Diary of a Part Time Ghost (Ghosts & Shadows Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by Vered Ehsani

  Praise for Diary of a Part-Time Ghost

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Free & Discounted Books

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright © 2011 Vered Ehsani

  DIARY OF A PART TIME GHOST

  Ghosts & Shadows #1

  ~~

  By Vered Ehsani

  Books by Vered Ehsani

  SOCIETY FOR PARANORMALS (2015 release):

  The Ghosts of Tsavo

  The Automaton’s Wife

  Revenge of the Mantis

  The Fourth Mandate

  ~

  GHOST POST MYSTERIES

  Lethal Takeout

  Fatal Secrets

  ~

  DRAGON & MYTH

  Dragon’s Mind

  Dragon’s War

  ~

  GHOSTS & SHADOWS

  Diary of a Part-Time Ghost

  Where Shadows Dance

  Want a free book & a lifetime of discounts?

  Find out more at http://veredehsani.co.za

  Copyright © 2012 Vered Ehsani

  All rights reserved

  Praise for Diary of a Part-Time Ghost

  “…a fun, easy, and enjoyable read! It had the right mix of adventure and humor.”

  A Flamingnet.com review

  “It will keep you hooked until the last page and you certainly don’t need to be a ghost or a kid to enjoy it.”

  John Rykken, author of Bloodwood

  “I would recommend this to any YA/Juvenile fiction lovers. It's a light and easy read that will surprise you with all of its twists and turns.”

  turningthepagesx.blogspot.com

  “A very captivating and interesting read, Vered Ehsani has done an excellent job… Genuinely enjoyable…”

  paranormalbookreviews-kelly.blogspot.com

  Praise for Where Shadows Dance

  “This is an awesome book! I love the way Author Vered Ehsani didn't leave my mind hanging for a second. Once I picked up her book I didn't put it down till I was done. Vered opened my mind up to Ghost, I loved it!”

  http://bookreviewclub.blogspot.com/

  “…there are some big secrets that come to light that almost made my head spin. There are so very many ways this series can go that it's really kinda awesome. Fun with a nice historical twist, the idea that negativity breeds more negativity is still alive and well in this installment.”

  paranormalbookreviews-kelly.blogspot.com

  Praise for Dragon’s Mind

  “When Dragon's true nature comes to light, Myth is forced into a fast paced, exciting rescue mission where she must rely on his disembodied voice to save them. A cast of interesting characters, high tech goodies and humorous banter makes this book fun and fast reading.”

  An Amazon.com review

  “I really liked the main character Myth. The story itself was very fast moving. What I liked most was the fun interactions between Myth and Dragon. This book had a lot more humor in it than I expected. I recommend this one if you are looking for a fast fun sci fi read.”

  http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15736525-dragon-s-mind

  “The storyline was very easy to immerse myself in, which enabled me to finish it pretty fast. Very enjoyable, and I will be looking out for the sequel.”

  http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15736525-dragon-s-mind

  Praise for Lethal Takeout

  “I truly enjoyed reading Lethal Takeout and look forward to reading the next installment of The Ghost Post Mystery series. This book is suitable for adults and YA.”

  http://www.booksforreviewbyrobin.blogspot.com

  “I enjoyed this book with its light humor and interesting blend of ghost story and mystery. The dialog between the characters and the interactions between the ghosts and the people was snappy and entertaining.”

  http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15705122-lethal-takeout

  “Just reading the title made me wonder, what could be lethal about takeout? As I read this book by talented author, Vered Ehsani, all my questions were answered. The characters in the story are likeable and eccentric. The storyline is crisp and moves at an enjoyable readable pace. There is humor, which is sometime dark, but will have you chuckling out loud.”

  http://www.booksforreviewbyrobin.blogspot.com

  Chapter 1

  I was dealing with issues: weird dreams, bodiless voices, and my own murder. That’s right: I knew what it was going to feel like to be murdered, and I knew how it was going to happen. These weren’t exactly the typical, puberty-related frustrations my mom was thinking about me venting when she made her suggestion.

  It all started on a typical, predictable night: had dinner; made a snarky comment at one of my three (yes, three!) sisters in response to one of their (numerous) annoying comments; did homework; brushed teeth; said a prayer (“God, help me survive tomorrow without embarrassing myself, please!”); fell asleep. Sounds pretty ho-hum, right?

  Then I had the dream. Again. And it wasn’t one of those dreams that you either forget about or think, “Hm, that was weird,” and then forget about. It was real—really real. It was telling me about my future. My future did not look good.

  The dream started with me stepping into a clearing in the middle of some forest somewhere. The space around me was silent and filled with glowing flecks of swirling snow. There was a key floating in the center of the clearing. That was how the dream always started. Except this time, there was something different, but I couldn’t quite figure out what. So I glanced around, and I was all tense. I knew there was danger—it was always like that—but this time, the danger was closer. I wasn’t a big guy in any direction, just average height and build. So I didn’t have a lot of confidence in fighting off whatever this danger was. My fear was way off the charts. But everything looked like it should.

  “Why am I here?” I asked aloud to the falling snow, like I was going to get an answer. I tried to squint through the falling snow, but my hair was blowing all over the place; it was chin-length, black, and at that moment it was blocking my vision. I pushed it off my face with shaking hand and spun slowly around. Beyond the snow, I could see nothing but glowing fog on all sides. I was waiting, thinking, Why am I here?

  A shadow moved through the mist, so fast I hardly saw it. As soon as I turned to face it, it disappeared abruptly, and all I could see was swirling air. But I could see that it (whatever it was) was circling around the clearing, stalking me. Then I heard it, and frown. Distracted, I tried to hear the voice that shouldn’t be there. I paced around in a tight circle; everywhere I looked, I saw the shadow mirroring me, all the while getting darker, which I figured meant it was getting closer. Then, through the snow, fog, and wind, I heard it again: a whispery voice full of threat and promise.

  “Gifts can be dangerous things.”

  “You’re not supposed to be here!” I shouted, like that’s going to help, but there was no response from the speaker. Instead, something else spoke. It sounded like nails scratching against a chalkboard. It was pretty nasty.

  “I have been
waiting for you.”

  I didn’t get much warning. Mist puffed out rapidly. Even before the shadow moved forward, I kind of knew it was too late, the way you just know things in dreams. I barely had time to shout. It lunged toward me in a dark blur, its face obscured, but I could see the dagger clearly. I tried to twist to the side, but it was no use. The dagger reached me first and plunged straight into my heart. The pain was overwhelming, and I was waiting to wake up, but I didn’t. Instead, I began to die. I felt my heart explode inside me, and my lungs stopped moving, but I didn’t lose consciousness for a few seconds. Instead, I wallowed in pain and in the knowledge that I was going to die and the shadow was laughing at me.

  Then I woke up. For a second, I was dead: my heart and lungs were still not working. And yet I felt the mind-numbing pain. Was I still in the dream? In a lurch, life came back and I screamed.

  I woke up in a dark room—I actually couldn’t remember where I was for a moment—and my hands were clutching my shirt. The place over my heart still hurt.

  “It’s returned,” I whispered. I know: very melodramatic. But very sincere. Shaking, I stared up at the ceiling, breathing loudly. You have to be breathing loudly to hear yourself breathe. And I was thinking, Why now? After years of blissfully dreamless sleep, the dream had returned, but why? And on top of that, something had changed. The stalking shadow, the dark hunter, had never been there before. What had it been doing there, apart from killing me? I actually glanced around my room at that point, as if expecting to see the thing lurking in a corner. That’s how real the dream had felt. That’s how real it was. Of course, I was alone.

  This did not reassure me.

  “Honestly, it’s just a dream,” I muttered to myself and rolled over.

  But here’s the kicker: I knew it was so much more than that. It was my future, I knew that. And there was always the question: why am I here? Always the question, and no answers. I was feeling pretty anxious, having just experienced my murder, so I got out of bed, stepped up to the window, and moved the curtains slightly to one side. Just your basic paranoia, I guess, but oh no. Little did I know the night’s weirdness was far from over and was about to get so much more intense.

  I peered out, searching, and I almost felt the shadow shifting below. I glanced down into the garden, trying to find the source of movement. For a moment, I swear I thought I saw something under the oak tree, but it was nothing. Shivering (and it was not a cold night), I returned to bed and pulled the blanket up to my ears. And then I had a thought (I do have them from time to time): maybe the dream returned because of what happened at school yesterday, like a form of justice.

  I really didn’t want to remember what happened. Truth is, I felt pretty ashamed. That was a nasty thing to feel, but I deserved it. I stood back while a couple of my classmates—not my friends, by the way— picked on the new kid in class. You’d think by high school, we’d be over that kind of stupid stuff, but oh no. I could have said something, I know, but something held me back. Something always held me back. Besides, that was life at our school. That was what I told myself, anyways. So I tried to push the incident out of my mind, and instead thought about the too-real dream.

  Very frustrating. And scary. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe. I knew better, though. Fifteen years of life (at least, my life) had taught me that life was not nearly as normal as I would have liked it to be. But at that point, I closed my eyes, pretended to sleep, and allowed myself a few delusional moments to believe that nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Okay, so there I was, pretending to be asleep, tossing and turning. And then, I actually did fall asleep, in a restless and tiring way. This time, the dream was a replay of yesterday at school. Ouch. Not my choice, I can tell you. In the dream that was really a memory, I was sitting with my friends at lunch, doing a pretty good job of ignoring the new kid being bullied by a couple of big, stupid thugs. We weren’t being mean or anything, just staying out of it, I guess. And I was thinking, What can I really do anyway, apart from getting hurt myself? I know, that wasn’t exactly the noblest sentiment, but I’m being honest here. Maybe I could have tried to talk to the guys, maybe even make them stop. Maybe I could have received a bloody nose for my efforts.

  Stay out of trouble. Not too hard to do, really. I felt relieved when the scene ended, and then I felt guilty. I hate feeling guilty, so I shrugged it all off and followed a couple friends back into the school building. So far, so good. But that was when the dream stopped being a memory and started being a nightmare. Not so good. Light and color drained away from me. It reminded me of waves rushing backward.

  “Does it seem really dark in here?” my dream self asked nervously and shivered in the sudden silence. “This isn’t what happened. Why am I here?” And that was when I suddenly noticed that the crowd of students had vanished and I was standing in a pool of murky light with intense darkness all around. Very theatrical.

  “Where are you?” the screechy voice demanded.

  I recognized the voice from the other dream/nightmare.

  “Ash,” another voice, wavering and whispery, called out.

  “Who’s there?” I demanded weakly, feeling the sharp pain in my chest. It was still a dream, I reminded myself, even though I knew it was more than that.

  “Ash.”

  I woke up again, and I was actually sweating despite the light breeze fluttering through the curtains. A faint glow was beginning to light up the sky, but inside my room, there seemed to be only shadows. Not comforting. And I could still hear the voice.

  Hearing voices—definitely not a good sign.

  “Not again,” I muttered. I tried to sound brave (I’m not sure why, since there was no one around to impress), and I waited for the dream voice to fade away. It didn’t. Instead, I heard the kitchen door rattle. Oh, great.

  “Boomer,” I stated, hoping it was just the neighbor’s dog roaming about. Then there was a knocking sound: definitely not the dog. Reluctantly, I got out of bed and shuffled through the quiet house until I reached the kitchen. Now, if this was one of those horror movies, all of you would be thinking, “Fool! Get back to bed! Don’t open the door! Wise up.”

  I guess I’m not very wise.

  Instinctively, I glanced at the neon clock on the oven: it wasn’t yet 6:00 a.m. Way too early for anyone to be knocking on a neighbor’s door. Then again, the knocking had stopped. I gingerly peered outside through the window of the kitchen door; there was no one. (In a movie, this is when some horrible creature either grabs me from behind or jumps in front of the window, while really loud music blasts out your eardrum.) I could feel the cold of the kitchen tiles seep into the soles of my feet and creep up into my bones. I was blaming the cold kitchen tiles for the creeping up into my bones thing. I was probably just feeling outright terror.

  “Ash.”

  I almost jumped at the sharp whisper. Spinning around breathlessly, I stared toward the window near the sink. Framed in the glass was a hooded face. Yes, just like a movie, without the loud music.

  “Argh!” I screamed just as the hooded figure whispered my name again with greater urgency.

  “Ash, it’s me. Open the door, for heaven’s sake.”

  I stopped screaming. After all, a hideous monster or nasty mass murderer wouldn’t exactly sound like an irritated female relative talking to a boy who is refusing to let her into the house. It also helped that the hood fell back a bit to reveal the bright eyes of my great-aunt Bibi. Gasping, I yanked open the door and waited for her to hobble in. Ignoring my greeting, she pushed past me and into the house and then pulled back her hood and rubbed her face with heavily veined hands.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded anxiously, my heart still thumping loudly.

  “Had any strange dreams lately?”

  I was a little confused. I mean, that’s not exactly the first question that should pop to mind in that particular situation. Then again, my great-aunt was a little unusual, emphasis on unus
ual. I replied, “Funny you should ask.” (I’m thinking, Funny in a weird way, not in a laughing way.) “Just now …”

  Bibi frowned and interrupted me by muttering, “Barely made it, then. Should have come earlier, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s time,” she uttered in a hoarse voice and coughed fiercely.

  “Yeah, it’s time to go back to bed.”

  She patted my arm, making me feel about five years old. “Not quite. First, I have to rest.” Without another word, she collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, laid her head on the table, and promptly fell asleep.

  And that’s how it began.

  Chapter 2

  I was tired, confused, and just a little cranky. And to put the record straight: this diary thing was my mom’s idea. Something to do with venting teenage frustrations in a safe, drug-free way. I had a few of those. Frustrations, that is. Also, I was planning on being a prize-winning writer one day. So I guess she figured this was a win-win: I sharpen my writing skills and vent my inner demons, all without substance misuse and other risky behavior. Initially my typical entry was something along the lines of: “Went to school. Fell asleep in history, again. Spilled acid all over my textbook in the chemistry lab. Scored a goal in basketball—in my team’s hoop; I may have to skip school tomorrow to avoid my angry teammates. Came home. Did biology homework. Blah blah blah.” Not terribly interesting. Well, that was about to change.

  After Bibi’s rather dramatic arrival, I didn’t have a chance to talk with her. Instead, I spent the entire day at school counting the minutes until I could rush home and hear what she thought it was time for. Finally, school was over and I ran home. When I arrived at the kitchen door, my three sisters were already there (how did they beat me home?), sitting at the kitchen table and chattering energetically. I think I already mentioned I had three sisters. I forgot to mention that they talked a lot. And giggled.