Page 6 of The Neighborhood Ghost

“How can two different books supposedly have all the answers, but have no answers?” she shouted. “Gwennie, none of these are helpful.”

The ash broomstick floated in the corner of the room, standing guard over the house. Max let out a low groan. She lay on the floor, her eyes following Alice’s every motion back and forth across the living room.

“It’s okay, Max,” Alice said. “We’ll find something.”

Max wagged her tail, sending bits of fur tumbling across the hardwood floor. They piled on to the baseboards, merging with other gathered hairballs. Alice had been ignoring them, opting to spend every hour searching for a solution to bring back Hugo. Hairballs could wait until he was back.

Alice rubbed her chin. “I don’t know, Max. I need to clear my head. Do you want to go for a walk?”

Max’s head perked up at the wordwalk. She sprang to her feet, ready for an adventure.

The crisp lateafternoon air whipped into a swirl. A chill electrified Alice’s spine. Her core shook as the chilly grasp of the mid-December air reached through her black and purple modern Victorian tailcoat and strangled her soul. White, ghostly vapors left momentary bread crumbs as she and Max walked through Wildgrove Park. The trees cackled as their branches swayed back and forth.

Max ventured forward down the path, the same rugged, well-worn path she had traveled many times before. Alice didn’t need to tug or pull on the leash. The golden retriever knew where she was going and was happy to be out adventuring. She stopped to smell the occasional scent, an indulgence Alice was more than happy to oblige. Max sniffed the ground, scratched at the area with her paws, and then pressed on with her adventure.

Night fell earlier in mid-December. Darkness crept in to seize the day from the light. The grayish sky, covered in thin clouds, turned a shade of purple and orange before the sun retreated beyond the horizon. Luckily, the duo was reaching the end of their journey through Wildgrove Park.

Wilderness gave way to civilization. Max always protested, stopping when the dirt path changed to a concrete sidewalk.

“Come on, Max,” she said before giving two tugs on the leash.

The golden retriever resisted, her paws digging into the dirt. She turned her head, wanting to venture back into the park.After the two tugs, she relented and followed Alice down the sidewalk.

They ventured past the white wooden sign with green lettering, welcoming new visitors to the neighborhood. Newbury Grove was welcoming. Besides the occasional odd glances or confused remarks about her normal appearance as a Halloween enthusiast—which she was—Newbury Grove was her home. Hers and Hugo’s home.

The pair approached the town center, bustling with crowds and bright decorative lights. The holiday shoppers went about their evening, buying presents and gifts for loved ones. Alice bowed her head. A tear formed. She couldn’t. She couldn’t venture into festive camaraderie and see so many happy, smiling people partaking in the jolliest, most festive time of the year.

“This way, Max,” Alice said as she crossed the street.

The golden retriever protested. She stopped moving and resisted the pull of the leash.

“Come on, girl,” Alice said, giving two tugs on the leash. “We’re going home.”

Max resisted, wanting to continue down their normal walking path, especially heading toward people.

“Let’s go!” Alice said, raising her voice.

Max relented and followed.

They crossed the street, heading down another path for an alternative way home. Alice was about to turn the corner when one of the buildings at the end of the street caught her eye. She had never seen this store before. Maybe it was new or moved from another location. Curiosity got the better of her.

She whistled and pointed with her head as she changed course. Max was a creature of habit. She was more than eager to follow as they went their normal way home.

A giantNow Opensign hung in the window of the storefront. Alice stopped and tried the door. It was locked. While thelights remained on, she had missed the normal hours by thirty minutes. She read the sign hanging in the glass window.

The Newbury Grove Historical Society

Presented by the Sinclair-Grove Foundation

Where the present welcomes the past.

Alice cupped her free hand on the glass and leaned in for a closer examination. Black and white pictures and posters decorated the walls of the interior. No doubt various snapshots in time were displayed from Newbury Grove’s past. Artifacts in display cases. Books and other literature adorned the shelves. Each object tantalized Alice’s curiosity.

“We’ll have to check this place out sometime, Max,” Alice said. “When Hugo gets home. He might find it interesting.”

Alice turned to leave, but the window display caught her eye—a portrait on an easel. A brown-eyed woman in her late 30s or early 40s. Brown, wavy hair pulled back into a poofy, Gibson Girl hair knot. She wore a black dress with a matching velvet choker around her neck. The portrait stood out against a dark maroon backdrop. A stoic expression. Her lips pursed. Her eyes were steely, as if they were piercing into the observer, following their every move.

Max tugged on the leash, wanting to move toward the crowds of people. Alice didn’t relent, keeping the leash taut while she examined the painting closer. The longer she gazed at the painting, the more uneasiness settled in. The hair on her arms stood. A shiver ran down her spine. Alice took a step forward, and she swore the painting’s eyes followed. The painting held her gaze, as if the painting itself was examining Alice.

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