Mr. Ingersoll died from a heart attack four years ago, but that didn’t stop him from drifting into the Happy Horse Convenience Mart every morning to ask Charlie if the coffee was ready yet.
“Pour me a cup, won’t you, kiddo? All black. None of that decaf stuff,” said the ghost of Mr. Ingersoll, who looked exactly like the living version of the fifty-six-year-old German American, from the bald head to the spotless slacks that he’d worn to his job of three decades, running the Button & Sew dry cleaners on Pepper Street. “I’ll take one of your mom’s tea eggs, too. Big day ahead, you know.”
Charlie glanced up from restocking the ramen noodles. His family had run the Happy Horse for eighteen years, and it was his job to take the early shift until he caught the city bus to his private school on the other end of town. The store was quiet at this hour, and Charlie was alone, save for Mr. Ingersoll, who showed up at 6:03 a.m., like he’d done when he was alive. Ghosts were predictable like that, even if it meant ordering a coffee and Chinese tea eggs that they could no longer touch or consume.
Charlie had been able to talk to ghosts for as long as he could remember. It was a trait passed down on his mom’s side of the family, although it tended to skip a generation, which explained why he and his grandma could see Mr. Ingersoll, but his mother could not. It’s a gift, his parents often reminded him. You’ve been given a great honor.
But Charlie wasn’t so sure of that. Most of the time, his “gift” made him feel like a weirdo.
Mr. Ingersoll waved a hand in front of Charlie’s face. “Don’t tell me you forgot! The gates are opening tonight, remember?”
“I know,” sighed Charlie.
The gates of heaven and hell, of course.
He hadn’t forgotten; he just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.
Every year it was the same. During the seventh lunar month, the underworld’s shadowed entrance would break open and allow spirits to roam the earth. Charlie’s grandma had told him everything when he was a little kid, explaining that there were different types of ghosts. Some were friendly, like Mr. Ingersoll, who remained on earth to watch over loved ones, while others entered the underworld after death, eager for a long rest. But sometimes those ghosts would grow bored. A few even became angry, due to past slights or regret. As soon as the gates reopened, they would rush back to earth, and it was the Mas’ job to placate them with food and entertainment—but not all could be appeased by a juicy pear or Chinese opera.
“Did your grandma order enough mangos for the festival?” asked Mr. Ingersoll. “Her shaved ice always sells out fast.”
Charlie glanced at the poster hanging on the door, which announced the store’s annual Hungry Ghost Festival, just four days away. It used to be Charlie’s favorite holiday, from the puppet shows at the community center to the paper lanterns that his mom hung outside and to the food—especially the food. Sautéed pea shoots. Roasted duck. Pineapple cakes that fit into the palm of your hand. Then there was his grandma’s shaved ice with all the toppings—chopped mangos, condensed milk poured on thick, and her famous mung beans in sugary syrup. He could eat a whole bowl of those.
“You’re sure your grandma can handle everything in her condition?” Mr. Ingersoll went on.
“I think so,” replied Charlie, although he wasn’t sure at all. A month ago his grandma had gotten clipped by a Honda Civic—Waipo had cursed out the driver even as the paramedics treated her—and she had been laid up in bed with a broken foot ever since. Despite doctors’ orders, she was still taking customers at her astrology business, but over the phone instead of in person.
Mr. Ingersoll drifted closer, and the whiff of a campfire drifted into Charlie’s nose. Ghosts always smelled like smoke to him.
“What will we do if a ghost gives us trouble?” asked Mr. Ingersoll. “Your grandma always handles them, like that time four years ago.”
Charlie shuddered at the memory. On rare occasions, a spirit would arrive from the underworld inconsolable, desperate to fix something that they couldn’t fix in life. Their pain—so sharp—would eventually affect the living, and only Waipo knew how to help them.
“We’re going to need your help. Your grandma can teach you,” said Mr. Ingersoll.
Charlie ducked down his head. His parents had been hinting too that he should take over Waipo’s spiritual duties, but he changed the subject every time they brought it up. Over the summer he’d gotten a full ride to Alabaster Prep, one of the top five high schools in the state. None of his new classmates knew about the old Charlie Ma, the one with the glasses and the scrawny build of a scallion, not to mention the odd family. He wore contact lenses now, and he was lifting weights at the Y three nights a week. And nobody teased him about his eccentric grandma, because none of them had met her.
Charlie winced at his own thoughts. He loved his waipo so much, but he wished that she wasn’t so different.
That he wasn’t so different.
“There’s something else,” Mr. Ingersoll pressed.
Charlie pretended not to hear and rang up a girl at the register buying a tin of black tea and a jar of kachampuli. He hated ignoring Mr. Ingersoll, but if he wanted to fit in, he couldn’t keep whispering to dead people.
Mr. Ingersoll, however, wasn’t going away. As soon as the customer left, he said, “Listen to me, kiddo. I’ve heard that there’s a ghost already at the gates, screaming to get out of the underworld and into this one.” He leaned closer, the campfire scent overwhelming. “They’re calling it the Slender One.”
A chill nipped down Charlie’s spine. He had never heard of a spirit doing that before.
“Our families could be in danger. We need your help, Charlie,” Mr. Ingersoll said.
I can’t. I’m sorry, Charlie thought, but he said instead, “We’ll talk later, okay?” He shrugged off his apron to reveal his uniform underneath, and he yanked open the door that led to his apartment upstairs.
“Ma! Ba! I’m leaving,” he said in Mandarin.
His mother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Did you eat yet? Waipo is asking for you.”
Guilt tugged at Charlie’s gut, but it wasn’t enough to get him up the steps. “I’m going to be late,” he said before bolting.
“Charlie!” his mom said. “When will you get home?”
“Charlie!” Mr. Ingersoll said. “What about tonight?”
Charlie didn’t turn around. If he wanted to become the new Charlie Ma, then he had to leave the old one behind.
The city would be fine.
That’s what he told himself anyway.
* * *
Forty minutes later, Charlie hurried onto Alabaster’s pristine campus and headed to the next meeting of the Cultural Exchange Club. He’d signed up for the early morning club to round out his extracurriculars, but the reason he kept coming back had nothing to do with college applications.
Charlie claimed a seat in the Latin classroom, where the club was held, while the club’s president, Andie Bellin, jotted notes in her bullet journal. She finished her s’mores Pop-Tart while a few more members trickled in.
“Let’s get started!” said Andie. She was a sophomore, like Charlie, who always wore her brown hair tied with a ribbon. “I had to cancel our service project at the Rowbury West Library because its basement got flooded, but—”
“Sorry, I’m late!” A petite girl glided in, with her blond hair flowing behind her like a cape. Every male in the classroom straightened at Helen Overton’s entrance, including Charlie, who silently cheered when she sat next to him. “What did I miss?”
“Fortunately, not much,” Andie said with a smile and a little shake of the head, like she was used to Helen’s tardiness. The two of them had grown up together on the same block of historic brownstones in northeast Rowbury. “Anyway, I signed us up for a new service project. . . .”
Andie kept talking and passed around a stack of flyers, but Charlie wasn’t listening. With Helen sitting so close, he could smell her shampoo, and it smelled like coconuts.
“Hey, did you finish our pre-calc homework by chance?” she whispered, leaning toward him with her bright eyes locked onto his.
Charlie’s pulse thrashed. He managed a nod.
“Could I borrow it? I forgot my textbook at my dad’s place and—”
Within seconds Charlie had handed over his worksheet. It was against school policy to copy homework, but Helen’s parents were getting a divorce, and her grandmother had died unexpectedly last spring break. It made total sense that she needed a little academic boost.
Helen’s smile brightened a few watts. “You’re the best, Charlie Horse.”
Something twinged inside Charlie. Something sharp. His last name meant “horse” in Chinese, and the ensuing nickname had followed him from his old school to this new one, thanks to the many students enrolled in Mandarin. But with Helen smiling at him and smelling like a tropical beach, he decided to let it go.
Andie cleared her throat. “We can meet at the community center around eleven thirty. We’ll help the kids make dumplings, so wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”
Just then, the fliers reached Charlie’s desk, and his face paled.
The 14th Annual Hungry Ghost Festival
Hosted by the Happy Horse Convenient Mart & the Hungry Heart Row Community Center
It was the flier that his dad had posted on the store’s website. Andie must have found it and printed it out.
The Cultural Exchange Club was volunteering at the festival.
His classmates would be going to his neighborhood.
Helen would see where he worked, where he lived.
She might even run into Waipo.
A soccer player named Ross snickered in his seat. “Do you think they’ll sell dog meat at this place? I’ve always wanted to try golden retriever.” He barked twice, and three freshmen girls giggled.
Charlie flushed red. Say something, his brain shouted at him. Tell Ross to eff off. But his mouth felt mealy, and all he could do was slide down in his chair.
“That isn’t funny, Ross,” Andie said tightly, her voice cutting through the laughter.
The classroom went quiet.
Ross waved her off and motioned at Helen. “Back me up, Hel. I was kidding!”
Helen glanced up from Charlie’s homework. “Don’t drag me into this, please.”
“And don’t bother coming to the festival if you’re going to say ‘funny’ shit like that again,” Andie added. She flicked a sympathetic glance at Charlie, and he wished he could disappear into thin air. Poof, like Mr. Ingersoll. But he wasn’t a ghost, so he had to sit there and stew, wishing he had the courage to punch Ross in the nose.
As soon as the bell rang, Charlie was ready to run across campus, but Andie walked up to him first. “Sorry about what happened earlier. I told Ross not to come to our meetings anymore.”
Charlie’s cheeks turned pink. “No worries,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.
Beside them Helen laughed nervously. “Don’t let it bother you, Charlie Horse.”
Charlie winced again at the nickname, but then she gave him a little side hug when she returned his math homework, and he forgot what he was thinking.
“I know you two have to run to class, but can you make it to the service project?” Andie asked, thumbing through her journal.
Charlie glanced at Helen and thought, Please be busy, please be busy.
“Totally! We should carpool, Andie,” said Helen before she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strolled out.
Charlie’s heart wilted. This meant that Helen would see him wearing his bright orange festival T-shirt and ringing up orders on Saturday. She would undoubtedly notice Waipo, too, talking to the empty air while insisting that she was chatting with a ghost.
“What about you?” Andie asked him. “Can I put you down as a yes?”
“No!” he said too forcefully before he dialed himself back. “I mean, I have to work.”
“Gotcha.” Andie reassured him with a smile, revealing two dimples on her cheeks. “Where do you work, by the way?”
The warning bell rang, and Charlie hustled out the door with a wave instead of a reply. His American history class was on the other side of campus, so he urged his legs faster, pumping them into a sprint and trying not to think about his worlds colliding in four short days.
If he went fast enough, maybe, just maybe, he could outrun the shadow of his old life.
* * *
After school let out, Charlie spent the commute plotting ways to hide from the Cultural Exchange Club during the festival. His armpits felt damp. He didn’t know how to separate his school life from his home one, and once they crashed into each other, he was sure it would be a catastrophe. Helen would think he was a freak.
As he turned onto his block, he was so miserable that he didn’t look up until he got to the store. He reached for the door, dreading the restocking he had to tackle, but it was locked.
His eyes shot up.
The Happy Horse never closed early, not even on Chinese New Year.
Within seconds, he’d unlocked the door and run up to the apartment. His mom was in the living room, pacing.
Questions tumbled out of Charlie’s mouth. “Why’s the store closed? Why didn’t you call?” His gaze skidded toward his grandma’s bedroom. “Is Waipo okay?”
The corners of his mother’s mouth tightened. “She fainted earlier.”
“She what?”
“She snuck outside when I was at the bank. The girl from Pop’s Deli found her on the sidewalk. Baba and I took her to see Dr. Gupta, and he’s getting her prescriptions now.” She sighed. “Waipo will be fine, but only if she rests.”
Charlie released a tight breath. “Where was she going? To see a customer?”
“She wouldn’t tell me, but it must have something to do with the gates.”
“But they’re not supposed to open until tonight—”
A familiar voice called out from his grandmother’s room. “Charlie-ah?” Waipo said crisply. “Bring me some water.”
“You need to sleep, Ma!” said Charlie’s mother.
“Send in my grandson. With my water,” came the reply.
Mrs. Ma frowned but knew there was no use arguing. So she filled a mug with water from the kettle and handed it to her son. “Tell her to rest. Please.”
Charlie entered Waipo’s room, which was barely big enough to fit a bed and a dresser. The walls were empty, aside from a Chinese zodiac calendar that his grandmother had picked up for free somewhere, but the space had always felt cozy to him instead of cramped.
Waipo lay in bed, one foot propped on a pillow. She was tiny, even more petite than Helen, and her permed hair had long since turned white. She wasn’t alone, either. Mr. Ingersoll stood at her bedside.
“It was the Slender One,” Mr. Ingersoll announced as soon as Charlie came in. “Your grandmother went out to face it. Alone.”
“Puh, don’t scare him!” said Waipo in accented English. She beckoned for Charlie to claim the folding chair next to her bed. “Sit, sit.”
Charlie didn’t move, though. “The Slender One was here?”
“It slipped out of the gates somehow,” Mr. Ingersoll explained, hands on hips and pacing. “Thank God it didn’t stay for long. It stalked off somewhere, but your grandmother got hurt nonetheless. What were you thinking, Shirley?”
Waipo frowned furiously at him. “Ai-ya, I was out for two seconds! Doesn’t even count.”
“Tell Charlie what it looked like,” said Mr. Ingersoll.
“This type of ghost? Always the same.” She shrugged and patted her throat. “Long neck.”
“Like the one four years ago,” Charlie whispered. He shivered at the memory. The hungry ghost had looked like an ordinary businessman in a pinstripe suit from the collar down, but its neck had stretched into a frighteningly thin arc, with its head dangling at the end and its mouth wide and toothless. Waipo had tried every trick to appease it—burning incense, offering paper money—but nothing worked until she pored over the local obituaries. That was where she found a photo of an Italian-American chef, wearing a pinstripe suit and standing outside his Sicilian restaurant. He had drowned in a boating accident, leaving behind a husband and a young daughter. That gave Waipo the idea to offer the ghost a platter of caponata, the restaurant’s specialty. The gamble worked, and the chef had moved on, but the ordeal exhausted Waipo for days. She couldn’t repeat that in her current state.
Waipo, however, wasn’t flustered. “Don’t worry so much. It gives you pimples, Charlie.”
“You should let us worry,” Mr. Ingersoll said. “You can’t keep the city safe on your own. You have to teach Charlie what to do.”
Charlie froze under their gazes. He wanted to be a good grandson, but he couldn’t do what Waipo did every seventh lunar month. She was the one who sought out the unhappiest ghosts, the ones who knocked over trash cans and made the neighborhood lights flicker. She would talk to them and puzzle out what pained them. A ghost who died brokenhearted might need the comforting aroma from a pot of chicken ginseng soup. A soul who died estranged from his children might be soothed with an offering of Waipo’s pineapple cakes. When Charlie was younger, he would join her on her excursions, and he’d feel a glowing pride whenever they helped a spirit find peace.
But he was older now. Almost sixteen.
Was it so wrong for him to want to be normal?
Waipo cleared her throat and said to Mr. Ingersoll, “Charlie needs to focus on school. He worked so hard to get into Alabaster.”
Charlie looked up, surprised, while Mr. Ingersoll swooped in to protest.
“He can study hard and protect the city.”
“If the Slender One returns, I’ll be ready,” replied Waipo.
Shame crept over Charlie. He couldn’t ask her to placate a hungry ghost alone. “Hold on—”
“Do your homework like a good boy. I need to talk to Mr. Ingersoll.”
Charlie knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he shuffled out. As he shut the door behind him, he thought he’d feel relief. Waipo had given him the go-ahead to concentrate on school—on his new life, on the new Charlie.
This is what you wanted, he reminded himself.
But he never thought that getting his wish would leave him feeling so awful.
* * *
The day of the festival arrived before Charlie knew it. By five in the morning he was tossing on his orange festival shirt; by seven thirty he was setting up catering tables on the sidewalks; and by ten forty-five he was starting up the shaved-ice machine while telling a guy visiting from Montenegro that the event wouldn’t start for another fifteen minutes.
His mother brushed past him with a tray of noodles in hand. “Remember to set out three bowls for the spirits like Waipo does,” she said.
“I will, Ma,” said Charlie. His parents had decided not to sell their usual pineapple cakes—because none of them could bake like Waipo did—but the shaved ice was still a go, and the responsibility fell to Charlie this year.
As he adjusted the machine’s settings, he glanced guiltily at his grandmother’s window. His mother had slipped a sleeping pill into Waipo’s tea the night before. Charlie didn’t like being sneaky, but his mom held firm. She told him that Waipo would never get better if she didn’t take it easy.
After Mrs. Ma hurried off, Charlie tested the shaved ice and glanced at the spirits drifting into Hungry Heart Row. They’d been pouring in since dawn, wandering through the stalls that each participating restaurant had set up, clustering around a fragrant Crock-Pot of ash-e-reshte and platters full of pumpkin tamales. Across the street, Lila from the local pastelería was unboxing dozens of conchas and novias, each one more brightly colored than the last.
Charlie got to work setting out the fixings. Assembling a bowl of shaved ice was a lot like making an ice cream sundae. Just replace the ice cream with slivers of ice and cover them with toppings that take on a special Asian flair—grass jelly, chunks of mango or sliced strawberries, and Waipo’s mung beans in syrup. He and his mom had spent the night preparing the mixture, but they couldn’t get the recipe quite right. The beans were a little too firm and a touch too sweet. They lacked Waipo’s expert touch.
Guilt sliced through Charlie like a chef’s knife. He wouldn’t have to worry about Helen bumping into his grandmother today, but thinking that only made him more miserable. He’d never celebrated a Hungry Ghost Festival without her before.
Soon, the first batch of festivalgoers arrived, and he was scrambling to get the silverware in place when two customers stopped at his table.
“Is this dessert? I love mangos!” said a voice that sounded very familiar.
“I’m not sure. What’s that black jiggly stuff over there?” said another voice that made Charlie’s heart take off sprinting.
He thought about ducking into the store really fast, but that was when Helen noticed him.
“Charlie Horse?” she said, confused. “Is that you?”
Charlie’s face went up in flames as he turned around to face her and Andie. He thought he was prepared to see them, but not this early. He’d even gone over what he would say, Oh, I’m helping out with the festival, capped with a nonchalant shrug, but now Helen was here, looking like a pretty summer’s day in a flowy sundress.
“Is this where you work? You should’ve told us! We wanted to come before the service project started to look around,” Andie said. She peered down at the festival flyer she was holding and glanced up at the Happy Horse sign. Something seemed to click in her eyes. “Oh! It says here that the Ma family has been hosting the Hungry Ghost Festival for over a decade. I didn’t realize that you were related.”
“So neat,” Helen said weakly as she looked at the various food stations. Charlie couldn’t help but notice that her nose scrunched at the sight of the stewed chicken feet sold at the Emperor’s Way food stall, a dish that the restaurant made especially for the festival.
Maybe she doesn’t like spicy food, Charlie thought, but that felt like an excuse.
Andie motioned at the shaved ice. “So how does this work? Do we choose the toppings?” She elbowed Helen to take a bowl too, but Helen blinked at the mung beans and shook her head.
“Gosh, I’m not hungry,” said Helen.
“You said you were starving on our way down here,” Andie teased.
“I totally did not!” Helen said with a nervous laugh, the same one Charlie had heard when she tried to brush off Ross’s racist joke.
Something deflated inside him. Helen had looked at the mung beans like they were mung beans. She wouldn’t even try a bite.
More festivalgoers streamed onto the block, and Charlie told himself to get to work. He explained each of the toppings to Andie, from the condensed milk to the grass jelly (aka the “black jiggly stuff,” as Helen called it).
“Wow, this is good. You’re missing out, Hel,” Andie said, three spoonfuls into her shaved ice. “How much do I owe you, Charlie?”
“It’s on the house.” He glanced at Helen. “You sure you don’t want any?”
She smiled too politely. “That’s so sweet but—”
All three of them went quiet as a chilly breeze brushed over their skin. Charlie shivered in his T-shirt. He looked up to see if a storm was coming, but the sun was shining brightly overhead. There wasn’t a cloud for miles, and yet it felt like one had wrapped around his heart, blocking off every speck of warmth.
“Weird,” Helen said. “It got really cold all of a sudden.”
Andie grimaced. “I don’t feel cold. Just . . . not quite right. I think I need an aspirin.”
But that wasn’t the worst of it. An awful stench soon overwhelmed Charlie’s nose, like steaming garbage and burnt hair rolled into one.
“Oh no,” he whispered. He turned toward the scent, but he already knew where it was coming from.
The Slender One had returned, and it was coming straight down Tansy Street. It looked like a twisted version of a human being, with limbs stretched into skinny ropes and with fingers bent and broken.
“Olenna,” it said in a gravelly whisper that only Charlie could hear. Its neck had elongated into a frighteningly thin arc, and its dangling head possessed no eyes or nose, just a gaping mouth.
Terror claimed Charlie’s body. He might’ve been the only one who could see the horrifying ghost, but the festivalgoers could definitely feel its presence too. All around him, people shuddered and fell silent. A baby cried while a young boy sat down on the pavement, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Olenna!” the Slender One cried. It barreled toward the shaved-ice station, right toward Helen.
“Watch out!” Instinct took over, and Charlie pushed her out of the way. He whipped around to face the angry spirit, but there was someone blocking the way, protecting him and Helen.
“Run, Charlie!” said Mr. Ingersoll, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Without blinking, he grabbed the Slender One by the middle and wrenched it away from the shaved-ice table, grimacing as the hungry ghost shrieked and scratched at him. Through gritted teeth he shouted, “Bring your grandma to Mallow Park! I’ll keep this one there as long as I can.”
Charlie watched Mr. Ingersoll haul the Slender One down an alleyway and out of sight. He didn’t know how long Mr. Ingersoll would last; he needed to hurry.
“What was that all about?” Helen said, staring at Charlie the same way that she’d looked at the mung beans. Like he was a weirdo.
A week ago he would’ve wilted under her gaze, but right now he found that he didn’t care that much. The city needed him and only a weirdo like him knew how to save Hungry Heart Row from the Slender One.
“You should go home,” Charlie said once he found his voice. “It isn’t safe.”
Helen went white and backed away from the shaved ice. “You mean food poisoning?” She reached into her purse to search for her phone. “Where’s Andie? She’s my ride. Wait, do you have a car? My mom’s place isn’t far.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Helen Overton was asking him for a ride. He’d been waiting for this moment since the first day of school. He had dreamed about it. Yearned for it. This was everything the new Charlie wanted.
But, now, Charlie wondered what he’d been thinking.
“There’s a bus stop down the block,” he said before he ran into the store to find Waipo.
* * *
Without another thought, he scrambled inside the Happy Horse and made a beeline for the back when a shadow stumbled toward him.
He lurched back, convinced it was a ghost, but it was Andie. And she didn’t look well.
“Can I buy some Tylenol?” she asked, her fingers pressed at her temples. The Slender One was likely blocks away, but she looked like she was still feeling its effects.
“We have some upstairs,” Charlie said quickly. He was about to grab her a few, but she swayed into him, and he caught her before she fell. He knew he couldn’t leave her alone. “Take my arm, okay?”
He led her up to the apartment, where she promptly slumped onto the living room sofa with a groan.
“It sounds crazy, but it felt like there was a Dementor outside,” she said, leaning her head against a pillow.
That isn’t too far from the truth, Charlie thought. He glanced at Waipo’s bedroom door, then back at Andie. “Stay as long as you want, but I have to check on my grandma.”
He left her with some aspirin and a glass of water before stepping into Waipo’s room. He thought he’d find her conked out in bed, but he should’ve known better. His grandmother was already dressed and hobbling toward him, her broken foot in a boot.
“Did your mother give me a sleeping pill?” she demanded. “Never mind, I’ll speak to her later. The Slender One is back. I can feel it.”
“Mr. Ingersoll dragged it to Mallow Park, but I don’t know how long he can keep it there.”
“That’s where we’ll go. I have to find out what it wants.”
“You could faint again.” He blocked her path. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll handle it.”
She swatted at his shoulder. “Charlie-ah, move.”
“This isn’t like four years ago! It’s so much worse.”
That made Waipo go quiet, but she pressed on. “What did the Slender One say?”
“Promise me you’ll let me go after it.”
“Ai-ya, answer the question! We need to figure out why this ghost is so angry.”
Charlie had to admit she had a point. “It said ‘olenna,’ but I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it’s a place.”
“Or a name. I need a computer.”
Elbowing Charlie aside, Waipo grabbed her crutches and tottered toward the ancient Mac in the corner of the living room, but she stopped when she saw Andie on the couch, sitting wide-eyed with her glass of water and looking much more alert.
“Oh. Hi,” said Charlie. He’d forgotten about her for a minute, and he wondered how much she had overheard, but he relaxed when he remembered that he and Waipo had been speaking in Mandarin. “This is my grandma.”
“Nice to meet you. Charlie and I go to school together.” Andie set her glass down shakily. She sounded nervous. “I’m so sorry, but I overheard what the two of you were saying.”
“You speak Mandarin?” Waipo said in English.
Andie flushed. “I was in a Chinese immersion program until the eighth grade.”
Oh, great, thought Charlie. He waited for Andie to scuttle out of the apartment, whispering “freaks” on her way out, but so be it if she did. He had to protect his neighborhood.
But Andie didn’t leave. “There’s obviously stuff going on that I don’t understand, but I also know that what I felt outside wasn’t normal. The two of you said something about Olenna, right?”
“Look, I can explain later—” Charlie started.
“Let the girl speak,” Waipo said, and nodded at Andie. “Go on.”
Andie swallowed. “Olenna means ‘Helen’ in Ukrainian. It’s what Helen’s grandmother called her.
“Who’s Helen?” prodded Waipo.
“Our classmate,” Andie replied. “Her grandma died last year.”
“Were they close?”
“Very. Her grandma even moved to Rowbury when Helen’s parents separated.” Andie bit her lip, as if she shouldn’t say what she wanted to reveal next. “The Overton’s divorce has gotten really messy. I don’t know what Helen would’ve done if her grandma hadn’t been there.”
Waipo nodded along. “How did Grandma die?”
“She went back to Ukraine for a wedding, but she got sick and passed away at the hospital. The doctors think it was meningitis.”
Waipo’s eyes fluttered shut as she mumbled to herself, switching between Chinese and English. “Unexpected death . . . a granddaughter left behind. Grief turned into anger. Anger became bitter.” Then her eyes shot open, and she gripped Andie’s elbow. “What did Helen’s grandma like to eat?”
Andie looked a bit baffled, so Charlie stepped in.
“Did she have a favorite food?” he said, understanding his grandmother’s intent.
Andie chewed her lip as she racked her memories. “She always had diced pineapple in the fridge whenever she stayed at Helen’s house.”
Waipo’s eyes brightened like birthday candles. “We have to preheat the oven.” To Andie she asked, “Do you bake?”
“Um, I’ve made brownies before. From a mix.”
Waipo clucked her tongue. “Good enough. What’s your name?”
“Andie Bellin.”
“Do you want to help us, Andie Bellin?”
“I think you and I can handle things from here, Waipo,” Charlie cut in, wanting to give Andie an out.
But the two women ignored him.
“Give me a job, and I’ll do it, nushì” Andie said, addressing the older woman in Mandarin.
Waipo cracked a smile. “You can call me Waipo.”
* * *
The three of them barely fit in the apartment’s galley kitchen, but that didn’t stop Waipo from barking out orders like they were in a Michelin-starred restaurant. While Charlie rolled out the pastry dough and Andie heated up two cans of crushed pineapple, Waipo called her daughter to explain that Charlie’s dad needed to take over the shaved-ice station because Charlie was busy.
Andie stirred the fruit mixture to keep it from burning. “What are we making?”
“Pineapple cake. A bitter ghost needs something sweet,” said Waipo.
“You think Helen’s grandmother turned into a ghost?” Andie asked, paling a shade.
Charlie paused from rolling the dough. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“Not complicated! Very simple,” Waipo was quick to interject. “We live, we die, and then we become spirits. Some spirits are happy; some are sad. I help the sad ones—make sense? I feed them the food they like, and that makes them happy again.” She pointed Andie toward the stove and instructed her to simmer the pineapples in their juices. “You understand?”
“I think so.” Andie stirred the fruit concoction and stole a glance at Charlie. “Do you see ghosts too?”
Charlie’s face warmed, but the truth was the truth, wasn’t it? He’d been trying for months to hide the fact that he was a scholarship kid who could talk to the dead, but it had been like cutting himself in half. He was a Ma to his bones, eccentric waipo and all.
Maybe being normal was overrated.
“Yeah, I can see spirits,” he said to Andie at last, his voice cracking slightly. “I got it from my grandma. It kind of runs in the family.”
Andie blinked at the revelation, considered it, and nodded. “Balding runs in my family, so that’s a lot cooler.”
They shared a grin, but the moment was broken when Waipo clapped at them.
“Less talk, more rolling!” she snapped.
With the whip adequately cracked, the three of them formed an assembly line to fill each mold with dough and sweetened pineapple before pinching the edges together and placing the little cakes onto a cookie sheet that slid promptly into the oven. They crowded around to watch the squares turn golden until Waipo deemed them ready. She let them cool a touch before cutting one into thirds for them to taste.
“They’re hot,” she cautioned.
Andie took the smallest of bites. “Holy cow. This is incredible.”
The filling burned Charlie’s tongue, but he had to agree. Waipo’s pineapple cakes were the stuff of legend, and this particular batch tasted extra special. The crust was perfectly flaky, and the filling had hit that sweet spot of not too sugary and not too tart.
His grandma swept the cakes into an empty cookie tin. “They’re ready. Let me get my shoes.”
“You should stay home. I’ll go,” said Charlie.
“Stay home and do what? Watch television?” Waipo replied in a huff.
“You fainted the last time, and something worse could happen now. Waipo, please.” Charlie pressed his hands on his grandmother’s shoulders. He didn’t want to face the Slender One alone, but he couldn’t risk his grandma’s health. She was far too important to him, and he hated that he had ever been embarrassed by her. Was she a little eccentric? Sure, but so was he. “It’s time for me to learn how to do this.”
Waipo went speechless for once. Her chin wobbled as she reached up to pat Charlie on the cheek.
“You can’t go out there by yourself,” she said finally.
Behind them, Andie cleared her throat. “I can go with him.”
“That is a good idea,” Waipo said before Charlie could protest. “Now, listen to me carefully. Find the Slender One and offer it the cakes. Remember: It can’t touch you, but it can make you feel its pain. But you’re stronger than it.”
Charlie pecked his grandma on the forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”
And then he and Andie took off.
Down the stairs, down the street, the two of them raced through the thickening festival crowd. More than once, Charlie looked back to make sure Andie hadn’t fallen behind, but she kept pace with him step for step as they entered Mallow Park. The weather was sunny and warm, and the park should’ve been filled with couples strolling by the riverfront and families out barbecuing. But the place was eerily empty, and Charlie knew exactly why.
“Over here!”
Charlie sprinted toward Mr. Ingersoll’s voice. He and Andie reached a line of willow trees not far from the water, offering a view of fishing boats and the Carraway Bridge. Mr. Ingersoll had cornered the Slender One between himself and the river, but Charlie could see that his friend had gone translucent, worn down from exertion.
“Do you see it?” Andie whispered. “I can feel it.”
“Me too,” he said, his hands trembling. “What’s Helen’s grandmother’s name?”
“Mrs. Honcharenko.”
He repeated it softly. “You can hang back for now, but go get my grandma if I tell you to, all right?”
Charlie forced his feet to move, and he approached the closest willow tree, where he saw the Slender One through the wispy branches. For a second, he was tempted to make a run for it, but then he channeled his grandmother’s grit. She wouldn’t turn back, and neither would he.
“Mr. Ingersoll, I’ve got this!” he said, and his friend nodded at him gratefully and slumped by the river to rest.
Charlie swung his full attention at the Slender One and tossed off the cookie tin cover. “Mrs. Honcharenko?”
The Slender One swiveled its neck toward him, and Charlie’s knees honestly went weak, but he stood his ground.
“We made you something!” he said.
The ghost inched toward Charlie, its mouth moving toward the tin. A skinny tongue darted out, right by Charlie’s fingers, and he dropped the box.
The Slender One lurched back and let out a horrible screech, followed by a distraught “Olenna!” inches from his face.
Charlie backpedaled, terrified, but then he felt someone yanking him to his feet.
“Come on! Tell her about Helen. Tell her that her granddaughter is okay,” Andie urged. She swept the cakes back into the tin and pressed it into his clammy hands. “You’ve got this.”
Her words buoyed Charlie, and he thrust the box at the Slender One once more. “Your granddaughter Helen goes to school with us.”
Then something strange happened, right after Charlie spoke Helen’s name. Two slits appeared on the Slender One’s face, like a primitive nose, and they sniffed at the cakes.
“Tell her that Helen got named captain of poms, and that her mom is giving her driving lessons,” Andie whispered urgently.
Charlie repeated what she’d told him, and the Slender One drew closer, its claws reaching for the tin, its nose inhaling deeply.
“Helen misses you,” Charlie went on. “But she’s doing all right.”
The Slender One’s head bobbed up, tilting toward him. “All . . . right?”
“She’s safe.”
“Safe,” the ghost said, like a sigh.
Slowly, right in front of Charlie’s eyes, the Slender One started to change. Its neck shrank, and its body filled out. Its claws retracted into delicate fingers, and its nakedness was covered by an ankle-length dress in a red-rose pattern.
“Olenna,” it whispered again as its transformation completed.
A petite old woman stood in front of them now, her silver hair held back in a bun and her posture as straight as a dancer’s. Wrinkles lined her face, but Charlie could still see the resemblance. Helen had her grandma’s cheekbones.
The woman blinked, disoriented. “Where is my Olenna?”
Andie might not have been able to see the ghost, but she seemed to sense a shift in the air, the emptiness gone.
“What do you see?” she asked. Charlie described the woman in front of him, and her eyes went big. “That’s Helen’s grandma. I went to the funeral, and she was buried in a dress with roses on it.”
Mrs. Honcharenko drifted toward Charlie. “You know Olenna?”
“We’re classmates. You don’t have to worry about her anymore,” he replied.
“I will always worry about my granddaughter, but I cannot remain here.” She tried to touch his shoulder, but realized she couldn’t. “I am tired. Very tired.”
“There’s a place where you can sleep. I think you know the way,” Charlie said. He was unsure how everything worked after death, but he had a feeling that most ghosts were able to find the path to the underworld.
Mrs. Honcharenko began to fade, like a photograph left out in the sun. Just before she disappeared, she said one last “Olenna” and was gone.
Charlie’s hands dropped to his sides, and he realized he was out of breath. The past few minutes had drained him completely, and yet he couldn’t help but grin.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Andie marveled. “It’s like someone opened a window and chased out all of the bad air. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Charlie said softly. Now that Mrs. Honcharenko had moved on, he was realizing how much he had revealed to Andie in the last hour. No one outside of his family knew that he could see ghosts. For so long, he had made sure to keep it that way, but now his secret was out there, and he felt shy. Exposed. “You’re probably super freaked out by all of this, huh?”
“I mean, a little,” Andie admitted, and Charlie felt his walls go up. But then she looked at him, and there wasn’t fear in her eyes. Only curiosity. “Mostly I have questions. Like, there really is life after death? And what does that make you? A ghostbuster?”
That made Charlie laugh out loud, and all of a sudden he felt that everything would be okay. “I don’t know. Maybe more like a ghost whisperer.”
Andie nodded, as if this made perfect sense. Then, out of nowhere, she went white and began patting her pockets for her phone.
“What?” Charlie got anxious, wondering if he had said something wrong.
“I totally forgot about the service project! We have to make two hundred dumplings—remember?”
He groaned. He had forgotten about it too, although they had a pretty good excuse for being late, appeasing an angry spirit and all. “If we run to the community center, you can still make it. I’ll take you there.”
“You sure?”
“As long as you don’t tell anyone about my ghost whispering.”
“Deal,” she said, and they hurried out of the park together.
* * *
Later that night, long after the crowds had dispersed, Charlie volunteered to close up the Happy Horse. The festival had been a big success, minus the visit from the Slender One, and his family had celebrated over a dinner of dim sum. Afterward, he had told his parents to rest while he helped Waipo into bed.
“You made me very proud today,” she told him as he drew her covers over her legs, like she used to do for him when he was little.
He flushed. “Thanks, Waipo.”
“But don’t get big head. I have a lot to teach you.”
He chuckled, but she looked dead serious.
“We’ll start tomorrow morning,” she added.
Charlie chuckled. Waipo would always be Waipo. “Yes, ma’am.”
Downstairs in the Happy Horse, he filled the mop bucket and was about to lock the door when one last customer came in.
“You got any tea eggs, kiddo?” said Mr. Ingersoll.
Charlie went over to greet his old friend, wishing he could hug him. “Thank you for what you did today.”
“You did the hard work. Well, you and that new friend of yours. What’s her name?”
“Andie.”
“There’s something special about that girl.” Mr. Ingersoll winked, and Charlie fidgeted. Andie was special. And brave. And all-around cool.
“How’s Lou? Did she have a good time today?” Charlie blurted, changing the topic to Mr. Ingersoll’s daughter before he started blushing. Louisa and her boyfriend had stopped by the festival earlier, thankfully after the Slender One’s visit.
“She’s wonderful, actually. Her boyfriend proposed.”
“Whoa, really?”
“David was waiting until Christmas to pop the question, but I think Hungry Heart Row made an impression. Lila gave him a special pastry.” He got a glint in his eye. “And Shirley pulled him aside and told him to get on with it already.”
“That sounds like my grandma,” Charlie said, chuckling. “Lou must be happy.”
“She’s over the moon. I only wish that I could walk her down the aisle.”
“You can still do that, even if they can’t see you.”
Mr. Ingersoll shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think I’ll make it. It’s time for me to go.”
Charlie gripped the mop handle. “Go where?”
Mr. Ingersoll looked around the Happy Horse, inhaling its soy sauce scent. “I need to move on.”
“But—” Charlie stopped himself and took a breath. He wasn’t ready for this good-bye, not by a long shot, but if anyone deserved to rest, it was his old friend. “I understand, Mr. Ingersoll.”
“I’ll be back for the festival next year. Haven’t missed one yet.” He placed a ghostly hand on Charlie’s shoulder as Charlie blinked back tears. “Go get a tissue.”
That made Charlie laugh.
Mr. Ingersoll gave a little salute before he began to fade. “See you next year, kiddo.”
Charlie lifted a hand. “See you, Mr. Ingersoll.”
The shop went quiet. A lump formed in his throat, and it wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to swallow it. So he stood there in the store, alone, mop in hand, thinking about how lonely his mornings would be without Mr. Ingersoll bugging him about coffee and eggs.
A ping from his phone made him jump. He went to turn it off—he didn’t feel like texting anyone—but the message was from Andie.
Boo! I’m texting you from the great beyond.
Charlie’s heart did a little flip-flop. He wasn’t sure how to reply when another text popped up.
Random question—do you know a good dessert place in Hungry Heart Row? My friend Fiona and I are a few blocks away. Want to come with?
His thumbs hovered over the screen. He needed to mop the floors, but then out of nowhere he heard Mr. Ingersoll’s voice over his shoulder.
“Take her to Butter. Order the sweet potato pie. Trust me.”
Charlie whipped around. There was nobody there, only the fading smell of a campfire. He smiled to himself and looked down at his phone.
I know a place. He sent Andie the address. Meet you in 10?
His stomach fluttered when she texted back:
Sounds good! My treat, Ghost Whisperer.
Charlie called upstairs to his parents that he was heading out for an hour. Then he stepped into the night, ready for the ghosts that he might encounter on his path and excited to see the girl waiting for him down the block.
