mother. We’re moving to Spencer.”
    That was it. Just “we’re moving.” Just that.
    After he said it, he’d looked at me, an almost angry glint in his eyes. I didn’t say a word. There was no point. It was over. Our life in Denver, our hope that maybe Mom would get better, or Dad would find another job—it was all over. We were moving.
    Finally, Dad had nodded, turning from my door. I’d listened to the sounds of his heavy footsteps retreating to his office down the hall. I’d had the same thought then that I had tonight upon seeing the Welcome to Spencer sign.
    Shit.
    As we pulled into the driveway, my dad started rambling about how my grandmother was very particular about the way she kept her home. That we couldn’t leave a mess anywhere. There was no worry over meeting her just yet, as Dad explained she’d be out of town until Monday. It was the first piece of good news I’d heard the whole trip.
    The rest of the night was a blur after that. Loading boxes into my grandmother’s house, falling into bed in a strange room.
    The blur was still with me the next morning when I cracked my eyes open—my first waking moment as a resident of Spencer, Michigan: population now 816. Guess they’d have to change the sign.
    I held my hand up to the sunlight that was pouring in through my curtainless window and flipped it the bird. Morning came too early sometimes. I preferred night, when you’ve spent all day getting stuff done so that you can just bask in the darkness. Night hid the ugly of the world. And sometimes, when I was feeling ugly, I was grateful that it would hide me, too.
    I gripped my pillow and yanked it out from under my head, placing it over my face. I’d better find the box of curtains before I went to bed again or the sun and I were going to have some serious issues.
    I pressed the pillow down hard on my face until I