Chapter 1: Welcome to Burbin Street

There was one house that Tommy Boehm had never seen anyone live in before. For all of his ten years and three months of existence, he had not once seen anyone live in the victorian house across the street from him. It wasn’t until a particularly humid june day when Tommy had just woken up and half tumbled down the stairs to get his breakfast did he find out that someone had moved into his house. 

His parents stood too close together, hands to their faces masked with malicious suspicion, as they looked out the window. Tommy’s parents never stood close together. That was his own observation that was more than true. Their eyes snapped over to his when his stomach growled from the open doorway to their kitchen. It was his mother with her wavy blond hair that was usually put in up a neat bun that spook first. 

“Tommy, dear, since you just woke up you must not know this, but we have new neighbors today. Looks like they have two adorable little children. Why not go over there and introduce yourself. If you’re nice they might just let you play with their kids and you could make some new friends. You like making new friends, right, sweetie?” She smiled sweetly, even though everyone watching her knew it was more than fake as it never hit her deep blue eyes, pushing her child out of the kitchen, promising him breakfast later. 

Tommy never did what he was told to do by his parents, rarely compromised with them, just did his own thing or followed behind them silently when he was in trouble. This time was the exception: He was curious, and his curious side always won. He was curious about the ghosts. Since no one lived in the house, there was a rumor going around by all the kids who lived on Burbin Street that there were ghosts that resided there, which is why no one ever moved in there before. Sure there were people who looked at the house, but no one ever actually moved in until today. The children would say that the ghosts all scared the people away. 

Movers loitered around the street and driveway. There were large pieces of furniture scared out on the lawn (like tables, couches, and half assembled beds and even one that was just lying there in pieces with a mattress right next to it) and people moving in and out of the house, sometimes with big furniture, sometimes with boxes or sometimes with paint and brushes. Tommy stood next to the small-trunked tree that stood just at the edge of the property. He only looked for a good minute, examining the light greyish-blue siding around the house. The left side of was a hexagonal prism with a cone roof at the very top and another roof for the outside of the first floor wrapping around it and the rest of the house. The right side was square and stuck out just a bit with the front patio wrapping around the front and sides of the house. The door was a dark maroon color with colorful glass surrounding it. A small stretch of a garden wrapped around the house as well. 

For the residence of Burbin Street, this was the fancy, rich house. Tommy’s house was a medium sized split level, not the nicest on the street, not the worst either. His parents had money, but they were frugal enough not to spend it all on a house they’d never been in; for appearance sake, they decided that the “above average house that wouldn’t leave a large dent in their wallets” would do. The siding on the house was a light blue. The windows on the left of the house above the garage were pushed out and up all the way to the top of the roof. There was a large cement driveway that led straight to the doors of his garage. A raised stone flower bed separated the first few feet of the driveway from the walkway to the front door, which was a double door with a shell glass pattern above the door and a small roof over the almost nonexistent porch. Like the Victorian house across the street, he also had a octagonal side. It was on the right side of the house, the top and bottom separated by a small space of light blue siding, completely filled with large rectangular windows, two for each panel of the octagon. A small grey bricked chimney was built on the right side of their house. There was a patch of garden that lined the right side of the walk way to the house and a couple trees scattered in the backyard. The grass was cut by professionals, the house cleaned by hired maids. Even if it wasn’t the best looking house, it didn’t falter in proving there was people with money who lived in it. That was the purpose, and it played it well. 

Two men who were lugging a beige couch into the house passed Tommy as he walked up to the front door, paying no mind to him as long as he didn’t get in the way of their work. The door was left wide open. Without counting the movers, there wasn’t anyone there, so Tommy did the only thing that he could think of. He knocked on the doorframe as hard as he could, hoping for someone to come to the door to find out what the loud noise was. Just liked he had hoped for, a woman came walking up to the door. When her tried blue eyes met his, they lit up, her lips jumping up into a large smile. She bent down, placing her hands on her thigh, her smile now reaching her ears.

“Well, hello there, little man,” she chimed. “What can I help you with?” 

Tommy smiled at the woman. She was friendly. Something about her was warm and inviting. It made him want to snuggle into a hug with her. She radiated mother; it wasn’t hard to tell. “Hi,” Tommy greeted with equal enthusiasm. “My name is Tommy Boehm. I live across the street. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Well, Tommy, it’s nice to meet you too.” She held out her hand to the boy, shaking his small hand he extended to her. “My name’s Katie Goodwynn, but you can just call me Kate. I’m glad you were able to stop over, neighbor.” She winked at him, standing up to extend her hand to the back of her house. “My kids are in the kitchen having their breakfast if you want to come in and meet them. I have a cute little daughter and son.” 

“Yes, please.” He eagerly followed the woman to the back of the house and into the kitchen. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for any signs of ghosts he could find, but with every passing second, he couldn’t find anything. He stopped looking when he walked into the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and maple syrup hitting him square in the face. It reminded him he didn’t eat, but he was too excited to find ghosts that it didn’t matter.

There was much put into the kitchen, besides the things that had already been there. A dirty frying pan was out on the stove, an open box was placed on the counter, and the biggest thing was probably the rectangular, wooden oak table that was a couple feet away from the counter. At the end of the table nearest the counter was a man with short, straight dark brown hair, holding a newspaper in one hand and sipping his steaming coffee with the other. Two light brown haired children sat to his left. The girl sat closest to her father, focusing on eating her pancakes diligently. The other was a boy who looked similar to the girl, but more frail and helpless, who sat next to her. He poked at the fried potatoes and half a pancake that still resided on his plate, a large frown on his face that made it seem like he was about to cry. 

It was then that the man with the newspaper looked over to the doorway where Tommy and Kate stood. She placed her hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him, like she was an artist and her family was her greatest masterpiece hung in a gallery for the whole wide world to see. 

“Oh,” the man said with an amused chuckle, “who is this we have here?” 

“Tim, this is Tommy Boehm, our new neighbor who came over all by himself to politely introduce himself. Tommy, this is Tim, my husband. Over there are my two kids, Lyla and Roland. They’re ten this year.” 

“Me too,” Tommy said with a smile up to Kate. “But I just wanted to know if there were any ghosts in your house. Are there?” 

“Ghosts!” The girl spoke up this time. She had finished her meal and was coloring with a small box of crayons when she was interrupted. Her eyebrows were creased into her frown. “There’s no ghosts in my house. They don’t even exist.” 

Tommy blinked twice. He didn’t expect that large outburst or defiant tone from the angelic looking girl in the yellow sundress that smiled when she bit into a piece of her pancake like it was the greatest thing she had ever tasted. “That sucks,” he said, shock still lingering throughout his mind for the briefest of seconds. “And I was really looking forward to it.” He snapped his fingers to make a point, but his eyes were locked onto Lyla’s the whole time.

Tim couldn't help but laugh. His chest bellowed with each deep bought of laughter that came out of his mouth. “I think I really like you, Tommy-boy, so I think my kids are going to really like you. Why don’t the three of you all go out and play�"get to know each other and all that nice stuff?”

“Tim,” Kat interrupted, standing next to her husband with an irritated look on her face. 

“Roland hasn’t even finished half of his breakfast. He’ll have to wait and finish it before he can�"”

“Kate, loosen up sometimes,” he cooed, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Let the kids go out and play for the day. We’re going to be her for a long time, anyways, so why not let them go make some new friends. If he’s not hungry, he’s not hungry. You can’t force him to eat, dear. And I know for a fact that you’re guilty of feeding your leftover vegetables to your dog.” 

Kate sighed with a shake of her head. “Alright. Play nice now.” 

Lyla jumped down from her seat first. “Thank you Mama, Papa.” She hugged the her father first, giving his stubble a quick peck before she skipped to her mother to hug and kiss her goodbye. Her brother followed quickly after her like a little shadow. 

Tommy walked next to the girl as they made their way down the street. It was after they passed the park that he looked over to the two children next to him and realized that they really did look similar. “Are you two twins?” he asked casually. 

“Nope.” Lyla shook her head mechanically back and forth. “We’re just brother and sister. I’m older by nine days.”

“How’s that possible?” Tommy asked, rounding a corner to a dead end street where a group of kids waited at the end.

“Because Lyla’s not Mommy’s kid, she’s another mommy’s kid.” Roland was glued to Lyla’s side. He didn’t possess the confidence that Lyla did, nor the sparkle in her eyes, the quick and easy smiles, the brash and forward nature she often spoke with. Rather, he was the quiet one, the good child that did what he was told, listened to the rules to a T, often stuck in bed because of sickness, pale like a ghost. He wasn't great like his sister, so he stuck to her in hopes he could be.

“Oh.” Tommy glanced quickly at Lyla, but she only shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. To her, it really wasn’t. She had a mother, father, and a little brother, so she didn’t really need another mother to take care of her; she loved the family she had, not the family she could have if things were different. 

Lyla walked behind Tommy with Roland glued to her side as he made his way through the rather large group of twenty or so kids that all stood gathered in a semicircle. He stopped right in the middle of the group where nobody else stood. Everyone became dead silent when Tommy turned around. He was their leader, that was clear as day, Lyla thought to herself as she looked around. 

Tommy pointed to Roland. “What’s your name?”

“Um.” Roland sucked in snot that was starting to run out of his nose. “Roland.” 

“Roland,” he announced loudly, jestering his hand once to Roland then to the other kids; “this is everyone; everyone, this is Roland. Now go stand over there.” He pointed to a spot that was open in the middle. Once he saw that Roland got there fine without pushing or shoving, he eagerly turned toward the girl. “Your name?” 

She sighed, tilting her head and placing her hand on her hip. Her face looked less than amused. “It’s Lyla.” 

He grinned. “I like that name.” 

“Thanks?” 

“Good. Now, you stay here. Right next to me.” 

There were a few whispers in the crowd of kids, a few shocked faces, a few gasps and moans from the few other girls in the group. Lyla didn’t care enough to be bothered, Tommy was too busy staring at her to care. He finally turned around and held out his hands, his smile up to his ears, his sparkly white teeth glowing in the sunlight.

“Welcome to Burbin Street.”