Page 5 of Hot Ghost Summer

We draw to a stop in front of a large, blue-painted security fence. An architect’s rendering confirms the address as Bowen’s Plaza, and we follow its wooden perimeter south until the access gate. There’s a small window cut at chest height, and a short length of chain loops the two sides of the chipboard gate together. The padlock, for which I’d memorised the code provided in the email, is already open.

I press my lips together. Specifically, the email said it would be locked.

Cautiously, I hook my arm through the hole, and I’m surprised when the gate swings soundlessly open. Too easy.

In a heartbeat, my hunter’s instincts flare through my nerves and I step in front of an untrained Theo, scanning the worksite for anything out of the ordinary. But it’s still and quiet. Too quiet.

Individual plots at various stages of completion surround numerous open trenches. Diggers and dozers are abandoned near a stack of shipping containers that have been converted into a site office, and all of it glints in the full sun under a pale blue sky.

“Which one is ours, then?” Theo asks from beside me, a hand pressed firmly against his forehead as he squints into the middle distance.

Unsurprised that he didn’t wait for my all-clear, but also unimpressed, my lips flatten into a thin line. Motioning between us, I drop my voice and keep my question simple when I ask him, “Do you remember what I said about how this works?”

Theo hums in the affirmative and avoids eye contact.

I wait.

He rolls his eyes. “That I’m t’ listen t’ you.”

The praise is on the tip of my tongue.

But then he adds, “Except, you just walked in, and so…”

He shoots me a wink, resets the grip on the bag, and lifts one foot as if to set off toward an unknown destination.

My right arm bars his path before that foot can land on the ground. “A hard hat and high vis are non-negotiable while we’re on site.”

I keep my forearm pressed against Theo’s chest—a physical command.

He keeps his eyes trained on the partially constructed buildings, and then nods.

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. Indicating the makeshift site office on our left, I set off, but keep a close eye on Theo, who plods wordlessly beside me.

The container door is unlocked, like the gate was, but with no fans or open windows to help disperse the heat, the inside is like an oven. When I pull it wide, the blast of hot air steams up my glasses, and we both step back. Folding them away, I strain to focus on the overly white interior.

Vaguely, I can make out a desk, a filing cabinet, a drawer unit, and a long bench bearing neatly lined-up scrolls of paper. Stepping inside causes a trickle of sweat to run down my spine, breaching the capacity of my base layer. Turning in a slow circle, I find the neon pink and yellow of multiple high-vis vests on a rack behind the door.

“Yoink,” says Theo, as he stretches to snatch a pink vest for himself.

Collecting my own vest, as well as a hard hat for each of us, I step out of the furnace to spot Theo twirling in place.

“How d’ I look?” he asks, beaming broadly.

“Like you’d do anything if I called you a good boy first,” I mumble as I settle my glasses back into place.

Squashing the hard hat onto Theo’s head with a thump, I instruct him, “Bring the bag. We have work to do.”

three

Wee Ghosties

Hollis

As we stride over to Plot 47, Theo whistles a tune.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“But it’s a classic,” he argues, then whistles the next two lines.