Stolen Souls: Casey Pope Series, #2

By JB Woods

The dead are restless, and they're reaching out to me whether I like it or not.


I just wanted a fresh start, a new life in New Hampshire with my grandmother and cousin. But the ghosts that surround me have other plans. They're haunting the halls of the nursing home where my cousin, Albie, and I have taken summer jobs. And they're trying to tell me something, but I don't know what it is.


Staff members go missing and no one bats an eye. Seemingly healthy patients disappear on an off-limits floor of the home and no one wants to talk about it. The dead can't talk, but they can show me so much, if I'm willing to let them. 


If I can't figure out who or what is behind the disappearances, I'm afraid I could be the next one to go missing.


My name is Casey Pope, and I see dead people.


Casey is in a race against time. Missing people, stolen souls, and sinister forces may be too much for her to handle. Can she get to the bottom of the mysterious happenings in the strange and secretive nursing home before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JB Woods
• Release date: May 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393224044

JB Woods

JB Woods spends far too much time on the internet. When she's not online, she's probably got her nose in a book or she's binging spooky television programs while her kids are at school. She's a shameless fangirl when it comes to many YA authors and won't apologize for wanting to attend both Brakebills and Hogwarts because you just can't have too much magical education.

Book preview

Chapter One

I knew we’d chosen a crappy hotel when Michael Jackson’s ghost appeared at the foot of my bed. It wasn’t his ghost, exactly. It was an impersonator, not a bad one, by the look of him, but definitely not the real thing.

I never really understood the whole point of celebrity impersonators. I guess some people just want to be famous for something, for anything. It just seems weird to me. I doubt anyone my age really understands the whole point of professional impersonators. Then again, most people my age don’t wake up to the sight of ghosts at the foot of their Holiday Inn Express twin bed, either. Lucky me.

What’s he doing now? My cousin Albie spoke around his toothbrush, foam dripping from his lips as he cocked his head towards where I’d pointed. He didn’t see dead people. Lucky him.

He’s just looking at me. He looks sad. You think I’d be scared of seeing a dead Michael Jackson impersonator so up close and personal, but actually, I felt a little emboldened by the fact that this wasn’t my first paranormal encounter with a ghost. Also, the advice I’d been given by one quirky psychic had proven to be invaluable.

Thelma Lewis, whose mother and grandmother had also been able to communicate with spirits, had told me to talk to the ghosts when I saw them. Treat them like they were still alive, but explain that they weren’t. It was, she said, like talking to a little kid who didn’t understand the rules of Candy Land. I had to break it down for them, to make them feel comfortable enough to try and communicate with me.

The only problem was that I couldn’t hear a word they said. MJ’s lips were moving, but it was like watching television with the sound turned down. He pushed his kinky-curly hair out of his vacant eyes and put his hands over his face. He was wearing a single white glove, a look that I remembered from one of the real Michael Jackson’s music videos my dad had shown me when I was just a little kid.

I’d be sad if I died dressed as Michael Jackson, too. Albie leaned back into the bathroom and spat out his toothpaste. I could hear the water running, then he turned back towards me and our ghostly roommate. So, you think he needs help? Like the others?

I shrugged. In the past week, I’d seen approximately half a dozen spirits, including my own mother, though she hadn’t tried to communicate with me at all. I’d seen the ghosts of two dead girls, kidnapped and murdered just miles from their homes in South Carolina. They’d needed help. They’d helped me stop their killer from hurting another little girl. They’d also stopped the killer from making me his next victim.

I’d seen a couple of ghosts at the site of a horrible car crash. A couple had died when their car left the road and hit a tree. It was a complete fluke that I’d stumbled into them. Albie had stopped the car on the side of the road to check for damage after we’d hit something, a bump in the road that didn’t seem to exist. Maybe the ghosts had caused the car to jerk like we’d hit something, because we couldn’t find anything on the road. But when I’d wandered over to examine the two little white crosses erected by the tree line, I’d seen them.

They looked like they’d just gone for a hike or a stroll through the woods. They weren’t bloody or gross-looking. They looked just like any other people, apart from the emptiness in their eyes. And there was the little matter of them being completely invisible to my cousin. Albie couldn’t see them because he’s not a total freak who died for a couple of minutes, then was resuscitated to discover a creepy new skill that no one really wants to have.

Bear with me if I digress. I swear my brain injury did more than just make me an emotional, irritable girl with the ability to peep dead folks. I think it kind of gave me a tendency to babble on, too. So, back to MJ, as I had begun to think of him.

Is there something I can do for you? Can I help you with something? I felt a little foolish talking to the ghost. After all, I’m not a lip reader. Even if he tried to speak, I couldn’t hear him. But he didn’t say anything. He just seemed to silently sigh, sitting there on the end of my hotel bed.

Maybe we can find out how he died. Albie’s suggestion seemed sensible. If we knew when he died, maybe we could find out.

I looked at MJ. He was definitely dressed as 80’s Michael, not 90’s, but that didn’t really tell us anything. An impersonator could have been dressed for any era. I realized that, although we didn’t have a lot of information to go on, we did have something. We knew where he died.

It seemed that, for the most part, ghosts tended to go back to the place they died. According to Thelma, they could move freely anywhere they wanted, but most of them just stayed put wherever their souls departed from their bodies. Some of them moved around, visiting places and people from their lives. My mother was one of those, apparently. She’d traveled all the way to North Carolina to find Thelma and make sure that Thelma knew to reach out to me.

If I was seeing this ghost now, here in the hotel room, there was a pretty good chance he’d died somewhere near here. Maybe even in this very room. That thought did give me the creeps, but I shrugged off the chills and tried to think rationally. Something inside me wanted to help this poor, lost soul, and I couldn’t do that if I didn’t know how he’d died or what it was that he still needed to do.

Maybe we can ask someone from the hotel. Or Google it, I suggested. I wasn’t too keen on explaining to a stranger why I wanted to know about the dead man in our hotel room, but it seemed like an obvious place to start with an investigation.

Albie had his laptop opened before I could say another word. He grabbed the card from beside the hotel room’s telephone and typed in the address, adding the words dead entertainer for good measure. Just a few moments later, he found what we were looking for. The Plainville Reporter had an article in its digital archives that seemed to answer our questions.

Martin Schlossman, aged 43, died of a massive coronary infarction on July 3, 1999. The article says he was supposed to perform at the city’s 4th of July fireworks program. It doesn’t say a lot else, other than he was from Boston originally. Oh, and he was making his debut as an impersonator. Man, that sucks.

I read beyond the article’s first few paragraphs to the last few lines of text. The newspaper had interviewed Martin’s mother, who stated that he’d been looking forward to performing his entire life. I shuddered, both at the thought that someone’s greatest dream was impersonating Michael Jackson in public, and at the fact that this poor guy’s mom had to bury her son.

You never got to perform in front of people, did you? I turned to Martin, whose sad expression was almost too much to bear. Still, I had an idea of how I might be able to help him. Why don’t you perform for us?

Albie’s eyes widened. You’re serious? He’s going to like, dance and stuff?

Martin’s expression brightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped.

I can’t hear you, I said quietly. But I can see you. You can still perform for an audience, Mr. Schlossman.

Albie quickly pulled up a music app on the computer. Do we want Thriller-era Michael or Man in the Mirror?

I studied Martin’s shiny black pants, leather jacket, and sparkly tee. Beat It. Definitely Beat It.

Albie pulled out his cell phone and passed it to me. Record it. You know, for posterity.

Albie, I don’t think he’ll show up on camera. I mean, I can see him, but I don’t think anyone else can.

It doesn’t matter. It’s for science. And for posterity, he added, nodding in the general direction of where the ghost was now standing. He reached over and pressed the PLAY symbol on the laptop’s screen. Music filled the room, surprisingly loud considering it was coming from the laptop.

Martin began to move with a dexterity I would not have imagined a man his age could have. He kept time with the music, shuffling on his feet and rocking his pelvis just the way the real Michael Jackson had done in the video. He ended with a moonwalk that would have made the real MJ proud. I tried to describe it all to Albie, but it was hard to keep up with Martin’s energy. When he was done, there was a look on his face that was hard to describe, but I knew exactly what it was.

He was proud. He was relieved. And he was finished with his business here at the Holiday Inn Express. Beaming with satisfaction, the ghost stood proudly at the foot of the bed, struck his best Michael Jackson-crotch-grabbing-pose, and disappeared.

I stopped the recording on Albie’s phone. Is he finished? Albie looked around the room as if he hoped to somehow be able to see the man.

Yeah, he’s finished. I let out a little sigh. I hoped that the ghost had found his peace, but I knew it wasn’t always as easy as that. Sometimes, things that seemed to be really simple were really twisted and complicated. My life had proven that more than once in the last few weeks, but I didn’t know how complicated things really could get. At least, not until we finally made it to New Hampshire and our grandmother’s house.

Albie took the phone back from me and pressed the play symbol on the screen. There was nothing there, just an empty space where the ghost had been standing. We watched the whole thing twice. The only weird thing that we saw was a small blurry spot on the screen that might have been moving in time with the music. But it could have just as easily been a smudge on the camera lens. Albie sighed.

Maybe if we had better equipment... He let his words drift off. Albie had always believed in ghosts. I was the one who’d been a sceptic my whole life. It didn’t seem fair that I could see them and he couldn’t, but considering all I’d lost in order to gain this ability, I was glad that my cousin couldn’t see spirits.

I had been shot in the head and nearly died. Actually, I technically did die for a couple of minutes. According to my aunt, it had been touch and go for a few days. Then I’d been in a coma for a few weeks. Once I finally woke up, I was hailed as some sort of miracle girl. I seemed to recover just fine, with no major side effects from my massive head injury except for one tiny one—I could see dead people.

Do you think we’ll run into any more ghosts who need our help on the way to Grandma Katie’s house? Albie sounded almost hopeful.

I sighed. I don’t know. But if we do, I’ll be sure to let you know. Maybe you can even try to record it again, I added, secretly hoping that we wouldn’t have the opportunity, but knowing that the chances of running into more ghosts were a lot better than I’d like them to be.

Chapter Two

Before I had my sort-of-death experience, I’d been a pretty normal, pretty average teenage girl. I had been a cheerleader, but that was mostly because I loved being active and I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps. She’d been a cheerleader in high school, too. Both of us were more of the nerdy cheerleader types, though. Mom had been a numbers girl, whereas I loved history and science. I guess I was bound to be more than a little nerdy since my dad was a teacher and my mom was the branch manager of a credit union.

I was moderately popular back in school. At least, I always thought I had tons of friends, but after my parents died and I found myself in the hospital for weeks on end, it dawned on me that those people were more like acquaintances that actual friends. Albie was my best friend. He’d always been my best friend, I guess, and he was more like a brother to me than a cousin. We were the same age, in the same grade, at the same school. We went on vacations together and teased each other about crushes.

Our ‘Great American Road Trip’ was Albie’s idea. He knew that I needed to get away from our small, suffocating hometown after everything that had happened. You see, my parents hadn’t just died in a car crash or house fire. They hadn’t been killed in a terrible accident. They had been murdered, and I had almost suffered the same fate.

To everyone else in the world, it appeared as though my father had killed my mother, tried to kill me, and then turned the gun on himself. Despite the fact that my father didn’t have a violent bone in his body and he’d supposedly used a gun that no one in our family had ever seen before. I hadn’t seen the police report, but I assumed that there had to have been some sort of evidence that my dad had fired the gun.

The newspapers had run with the story, making it front page news for nearly two weeks. Parents of the kids my dad had taught had made horrible statements about how he’d always seemed odd to them. The credit union where my mom had worked had sent a huge bunch of flowers for her grave, but no one there seemed to know what to say to me whenever they saw me around town. Such a shocking event in a small town was awkward, to say the least.

But they didn’t know the half of it. I’d lived with the horrible idea that maybe my father had done those awful things, at least until Albie and I had met with Thelma. She had lots to say about the situation, most of which she’d learned from my dead mother.

Mom hadn’t tried to communicate with me, at least not in any way that I could understand. I don’t know why I can’t hear the ghosts I see, but apparently Thelma can, and my mother had a lot to tell her. She hadn’t known who had killed her and my father, but my mother’s ghost had been adamant that the killer was still alive and possibly looking for me.

I tried not to think about some random stranger wandering around out there, waiting for a chance to finish what they’d started that day in my house. I never saw who shot me. According to the police and the doctors, I must have been running away when the bullet hit the left side of my head. If I’d have been standing still, it probably would have gone in deep enough to kill me. Just a few centimeters deeper and I would probably be a ghost just like my mom.

Albie had his stuff packed before I did, as usual. He was efficient like that, which both annoyed me and somehow made me feel a little more secure. I don’t think my Aunt Jane, Albie’s mom, would have let us go on this road trip alone if he hadn’t been so responsible. I’m a pretty level-headed person myself, but since the shooting, well, let’s just say that I haven’t been quite as self-reliant as I used to be.

Grandma Katie says we can arrive any day. She said if she’s at work we can just let ourselves in. Albie was reading the message from his phone. I couldn’t believe our grandmother had texted him instead of calling him, but she lived alone and still worked two different jobs in her late sixties. I had only seen her in person a handful of times, but she’d Skyped us regularly when my parents had been alive. I felt like I knew her, but really, I couldn’t be sure what our reception would be like. We’d never been as close as I would have liked since she lived in New Hampshire and my family had lived in Georgia. I hoped that she really would be happy to see us.

After our first stop on our trip, which turned out to be a bigger deal than either Albie or I could have imagined, we had decided to shorten our time on the road. Instead of zig-zagging across the country, visiting every major landmark on the east coast, we’d decided to take a more direct route. We had detoured to Asheville and the Biltmore Estate. And we’d managed a day trip to one of the beaches in Maryland, though honestly, I couldn’t tell you which one it was. We’d stopped in a few small towns, mostly just to shop and eat, but we had made sure to stick to larger chain hotels in busy areas when we needed to stop for the night.

We were almost to New Hampshire and we’d probably make it to our grandmother’s house in a day or two, depending on traffic and Albie’s ability to stay focused. He had a tendency to want to follow those flashy billboards to weird destinations. We’d been to a flea market, an antiques mall, and a giant model railway museum between South Carolina and Massachusetts.

After travelling for nearly three weeks, I have to admit that I was looking forward to sleeping in the same bed for more than a single night. I hadn’t decided how long I would stay at Grandma Katie’s house, but I know Albie was feeling torn. He didn’t want to leave his mother all alone back in Georgia, but he didn’t want to leave me alone, either. I hoped that my grandmother and I got along really well. Then I would feel better about sending Albie back home on his own.

Albie’s trusty green Kia was loaded with stuff we’d brought with us as well as stuff we’d accumulated on our travels. Albie had bought a creepy-looking statue and a reproduction of an expensive vase to give Grandma Katie as a gift. She worked part time at a florist shop, so we both figured she would appreciate the gesture. I bought her a pretty silver mirror and brush set I found in the antiques mall. It looked old but hadn’t been that expensive. I hoped she’d like it.

We left the hotel early, before it got too busy on the road. Lots of families travelling with cars loaded up like ours passed us as we made our way north towards our grandmother’s house in Staunton, New Hampshire. Massachusetts was nice, but I was ready to find some stability, even if it was just for a few months.

Staunton is a pretty, old, quaint town on the eastern edge of New Hampshire. I went there with my family several times when I was younger. In fact, we’d gone most summers until I was fourteen. I’m not sure why we stopped going. Maybe it had something to do with my grandfather’s death—I was twelve when he died. Maybe it was too hard for my Dad to go back to all those memories every year.

I hadn’t really appreciated the history or character of the town back then. Being a typical selfish kid, I was more annoyed that my grandmother didn’t live on the beach and we had to drive there in my grandmother’s smelly old station wagon every time we wanted to see the ocean.

Staunton’s closest to Hampton, so we’d gone to Hampton Beach for our days out. I recalled the beach as crowded and noisy, but as we got closer to Hampton, the traffic actually thinned out considerably. By the time we reached Staunton, on the north side of Hampton, the roads were actually quiet.

Beats the crap out of Atlanta traffic, Albie noted. The sun was starting to get low in the sky when we pulled into the city limits of Staunton. Albie’s GPS app told us that Grandma Katie’s house was only a few blocks away, so we decided to stop and stretch our legs at a little coffee shop on the edge of town.

The coffee shop was quiet, but that’s probably not all that unusual for a Thursday evening. There was a teenage girl sweeping the floor and an older woman behind the counter. They looked very much alike—same dark hair, fair skin, and same hazel eyes—so I assumed they must be mother and daughter.

What can I get for you? The older woman looked tired as she greeted us. Her name tag said Pamela and her apron had a little gold pin on it in the shape of a caduceus, the little wand with snakes wrapped around it. I recognized the medical symbol from my time in the hospital since several of the nurses wore similar pins.

Could we get two coffees please? I turned to Albie to see if he wanted anything else.

And a couple of those muffins? He pointed to a plate with several giant blueberry muffins on it inside a glass display case.

The woman smiled. Great choice. Those are amazing with coffee. I paid her for the food and drinks and took my change.

Are we close to Bradford Lane, by any chance? Albie leaned across the counter and showed the woman the screen of his phone. My maps app says it’s like half a mile away, but there’s nothing on the screen.

Pamela nodded. Uh, huh, it’s not far. It’s just not a main road, that’s all. I’ve got that app, too, and it never shows half the streets. I think it’s a terrible design flaw. But you can’t miss Bradford—there’s a big old oak tree on the corner. Biggest one you’ve ever seen, probably. She smiled and picked up a cloth. You two aren’t from around here, are you?

Albie returned her smile. We’re from Georgia, actually. But our grandmother lives here. Katherine Pope, uh, Katie, we’re going to stay with her for a while.

Pamela eyed the pair of us more carefully. Albie with his dark hair, me with my dirty blonde locks. We only looked minimally alike, despite being cousins.

Brother and sister? Pamela raised one eyebrow in question.

Cousins, I clarified. We might as well be siblings. We were practically raised together and know each other better than anyone outside our families. My dad and his mom were born in Staunton but moved down south when they grew up. Grandma Katie stayed here. We’ve come to visit indefinitely, I added.

I hoped she wouldn’t ask about our parents and how they let us drive all the way across the country at our age. Technically, at eighteen, we were both adults, even though I knew most people thought we looked younger than our real ages. Albie especially—he has this baby face that old people just love to pinch.

Well, you came at a great time, Pamela finally replied. The 4th of July here, we have a really big fireworks display over the beach and people come from all over to see it. Summers are gorgeous here in New Hampshire, but by November, you’ll be missing that southern weather. It gets cold up here along the coast, you know.

She looked over at the teenager who had been sweeping. The girl had her phone in her hand and was tapping out a message on the screen.

Josie, have you swept underneath all the tables yet? Pamela crossed her arms. We could get out of here earlier tonight if you get your work done young lady.

Josie let out a groan. Whatever, Mom. I was just replying to one of my friends. I can’t be rude and ignore them. I suppressed a smile. Josie was obviously not in love with her sweeping job.

You can when you’re working, Pamela chided. Sorry about that. Kids, eh? She shrugged. Are your parents outside? Do you want to take something for them?

My smile melted away and was replaced by an all-too-familiar tension. I knew that I’d have to tell people in town all about my past eventually, but I hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

We’re on our own for this trip, Albie replied. Sort of a test of independence before going off to college. Except we’ll be staying with our grandmother, so I guess we’re not really being that independent, are we? He laughed at himself and took a huge bite of his muffin. Crumbs fell into his coffee cup, but he didn’t seem to mind. My cousin is a walking food disposal unit. I was pretty surprised he didn’t just drop the whole muffin into the coffee for convenience sake.

Pamela glanced at a clock on the wall behind us. I realized that the coffee shop was probably getting ready to close for the night. There probably wasn’t much business for a small town coffee shop in the evening.

It was really nice talking to you, I said, raising my cup in salute. I guess we’d better get going. Grandma Katie is probably waiting on us.

Pamela smiled warmly. Well, you come back here and see us any time. Those muffins are better in the mornings, when they’re fresh from the oven, she added.

We left the little coffee shop and got back in the car. Albie checked the directions on his phone one more time and we pulled out of the parking lot. I could just see Pamela flipping the sign on the shop’s door to CLOSED as we pulled away.

She was nice, I noted.

Albie nodded in agreement. She was. But remember what happened the last time a so-called nice lady gave us baked goods?

I shuddered. I’d never forget the psychotic waitress who’d tried to kill us. She had seemed like such a nice lady, too. I turned my attention to the scenery outside the car, pushing the bad memories out of my mind. I was curious about the place that would be my home for the next however long.

New Hampshire was pretty, even in the evening light. It didn’t seem too different from Georgia, at least, in looks. Of course, we were way closer to the ocean here in Staunton—just a ten minute drive to the beach—but there were tons of trees and shrubs, just like back in our little suburban town.