Local author Laurel Houck has published magazine pieces with Westsylvania, Skipping Stones, Nuances, and The Loyalhanna Review and her newspaper articles have appeared in The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and The Niagara Advance. When not writing, she travels the world as a medical missionary (for more about Laurel’s international missions, check out this recent profile in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review).
For more about Laurel, visit her website or connect on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter!
Don’t miss out: Houck will be visiting Mystery Lovers Bookshop at 7pm on May 23rd!
From the publisher: “It’s an abrupt, uncomfortable incarnation for Summer, the ghostly girl with chameleon eyes. Exotic hues roil in her gaze as she seeks to recall what awful sin in her past has doomed her to roam the earth. And to discover what—or who—will bring her to eternal rest…”
One
Summer
My vapor solidifies with no warning whatsoever. Abrupt. Compact. Unexpected.
I’m near a dumpster that squats behind a floodlit Sheetz gas station, the stench of hot dog grease and burnt coffee strong in my nostrils. My feet are last to materialize, so that for a moment when I look down, I’m floating about five inches above the pavement, white mist above black asphalt.
With the physical transformation comes the rest of it. Light and cool converts to heavy and hot. Yearning and searching morphs to fear and uncertainty. Naked and misty transforms to flesh-bound and clothed. I’m grateful for the garments that cover my skin, even if how that happens is a mystery to me.
The nausea and dizziness are stronger than the last time I can recall. I lean against the dumpster and slide to the ground, knees up, head in my hands. It will pass soon. I hope.
“Miss, are you okay?” A deep voice rumbles above the traffic noise. The tall, ruddy-faced cop is standing over me, wearing a black uniform and a hat with a band of navy and gold squares. “I’m Officer Sullivan. Did someone hurt you?”
“I’m fine.” I scramble to my feet, glad it’s dim in the shadow of the dumpster. I’m still shaky and have no clue what color has risen in my eyes. Between the lights and my startling arrival, anything is possible.
“You’re sitting beside a trash can at a gas station, and it’s ten o’clock at night.” He shines the light in my face and stares. “What’s your name?”
“I’m…not sure.” That’s true, at least partially. Each incarnation requires a name that matches the time and place. At present I don’t know either. But I’m learning how to manage. After so many tries, I should know what to do.
“I need medics at 3092 Lothrop.” The cop speaks into a microphone on his shoulder.
“No, really. I’m fine.”
“Right. You don’t know who you are. You need to be checked out. Unless you’re lying.” He raises the flashlight higher.
“I’m telling the truth.” I keep my eyes downcast and don’t add, the partial truth. I know that I used to be alive, that now I’m a ghost, and that I’m searching for something to expiate my guilt over… what? Beyond that, fuzzy at best. Another wave of dizziness comes over me, normal when I materialize so quickly. I sink back to the ground.
Things happen fast. A siren, followed by garish lights. Neck brace snapped in place. Lifted onto a backboard and gurney. Shoved in the back of an ambulance. The Emergency Room doors whoosh open.
I’m whisked down a hall, into a cubicle, and onto a narrow bed under a bright, hurting light. I have to do something, and fast. No way can I survive close medical scrutiny without endless questions. I could disappear and freak them all out, but if there’s even a remote chance at resolution this time around, I have to try for it. Which means I need a surrogate.
I close my eyes, which must be a normal color or the nurse would already be shrieking, and let my mind roam the corridors. In the waiting room I find the perfect substitute. She’s about my age, looks healthy enough, and is accompanying an older woman in a wheelchair. She’ll be here for a while.
It only takes a second to kidnap her essence and haul it back to my body in the exam room. Fitting her larger frame inside mine is uncomfortable, but it’s the only way. I feel my molecules squishing together to accommodate hers, a process somewhere between an unwanted tickle and unwelcome discomfort.
Excerpted from The Girl with Chameleon Eyes by Laurel Houck, copyright © 2019. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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