Excerpt Monday: Special Halloween Edition

Welcome to the special Halloween Full Reads for Excerpt Monday. This month, in addition to our typical excerpt week, we’re having a week of full stories written by several fabulous EM writers. Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

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In honor of Halloween, Excerpt Monday Writers are featuring full length stories! My offering is a ghostly little middle grade tale originally published by The Wild Rose Press. As it’s currently out of publication, I thought I’d share it with you. Enjoy!

Corn Maze

by
Debbie Mumford

My best friend is a ghost, but sometimes I forget she’s dead.

I discovered Lilah at the end of June when my family moved into this old mansion on the remains of a Georgia cotton plantation. It’s not as grand as it sounds. The house is practically falling down around us and the live oaks, lining the drive, drip with grey-green moss. Very creepy.

The owner, Bill Richardson, lives in Oklahoma. He hadn’t been able to keep a tenant for more than a month in the ten years he’d owned it. I bet that’s because of Lilah.

I keep trying to guess when Lilah lived, but it’s hard to tell. She looks like a pretty normal girl, except she’s all silvery-white, so I have to guess at colors. Her hair is dark, like frosted coal, and she wears it in two long braids, the kind where each braid starts right at her forehead and ends in a little ribbon bow. She wears loose fitting jeans and a short-sleeve plaid shirt. My jeans aren’t baggy and rolled up at the ankles, but I have a shirt that looks just like hers. Her shoes are the biggest clue. I described them to Mom who said they were called saddle shoes, because the darker piece of leather that runs across the middle looks like a saddle. I don’t know anyone who wears shoes like that.

She’s really a very nice girl, but most folks aren’t too keen on chatting with the dead. Me, I’m used to it. Mom says I’m psychic and, since not every twelve-year-old talks to dead people, that I should keep this stuff to myself.

My name is Hannah Barnes and my family’s been here in Fraser, Georgia about six weeks. Before that, we lived in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Dad met Mr. Richardson when he did some repairs on the guy’s office. Richardson liked Dad’s work and offered him this gig. A free place to live if Dad would make the needed repairs to keep the place standing. He forgot to mention the ghost.

Dad’s making good progress restoring the mansion to its former glory while Mom works in town as a legal secretary. She tried helping Dad with the restoration, but the mansion makes her jumpy. She says the only way she can live here is to escape for forty hours each week.

Lilah and I try to help Dad as much as possible, but he gets jittery whenever Lilah hands him a tool. I guess it’s ‘cause he can’t see her. Maybe flying nail guns would freak me, too. Anyway, he asked me to keep her away from his work area, said it wasn’t safe for little girls to play with power tools. Right. He never had a problem with me helping him in Tulsa.

So, until school starts, I’ve got nothing to do but shoot the breeze with Lilah. Killing time with a ghost has its ups and downs. Lilah’s shown me all the house’s secrets from the priest hole behind the cellar wall to the loose floor board in the attic where an ancestor kept her diary. She’s even shown me cool stuff on the grounds, like the secret spot under the roots of the huge, live oak by the river. The only thing she won’t do is go beyond the big iron gate that separates the driveway from the road.

That’s a real bummer, because the Sweet Pea Festival is next week and I really want to go. I know, just because Lilah can’t go doesn’t mean I have to stay home. But what fun is a Sweet Pea Festival if you can’t share it with your best friend?

“Have you ever been to the Sweet Pea Festival?” I asked Lilah as we sat on the big porch that circles the house. Lilah calls it the verandah. I sat on the old-fashioned porch swing, pushing off every now and then with my left foot; Lilah sat suspended beside me. When I first sat down, it looked like she sat beside me until I started swinging. The swing kind of swooshed through her as it moved back and forth.

“Only once,” she said. “I went with my parents and little brother when I was ten.” She turned her silvery eyes toward me and I saw the sparkle of happy memory fade. “Something happened before the next one came around. Why are you asking about the Sweet Pea Festival?”

“Well, it’s next week, and I was kind of hoping you’d break your rule about stopping at the gate and go with me.”

The wooden slats of the swing pushed through her chest as Lilah shook her head. “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. I can’t just decide to go somewhere new. I have, um, what’s the word? Oh, yes, boundaries. I have boundaries.”

Watching the swing move through Lilah started to make me queasy, so I anchored my foot and stopped swinging. “Who told you about the boundaries?”

She shrugged. “No one. It’s like I’m on a leash from the main staircase. The farther I get from it, the harder it is to move.” She pulled her legs up and sat tailor-fashion on the swing. “By the time I get to the gate, I’m so heavy, I can’t move.”

I nodded and put on my best sympathetic expression. I didn’t understand, but I acted like I did. “Um…when you…you know…died,” I watched her face to see if the word bothered her. No reaction, “…why didn’t you go to the Light? You did see the Light, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I saw it.” She closed her eyes and her face relaxed into a peaceful smile. “It was golden and warm and the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” She opened them again, leaned forward, and said in a vibrant whisper, “I wanted to run right into it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She leaned back, and her voice dulled. “I couldn’t. My little brother needed me.”

“I don’t understand. Your little brother asked you to stay?”

Lilah jumped off the swing and paced between the house and the porch rail. “It wasn’t his fault. He was only six. He didn’t mean to push me down the stairs!”

She rushed to my side and grabbed my hands. I felt ice grip my fingers, but I didn’t pull away.

“He cried so hard. He begged me not to leave.” She dropped my hands and kind of wilted onto the rotting floor boards. “I love William. I couldn’t leave him. Not alone and terrified.”

“But he’s not here anymore. He left you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She shook herself and straightened up again. “But now I have you,” she said, “and you’re the best friend ever. You’ll like the Sweet Pea Festival,” she said, and closed the subject of her death.

****

For a tiny little southern town, Fraser sure knows how to throw a party. The Sweet Pea Festival had country stuff like a petting zoo and hay rides, and all the regular fair rides like bumper cars and a Ferris Wheel. I’d seen a million carnivals in Tulsa, so I liked the local stuff best. The mayor sitting on a collapsible ledge, daring folks to dunk her for a dollar. The artists who set up booths and not only hawked their wares, but demonstrated their craft. After trying an “easy” project, most people could hardly wait to plunk down their hard-earned cash. The glass blower was the exception. He couldn’t re-create the fires he needed to melt the glass ingredients into a gooey blob, so he settled for a video clip and invitations to drop by his studio.

My favorite part of the Festival turned out to be the corn maze. I’d heard of them when I lived in Tulsa and they sounded dorky to the max. But not this one. The folks in Fraser understood mazes.

Mom paid for my ticket and pointed to a huge maple a short distance from the exit. “I’ll be sitting over there, in the shade,” she said. “When you find your way out, I’ll have lemonade waiting for you.” She kissed my forehead and pushed me toward the opening. “Do you want me to time you?”

I grinned. Mom always liked to participate in my activities. She had no intention of slogging through a corn maze on a muggy summer afternoon, but she didn’t mind sitting in the shade and timing my effort.

“No, thanks,” I said. “This is my first maze. I’m taking my time.”

I entered a green world. The corn stood an easy six feet, tall enough to tower over my not quite five-foot height. The stubble under my Adidas made me appreciate their thick rubber soles. The corridor, wide enough to allow adult shoulders easy passage, seemed to narrow down to nothing a few feet in front of me. I stood alone in a green-gold sea, and breathed in a musty, earthy scent seasoned with the bite of growing corn.

“Move along, little girl,” said the ticket-taker at the entrance. “You’ve only got a five-minute lead before I let the next kid in.”

Without looking back, I nodded and took my first steps into the maze. I didn’t know green came in so many shades. Pale yellow-green tinged the stalks, while the leaves wore a deep, emerald gloss. It was the medium green of the shucks that drew my attention; it guarded the corn’s budding kernels. Brown accents dotted the green; dusty tan stubble tripped my toes, while golden tassels crowned the growing ears.

It took me a minute, stumbling along the path, to pull my attention out of that green embrace and focus beyond the corn to the puzzle of the maze. The swaying stalks gave the impression of moving walls, making it harder than you might guess to see where the path branched and split. Several times, when I let my focus wander, I missed a quick turn and walked right into a wall of stalks.

I heard laughing voices ahead of me and tried to use sound as a guide. No good. Too many twists and dead-ends separated me from them. Unhappy thrashing screamed behind me; the maze refused passage to someone. I heard the ticket-taker’s soothing voice as he found the trapped participant and guided him back out. The laughter ahead faded as well, leaving me alone in a green-gold world of whispering breezes.

At least, I thought the wind made that whispery sound. When I reached the center of the maze and found the scarecrow, I learned differently.

“Welcome,” he said. His voice tickled my ears like corn silks falling across bare legs. “I hoped you’d come. I want to talk to you.”

The air pulsed with energy as I mopped sweat from my forehead with my shirttail. I decided I needed that lemonade Mom promised me. I’d heard dehydration could make you imagine things.

“I’m not a delusion,” he said. “I have a message for you. About Lilah.”

“What about her?” He had my attention now.

“You must release her from this bondage she’s accepted. Find her brother. He must tell her she can move on.”

“Her brother?” I asked. “Who’s her brother? How do I find him?” I felt the energy flow away, leaving a lazy feel to the summer heat. “Wait! At least tell me if he’s alive or dead!”

I sat down at the scarecrow’s base and rested my head on my knees. It might be easier if this guy, William, was dead. I didn’t have any trouble talking to ghosts. Real live humans were another matter. How was I supposed to find Lilah’s brother when all I knew was that he was six when Lilah died? I didn’t even know when she kicked off!

Voices drifted toward me from the incoming path. I stood, gave the scarecrow a final glower, and continued my search for the exit. A few minutes later, I joined Mom in the shade and gratefully accepted the promised lemonade. The ice cold cup, wet with condensation, reminded me of Lilah’s cold grip. She needed the Light’s warmth and I’d been elected to see she got it. But what about me? What would I do if Lilah left?

****

I spent the next two weeks badgering Lilah about her brother and her death. Every time I brought up either subject, her eyes brimmed with bewilderment. Lilah remembered the accident and William begging her to stay, but that was all. She couldn’t tell me the year she died. She couldn’t even tell me her last name! Now, I ask you, how can a girl forget her last name? Never mind. Ghosts are weird.

Finally, I dropped the subject. I enjoyed hanging out with Lilah and didn’t want to annoy her into disappearing. To be honest, I didn’t mind the lack of clues. I knew I should find another source of information, but hey, I tried. What did the scarecrow expect from a twelve-year-old?

“Hannah,” Dad said after he clicked off from a long phone conversation, “I need you to help me straighten up the work area.”

“Sure, Dad,” I said, pulling a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator. Mom and Dad had done a great job on the kitchen. After Dad made sure the room was structurally sound, Mom painted the walls a sunny yellow, stripped the hardwood floors and refinished them to a warm, glossy brown, and hung crisp, white curtains. I loved being in that kitchen. “Can Lilah help or do I have to ask her to stay away?”

Dad paled, took a swig of coffee, and said, “She can help you. Both of you should stay out of my way.”

I loved that about Dad. He tried so hard to make it sound like both Lilah and I annoyed him, like he wasn’t just weirded out by her.

“Why are we cleaning up? You haven’t finished the dining room, have you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Richardson just called. He’s going to be in Fraser tomorrow and wants to stop by and see my progress. The walls and ceiling are done. If I pack up my tools, I ought to be able to slap a coat of paint on before he gets here.”

“Cool,” I said. “Can I help paint?”

Dad looked unsure.

“I won’t let Lilah mess with it this time.”

When we painted the kitchen, Lilah amused herself by dipping her fingers in the paint and drawing on the wall. Mom and Dad were fine as long as they thought it was me. But when we came back from a dinner of burger and fries at the local hamburger joint and found the wall covered in a sampler of the alphabet and the Pledge of Allegiance, they lost it.

“Please, Dad?” I wheedled. “She’ll be good. I promise.”

He sighed, wiped his face, and gave in. “Well, I could use the help.” He glared at me. “Just make sure it’s help I get, not hindrance.”

“Yippee!” I squealed and ran to the dining room to get started cleaning up the mess.

****

It wasn’t until Mr. Richardson rang the doorbell that I realized I could ask him about the house’s former owners. Maybe he’d have a clue about Lilah’s little brother.

The distinguished gray-haired man toured the downstairs rooms with Dad, nodding over Dad’s special touches. I trailed along behind them waiting for an opening.

They stopped in the cheery kitchen while Dad poured three glasses of tea. Mr. Richardson pulled out one of the oak chairs and sat down at our round breakfast table. I took my usual seat by the window.

“Be honest with me, Barnes,” he said. “Have you had any instances of, well, unexplained occurrences?”

My head shot up and I locked eyes with Dad. His lips thinned and he gave his head a slight shake. I took a glass from Dad and sipped the icy tea.

“My daughter has an imaginary friend,” Dad’s voice was an odd mixture of cheerful caution.

Mr. Richardson looked interested. He turned to me. “Really? Tell me about your friend.” His voice sounded encouraging, but his eyes looked uneasy.

I glanced at Dad. He shrugged and nodded.

“Well,” I started, “she’s not imaginary. She’s a ghost and her name is Lilah.”

Mr. Richardson’s glass slipped through his fingers and shattered on the polished wood floor. I jumped up, but Dad warned me away.

“Hannah! Stay away from the broken glass.”

“I’m so sorry! Let me help clean this up.” Mr. Richardson leapt to his feet, his face deathly pale.

Dad motioned him back to the chair. “Don’t worry, Bill. Just let me get the big pieces. I can wipe the rest up with a rag.” Mr. Richardson sank back into his chair and turned his gaze to me.

“Why did you choose the name Lilah?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” I said. “It’s her name; she told me. She died here when she was ten. Do you know anything about the people who used to own this house?”

Mr. Richardson kind of deflated in the chair. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“This land has been in my family since before the mansion was built.” He raised his gaze and met mine. “Why do you ask?”

I sat still, frozen by an icy shaft around my heart. William. Bill Richardson. This gray-haired man could be, must be, Lilah’s little brother. I bet the scarecrow sent him.

My heart hammered inside the ice. Even if Mr. Richardson was Lilah’s brother, I didn’t have to tell him what the scarecrow said. I could keep Lilah as my best friend. She’d waited this long to go to the Light, she could wait ‘til I made friends at school. Mr. Richardson would come back to check on Dad’s work another time. I didn’t have to do anything right now.

My hand shook as I reached for my glass of tea. The clammy cold shocked my fingers. What was I thinking? Lilah was my best friend. She deserved better from me.

I took a deep breath and forced the question out before I could change my mind. “Did you have a sister named Lilah? Did she have an accident when you were six?”

“Hannah!” Dad glared at me. “That’s enough, young lady. Go to your room. I’m terribly sorry, Bill. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

I slouched to the sink, put my glass in, and turned to leave the room.

“Is Lilah here now?” Mr. Richardson’s question stopped me.

Without looking at Dad, I turned to face Lilah’s brother. “No. She disappeared when the doorbell rang.” A flicker of grief crossed his face. “I can call her,” I said, ignoring the ice in my veins. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She must hate me,” he said, his voice flat, eyes dull, “to have stayed to haunt me all these years.”

“Oh, no, sir,” I cried and ran across the room to grab his hand. “No, that’s not it at all! She told me her death was an accident. She saw the Light. She wanted to go, but she couldn’t because you begged her to stay. She loved you too much to leave you alone when you were frightened and crying.”

Mr. Richardson’s hand felt almost as cold as Lilah’s. I heard Dad cross the room, felt his hands rest on my shoulders. “I think you should ask Lilah to join us,” he said, his voice calm and deep.

I closed my eyes and thought of Lilah, sending my call through the many layers of the house’s atmosphere. She answered quickly, as she always did. I watched her materialize behind Mr. Richardson.

“Hi, Lilah,” I said. “William wants to talk to you.”

“William?” she asked, coming to stand beside me so she could see his face.

“It’s been a long time,” I said. “William grew up.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then turned and smiled at me. “Yes,” she said, “but I can still see my little brother in his eyes.”

“Is she really here?” Mr. Richardson asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “She recognizes you.”

A wary expression crossed his face. “Ask her our maternal grandmother’s name.”

“Ghosts have strange memories, sir,” I said. “She might not remember.”

“Matilda Owens,” Lilah said, beaming.

My mouth dropped open. “You couldn’t tell me your own last name, but you can remember your grandmother’s whole one?”

“What did she say?” Mr. Richardson gripped my hand so hard it hurt.

“Ow!” I pulled my hand free and wiggled my fingers. “Matilda Owens. Is that right?”

“Lilah?” he said, scanning the room. “Lilah, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you fall down the stairs.”

I took on the role of interpreter.

“She knows that, William. She never blamed you.”

“Why are you still here?” Anguish throbbed in his voice.

“Because she doesn’t know how to leave. She only saw the Light once.”

“But there must be a way.”

“There is,” I said, resisting the urge to keep the scarecrow’s message to myself. “Dad, remember the corn maze at the festival?”

“Of course,” he said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Something spoke to me in there. It told me to find Lilah’s brother, to help Lilah move on.” I turned to Mr. Richardson, ashamed I’d thought about not telling him. “She stayed because you begged her not to go. You have to release her. Give her permission to leave!”

His eyes widened and he glanced around the room. “Lilah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here. I love you, Lilah. Go home. I’ll see you on the other side.”

I turned to look at Lilah. She smiled broadly, glowing around the edges with golden light.

“It’s there,” she said. “I see it. Thank you, William. I love you, too.”

A warm breeze brushed my face and Lilah disappeared.

“She’s gone, sir,” I said, grief pooling in my chest. “She thanked you and said she loved you, then she disappeared.”

Mr. Richardson crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them. “All these years I thought she haunted me because she hated me. I didn’t know I’d trapped her.”

Dad sat down across from Mr. Richardson and placed a hand on his arm. “You were just a child, Bill,” he said, “and later, how could you possibly know?”

Mr. Richardson raised his head and met my eyes. “Thank you, Hannah,” he said. “You’ve given me a priceless gift today.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” I said, tears filling my eyes and overflowing into my voice, “and I’m happy for Lilah. I really am…but I’ve lost my best friend.”

Dad pulled me onto his lap and wrapped me in a warm hug. “I’m proud of you, Hannah,” he whispered. “You did a great job being Lilah’s best friend.”

I sniffled and snuggled closer to Dad. I’d never forget Lilah, but I sure hoped my next best friend would be a real live human.

~The End~

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