Mothman's Curse by Christine Hayes Page A

drifted into the kitchen and helped myself to a couple of peanut butter cookies. I had plenty of homework, but I couldn’t bring myself to start it yet. I remembered that Mitch’s car had been parked beside Uncle Bill’s, so I went out to the auction building to see what he was up to. I found him hauling the large furniture pieces from the storeroom out to the auction floor, arranging them around the perimeter of the room for shoppers to preview. He parked the dolly when he saw me and mopped his forehead with one sleeve.
    â€œHey there, Josie. Nice to see you again.”
    â€œYou too.”
    â€œHow’s your dad?”
    â€œHe has to stay at the hospital a few more days.”
    â€œAw, that’s a shame.”
    I nodded. “They’ve already put you to work, I see.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. It beats sitting out at that house all alone, watching for trespassers.”
    â€œDid you ever catch any?”
    â€œTwo or three. Sent them on their way pretty quick.”
    I could imagine. Mitch was built like a bodyguard.
    â€œSo how did you end up working for my dad?”
    He smiled. “Good story, actually. I’m taking a semester off from the university because—well, because I’m trying to earn some tuition money. The Goodrich lawyer, Mr. Latimer, is a friend of my dad’s. He hired me to do some landscaping on the property, get it cleaned up some, but John Goodrich died just a few weeks after I started. I thought that was the end of it, but I happened to be up there working when your dad first came to inventory the estate. He saw my OU sweatshirt, we got to talking about basketball, and the next thing I knew he was offering me a job working security.”
    â€œThat sounds like Dad.”
    â€œIt’s good money, and I don’t have to break my back hauling brush and chopping up dead trees anymore.”
    â€œWow. Now you’re hauling furniture instead of trees. Not so sure that’s a step up.”
    He laughed. “At least I get to talk to you and your family. You’re all so nice. Grab that door for me, would you?”
    I did, then followed him out to the auction floor. As he walked on ahead I noticed he was wearing two different socks—one yellow, one green.
    â€œHey, Mitch. What’s with the socks?”
    â€œThese,” he said, holding up one ankle, “are my lucky socks. My old high school basketball team is playing in a tournament tonight. If they win, they’ll play for the state championship here in Athens next week.”
    â€œDo the socks work?”
    â€œSometimes. But if the team loses and I wasn’t wearing my socks, I would feel like it was kind of my fault, you know? I have to do my part.”
    â€œSure.”
    I bit my lip, wondering if I could be doing more to fix the weirdness plaguing our family the past several days. Suddenly I felt the urge to ask him what I couldn’t bring myself to ask Dad. “Mitch? Did you ever see anything strange out at the Goodrich place?”
    He shifted a rolltop desk into position and headed back to the storeroom for another piece. “Strange … you mean ghosts? Have the kids at school been bothering you about that? Because the answer is no. I never saw any ghosts up there.”
    I plowed ahead with my next question before I could change my mind. “What about Mothman?”
    He stopped midstep and turned back to stare at me. “Now there’s an odd question. I thought that guy was connected with Point Pleasant.”
    â€œYeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
    A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, Josie. Not a single ghost, Mothman, zombie, or unicorn. Just the occasional deer or raccoon.”
    I felt my face grow hot. I wanted to sink into the floor.
    He must have noticed, because he put a hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I just don’t believe in that stuff. I