ONE
I wasover five hundred miles away from home. Not because I believed in ghosts—but because I needed one good night’s sleep to clear my head.
Because I needed to give my older brother, Wilson, some tangible proof I took our inability to keep our ranch hands safe while staffed seriously. Because he’d sunk so much money into (what now seemed) a pipe dream. My pipe dream.
I was over five hundred miles away from home because my brother had burned his hand on the eye of an unlit stove. And I had no clue on how to debunk his current conclusion: we were being haunted.
Wilson paid two hundred eighty-five dollars for an “extended access” ticket toOh, So Paranormal Con. His return on investment was a signed hardback copy ofYour Ghost, Your Storyand a maybe, sort of, if you cross your heart and hope to die, chance for me to speak with the author, Rae Jones.
“Could you clarify what you mean by ‘maybe’?” I asked the twitchy teen manning the check-intable.
The teen picked at the side of their phone case, silicon indented with the grooves of past attacks. “She’s a busy person.”
Rae Jones was a woman who claimed we all had the power to fight our own monsters (most of the time—all the other times she told you to book her for a hefty fee).
“Oh, I’m sure.” I swallowed a laugh that’d been building up since I pulled on myI Believelanyard. “But I don’t think it’s difficult to offer a definitive answer, considering her entire job’s signing copies of books today, no?”
Rae Jones was the featured guest among the sea of “paranormal investigators” turned internet celebs. They plastered her face all over their official website and the merch being hawked at nearly every table.
They even had themed drinks inspired by her team: Ruby Rae Float, Naughty Nico Berry, Dirty December Shake, and Jonah’s First Sip.
The more I drowned in the commercialization of their likeness, the more my teeth ground. I got gimmicks and understood hustle, but our need for help was dire. Wasting money was unacceptable.
The teen gave in for a second, checking their phone before saying, “Sorry, it just…depends.”
The air went dead as he unlocked the phone and opened a social media app. I watched in silence and utter awe as he slipped into instant distraction. I resisted the urge to click my tongue to regain his attention. Strangers typically weren’t fond of noise cues. Horses were more forgiving…and apparently present.
“On…?” I asked. “The planets aligning? A blood moon? Ritual sacrifice?”
“Oh.” To his credit, his cheeksstained almost as red as his brightly dyed hair. “On if the line isn’t too long. Really popular guests just sign and go. No photos. No questions.”
“But I have the extended access pass.” I pointed at the badge hanging on my neck in case the volunteer didn’t notice the gold letters of my name and the tiny, illustrated crown showing I was one of the biggest suckers in the building.
“Extended access just gets you an exclusive tee and water bottle.” The teen locked his phone again but resumed the case-picking. “But it doesn’t guarantee a chance to talk with any of our celebrity guests. It’s more of a bragging rights thing, to be honest.”
I took a deep breath, trying to lower my heart rate and fend off the heavy weight that’d burrowed into my bones after my long drive.
“Bragging rights.” My lips pulled up, but the smile was as real as the existence of a genuine paranormal investigator. “Just what I need.”
The teen didn’t follow but nodded anyway. “It’s pretty cool. I wish I could get the tee. It’s designed by the team themselves.”
“So cool. Thanks for your time.” I grabbed my swag bag and moved out of the way for the next naïve soul.
Maybe I could still make this trip worthwhile. Ihadto make this worthwhile.
Jones’s talk was in the largest conference room in an hour. Her signing was directly after. People already lined up to be let in. The horde of fans snaked their way through the merch booths, strangling the flow of traffic. I dragged myself to the back of the line, ending up nearly outside the building. Voices echoed off the shiny gray concrete floor, a reminder of how empty this convention center would become after the joy of ignorance left.
Twenty minutes of mind-numbing standstill went by before my phone buzzed with a call from Esther. I cleared my throat and took a sip from the world’s most expensive water bottle before answering.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“I’m in the belly of the beast,” I confirmed, my voice far more level than my heartbeat. “Smells like cleaning supplies and conspiracy theorists in here.”
She snorted. “Lovely.”
“They said it’d be a thousand attendees, but there has to be at least five times that.” I pressed two fingers to my forehead, trying to massage away the growing pain in my head. My eardrums had been trembling since I stepped out of my truck. For the past six months since the purchase of my ranch, I hadn’t been in the presence of over three or four people at a time. Small-town life was blissful like that.
“I found your copy ofYour Ghost, Your Story,” Esther said.
