Posted in The Ghosts of Springhollow


The next morning, the girls decided to investigate Grandma’s upstairs. “Turd,” asked Pickles. “Why did you push Grandpa down the stairs?”

“Me? It wasn’t me!”

“Then what happened?”

“About six months ago, there was a boat fire on the river, just beyond the woods. An old captain and his grandson lived on the boat and died in the fire. Neither of them wanted to leave the river area, so they moved into my house. I was fine by that. I liked the idea of having company.

The first week everything was fine. Then, for some reason they started throwing things, and causing all kinds of havoc. They wanted the house to themselves. Grandpa came upstairs to see what all the camotion was about, and they pushed him back down the stairs. It happened before I could stop them. Then, they threw me out. I’ve been living in the old cellar here in the woods ever since.”

“Wow. Are they really that mean?” asked Piper.

“Worse. You can’t go up there. They’ll hurt you.”

“Do you think they possessed Grandpa, and that’s why he shot at us?” asked Pickles.

“No. Your Grandpa has been a whack-a-doodle for over a year now.”

“But it’s still possible.”

“No, it isn’t. I was watching his eyes. No one else was there. Plus, the other two ghosts never leave the house. It’s like they’re afraid if they do, I’ll take over again and find a way to keep them out.”

“Well, I say we go have a look,” said Pickles.

“Indeed,” said Piper. “We need to confront the enemy head on, and then we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

Turd shook his head. “I promised your father I’d watch you till he got here.”

The girls laughed. “Oh, please, Turd,” said Pickles. “Dad knows what we’re like.”


My name is Yochana, or Yo, for short. Growing up on a farm in southeastern Ohio was pretty lonely, so books and art became my best friends. I wrote my first piece of "fan fiction" in fourth grade. It was based on the movie, "The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman," starring the late Cicely Tyson. That same school year, I wrote a poem that my teacher sent off to a publisher friend. He told her to give me a few years. A little over 20 years later, my poems were published. That to me was a few years. Since then, I've been a reporter who horrified the editors with my grammar skills, wrote for campus publications, written humorous company training manuals, and have written three books. These days, I'm back on the farm taking care of my mom, and living in a '95 Jayco Eagle Mini-motorhome with my cat, Lillie, and three grandkittens. (Thanks, Lillie.)

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