Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
KENNEDY
Town Hall is smaller than I thought it would be.
Everything seems bigger when you’re a kid, but I seem to have severely overinflated this particular building from my memory.
It looks like an outpatient facility, like one of those orthodontist practices that turns houses into offices.
There’s a gilded plaque attached to the brick that clearly states TOWN HALL, so I know I’m in the right place, but the house looks odd, settled between the brick-and-mortar businesses along Main Street.
There’s a yard with a picket fence and everything, not ten feet away from an ice cream shop.
I feel as if moving through the gate would be rude, so I channel my energy into shifting into my physical form. Theodore was right, it takes a lot, but I manage to do it on the third try.
After pushing open the gate, I walk up the narrow sidewalk. According to the hours of operation displayed on the front door, it should be open, so I turn the knob, impressed by my ability to hold my form.
Inside, an elderly woman with bleach-blonde hair styled into a solid mass of curls and thick, purple-rimmed glasses sits at a desk, acrylic nails tapping loudly on a laptop. Without looking away from the screen, she says, “Be with you in a sec,” her tone cheerful, and very southern.
I glance around the front room, taking in the classic office decor: abstract art on the walls, modern seating, stacks of unread magazines that are over a decade old (but not as old as Theo’s). The carpet is…different—something left over from before it was an office, I assume—but clearly a choice.
The tapping sound stops, and I look over to see the woman closing the laptop dramatically. She meets my gaze. “How can I help you this morning?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I answer timidly. “I would like to see the mayor.” Then, with a little more gusto, I add, “If that’s possible.”
The woman smiles warmly. “Do you have an appointment, honey?”
I shake my head.
“Well, that’s quite alright,” she assures me, dismissing the issue with a wave of her manicured hand.
“We’ll get you in there in a jiffy!” She pulls out a spiral-bound planner and flips to December.
“Now, he usually likes to take the mornings slow, but if you tell me what this is concerning, we might be able to convince him to skip his second cup of coffee.”
She says this casually, as if it’s an inside joke I should know about, so I smirk awkwardly.
There’s a long silence, and I realize she’s waiting for my answer.
“Oh, it’s umm…personal, I guess. Well, maybe not. I’m sure the town knows all about me by now.”
The woman just stares openly at me, not a single clue as to what I’m going on about, so I throw her a bone.
“I’m new to town, so I wanted to properly introduce myself.”
Her face brightens, all her teeth on display.
“Wonderful!” she cheers. “We are so happy to have you here.” She pulls something else from her drawer and this time it’s a single sheet of paper.
“You’ll want to fill that out with your information.
Oh, and are you human or paranormal? You’ll need another form if you’re one of us.
” She winks, and I assume she’s inferring that she’s a paranormal herself, but I can’t be certain.
Honestly, I have no idea how to answer her question.
Am I still human? Or am I a paranormal now that I’m no longer alive?
Werewolves and vampires and banshees are paranormals. I’m just the spirit of a dead girl trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing here.
Yeah, that sounds exactly like some paranormal shit to me.
“I’ll take both forms please.”
“Perfect!” The woman declares.
I take the papers from her, along with a pen from a cat-shaped holder, and go to grab a seat in one of the uncomfortable-but-aesthetically-pleasing chairs, but before I can sit, Mayor Musthaven comes through the front door holding a to-go cup of coffee from Kiki’s Cafe in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.
He’s corporeal at the moment, just like me.
Tiny flakes of icing fall from his thick mustache as he jovially greets his secretary.
She takes the box just as he spies me from the corner of his eye and rotates on the spot.
“And who are you?” he asks, tone boisterous and overly animated in that ‘I’m-everyone’s-grandpa’ type of way. Or Santa Claus.
My jaw unlocks to say something, but the secretary is already answering for me.
“This is our newest resident! She wanted to meet with you personally and introduce herself. Isn’t that just lovely?”
The mayor croons. “Why yes, it is. In this day and age, common courtesy is hard to come by. Most folks your age would just shoot me a text.” His laugh fills the entire space.
“Oh, isn’t that the truth?” The secretary concurs, chuckling along with him. Then her face turns serious. “They won’t even pick up the phone to call their mothers anymore.”
I want to tell them it’s due to an entire generation being riddled with crippling anxiety, but alas, I keep my mouth shut. Besides, that last comment sounded more like a personal problem.
I get to my feet and extend my hand to the mayor. “I’m Kennedy Chesterfield, sir.”
He firmly shakes it. “Good to meet you. August Musthaven: Town Mayor and owner of Must Have It Grocery.”
I didn’t know about the grocery part, but given how small the town is, it makes sense there’d be some overlap in the job market.
“Why don’t you come into my office, and we’ll have a nice chat,” he suggests. “Pamela, what are you doing with those donuts?”
His secretary tuts. “They’re going to the break room where they belong. You know you’ll eat the entire box if you keep it at your desk, and you specifically told me to keep you accountable with your diet.”
Mayor Musthaven bristles, his mustache forming a straight line along his upper lip. “Yes, well…I was going to offer one to our guest,” he says begrudgingly.
I shake my head emphatically while making a mental note to ask Theodore if ghosts can eat later. “No, thank you.”
He nods and gestures to the next room. “Very well. This way, Miss Chesterfield.”
Inside the mayor’s stuffy office, I suddenly feel a wave of claustrophobia wash over me.
I’ve never been one to be uncomfortable with small spaces, but holy moly is this room cluttered.
Every inch of the walls has been covered with framed photos, informational posters, and ghost-themed decor.
The photos are self-explanatory, featuring various members of the town posing with the mayor, along with a few ribbon cutting ceremonies.
In one, I’m pretty sure I recognize a man with shoulder-length white-blond hair.
The decor, however. Well…
“You collect ghost memorabilia?” I ask, amused.
He sits behind his desk and gazes at all the tiny ghost knickknacks scattered across the surface with a look of forced indifference.
“Not exactly,” he explains. “They’re gifts I’ve received over the years from visitors and tourists.
They find it clever.” A contemptuous smile forms on his lips, but then it morphs into a genuine one. “So, what brings you to Shadow Hills?”
Still clutching the paperwork I was given, I take the cushioned chair in front of the desk and sink into it. A beat passes as I try to figure out the best way to explain my situation. “I actually grew up here,” I say, “So I’m familiar with the town.”
“Oh really?” He mutters under his breath. “Chesterfield. Chesterfield. That does ring a bell.”
As he stares thoughtfully at nothing, droning on about time passing in the blink of an eye, I glance down at the papers and scan through the questions. My name and age are easy: Kennedy Chesterfield, 29 years old.
But then it asks about my current place of residence. Should I mention that I’m currently tethered to a haunted house outside of town, or is that not the appropriate answer?
I quietly flip to the next form as Mayor Musthaven wraps up his diatribe, and I swallow a lump in my throat.
Paranormal Registration.
Please fill out this form with the most up-to-date information you can provide. This ensures an accurate census and allows us to better serve our citizens.
Welcome to Shadow Hills!
The first section wants me to circle which type of paranormal I identify as, like I’m choosing my starter Pokémon, and there are no options for ghosts.
Suddenly, I feel like the dumb kid in class who doesn’t understand the assignment.
Panic seizes me, and my stomach starts to churn.
I don’t know what could possibly be inside my stomach, but it’s backtracking through my intestines and inching up my esophagus.
“Ah-ha!” The mayor’s sudden declaration startles me. “I remember now. One of our residents has that surname. You wouldn’t happen to be related to Claudia Chesterfield, would you?”
My breath hitches. “Yes. She’s my sister.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the Mayor drawls. “What a small world! Are you just visiting or staying? I just love Claudia’s donuts. They’re the best in town.”
I don’t hear anything else over the ringing in my ears. The words on the page in front of me start to blur together. I think I’m going to be sick. I stand, clutching my hands to my mouth, so I don’t spew all over Mayor Musthaven’s desk.
“Are you alright?” The mayor asks, looking alarmed.
I can’t answer him. Instead, I burst out of his office and sprint to the closest restroom I can find. Luckily, it’s just down the hall from Pamela’s desk. My feet skitter to a stop in front of the toilet at the precise moment I can no longer hold it in.
Guess there was something in my stomach after all.