11. The Ghost of Summers Yet to Come

11 The Ghost of Summers Yet to Come

The clock struck four. It was useless to try and go back to sleep. Soon it would be morning. Somehow, I'd survived. It was almost time to get up and go to school. And then.... "A.J.... A.J.... A.J...." Oh no. Not another one. I heard a faraway rumbling sound. Scary music started to play. I didn't want to open my eyes to find out who or what I was going to encounter next. But I did anyway. I looked down and noticed that the floor of my room was covered in smoke. And then... "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" It was a dark, hooded figure floating over my bed. I couldn't see its face. I didn't want to see its face. It was sure to be terrifying. And then the scary figure spoke. "Come... with... me... Arlo."

Wait. Arlo? There's only one person in the world that calls me by my real name. Even my parents don't call me Arlo. It had to be... Andrea Young! It couldn't be true! Not Andrea! Not after everything I had already been through! "You sound like Andrea," I whispered, shrinking back in terror. "That's because I am Andrea!" she shouted, pulling the hood away from her face. She let out an eerie cackling laugh. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" I screamed. "Mom! Dad! Help!" "Your parents can't hear you, Arlo," the ghost of Andrea told me. "It's just you and me now."

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"What do you want?" I asked, my voice quivering. "Leave me alone." "I'm the ghost of summers yet to come, Arlo," the ghost of Andrea said in a spooky voice. "I'm here to show you your future." "I don't want to see my future!" I screamed, gathering the covers around me. "Seeing the past was horrible. Seeing right now was horrible. I can't imagine how bad the future is going to be." "Oh, the future is going to be wonderful, Arlo," the ghost of Andrea assured me. "No, it won't," I said. "You're trying to trick me. And stop calling me Arlo." "But that's your name," the ghost of Andrea said. "Come with me, Arlo." "No." I folded my hands across my chest, because that's what you do when you don't want to go anywhere. Nobody knows why.

"Arlo," the ghost of Andrea repeated, "come with me." "No! No way!" "I... said, ...come... with... ME!" "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" The next thing I knew, the ghost of Andrea had grabbed my hand, yanked me out of bed, and shoved me out the window. We were flying. But I didn't want to fly anymore. Not with Andrea. "Where are you taking me?" I asked as we floated over my house. "Oh, you'll find out. Come on. We don't want to be late." Late? Late for what? We flew past some rooftops, and then Andrea made a right turn at the corner and swooped down toward the steeple of a church. "Why are we going to church?" I asked.