Secrets of Ghosts: Forgotten Orphans an Abandoned Church Too Many Secrets

By Mardi Orlando

A Secret Society
An Abandoned Church
And a Shadow
Brought together by their mysterious gifts, seven teenagers have been stranded in no-time by their Secret Society.
In an abandoned church they find a gathering of ghosted orphans, trapped for over one hundred years.
To free these ghosts they will need to discover each of their identities, and to do that, this group of misfits will need to face the secrets that have haunted their own lives.
It is the only way they will survive.
And time is running out.
A haunting fantasy, Secrets of Ghosts will intrigue those of us who like to seek amongst the shadows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466939226

Mardi Orlando

Mardi Orlando is an author and illustrator who lives in the coast in Australia with her husband of fifteen years. She has written several novels including a book of poetry, The Life Expectancy of Wind (illustrated with fascinating fantasy artworks). There are also several young adult novels, including The Light Voyager (a thrilling fantasy), The Amazing Life of George Fred Fiddlington (a full-color sci-fi story), and Adventures of the Wishall (a beautiful and magical full-color book for children). After studying psychology, she worked with many associations whilst continuing to indulge in her two passions: science and New Age philosophies. She has also travelled extensively and has found an open mind essential in all walks of life.

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Copyright 2012 Mardi Orlando.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

isbn: 978-1-4669-3921-9 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-3920-2 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-3922-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909903

Trafford rev. 06/12/2012

7-Copyright-Trafford_Logo.ai

www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

phone: [phone] * fax: [phone]

Contents

~A Fast Bus to Nowhere~ ~Santu of Visions~ ~Daffodil of Diamonds~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, September 5th, 1939— One penny

~The Trees are Alive~ ~Blaze of Fire~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Saturday, October 21st, 1939— One penny

~Jake of The Inaudible~ ~Annabelle of Accolades~

Bitsy. 1908-1916. Ghosted Aged 8.

~Sub zero temperatures~ ~Duel of Honor~ ~Duette of Mind~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Thursday, November 30th, 1939—One penny

~Truth or Dare~

Buttons & Bruises. 1906-1916. Ghosted Aged 10.

~Sleep Little Children, Sleep~

Baby. 1916-1916. Ghosted Aged 0. Melody. 1907-1916. Ghosted Aged 9.

~Fire isn’t all they need~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Saturday, January 6th, 1940— One penny

~Sleep-walking isn’t for Strangers~

Oscar. 1903-1917. Ghosted Aged 14.

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Monday, June 17th, 1940— One penny

~The truth hurts, then bleeds~

Dog. 1906-1918. Ghosted Aged 12.

~If we were clocks we would tick~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, December 31st, 1940— One penny

Wonderboy. 1910-1918. Ghosted Aged 8.

~Some Lessons Can’t be taught~

Scraps. 1909-1919. Ghosted Aged 10.

~Questions before answers~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Sunday, June 23rd, 1941— One penny

Bugsy. 1910-1917. Ghosted Aged 7.

~Places please~

Oscar. 1903-1917. Ghosted Age 14.

~Face at a window~

~Voices in the static, cry~

Oscar. 1903-1917. Ghosted Aged 14.

~Which door shall we open today?~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Monday, December 8th, 1941— One penny

~Ghosts at a Grave~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Friday, February 20th, 1942— One penny

~The Shadow Has A Mouth~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Monday, November 9th, 1942— One penny

~Winds of Ghosts and Memories and Tears~

~In Decisions~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Wednesday, February 3rd, 1943—One penny

~Edge Meets Periphery~

Oscar. 1903-1917. Ghosted Aged 14.

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Friday, September 10th, 1943— One penny

~The In-between~

Dog. 1906-1918. Ghosted Aged 12.

~In the Slide~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, December 7th, 1943— One Penny

~Put on your Ghost Faces~

~The Shadow’s Day is Nigh~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, June 6th, 1944— One penny

~Night is the Shadow’s Day~

Oscar. 1903-1917. Ghosted Aged 14.

~Joining Forces~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Thursday, September 7th, 1944—One penny

~If you seek the truth you may lament the past~

Bugsy. 1910-1917. Ghosted Aged 7.

~Documents in the Attic~

~Dog day afternoon~

~One Goodbye too soon~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Monday, April 30th, 1945— One penny

~Where did all the children go?~

~Wonderboy likes Comics and Games~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Wednesday, August 15th, 1945—One penny

~The Memory Effect: Catch it Before it Freezes~

~Fire Burning Bright~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Wednesday, October 16th, 1946— 2 Pence

~F is for Forgotten, Fire & Figment~

~I Miss Frogs Legs~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, July 22nd, 1969— Six Pence

~Fury and Lore~

~Oscar Likes Cars~

~A Clue in a Nightmare in the Abyss of what’s missed~

~And Down Will Come Baby, Cradle and All~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Wednesday, April 30th, 1975— One Shilling

~My Love is like a Violin that’s Sweetly Played in Tune~

~Returns~

~Bits and Pieces~

~To sleep is to prepare~

Dog. 1906-1918. Ghosted Aged 12.

~A is for Atonement~

~Ghosts of Mist and Shadow~

~Shadow Shifts~

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune Tuesday, August 16th, 1977— One Shilling

~The Mist Will Rise~

Blackwater Tribune Sunday, November 12th, 1989— One Pound

~Blackwater Shire~

~It’s Not Whether You Win Or Lose~

THE SUN EDITORIAL Saturday, March 19th, 2016— Two Pounds

~Epilogue for Annabelle~

Other Titles by

MARDI ORLANDO

THE LIGHT VOYAGER

THE AMAZING LIFE OF GEORGE FRED FIDDLINGTON

ADVENTURES OF THE WISHALL

THE LIFE EXPECTANCY OF WIND

THE WISHALL

For News and Updates on these and other works, please visit

www.mardiorlando.com

~Present day~

~A Fast Bus to Nowhere~

~Santu of Visions~

~Daffodil of Diamonds~

T here was something very wrong with this whole venture.

Santu was woken from his insipid sleep by the howling echo of a wounded animal, only to find himself back in the stormy night on the same lurching bus, going nowhere, fast. The vehicle was rattling violently in the torrential downpour, hurtling at an alarming speed. Every now and then, its wheels would slide on the the slick road making Santu’s stomach twist. Musty, dank air filled his nostrils and the freezing cold air was making it difficult to think—but it didn’t stop the visions.

Outside, past the clammy windows, the highway was dark and empty save for the black silhouettes of leafless trees ebbing from a low eerie mist. Thunder ached in the deadened gloom like a far-off warning, and lightning flashed in bursts across the sodden, starless sky. Rain hammered on the roof of the pitching bus and frosty clouds drifted through the aisles as if seeking refuge. Why hadn’t they told him he was going somewhere this damn cold?

Santu’s gaze slid up to the full moon—he could swear it had a face. Its distant light shone on his dark Spanish skin and shoulder length black curls. Shivering, he huddled into his leather jacket to keep in whatever warmth he could and tried to concentrate on the visions. They had been growing stronger and more controlling since he had agreed to this ‘research mission’ but in his heart, he knew the truth had already been seized and locked away.

Santu skimmed a look at those on board. Six other duped kids that had somehow managed to abandon their lives to attend a Secret Society Program: All of them masters of their own secrets; all of them masters of a skill unusual enough to be accepted by the underground group.

None of them seemed to be interested in making eye contact or conversation. If his visions were anything to go by, they’d have to talk eventually. He wondered if any of them could match his skills.

Santu was an anomaly, a glitch in the human strain, a genetic aberration that had already seen his mother die. The reminder made him angry and he tried to bend his thoughts back to the unacceptable cold.

As he rose to complain to the uninterested and apparently unaffected bus driver, the vehicle abruptly lurched to a halt. The unexpected shift threw Santu forward, smashing his face into the back of the seat in front of him. As his face struck the metal railing he heard a horrible crack: His nose had broken. As blood trickled from his nostrils the horrible stench of mould and death filled his mind before a shrill voice erupted from the front of the bus.

I am Madame Glizsnort, screeched the woman who had just alighted. Dressed in a long, gray, woolen skirt, short high-heeled boots and a gray jacket which displayed two looping ‘G’s’ on its lapel, she exuded cold indifference. "For your stay on this trip you will be under my guidance." The woman’s piercing gaze regarded everyone from the front of the bus.

With her pale eyes, gray complexion and high silver bun, Santu thought she could have been an ice-sculpture hung with clothes and a wig. Motioning to complain, he felt himself being forced back into the seat.

Sit down! Madame Glizsnort shrieked. I will not have insolence in my presence!

And probably for the first time in his life, Santu felt hesitant. Apparently he was not alone. Furtive glances darted from one to the other across the bus—eye-contact finally, mused Santu to himself. But the worry was creeping around him, icy fingers curling across his skin. He was not getting any visions from this strange woman and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

Now, Madame Glizsnort began again trying to sound just a little less harsh. I am to be your guardian and tutor for this undertaking. Her tone was practiced, almost calculated. I know you have all come from far away, some further than others. Her icy stare focused on the girl with the messy blond hair and patchwork clothes. There was something about her.

Daffodil thought her heart may freeze instantly with the intensity of Madame Glizsnort’s gaze. In fact, Daffodil was from a very long way away and had a history of secrets that would make the discovery of the Holy Grail seem mundane. As far as Daffodil knew, absolutely no one had a clue about her past—except her parents, and they couldn’t tell anyone, obviously. But right now it felt like this strange woman with the cold silver eyes was staring into her brain, reading her very thoughts, seeing into her memories and exhuming her life; bit by bit.

Your name girl?! What’s your name?!

D . . . Daffodil, Madame, she replied, her Australian twang sounding broken in the silence.

Try to remember it then! The ice-sculpture shook her head.

Daffodil nodded, her big, brown eyes, wide and unblinking. If Madame Glizsnort hadn’t finally moved her stare to the back of the bus Daffodil would have vomited. Not a good start to her first Secret Society mission. Had her escape from The Institution been a foolish decision? Was the whole research thing real? Had her grueling admission been a sham? Blinking a few times, she let salty tears wash over her burning eyes.

Madame Glizsnort seemed disgusted with them all. There will be an introduction ceremony once we reach our destination, she continued determinedly, and then we have a very demanding schedule of advanced research. After this, you will put your abilities into action. She paused for a moment as she eyed each of them. "And remember, I am not interested in cry babies! The quicker you follow the imperative and perform, the quicker you will be finished!"

Santu didn’t like the way she emphasized the word ‘finished’. If his nose hadn’t been throbbing so badly, he may have tried to focus on his visions, but the pain was making it impossible for him to judge just how serious this situation was.

And then a flood of arctic water rushed through Santu’s brain. It felt like time had stopped, as if all the knowledge he had ever accumulated was suddenly dissolving into nothingness. Just before everything began to fade, a few thoughts pushed themselves to the frosty surface of his mind: In the freezing-cold midnight hours of this strange rain-soaked night, how had this gaunt, shrew woman managed to stop a speeding bus and alight without a single droplet marking her clothes?

As this thought formed, another whole, and completely overwhelming notion, swelled in his mind. And that’s when Santu noticed Madame Glizsnort was staring straight at him.

And a small trickle of blood oozed from his damaged nose.

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune

Tuesday, September 5th, 1939—

One penny

WORLD NEWS HEADLINES

FIRST DAYS OF WAR

WAR DECLARED BY BRITAIN AND FRANCE

A t 11 O’clock, September 4 th , Great Britain declares war on Germany. Six hours later France follows. Britain and France state their determination to fulfill to the uttermost, their obligations to Poland in this full scale attack.

Australia declares war on Germany September 3rd. New Zealand has cabled her full support to Britain. Rush of recruits in Canada. Over 2000 men lined up outside the Recruiting Office yesterday.

LOCAL NEWS HEADLINES

MYSTERIOUS SIGHTINGS CONFOUND LOCALS

After the First Great War and terrible period of Depression we hoped there would be a long time of peace, but the fervent attacks do not augur well for any of us. Just days after the terrifying announcement that Germany has invaded Poland, Blackwater has made a discovery so unsettling that it brings the ghosts of suffering home to us again.

Our Herald Moon Tribune journalist, Mr. Henry Frienly, has discovered a rather strange mystery. With help from Miss Grace Durand of Marchenby Street, Mr. Frienly has uncovered a strange tale indeed.

According to the information, it is believed a group of approximately nine children has been seen lingering around the town. They are very hard to keep track of, even disappearing whilst being followed! They tend to move as a group, which makes it even more remarkable that they have not been caught, and they do not appear to have any guardians present. This strange group seems to be unaware of the attention they are receiving. When Miss Durand calls out to them they are oblivious to her utterances and their immediate escape seems uncanny.

The children were noticed on September 1st, by a visitor to the area, Mrs. Agnes McReady of Bluberry Falls. Mrs. McReady immediately reported it to the police whereby Constable Macalister Glizsnort took all the details.

In a rather curious turn, Constable Glizsnort states to the Herald Moon Tribune, that after considerable research, he has discovered that similar sightings were reported in the area about 20 years prior. This just adds to the peculiarity of the situation. Constable Glizsnort also speculates that it is no coincidence that the sightings have begun again just as the Second Great War has been declared.

Even though the Constable is unsure whether these children are of an unearthly nature or not, he affirms that he will not give up trying to locate the children despite the obvious difficulties. He also suggests there may be many a reason why these children have no homes. In such circumstances, he says, those being of the war and all, there are a variety of events that would allow these children to find themselves in very difficult circumstances. It is quite possible that these children are vagabonds or worse: They may be homeless and without parents; they each may have experienced something tragic and may be very frightened; or they could be serious trouble makers.

At this stage he is not prepared to commit either way. Constable Glizsnort insists that once the children are located they will be treated with kindness and compassion before being judged. It is the Godly thing to do, he said.

However, journalist, Henry Frienly, concedes that others in the community do not see it so simply. Many have expressed concerns regarding their own safety and it is believed that the kind of lenience the Constable affords will give the children open opportunity to commit crime.

Enid Highly of Plain Place Road suggests: "They may try coercion or even thievery; or they may attempt to inflict physical harm on the people of the town—the population should be afraid!"

Even more negative correspondence includes alarming implications that these children may be creating some kind of gang and that they plan to steal the offspring of the neighborhood to expand their group.

It all reeks of sinister undertones! Miss Maimsbun of Hawkesmeade Avenue cried when interviewed.

But Mrs. Lightbottom of January Court, believes, We should take them in and care for them as a community. Obviously no one else is concerned about their whereabouts.

Miss Maimsbun replied with a curt retort about Mrs. Lightbottom being unable to have children of her own and added, Mrs. Lightbottom’s opinion should be ignored as she has obviously displeased the Lord for she has been rendered barren.

Mrs. Lightbottom refused to reply to these allegations.

However, as Constable Glizsnort reminds us, until we actually catch these children, it is all speculation. Miss Durand would like any person aware of their whereabouts to pass the information on to her at 132 Marchenby Street (call exchange B243).

And a very interesting story it is.

Blackout time tonight is 6.57pm.

EVENING EDITION CHANGE

Due to the declaration of war, our standard edition will now be an evening publication only. Therefore, the paper has changed its name from the Herald Tribune to the Herald Moon Tribune.

WAR NEWS

POLAND INVADED BY GERMANY

Warsaw and many other Polish towns bombed by German warplanes on September 1st. As troops march into Poland, Hitler, in an address to the Reichstag, says: ‘From now on bomb after bomb is falling.’ He continued with: ‘The German Army today is better than that of 1914!’ Hitler finished his speech with ‘Sieg Heil’ (Hail Victory).

The Poles latest estimate of casualties in the German air raids on local towns and villages on Friday and Saturday is 1,500 people—a considerable proportion were woman and children. (Continued Page 3.)

FIRST AIR RAID WARNING

London remains calm as it hears its first air raid warning. (Page 4.)

Brought to you by Cadbury’s Bournville chocolate—Every man’s secret vice!

~Present day~

~The Trees are Alive~

~Blaze of Fire~

T he tumbling rain had turned to snow. Blaze peered at the icicles forming on the bus windows—they were growing in front of her eyes. She had never been this cold in her life and she had lived through plenty of Irish winters.

The empty highway had begun to narrow and the black skeletons of dead trees clustered closer to the road, their gnarled branches screaming as they scraped the paintwork. It was so dark out there. The ivory moon didn’t seem to shed any light on anything. Even the sporadic flashes of lightning did little to help her make out what was beyond the bus windows.

It was only annoyance that had overpowered her anxiety. Really, who was this shrieking old woman? And why was everyone so scared of her? And that complexion. Was the woman adverse to a little bit of sun? Maybe, Blaze thought, when you’re that old you just don’t care anymore.

Either way, Blaze knew she had gotten herself into this mess and now she had to suffer the consequences. So much for the ‘exciting experience of world travel’ and the huge benefits she could make ‘all in the name of research’. This felt like the dungeons of Siberia. All she’d wanted to do was get away from her life and her past: A past that dragged behind her like an enormous shadow. She tried to shake away the memories, but as always, they curled around and around like slithering snakes full of poison just waiting to strike.

And then Blaze was struck with an odd thought. How had this woman boarded the bus in a heavy rainstorm, without a raindrop on her? No umbrella, no overcoat, and not a hair out of place.

You, the redhead! Madame Glizsnort looked furious. Address me immediately!

Against her will, Blaze snapped to attention. Her whole body stiffened into a perfectly erect posture. Slightly puzzled, she blinked and stared at the sickly looking woman.

Um, hello . . . Madame Glizsnort? said Blaze in her lilting Irish accent. Was that an ‘address’ Blaze wondered? Um, I am Blaze Montgomery?

Madame Glizsnort had thrown her coolest stare at the freckled girl with the wild mane of red hair and golden-flecked, green eyes. Except for a slight stiffening of the body, the girl had barely reacted. That wouldn’t do.

Well, Madame Glizsnort’s voice was breathtakingly cold, if you want to survive this experience I suggest you start learning some manners.

A shiver ran up Blaze’s spine and into her brain. Okay, now she got the fear in everyone else’s eyes. This woman was crazy. Er, sorry Madame Glizsnort, Blaze stammered as she felt the eyes of the other children on her. I will try harder. Her voice trembled on the last word making Blaze annoyed with herself. Showing fear to strangers could get you in a lot of trouble. And there was a lot of trouble waiting for her if the truth got out. She would just do what she was told and then make a run for it. Although, god-only-knew where she was going to run to.

Finding a way to control whatever this woman was doing to her would be difficult but Blaze wasn’t shy of a challenge. Fear on the other hand could be her undoing. The threat of Madame Glizsnort unearthing her secrets was tantamount to suicide.

Madame Glizsnort had tried her stare on the girl again, and yes, she could feel the fear thrilling through her. Good. Without feeling danger, none of their true instincts would kick in. Their resistance surprised her. It was troubling to some extent, but nothing she couldn’t work on. These children were supposed to be the best, the ones who could master the situation quickly—before the Callers could find out. Still she wasn’t sure. This was much too important a task for her to risk any of them crumbling. And time was running out.

Turning to the front of the bus Madame Glizsnort tried to recoup her energy. She could feel the mist growing stronger. There was not far to go now. It was a good decision to join them in the last stage of the journey.

Everyone! Madame Glizsnort screeched. Be quiet until we arrive! Taking a seat near the driver, she resisted the wave of exhaustion that threatened her attendance and reminded herself why they were all here.

Blackwater Herald Moon Tribune

Saturday, October 21st, 1939—

One penny

WORLD NEWS HEADLINES

GERMAN BOMBS FALL ON BRITAIN

G erman bombs have fallen on Britain for the first time since the war has begun. Miss Hilda Marchant of Queensferry describes the terror. I was sitting at home with my sister when we heard the terrible thunder of several planes coming toward us. Two big black aircrafts were visible outside my window and we saw bombs hurtling from them. Follow this amazing story — Page 3.

LOCAL NEWS HEADLINES

HORROR STRIKES AS CHURCH BURNS

In the midst of the war, a disaster of another kind has horrified the small local community of Blackwater. It was during the fierce storms early yesterday morning that the citizens stood in horror as their small beloved church, The Church of Mortimus, burned to the ground. It was apparently struck by a lightning bolt early Monday morning, only hours after the last service, and the extent of the damage is devastating. All efforts to stop the fire were useless.

Certain community members have indicated a belief that the act was one of God Himself and that the church was burnt down to show the populace that they have not done enough to worship the Lord and are therefore, being punished.

John Melmbry of Citizen Square says, Perhaps we did not worship hard enough on Sunday, or perhaps there was an unbeliever amongst us!

Yet, still other community members feel this attitude is dangerous. Already, factions are beginning to form and fights are breaking out all over town. The local Constable in charge of the issue has been very busy containing these arguments and has expressed publicly that God would not want people to take their anger out on each other.

Unfortunately, this does not seem to have stopped the fights.

Others still, agree that the church was burned by the hand of God to rebuke the community because of the lax attitude toward the strange children that have been sighted around town. Many suggest they may have brought with them, the fury of the Lord. Further action will be required to control the problem.

The more pressing issue is that the people will not have a church to worship in next Sunday. Suggestions that the town hall be used as a temporary place of devotion have been faced with outrage.

Ted Newgan of Plabuly Lane says: I cannot see what the problem is. It is not like God cannot hear us if we are not in a church. The town hall has even more room than that old wooden church and there is a lovely piano in there too.

But Noel Cordenly disagrees. The church is the only place our worship and hymns will be accepted by the Lord. If we begin to accord reverence in any old building we shall suffer greater punishment.

The matter continues.

Blackout time tonight zero hour until 7:45 am.

OTHER WAR NEWS

POLAND’S LOSSES

The last Polish ground troops surrendered on October 6th. Polish national losses stand at: 700,000 men captured by the Germans; 200,000 men captured by the Russians; and many more from loss of life. Germany has lost 10,000 men and Russia several hundred.

Mass at the Polish Church in North London was attended by Cardinal Hinsley. Together they prayed for their homeland as they faced news that Poland has surrendered.

RUSSIAN INVOLVEMENT

Russia will gain about two-thirds of Poland and approximately half the population under the agreement reached by Berlin and Moscow. It has been revealed that Hitler and Stalin have signed a non-aggression pact which includes clauses for the division of Poland even though Russia is still claiming neutral status. (Page 5.)

HITLER’S SPEECH

The Fuehrer states that: Neither armed force nor time will conquer Germany. November 1918 will not occur again! I do not doubt for one moment that Germany will win. Hitler concludes that the business of annihilation is grim and says that one day the frontier dividing Germany and France will be a border of graveyards. He thanks God to have shown justice in his cause and prays that God will guide him further in his ventures.

JAPAN’S ASSURANCES

Japan assures Britain of her neutrality in the present war. (Page 5.)

UPDATES

Cinema Shuttlecock has begun. Two groups of cinemas will take alternate weekly spells. This week the Plaza, the Odeon, Warner Theatre, Ritz and the Rialto will take the first turn.

Gardening, Radio, Crossword, Comics, Page 6.

~Brought to you by ~

Bear Brand Stockings—A sheer necessity!

And, Grow More Food at Home with Mr. Middleton’s Garden Book 3’6.

~Present day~

~Jake of The Inaudible~

~Annabelle of Accolades~

J ake watched the interaction between the redheaded girl and the old squawking lady. It was all just horrible noise to him. Jake didn’t like being here, he didn’t like any of these other kids and he definitely did not like the ugly lady and her screeching voice. It reminded him of fingernails on a blackboard. That’s what stupid kids did to upset him. They would trap him in the unused classroom at the back of the school, lock the door and then watch him writhe on the ground in pain as they each took turns to scratch their nails down the old fashioned slate boards. He didn’t like them either.

The air smelled putrid: A mix of wet earth, rotting carcasses, and anxiety. And the eerie blackness outside was making him feel claustrophobic. His worn pullover and tattered jeans weren’t of much use in this bitter cold.

All Jake could think about was being back at the foster home and he hated that place. But, at least there, he could be in his room with all the things that made him feel safe. The Secret Society for Gifted Teens hadn’t said anything about taking away his stuff. He needed everything he had packed. Why had they insisted on taking all of his devices?

Jake wondered if the people at the foster home would even notice he was gone. He doubted it. They were overloaded with kids. The day he had arrived, his new foster parents had discussed the welfare reimbursements right outside his bedroom door. There was a whole list of things the two of them wanted to buy. They may have been whispering but Jake had heard it all. Of course he had heard it. They knew what his hearing was like.

Outside, the lonely darkness murmured and whistled at him like a warrior who had lost his battle. There was something out there. He could feel it. Jake squinted past the falling snow into the distance. Rows of gleaming stones flickered under a flash of lightning before dissolving into the blackness again. Jake shivered, and covering his ears, he tried to remember how he got here.

Why couldn’t he recall the flight from South Africa? The vague image of being picked up at the terminal on his arrival was shrouded in mist. But he didn’t forget what had shocked him into panic: The bus driver had confiscated all his electronic devices. ‘To be returned in due course,’ the young man had said to Jake with a shimmer of a smile. There was no way Jake could sleep without his static. Without it, every single insignificant high-frequency sound would ping inside his head until it felt like his brain was screaming. He tried to explain it to the driver but his words were strangled with anxiety, and so, he was shuffled onto the rickety, old-fashioned bus to endure this nightmare of a trip.

Something had been wrong about all this from the start. Jake had sensed it as soon as those ‘academics’ came to his school—The Port-Elisabeth Instructional School of South Africa. They claimed they were representatives of a research program for gifted pupils, but it was obvious to Jake they were lying. He knew they were from the Secret Society by the mottos they used—the very same Secret Society that he had applied to 6 months prior under the banner: ‘Risk is the requirement, Sacrifice is the spirit’. He had come across the website by accident and only filled in the application to keep himself distracted while all the other foster kids in the house were running amok. There were very strict guidelines and he never expected to get in, especially when he had spent most of his time answering the question about ‘unusual talents’. It was really just to get it all off his chest.

The representatives had searched each class with their strangely penetrating stares and finally picked him. The principle practically bowed as they left the school only to then announce over the sound system, that he, Jake, had been chosen as the most gifted child in the school and would be rewarded with the overseas ‘trip of a lifetime’. Only a select few other students from around the world would join him. All expenses paid. Most of the kids just sniggered and pointed at him: Always the odd one out.

To be honest, Jake hadn’t really been listening: Too much noise. No one could understand the discomfort some voices caused him. Instead he had closed his eyes and concentrated on his favorite topic: Antiques. Facts about the past had always made him feel safer. That day he had focused on Chinese Abacus Cases, finally stopping when he came to the one that had really tested his knowledge in the European contest in Munich, Germany. It was the red one, made using the traditional techniques of 1500 years before—the Tang Dynasty Era—and which was owned by Emperor Tang Taizong. The lid was decorated with a dragon and a phoenix and was of the finest craftsmanship Jake had ever seen. His distraction had only slightly dulled the pain but at least he could cope.

The note received from the Principal was deftly forged by Jake and returned. Although surprised that he was capable of such deceit, Jake quickly packed and fought the hoard of ‘brothers and sisters’ to escape. A last glimpse revealed his foster parents studying their beer labels and smoking next to already full ashtrays. No one even noticed the disheveled boy with the short brown hair and sad, dark-blue eyes traipsing toward the front door gripping a small bag with nearly everything he owned in it; his headphones blocking out any of those awful sounds.

And now he was stuck here with all these other strangers. Strangers that could never understand the terrible things that had happened to him; strangers that would end up teasing him and torturing him like all the others. Even the counselor had been too upset to listen to his stories so he had lied to make her stop crying.

Jake just hoped they would all stay away from him.

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Annabelle could have sworn the icicles on the bus window were pointing, like fingers, toward danger. The icy glass reflected her perfect features: Her pale blue eyes stared back at her without warmth, her silky, long blond hair curled around her pale creamy skin and her cherry lips hinted at an unattainable smile. Eyes weren’t supposed to change color as you grew older but Annabelle’s had. When she was young they were a deep blue, almost purple, and had been the focus of a great deal of admiration. But as she grew into her tall lithe frame, they had faded to an almost arctic blue.

Annabelle wondered if your eyes were the first part of your body to die.

The cold was unrelenting, sinking into her skin like acid. Her tight black Prada jeans and fur-trimmed Gucci jacket were of no help whatsoever. It was making her so tired. And the shrill tones of Madame Glizsnort made her head ache. She leant back against the worn leather headrest, the smell of the damp hide making her queasy.

Before the woman had started screeching at them, Annabelle had been day dreaming about jazzing up Tchaikovsky’s Concerto Number One. Having played it in concerts around the world, it was the one piece of music that had given her spirit the freedom to breathe. Now she was forced to impress the audiences with Rachmaninov, Stravinsky and Sorabji. And she did so unfailingly—it was just that she did so without heart.

When the invitation from the Secret Society for Gifted Teens arrived, Annabelle took it as the perfect opportunity to escape. The couple, who had taken her in, cared only for her exceptional musical ability, taking her thousands of miles away from her own country of England to live in America because that was where the money was. Their lives revolved around her lessons and her endurance. They were grueling task masters ‘for her own good’ and she hated them. Her reward was a large home with every gadget she could ever want but Annabelle had never been interested in things: She had only one wish, but it was, she knew, pure folly.

She didn’t deny that music had given her a focus to help her forget but it had also torn away whatever was left of her tattered childhood. This particular escape had her lying to them, claiming she was attending a very prestigious musical trip and that she needed to attend alone. Despite their protestations, Annabelle’s manipulative mind found an exit strategy. Right now, they were none the wiser and hopefully it would stay that way. This was her chance to pull away from them, and maybe her chance to run—run as far away as possible. It felt like Annabelle had been dreaming of escaping since she was eight. Maybe she could find her real mother? These pseudo parents wouldn’t let her look: ‘It will damage your ability’, they had said. But they didn’t have a clue about what she was really capable of. If they knew about her real gift she would have been dragged around the world and displayed in circuses and freak shows for eternity. No one could find out. Ever.

At least the horrible old woman at the front of the bus hadn’t singled her out with one of her death-stares. In fact she didn’t seem to be interested in Annabelle at all. Maybe the stupid woman didn’t think Annabelle should be here? Yet Annabelle knew her IQ was at genius level—plus she had received straight A’s in all four of her instrumental exams, each several grades higher than was required at her age. And that didn’t include her feats with the piano. Was she being tested? Someone was always pressuring her. Annabelle pushed the memories deep down. Why did people treat her like this? Closing her eyes, she concentrated. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ she whispered to herself, ‘harden yourself; make yourself impenetrable.’

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Santu screwed up his nose to see how bad the damage to his cartilage was. The blood had stopped trickling, probably because he was so damn cold, but it still throbbed relentlessly. He had started to shiver now and his whole body vibrated like he had some kind of nerve disorder. His teeth were chattering and his head ached. Had he momentarily fallen asleep? He seemed to have difficulty remembering the last few minutes: The chill he felt deep inside his brain when Madame Glizsnort had stared at him with those piercing eyes was mind numbing. He remembered having some kind of revelatory thoughts, but they were gone—like ice-shards on a tongue. Santu squeezed his eyes shut. When would this hateful journey end?

Right! came the demanding screech of Madame Glizsnort. We are nearly there. I want everyone to be ready to alight shortly and everyone is to exit the bus in orderly fashion!

‘Exit?’ thought Annabelle. This wasn’t anywhere. And how else did this woman think they were going to exit? There were only 7 teenagers on board—all of which were virtually incapacitated by the cold. A chill of uneasiness swelled inside her. ‘No matter,’ she thought, ‘there isn’t much time for me anyway.’

The speeding bus suddenly came to a complete stop in a matter of seconds. But Santu was prepared this time and held on tightly to the railing. It didn’t stop him hitting his head on the seat rail in front of him but the cold and the already existing headache took care of any further pain.

Unfortunately he was the only one who had done this and there were some angry faces directed at the oblivious Madame Glizsnort.

If anyone had been looking at her instead of smashing themselves into the seats in front, they would have seen that Madame Glizsnort had not moved an inch: She had not swayed; she had not moved her feet to align her balance; she had simply stood perfectly and flawlessly still.

Static Recording No. 126—On Loop

Bitsy. 1908-1916. Ghosted Aged 8.

H ello, my name is Bitsy. They call me that because I like to collect all sorts of bits and pieces. Also, I am very good at putting things together and making them work.

I don’t remember my real name. No one does here. I don’t know how long I have been here. I don’t like it very much but I think it’s safer than the other place. I think I have been here a long time but I don’t know how long.

I am tired. There is no sleep here. There is no eating. There is no time. I miss the things I used to be able to do but I don’t remember what they were.

I want to tell you about my life before I ghosted. I was only 8 you know. And I was very sad and scared. If Oscar hadn’t found me I could have been even more lost. I remember before I came here there was a war and lots of people in the whole world were fighting. Mommy said there had never been a war like it. I couldn’t understand why the whole world wanted to fight. Why should everyone be so angry with each other? I got a bit angry once when mommy wouldn’t let me play out in the rain but I didn’t want to start a war.

I don’t like snow and I don’t like being alone. I was alone when I lost my mommy and daddy. I remember mommy said there was a mass-evacumation or something—I didn’t know what it was but everyone was running away. I made sure my dolly, Poppy, came with us because it sounded scary and I knew she wouldn’t want to be left by herself. Tell them Poppy, tell them about it.

Oh . . . Poppy is shy today but don’t worry, she’ll tell you all about it next time. I can tell it today. We were in a huge crowd and all the people were running. I held on tight to mommy’s hand and to dolly. Daddy looked scared which was bad. I don’t know what happened but suddenly mommy and daddy weren’t beside me anymore. There were so many people. The crowd was pulling me away from them. When I looked back I saw mommy screaming. I think she was screaming at me to come back. I tried. But I just kept being pushed along by the people. It was like that time we went swimming and the ocean pulled me away from mommy. That time she brought me back but this time it was different.

It’s very strange but I don’t remember much after that. There was a bright explosion like a ‘sunburst’. My mommy used to love that word. She would say it in the mornings a lot. But after that my mommy and daddy couldn’t see me anymore.

Then I was somewhere else, I think. Then I met Oscar. It was much better than being alone. And then that scary Shadow came and we hid in this old building. It felt much safer.

Sometimes we play games. My favorite game is Whispers.

I like songbirds. They remind me of my mommy’s voice. I like looking out the window too.

Sometimes I scream like mommy did when I lost her. I think, maybe she might hear me and run against the crowd to come and get me.

At least my dolly, Poppy is with me.

I don’t like being alone. And sometimes it seems really dark here. I keep saying it’s too cold but Oscar says that’s silly. He says if you’re a ghost you don’t feel the cold. I don’t know how he knows so much about being a ghost. I know I’m cold. I don’t like being cold. Neither does my dolly.

I wish there would be a sunburst. My mommy would love that.

~Present day~

~Sub zero temperatures~

~Duel of Honor~

~Duette of Mind~

A fter exiting the bus in as ‘orderly’ a fashion as possible, they found themselves standing in the dark night in a large snow-laden clearing. The clearing was dotted with several dead trees erupting from the icy ground, and was encircled by enormous forest pines lit only by the obscured moon hanging somewhere in the distance. Beyond the ring of trees, a thick opaque mist ebbed back and forth as if it were breathing. One large wooden cabin glowed with dim orange light on the right, which each and every student hoped was the result of a log fire, and another larger structure stood further ahead of them: The expanse in between was covered with compacted ice, the result of enduring snowfall. Far over to their left stood an old pitched roofed building, completely unlit, and looking like it could collapse at any moment. And that was all there was. This was where The Secret Society for Gifted Teens had been sent for their mission: The middle of nowhere.

Your introductions shall take place in the mess hall straight ahead of you, yelled Madame Glizsnort as if they were all 20 miles away. You will have supper and establish relations for 45 minutes before being assigned a bed number and then you will be required to go immediately to your quarters.

Blaze thought this sounded like some kind of military mission. She looked around the group to catch the responses of the others and that’s when she noticed the blood on Santu’s face.

Your nose is bleeding! Oh my god your nose is smashed! This boy has a broken nose! Blaze was shaking her brilliant red hair and pointing a purposeful finger at Santu.

Enough! returned Madame Glizsnort. You will not blaspheme in my presence! His nose is not broken and impudence will not be tolerated. One more example of this behavior and there will be consequences. How did these modern day children get away with such rude conduct? If the redheaded girl only knew her part in all this, she would be concentrating on herself rather than concerning herself with others. Indeed, the truth would be a mighty blow for her and she would, no doubt, need to prepare for it.

Blaze held in her fury, but if anyone had looked into her eyes, they would have seen gold fiery flecks spark across her deep green eyes. Blaze had already decided: She would figure out a way to deal with this woman—and then get the hell out of here.

The students all stared at Santu’s damaged nose but quick bursts of head-shaking and wide-eyed glares from the victim made them all turn back to face their instructor whose complexion had paled even further.

Now, Madame Glizsnort continued trying to sound more strident than she felt. She was well aware that dealing with these children would be very different to what she had been used to and this time she must guide them carefully, perhaps use a more placatory tone. Another mistake would ruin everything. "Please go forth and make your introductions. Your luggage will be placed beside your beds by Bert, she motioned toward the practically comatose young bus driver. Hurry now, before supper gets cold."

‘Cold!?’ thought Annabelle, ‘unless there was a log fire big enough to heat a circus stadium everything would be frozen.’

I said there is to be no insolence!