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When a small plane crashes behind Jase’s house, the ghost of the pilot decides to stick around. He doesn’t really want to haunt Jase, but since the man is now more phantom than pilot, that’s just what happens. Jase knows he needs a brave soul to help him figure out what the pilot wants, so when he sees Stevie-girl entering the town’s legendary haunted house, he’s certain she’s the one. But can he convince her to help him, or will the phantom pilot live in his closet forever?
What People Are Saying:
(5 stars) “A Touching Tale With Just Enough Fright!” – Ashley Fontainne, Amazon Customer.
(5 Stars) “Makes me nostalgic for Nestle’s chocolate milk and riding my bike to the city park. Very fun and spooky read!” – Damon Jackson, Amazon Customer
(5 Stars) “I just finished reading your book!!! Honestly, I couldn’t quit until I finished the whole book.” – Beckie Grant, Amazon Customer
(5 Stars) “I just loved this book! Even though it is meant for kids ages 10 and up – I think any adult who loves to read would enjoy this story, too.” – Dee’s Reading Room, Amazon Customer
It was the late 60’s: the Beatles had washed across America like a British tsunami, Vietnam was a grainy, green and black dose of unreality on the evening news, a bunch of hippies had taken over San Francisco, and there was a heck of a rainstorm pouring down on Woodstock in upstate New York. But I didn’t know all that then. I was a little bit lost, looking for something. But I swear I didn’t go looking for a ghost . . . well, okay, maybe I did. But I didn’t expect to find one. Heck, I was just a kid—I didn’t expect much of anything.
I was twelve years old, standing knock-kneed in pigtails and ripped denim in front of a haunted house, trying to dig up enough courage to go inside. But I was terrified. I’d read the books; I’d seen the movies on Shock Theater. No matter what, you don’t go inside the spooky old house. No matter who dares you, no matter what lures you. You do not go in.
Hand trembling, I opened the door.
The warped wood screeched when I pushed it—and I expected that. But I didn’t expect the dusty floorboards to moan with my every step. I tried not to think about it. I was in. I’d lived around the corner from this house all my life and today I’d finally garnered enough willpower to walk inside.
The light was dim, murky with dust motes and cobwebs. The curtains were little more than yellowed rags hanging in tatters. The windows themselves were so filthy the light coming through was leached of its goodness by layers and layers of grime.
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