Touch Me, See Me, Feel Me, Hear Me : A Supernatural Mystery Novel

A Supernatural Mystery Grace Mirchandani Touch Me, See Me, Feel Me, Hear Me Copyright © 2023 by Grace Mirchandani All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. First Edition, 2023 Published in the United States Editing: Genevieve A. Scholl Cover Design: Sinisa Poznanovic DEDICATION For two of my favorite humans: My brother Noel and my Uncle Dan. You’ve read my books, come to my shows, cheer me on, and tirelessly support whatever my current endeavors happen to be. Thank you for always showing up for me. It means more to me than I could ever put into words. It’s true that I don’t speak anymore. I used to talk. I used to be normal. Now, I’m anything but normal. If you would have told me five years ago that I’d be walking into the first day of my senior year without a single friend, I wouldn’t have believed it. I used to have a lot of friends. Well, maybe not A LOT, but enough to feel like I belonged to something. Funny what happens when your house burns down in the middle of the night and you’re the only one that survives. Survives. That’s about all I’ve been able to do, I guess. That...and mentor the ghosts. That’s right. Ghosts. The first time I ever spoke to a ghost, you’ll never guess who it was. My mother. My fucking mother. As I was lying in the burn unit, all drugged up and unable to speak, I woke up in the middle of the night and my recently dead mother was standing at the foot of my bed, staring at me. I couldn’t even scream so I just laid there, eyes wide, in a total fucking panic. That’s not even the worst of it. She appeared to me as she had died, burned from head to toe. Clothes melted to her charred and oozing skin, no eyelids, and her lips were burned off, leaving a toothy nightmare in their place. The room filled with the smell of fire, mixed with her floral perfume. That was how I knew it was her. That damn perfume. It was a lot to take. It was enough to make anyone never speak again, but that’s not why I am now without a voice. The fire did that. Burned my neck really badly. The doctors did their best, and four surgeries later, I could breathe on my own but would never speak again. They told me so many times how lucky I was to be alive. Lucky. Huh. The fire took out several nerves that left my left arm completely jacked, too. Guess I’ll never play the piano. I missed several months at school, but it didn’t seem to matter. They never made me do any of the work that I missed, and my grades never dropped. It was like I got the sorry-your-parents-are-dead free pass or something. Maybe, it was the sorry-your-life-is-forever-fucked pass. Who knows. Half of the school thought I started the fire that killed my parents. Crazy. You would think if I was dumb enough to burn my house down to kill my own parents, I would make sure to get out in time. You know, before being permanently disfigured and never able to speak again. At the very least, I would have had a better plan for my after-fire living arrangements. I was hopeful the family court judge would have put me in foster care, or a group home, but he thought I’d be better off living with Grandma Dee. Grandma Dee is a monster. She hates all kids, but she really hates me. I try to stay out of her hair. I remember the first day I moved in with her. I was so nervous and still filled with so much sadness from losing my mom and dad. She stared at me standing in her doorway, clutching a garbage bag filled with the few things I had to my name, and looked me over really slowly and said, “At least I know you won’t talk too much!” Then she laughed at me and pointed to my room door. The house smelled like a cat litter box had a baby with a lit cigarette. I closed myself into my tiny windowless bedroom and cried through the muffled sounds of her game shows blaring from the living room TV. I stayed there, crying for several hours, but I never made a sound other than my nose slurping snot in and out. If Grandma Dee heard me, she didn’t care. I was on my own. Silent Sara. But I was only on my own for the first three days. That was when the ghosts started to come. Apparently, they needed my help. Lucky me. When the first ghost came to me at Grandma Dee’s, it scared the shit out of me. I was having a hard time sleeping; that hasn’t changed since then. I rolled over and cracked my eyes open to check the time on my phone. It was 3:33 am,