I turned on the light to my room and gasped. My parents had all their equipment outâthe ion meters and recorders and even the thermal camera. They brought the thermal along only if they felt confident that it would capture something on-screen. Something paranormal.
Dad set the thermal reader down on my bed. âItâs time we showed you something,â he said.
I couldnât help feeling dread. Dad turned on a video screen. I immediately recognized the Courtyard Café in Charleston.
âDo you see those white shapes?â he asked.
I sucked in my breath. âWhat is it?â
Mom shook her head. âWeâre not sure yet. But Charlotte, whatever they are, it appears they followed us home.â
âWhat do you mean? What are you talking about?â
Dad turned to me. âWe think something powerful was triggered back in Charleston. Weâre getting readings stronger than anything weâve ever recorded.â
My legs felt shaky and I gripped the back of Dadâs chair. The still images on the screen stared back at me. âDo you know what caused it?â I asked. No one said anything. I looked at Mom. âWhat triggered it?â
âYou did,â she said gently. âWe think youâre the trigger.â
past midnight
mara purnhagen
A sincere thank-you to my wonderful agent, Tina Wexler, and equally wonderful editor, Tara Parsons.
A round of applause to Ed Davis, Marguerite Demarse, Karen and Patrick Dulzer, Heather Foy, Kimm Gildea, John and Martha Lohrstorfer, Nancy McDaniel, Rita Owen and Kathy Payerchin.
A standing ovation to Robert Lettrick (Web site guru) and Kristi Purnhagen, who read the first draft.
And a special shout-out to my guys: Joe, Henry, Quinn and Elias, who keep me busy, make me proud and remind me that I am never alone.
Dedicated to four people who have always lived far from normal: Sayrah, Christine, John-Paul and Matthew
I know a lot about ghosts. More than the average person and way, way more than any other seventeen-year-old. Except for Jared and Avery, but most of what they know they learned from me this year, when things got crazy. I know a lot about things going crazy, too, thanks to my parents. Theyâre paranormal researchers, and letâs just say they like to bring their work home with them. And sometimes, their work follows them home.
For good.
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter twenty-one
Chapter twenty-two
I was never normal, but I liked to pretend that I was. It usually took a few months before everyone else caught on. School would start out just fine, then Halloween would roll around, my parents would be all over the local news, and suddenly I would find myself exposed as Charlotte Silver, Princess of the Paranormal. I donât know why I thought this year would be any different, but I did. And maybe it was different, but not in the way I had hoped. If anything, it was much, much worse.
We had spent the summer in Charleston, South Carolina. My parents were producing another one of their documentaries, this one called Haunted Hospitality. They spent their days researching old hotels and restaurants that claimed to have ghosts, while I relaxed at the beach and took walking tours of the city with my sister Annalise, who was a sophomore at the College of Charleston. She worked part-time at one of the supposedly haunted local restaurants during her summer break.
âThe only spooky thing about the place is my boss,â she told me as we spread towels out on the sand. âHe can get a little handsy, if you know what I mean.â
I didnât, but I could guess. Annalise was strikingly beautiful with large hazel eyes and glossy black hair, just like our mom. Growing up, everyone talked about how she would become a model, but she was just over five feet tall, which is definitely a drawback in the modeling industry. Still, my parents had used her a few times for reenactments in their documentaries. Annalise would pull her hair into a bun, slip on a white Victorian dress and walk slowly in front of a green screen. When special effects were added later, she would appear as a transparent figure floating above the floor. She made a great ghost, which was ironic because in real life she was the one everyone seemed to notice while I was the one who slipped by, barely detected.
While Annalise resembled Mom, I took after Dadâtall and wiry, with dark hair that hung so straight it was infuriating. There wasnât even the hint of a curl. I kept it just long enough to tuck behind my ears and secretly resented it when Annalise complained that her glossy locks were simply âtoo bouncy.â
During our third week in Charleston we decided to spend the morning at Waterfront Park. It was a warm Friday in June, the breezy air tinged with the sharp scent of seawater and the shrieks of gliding gulls. We walked along the pier searching for a place to sit and watch the boats. Tourists occupied all of the wide wooden bench swings that lined the dock, so we waited until a couple laden with cameras lumbered to their feet, then claimed the swing as our own. We sat back and rocked slowly, enjoying a clear view of the docked cruise ships and darting birds.