Chapter 1

       I have never been one to watch the sun sink slowly into the ground, but.. My God, on this particular night, it had to have been one of the most beautiful things I had seen in months. We had literally just moved into a new house, and let me tell you. The drive from Indiana to Maine even once is imaginably horrific, but we made that journey three times. And somehow I had survived being in the car for over six hours, three times. This was actually the first time my family had moved- since I was born, anyway. Over 16 years of living in the big blue house on Holmes Avenue. THAT is commitment. The only thing that stood out now was that my parents had decided to get divorced and keep their distance. My father informed us that he would be moving to Texas, and that my mother was packing her things and driving U-HAULS back and forth between Indiana and Maine. I would have to say that the distance between Maine and Texas is a pretty solid distance to keep.                  Prior to the divorce, they'd always seemed just fine, my mom and dad. I mean, all married couples get into arguments, right? Living with the same person for years on end would drive me up the wall sometimes too. They always argued about silly things, and their arguments about silly things would begin to bring up not-so-silly things and then everything got all serious and half the time, my dad would leave for what would sometimes be weeks. Me being the younger sibling, I was clueless as to why two people would yell at each other so loudly. I was at the age where I thought everyone loved everyone and everyone used their inside voices. Just like any other little kid. The Barkley family had always been a happy family, y'know, when my parents weren't going at it. We had always been happy, friendly, social, and well.. From the outside, a typical American family.                                                                                                                                          Truth is, on the inside, we were anything but typical. I'm not even sure where to start. First, this is going to sound completely insane, and I reserve the right to call myself insane before anyone else can. Ever since I can remember, I have been able to see ghosts. Feel them. Even communicate with them. This was formally brought to my attention in my earlier years. When I was 6, to be exact. My parents were going to be out of town for the weekend, and my brother was in juvi, so I had to stay at Grandma's.                                         We had pulled up to the old Victorian-styled house on the corner of Riley & Hayes. The yard was cluttered with little garden decorations and the porch with flower pots holding rotting flowers dating back to possibly the Shakespearean era. The grass was an awful yellow-brown color and children toys littered the yard. The exterior of the house wasn't exactly the prettiest sight, but the inside was absolutely gorgeous. It was very delicate, light, and sophisticated. My Grandma always had a pumpkin-scented candle burning too, which could make anyone feel welcome. She knew that my parents had rough times, so she made sure she always had room for me at her house.                              The room my Grandma saved for me looked like any little girl's paradise. The walls were painted baby pink and my bed was white with winding posts at either end of the headboard and footboard. My comforter was Hello Kitty themed and I had stuffed animals strung out all over the room. Giraffes, Zebras, Bears, Monkeys, Cats, Fish, and the occasional Unicorn to throw in that magic touch of innocence. Plastered on the walls were posters of some of my childhood heroes: The Powerpuff Girls, Courage the Cowardly Dog, and The Rugrats. There were also little coloring pages that I had colored in the past (which were mostly scribbles).                                                                                                     Anyhow, on to the day that started all the 'ghost-seeing' stuff. The event that scared me out of my wits. It was really late on the first night of that weekend that I had to stay at Grandma's. Friday night around 11 PM. I had gotten thirsty, and like all other old people, my Gran had gone to bed around 8:30 PM, so her bringing me a glass of water was not an option. Although, I'm not the type to ask for such a favor, anyway. I had this little Hello Kitty flashlight that I had gotten for Christmas the year before. So I reached my arm out of my covers and grabbed it from the bedside table. I stumbled out of bed, turned the flashlight on, opened my bedroom door and started down the hallway. One foot at a time, I crept quietly across the second floor. The stairs were a breeze to go down even without the flashlight shining downwards, since I had stayed there so often. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I made a left and my feet hit the cold kitchen floor. I reached over to the wall beside the refrigerator and flipped the lights on. After grabbing a cup from the cupboard, I turned around to start towards the sink when suddenly, the air around me went stale cold. It felt as if the entire kitchen had just frozen and I had found myself in a giant ice cube.                                                                                                                               What poor little 6-year-old Stella was about to witness would change her life forever. I turned my head slowly to look through the doorway into the corridor when all of a sudden I see the outline of what appeared to be another kid. Since it was a kid, it didn't scare me as much as it probably should have. It still scared me shitless, nonetheless. I mean, I was 6, and just saw a ghost. Did you ever hear of the "typical American family" having a ghost-seeing freak in it? Me neither.                                                                                                       I stood there, shocked, for about 20 seconds before I started to notice a weird blue glow appearing around the spirit figure. As the blue glow became more and more apparent, the apparition disappeared and after a few more seconds, it was as though nothing had been there at all. By then, I did not care one bit about the water. I set it quickly on the kitchen island and sprinted upstairs. Sorry about the electric bill, Grandma. Turning off the light was not worth seeing another ghost.                                                           Over the span of that weekend, I began noticing tiny things here and there. You know, I would hear small whispers when no one else was around. Saw shadows slip around the corner with no explainable source. Small things here and there which naturally would have scared the hell out of any kid my age, but I was starting to get used to them. By the time I was about 8, I was completely infatuated with my special ability. After talking about it with my mother, I realized that it was pretty difficult to explain how it worked and it was also very difficult to find others with the same abilities as me.                                                      Now on to some of the other reasons why my 'typical American family' was SO not a 'typical American family'. Well, my older brother Jeremy was always in and out of jail, so family reunions were pretty awkward, and our house was pretty empty-feeling when he was gone. No one to obnoxiously take up the couch and eat all the cheese puffs while blasting Slipknot. My mother gave us (me and my brother) the choice on which parent to live with. I chose to go with my mother, because well.. She's my mother. I had never really been close to my dad, considering he spent most of my childhood drunk and stumbling around hopelessly. Jeremy also chose to live with my mother because he was completely convinced that she had her heart set on bailing him out and acting as a homeless shelter for him. This was totally NOT the case.                                                                                       What really sucks, though, is the fact that right when I built up the courage to make friends, we left. My mother always reminds me that making friends is very easy if I actually try. I find that to be extremely truthful, however I have never been good at 'actually trying' apparently, because ever since the start of middle school, I have been considered a "lone wolf". Don't get me wrong, I had lots of friends as a kid. Mostly because no kid was truly judgemental and everyone liked everyone, for the most part. Around 6th grade, the beginning of Junior High, I grew apart from all of my great friends. They grew into popularity and as for me? Well.. I grew into sitting in the back corner of the classroom hoping to God that I didn't get called on. I grew into long walks home alone. I grew into laying in bed all weekend... Every. Weekend. I grew into being a loser with my only two friends being my Husky Jagger and my mother.