The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] Read Free

guilt over the thought. Mom and Dad have never treated me differently or shown favoritism… at least not until now. I guess the brat deservers some attention after all the stupidity I’ve been dealing with.
    I plop down in the arm chair in the corner of the kitchen and feel my bottom lip protrude into a downright pout. Even though I hear the heater kick on, nothing can warm me right now. I’ve moved beyond the winter chill. I’ve bought property in Bitterville where I’m pelted with the cold reality that this Christmas officially sucks.
    No one cares about me, my wants, my needs, my desires. Not that I’m some narcissistic, needy person like Courtney Langdon at school. However, no one has stopped for one second to ask me how I am or what I’m up to. No one’s really thought to focus on how stressed out I am or how I can’t sleep through the night lately.
    Just then, Buckley chases Eleanor through the kitchen playfully and even they don’t stop to pay any mind to me. “Don’t act like I’m the one who fills your magical unending Iams food dishes daily!”
    They continue along in their play. I continue to linger in my angst.
    The wind rattles the kitchen window pane and I hear the pine needles scrape against the glass. I stab the thread through the eye of the needle and roll the end of the strand into a tiny knot. Kaitlin should be doing this herself. Why should I have to be responsible to help out all because I’m the oldest and happen to have taken an embroidery class three years ago?
    I plunge the needle into the fabric and straight into my index finger.
    “Crap!”
    A scarlet ooze of blood clouds out of my skin.
    And just like that, no good deed goes unpunished.
    See what I mean? Bah-freaking-humbug.

S TANZA 2: A C HEERLEADER’S G HOST
     
     
    I rummage through the junk drawer in the kitchen to try and find a Band-Aid from this century.
    “Stupid Kaitlin,” I mutter again, sucking the fresh blood off my finger.
    As I roll the bandage around the reddened pin prick, I muse on how I ought to be happy in a million ways, like the song says. I usually adore Christmas, especially Christmas Eve. It’s just that everything is so… stupid right now. Sure, we’ve got this massive evergreen in the living room decorated to the hilt with all of the ornaments Kaitlin and I handmade over the years—from pathetic macaroni, yarn, and glue art, to more sophisticated painted clay shapes—but where’s the snow? Where are the mittens, scarves, and boots? There’s no hill covered in ice to slide down. No frozen-over lake to skate on. Instead, Mom has a few logs burning in the fireplace to try and institute a genuine holiday experience. I shake my head at the ridiculousness of it.
    As I sit back and return to stitching Kaitlin’s dress, the door of the house bursts open. Buckley lets out a loud mewl and I hear the human mimicking of the kitty language.
    “A merry Christmas, Kendall! God save you!” cries out my best friend, Celia Nichols.
    “It’s not Christmas yet,” I say in my best Scrooge voice.
    Celia twirls—yes, she twirls—into the kitchen so quickly at me, I barely have the chance to prepare for the over-the-shoulder hug she layers on me.
    “A merry Christmas eve-eve, Kendall,” she corrects.
    “Seriously. Bah humbug.”
    She harrumphs at me. “You took Mr. Rorek’s Dickens assignment too literal, K. School’s out, we’ve got two weeks of vacay, and life is good.”
    I slice my eyes up at her and glare. “For you, maybe.”
    “Oh, you don’t mean that.”
    Mid-stitch, I say, “Yeah, I do. Why are you so frickin’ merry?”
    Celia pushes her black hair behind her ears and smiles at me. Not just a normal run-of-the-mill-happy grin. No, it’s one of those movie star, up-on-the-silver-screen type of glints that tells me she’s got something to share.
    “What?”
    Like a giddy girl, she says, “Jason gave me my Christmas present early.”
    A weak smile crosses my face. Not because Celia’s now