The Haunted_Edit Copy 4-7-17

happened to be walking by and see me going in to the used bookstore
for a ghost hunting class.
The smell of old yellowed paper hung heavily in the toowarm
air inside the shop. There wasn’t much room to walk around.
Books were stacked literally from floor to ceiling, some on shelves
and others just piled on their own. I wondered how the place actually
made any sales. If I wanted to grab that copy of Wuthering Heights,
I would have created a complete book avalanche. And the ancientlooking
Bible up near the top looked like it could definitely do some
damage if it knocked me in the head.
Dad immediately made a beeline between the stacks for the
back of the store, searching for exactly where the class was going to
be held. He must have found someone to ask, because I heard him
say, very proudly, “My daughter and I are here for the Ghost
Hunting class. Where should we go?”
I followed with less enthusiasm, taking my time gazing up
and down the endless rows of books as I went. Man, this place had
everything. There were like, six copies of Twilight in one place, but
across from it was what looked like the entire series of Animorphs.
Talk about flashbacks to my childhood. It was almost comforting
enough to make me forget I was about to go learn about something
that, quite frankly, made me want to pee my pants−almost.
When I reached the sales counter, there was a young, pale
guy with dark hair sitting behind it smiling warmly at my dad. If he
thought it was weird that we were there to learn how to talk to
something we couldn’t see, he definitely didn’t show it. He turned
his smile in my direction as I stopped beside my dad, my hands in
the pockets of my jeans so no one would see if they started shaking.
I noted, a bit judgmentally, that the t-shirt draped over his scrawny
chest had a big number 22 wrapped up in a net. Haha, a book pun.
The guy definitely fit the bill to work in a place like this.
“Hey,” he greeted me. “You’re here for the class?”
My dad answered for me. “This is my daughter. She’s a little
scared of ghosts.”
My cheeks flared with heat and I glared at my flip-flops.
Thanks, Dad. Advertise to the whole world what a weenie I am. I
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