Mother Ghost Grimm Read online

  “May I see?” I asked.

  My parents agreed the doctor could show me. She walked to where I was sitting, held out the black-and-white images, and explained how they differed.

  “This one shows your grandfather’s ribcage a week ago. These three ribs are broken. This next image taken earlier this evening doesn’t show a single break.”

  “Could the machine maybe have messed up?” I asked.

  “That’s what we thought at first. Then we X-rayed other patients, and it seemed to be working just fine. We’ll do another X-ray soon, but I think we’re seeing a true medical anomaly.”

  “Anomaly?” I asked.

  The doctor smiled, making it clear how excited she was by this anomaly.

  “It means something very different. People don’t usually heal this quickly.”

  * * *

  My parents turned the living room into a bedroom. I hated losing the spot where I spent countless hours playing video games, but I was pleased to move the TV and gaming systems into my room. That meant I could play when they thought I was sleeping.

  “Your grandad is going to stay with us,” my mom said when I asked about the changes.

  I was excited to have Grandad living with us. Although he was different—quieter—I simply figured that he was not used to living there. I told myself that soon he would adjust, and we would get to spend a lot of time together.

  “Maybe we can go for a walk in the woods soon,” I said to him one morning during breakfast, milk from a bowl of cereal sliding down my chin. “You can tell me some new stories.”

  He smiled. He was smiling a lot, as if his teeth had gotten too large for his mouth. “Yes. We should go for a walk in the woods… just the two of us.”

  My dad had gone directly to sleep after returning from night shift, so it was just me, Grandad, and my mom at the kitchen table. Mom spoke up.

  “Perhaps the whole family will go for a walk in a few weeks, when we know for sure your Grandad is healed. I still don’t trust those X-rays.”

  Grandad just kept smiling. He was always smiling.

  “Yes,” he said. “I suppose we better wait a few weeks. Until then, I’ll look forward to it.”

  * * *

  Weeks passed, mom and dad got busy, and we never did get around to that walk. Then, just after midnight one night, there was a knock on the door to my room. Thinking my mom had come to scold me for staying up so late, I paused my game and answered.

  Grandad was standing in the dark hallway. His teeth caught my attention first, the glow of the television screen bouncing off them.

  “I’m going for a walk in the woods,” he said. “I would like for you to join me.”

  I looked him up and down. There was just enough light for me to see the checkered pattern on his pajamas.

  “You can’t go for a walk wearing that,” I said, hoping he would come to his senses. “Besides, it’s late.”

  “It’s late,” he repeated. “You’re right. It’s late, and I don’t have much time. I can’t keep this form much longer.”

  He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hall. Then he began dragging me downstairs, toward the front door. Long fingernails dug into my skin. Long toenails clacked against each wooden step. That seemed odd, because my mom always made sure he clipped them.

  Then I understood that those weren’t fingernails and toenails on his hands and feet. They were claws.

  I thought about how Grandad, the real Grandad, brought up the changeling story in the hospital. Just like the legend, he had gone missing only to return a few days later. He had also been different.

  Still dragging me, the changeling turned and looked up at me. Its eyes shined red in the darkness.

  I cried for help.

  * * *

  Soon, my mom’s hand gripped the arm he wasn’t holding. She had heard the commotion and come running from her room. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s a changeling!” I told her. “He’s trying to take me into the woods!”

  “Dad, let go!” she demanded.

  The thing that wasn’t my Grandad let go. Its eyes looked up at her like the eyes of a scared puppy. The creature, having returned to its human disguise, released my arm.

  “Oh no,” it said. “Have I been sleepwalking? Maybe my medicine is having strange side effects again. Please help me back to my room. I must have been acting out a dream.”

  My mother looked like she was the one who just had a dream—a nightmare, although she was doing her best to hide her fear. Had she glimpsed its true form? Was she trying to convince herself she had not just seen it for what it really was?

  “Sure, Dad,” was all she said.

  She paused beside me midway down the steps, hugged me, and said she would come back to tuck me into bed. She then led the changeling back to its first-floor room.

  * * *

  My mom tucked me in and tried her best to convince me that Grandad had only been sleepwalking. I eventually gave up trying to make her believe that he was a changeling, and we both went to sleep.

  The moment she had left my room, I locked the door behind her. I think I heard the knob jiggle a few times during the night, but maybe I was only dreaming.

  My dad returned from night shift the next morning and found the front door wide open. Grandad was gone, and I began to wonder where he was—the imposter as well as the real him. What had the thing done with the man who used to take me on walks and tell me stories? Where had he gone? Where had it gone?

  I soon had an answer, or as close to an answer as I hope to ever get. I was mowing the backyard a few days later and found my Grandad’s dentures at the edge of the woods. There was a single, sharp tooth lodged in the soft, gummy lining. When I looked closely, I saw several holes throughout, like an entire mouthful of fangs had been wearing the false teeth.

  The Mound

  Story // Anthony Parker

  Illustration // Stew Brown

  * * *

  Dennis and Freddie Duncan loved to fish in the big pond that sat half a mile behind Rev. Cooper’s farm, a neighbor two houses down. Every summer the boys would ride their bikes down to the bait and tackle shop and spend their allowance to buy worms, chat with the friendly cashier, and treat themselves to an outdoor adventure.

  All this unknown to Rev. Cooper, owner of the property.

  But during this particular summer the boys did not have the money to buy their bait from the shop. Since their father left a few months ago money had been tight at home. Their mother struggled to make ends meet so Dennis and Freddie decided to give up their allowance to help their mother. They even had the brilliant idea to find another way to get bait for fishing and bring home what they caught to help with the meals.

  And it just wasn’t the same at the bait shop anymore. Not since the friendly cashier, Ray, had disappeared. No one in the community knew where he was. Not even the grumpy old man that replaced him behind the counter.

  So today Dennis and Freddie Duncan agreed that they would dig for worms when they reached the pond.

  Freddie ran far ahead of his brother when the pond came into sight. “I found my spot! I claim that little hill over there,” he exclaimed, pointing to his right.

  The hill turned out to be a small mound of dirt that bowed up like a swollen patch of ground. Dennis stared at it for a long moment. Something was off about the mound. His gut was telling him to ward his brother off and to dig somewhere else. But Dennis shrugged it off as nothing, mumbling to himself, “You’re being silly, Dennis.”

  Freddie broke his train of thought. “I’m gonna catch more fish than you! And they’re gonna be bigger too!”

  Dennis smiled. He was three years older than Freddie, who was nine. Being the big brother was a responsibility that he cherished. Looking out for him came naturally. His heart felt happy. “Yeah, that’s what you said last summer!”

  And so, the boys set to digging in their selected spots.

  Instead of starting at the top Freddie began dig
ging near the base of the mound. “This dirt is so soft. I bet there are a lot of worms.”

  Dennis wasn’t as lucky. The spot he chose wasn’t all that soft but enough so that he could break the ground. He responded, “Well, if I don’t find any maybe we can share.”

  “You bet, Dennis!”

  The boys dug for a while without saying a word to each other. It was Dennis who broke the silence. “I sure do miss Ray. He was a cool guy. Remember his stories about how he got that flashy ring on his finger?”

  The ring was a shiny silver beauty that rested on Ray’s right ring finger. But the real treat was the blue center. Like an eye that peered out from the ring, it shone as bright as the sky. Ray always told the boys that he had punched a dragon in the face and took its eye. Then had it put in his ring as a trophy. Dennis always shook his head and laughed, “You’re crazy, Ray.”

  Freddie, occupied with digging and placing worms in his small bucket, offered no reply. Dennis continued anyway. “I’ll always be grateful for Ray telling us about this pond. He was a great guy.”

  Freddie mumbled, “Uh huh.” But he wasn’t paying that much attention to what his brother was saying. He was too excited. Because as he dug, he was finding some of the fattest worms he had ever seen.

  Dennis wasn’t having as much luck with the worms, so he continued talking about Ray. “I hope he comes back soon. Maybe he’s having a nice vacation somewhere. Maybe he’s fighting another dragon.” Dennis chuckled at the thought.

  Freddie mumbled, “Uh huh.”

  Dennis stopped his digging and turned to his brother. “You ain’t been listening to a word I’ve…”

  Freddie stood with both hands cupped together. Fat worms wiggled and squirmed against his dirty hands. “Check this out, Dennis! These fat worms are…”

  Freddie looked at his brother with concern.

  Dennis was looking past his brother, at the ground where Freddie had been digging. All color drained from his face.

  Freddie turned to see what spooked his brother so bad.

  Sticking out of the ground, near the base of the small mound where Freddie found scores of fat worms, lay an outstretched hand. On its ring finger sat a shiny silver ring with a beautiful blue center as bright as the sky.

  The Ghost of Jackson Creek

  Story // Michele Vail

  Illustration // Matilda Jarvis

  * * *

  Emily Mason and her best friend, Chloe Harper, crept through the tall pines and scratchy underbrush.

  At night, the forest wasn’t friendly.

  The bouncing beams of their flashlights hit the spongy ground, thick with dead leaves and fallen limbs. Even though the sun had been down for hours, the July heat lingered.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Emily.

  “You’re not scared, are you?” teased Chloe.

  Emily wouldn’t admit it, but she’d been scared since this whole crazy thing started. Yesterday, Doug Connors had triple dared Chloe to camp out in the old, haunted cabin—and Chloe had dragged Emily into the challenge by saying, “We’re best friends. I’d do it for you.”

  So, Emily asked her parents to have a sleepover at Chloe’s. They waited until after midnight to sneak out of the Harpers’ house. Now, here they were, headed to the most haunted place in the whole town.

  “Tell me the story again, Emily.”

  Emily sighed. How many times did Chloe want to hear this tragic tale? Sheesh. “Back in the 1800s, a man named John Jackson lost his wife to consumption.”

  “I don’t remember what consumption is.”

  “It’s also called tuberculosis. See, these rod-shaped bacteria attack the lungs—and back then, nobody had the cure. Lots of people in town got the disease and died.” Emily ducked under a branch, following her friend deeper into the dark forest. “Anyway. Mr. Jackson didn’t want his daughter to get infected, so he bought a piece of land way out here and built the cabin. But not long after they moved in, six-year-old Addy fell into the creek and drowned.”

  “So… Jackson Creek is named after the dead girl?”

  “I guess so,” said Emily.

  According to the story, ever since the day she died, Addy Jackson’s spirit had roamed the area. Some said she showed up when a person was gonna drown in the creek.

  Others said the ghost held people under the water till they croaked.

  And idiots like Doug Connors said people died from heart attacks just from clapping eyes on the spirit.

  But everyone was scared of the ghost.

  Everyone but Chloe.

  Last year, the blonde-haired girl had moved to town from California and knew about stuff like meeting movie stars and eating sushi. Sushi was raw fish served on rice. Ew. Emily wouldn’t eat something so gross. Not even if she was offered a million billion dollars. Humph. Chloe liked to think she knew everything, but she sure didn’t know how to be afraid of a real ghost.

  “There it is! C’mon, Emily. We’ll show Doug I’m not a chicken.”

  Emily followed Chloe into the clearing. There, near the rushing waters of the creek behind it, stood what was left of Jackson’s cabin. She gulped down the knot of dread clogging her throat. “Aren’t you afraid of the ghost?”

  “Ghosts don’t exist.” Chloe stepped onto the porch and then pushed open the door, which was barely hanging on its hinges. Emily took a deep breath and then crept inside.

  Chloe dropped her sleeping bag and waved the flashlight around. The thin stream of light bounced off graffiti-laden walls, broken beams, and the crumbling rock fireplace. The roof had long ago caved in. Trees crowded out the moonlit sky. Their spindly branches curved downward as if to pluck out the cabin’s intruders.

  Clutching her sleeping bag, Emily backed against the doorframe. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. “I smell honeysuckle,” she whispered. Chloe, still examining the crumbling cabin, didn’t seem to notice the sickly-sweet scent.

  The flashlight’s beam hit Emily’s face. “Hey! Stop that.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” asked Chloe.

  “It’s her.”

  “Who?”

  “The ghost.”

  “Oh please. Don’t tell me you believe that backwoods bull.”

  “Can’t you smell the honeysuckle?” asked Emily, her voice trembling. “It’s the first sign Addy Jackson is gonna show up.”

  “Yeah? What’s the next?”

  “The wind comes at you.”

  Emily barely finished the words when a gust of wind shook the cabin. She dropped her flashlight. The second it hit the floor, it blinked off.

  The honeysuckle-smell was so overwhelming Emily’s stomach lurched as fear shuddered through her. She hugged her sleeping bag, peeking over the edge to watch the eerie wind attack Chloe. Her long blond hair escaped its clip. The strands whipped about as if someone were pulling them. Chloe’s flashlight flickered once, twice, and went out.

  The sudden darkness made Emily feel so afraid she thought she might throw up.

  The wind went away and so did the honeysuckle scent. Sweat dripped from Emily’s brow. Her arms ached from squeezing the sleeping bag.

  “Chloe?” Her voice cracked. Her mouth felt dry and gritty. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized her friend was gone. “Chloe!”

  “Boo!”

  Emily screamed. She swung around, using the sleeping bag to sock the figure standing in the doorway. “Get back!”

  “Whoa!” The figure flicked on a flashlight and held it up to his face. “It’s me.” Doug grinned. “Scared yah, huh?”

  “I’m goin’ to tell your Daddy!”

  “You always say that, and you never do.”

  Ignoring Doug, Emily tiptoed toward the center of the cabin where her friend had stood. Chloe’s sleeping bag remained, but she was gone. Doug pointed the flashlight at the fireplace and made the beam dance along the mantelpiece.

  “We gotta find her. The ghost—”

  “Ghost
?” He laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  She dropped her sleeping bag next to Chloe’s. “I’m tellin’ you Addy Jackson showed up and—and now Chloe’s gone!”

  “Aw, Emily.” He kicked at a pile of debris. “Chloe’s yankin’ your chain. She’s hiding out in the woods.”

  “What?”

  “We were just messin’ around,” said Doug. “It was a joke, all right?”

  Emily felt like someone was poking hot knives into her chest. How could Chloe and Doug play such a mean trick? She fought the tears crowding her eyes. “I’m leaving.” She started hunting for her flashlight.

  “Don’t be like that,” said Doug. “Chloe will come back in a few minutes. We’ll camp out together.”

  “No way.” The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something white flit past the doorway. A child’s giggle echoed in the cabin. She looked over her shoulder. “Doug…”

  “It’s Chloe.” But he didn’t sound so sure. He walked to the window, which had long ago lost its glass, and pointed his flashlight at the surrounding woods. Emily joined him. The light flashed across a thick oak tree, then suddenly highlighted Chloe’s pale face.

  “What happened to her?” Doug whispered.

  Emily bolted out of the cabin. She heard the dry grass rustle against Doug’s jeans as he ran behind her. He managed to keep the light aimed at Chloe.

  Her friend’s face was paler than fresh milk, her blue eyes wide and glazed. Dirt streaked her tank top and shorts. Her arms and legs sported long, red scratches.

  “Are you okay?”

  Chloe blinked. “I - I fell. Into the creek.”

  “You aren’t wet.”

  “I tell you I fell into the creek!” Chloe’s anger stunned Emily. “I want to go home.”

  “Okay. Let’s get our stuff and we’ll—”

  “No.” Chloe grabbed Emily’s shoulders. “I'm never going inside that cabin again.”

  “I’ll come back tomorrow and get everything,” said Doug. “Let’s go.”

  No one spoke the whole way home.