"Getting rid of ghosts is something else altogether. First, you have to know why the ghost is there and then you have to understand the ghost's problem so you can help it to free itself."
Dash's new house is perfect, an old Victorian, big spacious rooms, long corridors, a huge wine cellar, and a recently modernized kitchen to die for. There is just one tiny little setback, it's haunted. Dash's family doesn't believe him, and neither do his friends, but he knows the ghost is there, and he has to get rid of it before his family's dream house becomes their worst nightmare. Through all the twists and turns of the past, trying to uncover the mystery locking the specter to the house, Dash finds himself slowly befriending the fading memory of what had once been a human boy.
The quote above is a slightly altered piece from Haunting by Joan Lowery Nixon. This story was slightly inspired by it. I actually have been planning it for a while, but reading Haunting actually made me pick of a pen and scribble. Therefore, I dedicate this to JLN, because I can.
The car jolted to the side suddenly, turning the smooth relaxing eight-hour drive from the airport into a bouncing rhythm for near half a minute. Dash's mom cried out from the back seat where she had been naping since they left the city.
"What on earth?"
"Just a few potholes Mom," Dash said, leaning forward to scan the radio for the umpteenth time since they started this last leg. Dash hated that phrase, "last leg of the trip." It always reminded him of amputee stories he heard when he volunteered down at the veterans home. He shuddered, fiddling with the buttons of the rental.
"Stop that." His dad removed his hand from the wheel long enough to swat him. "There's no reception out here for another twenty miles at least." He pointed to a road sign saying exactly how much further the next town was.
"Yeah, and all that will be playing is country and oldies." Dash huffed and fell back into his seat. It really didn't matter what they played, as long as this long silence was destroyed, obliterated, shattered, smashed, ruined! His CD player, yes CD player, he was old fashioned, what of it, had died on him on the plane and he had to listen to the kid seated next to him, because he was the only other teenager on the plane, yammer on about how he should have just got an iPod or something.
Dash had had an iPod once, but two weeks after joining the musical trend he sat down and it broke. At least he could put his CD player in his back pocket and it not break.
Once he got his computer set up at the new house he would just listen to the radio online, simple solution to the bad taste shared by his future neighbors, but it didn't help him now.
He switched the power button on his CD player to ON for probably the same number of times he's fiddled with the radio, seeing if some magical boring-car-drive god decided to bestow his batteries with mystical power. No such luck. The little green light flickered and sputtered in the way dying batteries could only make it do.