My Stepmom's Ghosts

By Julie Glover

    Glyn's dad remarried. Which is bad enough. But now she and her dad have left their new, quiet apartment and moved into a historic, haunted house. Suddenly, she's sharing space with a stepmom who already thinks Glyn is super-weird and five ghosts with annoying habits and unfinished business.

    Glyn's the only one who can see the spirit realm, and she'd like to keep that fact to herself—if only the stupid ghosts would leave her alone.

A short story of 10,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Glover
• Release date: Aug 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201304188

Julie Glover

Julie Glover is an award-winning author of young adult and mystery fiction. Her debut Sharing Hunter placed in several contests, including the much-touted RWA® Golden Heart® YA. Her follow-up, Daring Charlotte, also a repeat contest finalist, releases later this year. She has also co-authored four supernatural suspense novels and two short stories in the Muse Island series under her pen name Jules Lynn. Julie lives in Texas with her hottie husband, her loquacious cat, and her large collection of cowgirl boots.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Moving Day

This is going to suck . I gaze at the three-story house from the sidewalk and once again curse my father’s decision to move us into his new wife’s home. Sure, the apartment Dad and I shared was small, but our complex was new, untainted. The white wood house in front of me is seriously old.

Cheer up, Glyn. My dad claps his hand on my shoulder. This is a beautiful house, and you’re going to love your new room.

My stomach churns. I can sense them roaming the ancient neighborhood.

But I slip on a mini-smile. For reasons I can’t fathom, my dad’s happy with Joanne, and I want to be happy for him. After six years of missing my mom, he deserves a second chance.

Joanne waves me into the house she inherited and renovated. I follow my stepmother’s bobbing head up two flights of steps, as she marches up the staircase. Your room’s on the third floor, she says over her shoulder. Plenty of privacy up there.

Translation: Far from me.

Thanks, I mumble.

Unpack as quickly as you can. And keep this room neat. Her tone is pinched, unhappy, like I’m the raw-deal part of marrying my father.

Besides her objection to my multi-colored hair and regular attire of black tee, cargo pants, and leather jewelry, I don’t know why she hates me so much. She doesn’t seem to like any kids.

Although at fifteen, I’m not really a kid anymore.

She leaves to help my father get settled, and I shut the door. Blowing out a why-me sigh, I survey the sparsely decorated room. My boxes sit in the center, waiting to be unloaded. My familiar furniture of dresser, bookcase, and nightstand line the walls, but I now have full-sized bed to replace my twin one. I should like this room—the warm golden walls, the wood planks beneath my feet, the sunlight through the two front-facing windows hitting the floor in neat rectangles. The bigger bed, plenty of space for all my books, and room to sprawl out in comfort.

And I would like it, if I could get past the ghost huddled in the corner.

He’s maybe eight or nine, with a thin, rigid line for a mouth but eyes as big as fists. They look like they’ve been hit by fists too, darkened underneath and around. His skin is pale and mottled. And while his hair matches my natural brunette, it’s sticking up and matted in so many places, it’s like he’s got permanent bed-head.

My heart settles in my throat.

Kids are the worst. Their little faces looking lost and hopeful at the same time—as if someone will say their name over a grocery store’s speakers and a parent will come to claim them.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look.

I rehearse the mantra in my head and avoid looking directly at the pajama-clad boy reading a Hardy Boys novel. It’s like playing peekaboo with a toddler: if I don’t acknowledge the ghosts, they assume I can’t see them.

No one else can see them.

Only a freak like me.

I toss my backpack on the bed and get to work. Like it or not, this is now home, and I might as well make this