She nodded because I believed my sister secretly missed Castle Ridge, Virginia, too. She lived in Washington, D.C. with her boyfriend so she could work for his father in some fancy restaurant.
My sister had a career. She was a chef. I had jobs because working for the man wasn’t my thing. Especially when the man was a dickhole who had a dickhole of a son who cheated on my sister.
She ignored my cries about his philandering. No matter what I said, she assumed the best in people, even her jerk boyfriend.
“Is Dickhole here, oops . . . I mean Beau?”
Her green eyes jerked around, refusing to focus on me. She stood on the other side of the Dutch door with the lower half blocking her legs, but I knew she was tapping her foot.
“I know you don’t like Beau, but if you just got to know him a little better—”
I snorted. “Oh, I know what he’s like. I just don’t think you do.”
She sighed and pretended to straighten her perfect hair.
“I can’t talk about this, Julia. I’m at work. The guests should arrive soon for the ball. All you have to do is take their coats and hand them a ticket. They’re rich, so they’ll tip well.”
Now it was time for me to purse my lips as I eyed my sister.
“Fine. Maybe not big tips, but they will tip.”
I continued to stare.
“Okay, fine, I lied. Rich people are stingy jerks. But some will tip, so you will make more than the hourly wage. Besides, I heard that a VidTube star you like will be here, Jake James. Is that his name?”
My eyes widened. Now my interest was piqued.
“It’s Joke’in James. His videos are hilarious. I’ll take his coat anytime.” I winked.
She smiled for the first time that evening, and I was glad. My sister was stressed all the time, and she needed some fun in her life. I only took the coat check job so I could spend some time with her. Come up to D.C. for a girls’ weekend. Even if it meant rich people threw their mothballed coats and cruelty-filled furs at me.
Also, the money didn’t hurt. I never had a steady job, so I needed the cash.
But I missed my sister. A billion dollars couldn’t keep me away from her.
“I have to get back to prepping the dishes.” She grabbed my hand and with a soft smile said, “I love you, Julia. You’re my best friend and sister . . . Don’t tell Jami. I want you to get serious. You can have fun anytime, but when you’re at work, it’s work. Okay?”
I nodded. She was right. I wasn’t sixteen anymore; I was thirty. Maybe it was time to think about a career. A fun one, like beer tester or a park ranger or something.
I made a mental note to look into cool, fun jobs when I got home.
“I promise. I’ll work so hard tonight, these people will talk about my skills for years. They’ll be nostalgic for that amazing coat-taker for years to come!”
“Good. I’ll see you later.” She waved and walked down the hall.
They held the Jingle Ball in one of those old, grand hotels built in the early eighteen-hundreds. I wasn’t joking about Dolly Madison haunting it. The place probably had lots of ghosts, which made walking farther back into the dark closet less appealing.
The closet was a compact room with several racks filled with wooden hangers, mainly because the rich didn’t approve of wire. In the back, it extended to the corner. There was a miniscule hallway. I could see a hint of it, but the hallway disappeared into darkness.
A chill went up my spine as I wondered if it led to a room where bodies were stashed in the olden days. There were always hidden rooms and entrances in these types of places—at least from what I had seen on Ghost Nation. I loved that show and secretly wanted to stay in one of the old haunted buildings they explored. That would be a cool, fun career . . .
As I imagined what sort of ghosts would haunt The Benjamin, another noise came from the back of the closet. This time, it was loud and clear.
“I knew it.” I leaned out the Dutch door, but my sister had disappeared.
It was up to me to find the ghost. I swallowed and pressed my hands down the front of my thick navy sweater with the hole in the back of the neck. My sister complained about the old sweater, but she was happy I wore a skirt. I broke out my festive reindeer skirt. It was frilly and fun and perfect for a holiday ball.
I wiped my hands on my outfit, but they kept sweating.
“It’s okay, Julia. You got this. It’s just a ghost. What’s the worst that could happen? It could fly through me. It couldn’t kill me. Right?”
I nibbled my lip, wondering if ghosts had the power to kill.
I scanned the wall for lights and found one dingy lamp that sat on a stool near the small hall. Once I switched it on, I could see the hall ran only about five feet, and there was a small door. It was short and wide, and if I were to go through it, I’d be forced to bend over.
The worn, wooden floor creaked as I took each step, adding to my uneasiness.
“Just big enough to push bodies through,” I whispered to myself as I frantically glanced around for something to protect myself against the spirits. I needed some holy water or a cross or garlic.
All I found leaning against the green wall was one of those big, rectangular snow shovels. Even the paint looked old, like it might still contain lead.
I grabbed the shovel and hid it behind my back. This ghost won’t see me coming.
There was another noise, but it came from out in the hotel's hallway. Probably someone walking by. Despite where it came from, I jumped and shrieked, causing the shovel to hit the door.
“Get it together, Julia,” I mumbled to myself and took a deep breath.
A sudden bang came from the other side of the small door. Instead of jumping and fleeing, I stood still, frozen in fear.
If a horror film ever came to life, I’d be one of the first idiots who got killed. You know, the part where people yell at them to run. I was killer bait.
Yet I reached for that old brass doorknob. My hand shook, and as I was doing it, I kept asking myself why. Why am I such a fool? Why am I opening the door for whatever murderous ghost is on the other side? And why is a ghost knocking?
I pushed the door open and stood in the doorway. The room was pitch-black, and I couldn’t see a thing, not even my foot in front of me.
I squinted and asked, “Hello? Is someone there?”
There was nothing. I turned my head and thought I saw movement, so I took a step farther inside, the shovel still behind my back.
The door closed behind me, and the room was engulfed in black once again.
That’s when I heard a muffled voice. “Oh, no, we’re trapped.”
“No,” I yelled as I realized the closet was haunted.
I dropped the shovel, turned, and felt for the door. It was there but no doorknob. What sort of fire-code violating, old-timey crap was this? No doorknob?
Trapped. In a pitch-black room. And worst of all, with a ghost.
“I’m afraid so . . . I’ve been here a long time. Ages, it seems . . .”
“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit,” I whisper-screamed.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
“You, uh . . . you won’t?” I tried my best to hold back my tears.
Not all ghosts were evil. Perhaps he was a cool ghost. Maybe he was a rocker from the sixties and died from partying too hard. Maybe he hung around because he wasn’t ready for the party to end. The whole live-fast-die-young sort of guy.