Spookygirl - Paranormal Investigator by Jill Baguchinsky Page A

the pre-investigation interviews the team had conducted, the measurements they’d taken, and Mom’s post-investigation accounts. I wanted to read everything; I paged through file after file. Reading Mom’s notes and reports was almost like having her peeking over my shoulder, telling me more about how each investigation had progressed.
    Then I came across a folder I wasn’t sure I was ready to read: the Logan Street file. It was unfinished and disorganized, and that seemed really wrong. Momwas so meticulous about arranging the elements of each investigation, but the Logan Street notes were jumbled and messy, and, of course, there was no final write-up.
    A strange thought hit me then. Maybe I could finish it—I could look over Mom’s research, add a little of my own, and, based on what I found and what I already knew, write an account of the investigation for the folder. It would be difficult, but I knew Mom would appreciate the effort, and it might even provide some closure. Plus, I really wanted to learn as much as I could about that night. I still only had a skeleton of an idea of what had happened on Riley Island.
    According to Mom’s notes, the Logan Street property had been bought and sold a number of times over the years. Each new owner thought he had gotten a deal until he or his family spent the night. The weird thing was how different each experience seemed to be. The men usually noticed some pretty typical paranormal activity—strange noises, cold spots, stuff like that. But the women heard whispered threats and sometimes got manhandled by invisible beings. I’m not even kidding—one woman said she felt someone grab her arm and wrench her toward the main staircase. Even the local historical society had refused to accept the house as a donation and take ownership of it after one of their female representatives had a bad experience there.
    Mom had suspected the house was haunted by theghosts of James Riley, Jr., and his wife, Abigail, who both died on the same night back in 1932. She hadn’t been able to find more information than that; the local historical archive’s old headquarters had flooded during a hurricane in the 1960s, and a lot of the early history of Riley Island had been lost.
    I figured I could research Riley Island online, and hopefully find some historical details Mom hadn’t been able to uncover. And maybe I could even use Mom’s address book to track down the other members of Palmetto Paranormal and see if they could tell me anything about the night of the investigation. The idea of contacting Mom’s old friend Sabrina Brightstar didn’t exactly thrill me, but I needed all the firsthand accounts I could get. Anything to learn more about that night.
    Unfortunately, though, officially reopening the Logan Street file would have to wait until after the locker-room investigation. I had to face whatever was in there head-on, and soon, especially if Tim was right and it had some kind of weird interest in me. I’d send that thing packing, and then I’d have one less thing to worry about. And maybe I could even stop dragging my gym clothes home with me every day.

CHAPTER SEVEN
who ya gonna call?
     
    Since I’d been disgusted by the overcrowded cafeteria, I did at Palmetto what I’d done at Lakewood—I started hiding in the library. As it turns out, a high school library can be a safe haven from many things besides greasy food and obnoxious peers: nagging teachers, assemblies, pep rallies. Yeah, especially that last one. Noisy, boring, stupid things where cheerleaders jump around and some guy in a mascot costume acts like an idiot and everyone yells and screams a lot, and you’re supposed to care and “show school spirit.”
    Show school spirit? No thanks. I had enough school spirits to deal with already.
    By the time the first pep rally of the year came around, Miss Walters, the head librarian, and I were old buddies. It wasn’t hard to get on her good side—I offered to help shelve