The Clackity (Blight Harbor) - Hardcover

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Lora Senf is a writer of dark and twisty stories for all ages. She is the author of The Clackity, Bram Stoker Award winner The Nighthouse Keeper, The Loneliest Place, and Pennies. She credits her love of words to her parents and to the public library that was walking distance from her childhood home. Lora finds inspiration for her writing in her children’s retellings of their dreams, on road trips through Montana, and most recently while reminiscing about summer days spent on her bike. She lives in eastern Washington with her husband, their twins, and two remarkably lazy cats. Visit her at LoraSenf.com.

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Chapter 1

1

There was no shortage of otherworldly concerns in Blight Harbor, mainly because it was the seventh most haunted town in America (per capita).

Nearly everyone had a ghost living in their house or knew someone who did. And we all steered clear of the pair of seats in the movie theater that were always taken, and the streetlight on Derry Road that flickered if you stood under it at night and told a lie. There was the mirror in the town hall foyer that refused to reflect anything, which worked out just fine, because we were all pretty sure the mayor was descended from a long line of vampires on her maternal grandmother’s side (although the mayor’s husband was a regular guy named Steve). There were a hundred other things about Blight Harbor to worry about if you weren’t used to them, but most of them were basically harmless. Most of them, anyway.

Which is why it was so strange that the only things bugging me this morning were the ordinary kind—as in (a) how late I was going to be to my summer job volunteering at the library, and (b) how completely frustrating my aunt Desdemona was acting over breakfast.

It wasn’t as if we didn’t both have places to be. Aunt Des had ghosts to dispel or poltergeists to ward off or something, and I had to get to the library. But she insisted we sit down for eggs and toast, which meant we were both going to be late. Being late was on my list of things that made my hands get all sweaty and my leg bounce like it had a mind of its own. I mean, it was nowhere near heights, but lateness was somewhere between tight spaces and public speaking. Since I didn’t like sweaty hands and fidgety legs, I was pretty much never late for anything.

So I sat waiting for the toast to pop, steaming just like my eggs under their fogged-up frying pan lid, and opened Friday’s newspaper to the third page of the Community section. There it was: top right-hand corner, like clockwork: Dear Desdemona: It’s Not a Ghoul, It’s a Gift. Aunt D’s advice column had been running for a couple of months, and almost immediately it had expanded from space available to twice weekly. Even after living their whole lives in Blight Harbor, there were still plenty of people who couldn’t figure out how to solve their supernatural problems on their own, which meant there were plenty of letters and emails coming in for Aunt D.

Over the top of my newspaper, Aunt D finally handed me toast, soggy eggs, yogurt, and a cup of tea, all balanced on a china plate that felt like it might fall apart if a bell rang too loudly. At the sight of the weak tea, I sighed dramatically. “Can I please have coffee?” Not that Des ever actually let me drink coffee, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

Aunt D shook her head without even looking at me. “Evelyn, tea is much more interesting than coffee. A good cup of tea makes you more centered. Coffee just jangles your nerves and makes you unpleasant.” Aunt D put a hand on my bouncing knee to calm it and raised a See what I mean? eyebrow at me. “Besides, you’re too young.”

“Well, you’re like, fifty, so you shouldn’t drink coffee because it will keep you up past your bedtime.” It wasn’t my best comeback, I know.

Aunt D turned to me in mock horror. “Evelyn Von Rathe! I will have you know I am turning forty-six next month. Which makes me nearly four times your age, which means…”

“… you are four times wiser, and I should listen to your sage advice,” I finished for her. I’d heard it a million times. I loved my aunt Des for lots of reasons, including how predictable she could be when she was in full-on Responsible-Adult-in-Charge mode. I also loved how easy it was to tease her about it.

“Correct.” Aunt D sat down on the chair to my right. “How’s the paper this morning?” Her big brown eyes actually sparkled in the morning sun. Sometimes she was like a cartoon character—a really annoying one who believed in hearty breakfasts.

“Hold on. I’m getting to the good part.” I pulled the paper up higher so I didn’t have to watch her watch me read.

The day’s column went like this:

THE BLIGHT HARBOR HERALD

Dear Desdemona,

I’m in a bad spot and need your help! When I relocated to Blight Harbor, I was unaware of the town’s reputation. Since moving into my new house, I’ve seen things shifting out of the corner of my eye, but they’re gone when I try to look at them. I hear sounds, maybe people, moving in empty rooms. I feel breezes when the windows are closed. Desdemona, I live alone and have no pets, but I think I might have ghosts! I’m convinced my house is haunted. I am so scared I can’t sleep, and I’m keeping lights on around the clock. Please help!

Sincerely,

Afraid of the Dark

Dearest Afraid,

All the events you describe are classic signs of a domestic haunting. Without having visited your home, I feel quite comfortable confirming that your house is, in fact, infested. Such signs lead me to believe there is more than one specter, and while I have no reason to assume your otherworldly housemates are threatening, I encourage you to research the history of your home and the land beneath it. If more than two murders occurred there, you may have something to be concerned about.

Please know this: there is no reason to fear the dark. Any paranormal being wishing to harm you in the nighttime is just as capable of doing so during the day. And electric lights make absolutely no difference. Night simply heightens our senses, and often our fear, making us more sensitive to the supernatural. Night is not to be dreaded any more, or less, than the day. I suggest a soothing cup of tea before bed, and perhaps leave one or two cups out for your roommates.

I hope this brings you great peace and allows you to sleep more soundly.

Welcome to Blight Harbor.

Kindest regards,

Desdemona Von Rathe

After I finished the column, I rested the paper on the table next to my breakfast. “It’s pretty good.” I was actually super proud of Des—she never seemed afraid of failing or of what other people might think about her. I kept hoping some of that confidence would rub off on me, but I was too irritated about running late to tell her any of that right then.

Aunt D’s carefully shaped eyebrows nearly touched as concern scrunched her face. “Just ‘pretty good’? Hm. Did I come off too stuffy or formal? I really wanted to address the seriousness of the concern without overdoing it. People can be so sensitive about their otherworldly conditions.…”

“No, no, no.” Dang it. Not only had I hurt her feelings, but I was going to be extra late to the library if this kept on. My hands were getting clammy just thinking about it. “No, it was good. It was great, actually!” (I was really trying here.) “I’m sure Afraid feels tons better about moving to Blight Harbor.”

“Thank you, Evie.” Aunt Desdemona smiled distractedly as she put her long-nailed fingers in my hair. They got stuck as she tried to comb through. “Can we at least brush your mane before you go?”

“No time.” I jumped up, shoving toast dipped in strawberry yogurt into my...