A Gust of Ghosts Read Online Free

earth—’”
    â€œThan are dreamt of in my philosophy. I know, I know.” Poppy said. Her parents were fond of reciting this quote from Shakespeare’s Hamlet , especially when she tried to offer a natural explanation for any strange occurrence. “But that was just an owl.”
    â€œPerhaps,” said Mrs. Malone. “Remember, some cultures believe that owls are guardians of the afterlife and that they help souls transition from this plane of existence to the next. I think that seeing that owl is a very good sign. I can feel it in my bones.”
    â€œYou’re always feeling things in your bones,” muttered Franny as she made sure the lens cap was off the video camera. “Remember when your bones told you I’d make the cheerleading squad? Or that I would get an A on my history test? Or that Garrett McCoy would ask me to the homecoming dance? I think maybe we should stop listening to your bones.”
    Mrs. Malone ignored this. “And you know that graveyards have always been lucky for us, Emerson,” she said, giving Mr. Malone a misty smile.
    Mr. Malone stopped twiddling with the knobs on the camera tripod long enough to smile at her. “That’s true. Remember the time we staked out that druid burial ground in Kansas?”
    Her eyes got a dreamy, faraway look. “How could I forget? That was the night you proposed!”
    Poppy knew what was coming next. Quickly, she said, “Um, I think we might need a couple more motion sensors at the base of the angel statue. Dad, can you tell me where you put the extras—”
    But it was too late.
    Mr. Malone bounded across two graves and vaulted over a headstone in order to plant a kiss on Mrs. Malone’s nose. “That was an unforgettable night,” he said gallantly.
    â€œIck!” Franny covered her eyes in horror. “Stop it!”
    â€œFirst you said yes,” Mr. Malone continued, “and then later that night we managed to record the ghostly chant of an ancient druid ritual.”
    â€œI’m not listening to this,” Will called out, putting his fingers in his ears and then humming loudly for good measure.
    â€œWhy don’t we play that tape tonight when we go home?” Mrs. Malone murmured, gazing into Mr. Malone’s eyes. “It’s been so long since we’ve listened to Our Song.”
    Poppy winced. “Please,” she said. “Don’t.”
    When her parents were in this kind of mood, they did more than listen to the tape of the druids (whose tuneless chant made them sound vaguely depressed). They put stereo speakers in the windows, played the tape at full volume, and performed a dance on the front lawn (preferably under a full moon), which involved slowly circling each other and waving their arms mysteriously in the air.
    â€œI’m not sure our new neighbors are ready for the druids,” Poppy added. “Or for the druid dance.”
    â€œIt will haunt their dreams,” said Will. “I still wake up screaming at least once a month.”
    â€œWell, if you children don’t want to hear more about our courtship, I suggest you start lending a hand,” Mrs. Malone said crisply. “Franny, get the extra batteries out of the camera case. You know how spirit activity causes them to run down.”
    Mrs. Malone handed Poppy a voice-activated tape recorder. “I’m going to put you in charge of taking notes,” she said. “We’ll need a record of everything that happens as evidence. If we see or hear anything unusual—a floating light, a sudden mist, an unusual noise—”
    â€œI know, I know,” Poppy interrupted. “I say the date, the time, and what we saw or heard.”
    â€œIs your watch accurate?” asked Mr. Malone.
    â€œI synchronize it to Greenwich Mean Time every morning,” Poppy said, offended. “Of course it’s accurate.”
    â€œGood. Franny, come here and hold