3. Birthday Adventures with Ghosts #2
And he’s technically right; he doesn’t live in the morgue, but of course, that’s where the washer and dryer are.
The upper floors of his house look… super normal.
Apart from the weird lobby-like foyer and the church room off to the left, oh, and his dad's office, of course. They live above the funeral home, upstairs. Yet here I stand staring at the double flappy doors that lead to the scary part of his house, waiting for a ghost to pop through. Gideon left to grab my present from his room just a few seconds ago and already it feels like he’s been gone for hours.
Sneaking into his house wasn’t too hard; his mom and dad are apparently in the office speaking with a family.
Again, my mind goes to Uncle Rodney, wondering if being in a place like this bothered him after they got his body out of the woods.
If he even knew. Mom used to yell at him for telling me all his “la-la land” stories, as she called them.
But Uncle Rodney had sworn to me that ghosts, fae, sprites, and all the fantastical things from his stories were real.
I believed him and still do. Even if rarely, mostly just in moments like this, I wish I didn’t.
When Gideon rushes around the corner, the room wobbles for a moment; my anxiety makes my head light.
“Here,” he offers, holding out a large hoodie for me.
I frown, running my fingers over the fabric.
The idea of wearing Gideon's clothes makes my belly feel weird. Mom always wears Dad’s clothes to bed, and they’re married… in love.
“Where do I go?” I whisper, my face hot.
Does this mean Gideon loves me? Girlfriends and boyfriends share clothes sometimes; the older girls at school are always in their boyfriends’ jackets. Is that like this? My heart is hammering wildly, my breath held tight in my lungs, and this time it has nothing to do with ghosts.
His eyes trail around the room as if he’s trying to figure out what I could be referring to.
My eyes follow his, taking in the plain white room, nothing on the walls.
No need to dress up the parts the families won’t see.
There’s a small sink and cabinets in the far corner and a gray loveseat that matches the course gray carpet that trails up the stairs.
I finally release my breath. “To change, Gideon.”
“You can go in there.” He gestures to the wide double doors behind me, leading to the embalming rooms and body freezers.
I balk at the suggestion, a chill running up my spine at the thought of changing my clothes in the same room where they chop up people.
“No chance.” I spin on my heel, gesturing to the only other doors in the room.
When he walks over, opening it up, showing the washer and dryer next to a lengthy, narrow closet with dim lighting, it seems just as scary.
My steps falter, his hoodie gripped harshly in my palms before I huff.
“Just… turn around and close your eyes.”
I make quick work of changing, hissing when my long ponytail snags in the neckline of my dress, jerking about a hundred of my baby hairs at the same time. My eyes blow up like little moons when Gideon's head snaps around, his eyes widening on me as I cover myself. “Don’t look!”
“Don’t yell!” he hisses back, turning away and crossing his arms, his eyes on the basement stairs as if standing guard.
After I’m dressed in his black hoodie and cover shorts, my shiny slippers still properly in place, he tosses my dress and tights in the dryer, filling the room with the smell of dryer sheets and fresh linen instead of thick chemicals.
He digs into the bulging back pocket of his jeans, all but thrusting the bundle of brown velvet and lace into my hands.
I can’t contain my excited gasp when it unravels. “A new dress for Krissy!” The fact that she’s at the party without me needles my chest for a moment, but she’s safe on the porch.
“Now you don’t have to freak out every time the white one gets dirty.”
I study the pretty dress, the pale blue lace bordering the neckline and sleeves in a pretty, dramatic collar. “This is so pretty, Gideon! Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
My attention lifts from the doll dress. “All by yourself?!”
He nods. Those intense eyes studying mine. “I took her measurements when I was fixing her the last time.”
He barely catches me as I slam into him.
Hugging him tightly, he smells like the woods, but not in a gross way, in the best way, actually.
“You’re the best best friend ever, Gideon!
” As soon as that leaves my lips, I feel the next question bubbling up.
One I’ve avoided asking. “If you were in the woods, why didn’t you come to my party? ”
He’s still holding me tightly, too tightly as I wiggle and try to pull away. Dad always says you can tell when someone is lying by looking at their eyes. Not that I think Gideon would ever lie to me, but still, I want to see.
“My mom told me I couldn’t go,” he answers.
I finally tug free and stare up at him. Taken again with how tall Gideon is, despite not being that much older than me, as he keeps a now loose hold on my waist. “She thinks I’m going to hurt you.
” His face is blank as usual, unreadable.
Cold, but warmer for me than it is for anyone else.
Another thing about him that makes me feel special.
More special than I’ve ever felt before in my whole entire life.
Well, except when Uncle Rodney lived with us.