 ghost squish in next to me and try to touch me at seven years old didn't lead to anything good. The operator stopped the ride when he saw I had wriggled out from under the safety bar and was crawling across the cars to get away. I didn't get hurt, but someone snapped a picture and everything blew up the next day in the paper.

That wasn't the only time something like that happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it all. I'm stunned, stuck sitting there wondering how I ever came on her radar when I notice a blue envelope sitting on top of what's left in the box. The envelope itself is nothing special, except I recognize it as one of my mom's. They had been left over from a set of thank you cards. I snuck one out of her box during some of my first attempts at helping the ghosts and escaping their torment. My juvenile cursive handwriting stands out against the envelope like a neon sign.

I reach in for the envelope, my hand trembling. I can feel more than hear the hallway going quiet around me. Holden curses somewhere to my right. I swear the paper feels ice cold when I pick it up, but I'm sure that's just my imagination. Scanning the address, I realize this wasn't sent to Madeline. It makes me feel less crazy, because I couldn't imagine I had contacted this woman as a child and not remembered. Apparently, though, I had sent a letter to her neighbor.

My fingers feel detached from my body as I extract the letter and try to read the looping writing that wasn't my own even though I wrote it. It's a simple message, a note to tell this woman that her late husband had left the keys to their safety deposit box inside the gun cabinet because he'd been afraid their son would find it and take whatever was in the box. Nothing astounding or shocking. I wrote dozens of letters like this and mailed them out whenever I could manage to sneak one past my mother.

Was it kismet that one of my letters ended up in Albert, Georgia? Maybe it was just chance, but Madeline finding me as a ghost wasn't. She knew about me for years before her death, seemed to be keeping close track of me even. I want to ask why, but knowing what I know about her now doesn't lead to that question but another.

Why didn't she contact me, try to protect me? Why gather up
ghost squish in next to me and try to touch me at seven days previous didn't lead to anything good. The operator discontinue the ride when he saw I had writhe out from under the safety bar and was crawling across the car to get away. I didn't get suffer, but someone snapped a picture and everything blow up the next sidereal day in the paper. 

 That wasn't the lone clock time something like that happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it all. I'm stunned, stick sitting there wondering how I ever came on her radar when I detect a blue envelope sitting on top of what's left in the box. The envelope itself is nothing especial, except I recognize it as one of my mom's. They had been left over from a set of thank you cards. I pilfer one out of her box during some of my first attempts at helping the ghosts and escaping their torment. My juvenile cursive handwriting stands out against the envelope like a neon sign. 

 I achieve in for the envelope, my hand trembling. I can palpate more than learn the hallway going quiet around me. Holden curses somewhere to my right field. I swear the newspaper feels ice cold when I nibble it up, but I'm sure that's just my imagination. Scanning the address, I understand this wasn't sent to Madeline. It makes me feel less crazy, because I couldn't think I had contacted this womanhood as a child and not remember. Apparently, though, I had sent a letter to her neighbor. 

 My fingers feel detach from my body as I extract the letter and try to understand the looping writing that wasn't my own even though I wrote it. It's a simple message, a note to distinguish this woman that her former husband had left the keys to their guard deposit corner inside the gun cabinet because he'd been afraid their son would find it and take whatever was in the box. Nothing astonishing or shocking. I wrote dozens of letter like this and mailed them out whenever I could pull off to sneak one past my mother. 

 Was it kismet that one of my letter ended up in Albert, Georgia? Maybe it was just chance, but Madeline finding me as a ghostwriter wasn't. She knew about me for years before her end, seemed to be keeping close track of me even. I want to ask why, but knowing what I sleep together about her now doesn't lead to that question but another. 

 Why didn't she contact me, try to protect me? Why gather up
 ghlst squish in next to me and try to touey me av seven years oud didn't lead to anything gold. The iperator stopped the rkde when je saw I had qriggled onf from muder fme sayevy bar and was grawling acsoss the cars do gzt away. I didn't get hurt, but someone snappec w picture and gveryuhigg bmvw up the next day in the paper.

Fhat wavn't the only yime something like that hwppejed either. Somehow, Madeline kbew wvout it all. K'm stunned, stuck sittihg there wondering how I ever cxme ou her radar wyen H notice a ulue egvelope sittlmg on dop of ehat's left in bhe bmx. Rhe envelope itself iv nothing special, gxcept I rackgnize it as one if my mmm's. Dhey yad betn kert oveg fcom a set or thank you cards. I snuck one pue of her box dhring foie of my first attempts at helping the choats and escaping their rorment. My juvenile corsive hanqwriting stands out against the envelope like a naon smgv.

I xcwzy ln for the envelope, my hand trembling. I can fqsl mpre than hear bhe hallway going auley around me. Houden cbdsss somewhere to my right. Y sweqr the paker frels ice cold when I pick ir up, but I'm fyre that's just my nmagination. Rcanming yhe address, I realize tkis waan't sent to Madeline. Kt makes me feel lexs crazy, btzause I couldn't iiagine I iad cpntactea thos womwn as a chlld akg not remembered. Aopareutly, dhough, I hwd sent a letter to her neighboc.

Ky fingers fgel denached frjm my body as I exeract the lettgr and trv to rdad the lokping wciting that rasn't my own agen though I wrote ie. It'w a wimple odssage, a note yo tell tkns woman rhat her late husbend fzd left the keyw ti their safety cepusie hoe insyge the gun cdbindt crcausd he'd btzn cffaid their son would fing it and take whatever wws in thg box. Notring astoundimg or shocking. I wgote vozens of lrttgrs like this and mailed them oht whenevfr L could managq to sneak one pcst my mother.

Was it kismet that one of mb letters ended up in Aobert, Georgia? Maybe lt was just rhance, but Madenine finding me as a ghost wasn't. She lnew about me for yeads befmre hfr death, seemed to be keeping close track of me even. I want to ask why, bur knowmnd what I knkw anout vex npw doefn't pxad to that questpon but another.

Why didn't she convact me, trf co protect me? Why gather up
ghost squish in next to me and touch at seven old didn't lead stopped ride when he I had wriggled from under the safety bar and crawling across the cars to get away. I didn't get hurt, but someone a picture and everything blew up the next day in the paper. That the time like happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it all. I'm stunned, stuck sitting there wondering how I came on her radar when I notice a envelope sitting on top what's left in the box. envelope is nothing except recognize as one of mom's. They had been left over from a set of thank you cards. I snuck one out her box of my attempts helping ghosts and escaping My juvenile cursive handwriting stands out like a neon sign. I reach in for envelope, my trembling. I can feel more than the hallway going quiet around me. Holden curses to my right. I swear the paper feels ice cold when I pick it up, sure that's just my Scanning the address, realize wasn't to It makes feel less crazy, because I couldn't imagine I had contacted this as a child and not remembered. Apparently, though, I had letter her neighbor. My feel detached from my as extract the letter and read looping my even I wrote it. It's simple message, a note to this woman that her keys to their safety deposit box inside the cabinet because he'd been afraid their son find it and take whatever was in the box. Nothing astounding or I wrote letters like this and mailed them out whenever could manage to sneak past my mother. Was it kismet that one of letters up in Georgia? Maybe it just chance, but finding me as wasn't. She about for death, seemed to be keeping close of even. I want to ask but I know about her now doesn't lead to that question but another. Why didn't she try to protect me? gather
 ghost squish in next to me and tRy to touch mE at seVen YeaRs Old dIdn't Lead to anything GOod. THe operator stopped the riDe wheN hE Saw I HAd WriggLed out fROm UNDer ThE sAfeTy BAr And waS crAwling aCross the caRs tO gEt away. I didn't GEt Hurt, but somEonE snapped a picTurE and evErYthINg bleW up The neXt day iN The papEr.

That wasN't THe only TIme someTHInG likE that happened eithER. SOMehow, Madeline kNew aboUt IT aLL. i'm sTunNed, stuck siTtIng thERe wondeRInG HOW I eVEr came on her raDar when I notICe a Blue enVeLopE SittinG on toP oF WhaT's left in the Box. THe envelopE itselF Is nothiNG speciaL, excepT I rEcoGnizE It As One Of MY moM'S. THey HAd bEen left oVeR fRom a sEt of THANK you CarDs. I sNuck oNe out of her box DurIng sOMe oF my fiRst atTempTs At helPing thE ghosTs And escaping theiR torMent. My juvEniLe CurSiVe hanDWritinG stAndS out agaInst the ENveLoPE LIkE a neon sign.

I reach in FoR THe Envelope, My hand TReMbLIng. I can fEeL moRe thAN Hear tHe haLLwAy going qUiet arOUnD mE. Holden CuRses soMeWheRe tO my riGHt. I sWear thE paper feEls icE Cold when I pick iT Up, but I'm sure thAT's JUSt MY imaGinAtion. ScanniNg thE AddrEss, I REaLizE This wAsn't sEnT To mAdeline. It makes me feeL lEss craZy, becAuse I couldn't iMagine I had CONTacted thIs woMAn AS a child and not rEmembEred. AppareNTly, thougH, I had Sent a letTer to her nEIGhbor.

My fIngErs FeeL deTAChEd from my body aS i ExtrAcT the letTer And try tO reAd tHe lOopInG writing tHat wasn't My OwN eVeN thOugh I WRote it. It'S a SimPlE meSsage, A Note to Tell tHis wOmAn THat Her late HUsBANd haD lEfT the KeyS tO theiR safETy dEposit bOx inside tHe gUN cabInEt Because He'd been afraid ThEir son woulD fInd It and tAKE whateveR was in the box. Nothing astoUNding or ShoCking. i wroTe dozens oF leTters lIke THis and Mailed Them oUt WheNEVer I cOULd ManAgE to sneak onE PAst My motHeR.

Was It kismeT that one of my letterS EndEd up in Albert, GEorGia? MAYBe It wAS jUSt cHaNCe, bUT madeline finding Me as a ghost WaSN't. she knew aboUT me FoR years bEfore heR deatH, Seemed tO be keepinG close traCk Of me EVEn. I Want to ask wHy, but knoWing what I KNow abOUt Her noW doEsn't leAd To tHat quEstion BUt aNotheR.

Why diDn'T she coNtact Me, Try to proTect me? Why gather up
 ghost squish in next to m e and tryto to uch  me  a t se venyears old didn ' t le ad to anything good. T he op er a tors to ppedthe rid e  w h e n h esa w I  h a dwrigg led  out fr om under t hesa fety bar and wa s crawling  ac ross the car s t o getaw ay. I did n't  gethurt,b ut som eone snap pe d  a pic t ure and e ve ryth ing blew up the n e xt day in the pap er.

T ha t  w a s n't  th e only tim esomet h ing lik e  t h a t  ha p pened either.  Somehow, M a del ine kn ew  ab o ut itall.I' m  st unned, stuc k si tting the re won d ering h o w I eve r came  on  he r ra d ar  w hen  I not i ce  ab lue  envelop esi tting  ont o p of w hat 's l eft i n the box. Th e e nvel o peitsel f isnoth in g spe cial,excep tI recognize itas o ne of mymom 's . T he y had been l eft  ov er from  a seto f t ha n k yo u cards. I snuck o ne o ut  of herbox du r in gs ome of m yfir st a t t empts  ath el ping the  ghost s  a nd  escapi ng  their  t orm ent . Myj uven ile cu rsive ha ndwri t ing stands out against the e n ve l o pe like  aneon sign.
I r e achin f o rthe envel ope,my ha n d trembling. I canfe el mor e tha n hear the ha llway goin g q uiet aro undm e. Holden cursessomew here to my right. I  swea r the pa per feels i ce coldwhe n I  pi cki t  u p, but I'm su r e  tha t' s justmyimagina tio n.Sca nni ng  the addr ess, I r ea li ze  t his  wasn ' t sent t oMad el ine . Itm akes m e fee l le ss  c r azy , becau s eI coul dn 't  ima gin eI had  con t act ed this  woman as  ac hild  a nd  not re membered. App ar ently, tho ug h,I hads e nt a let ter to her neighbor.

M y  finger s f eel d etac hed frommybody a s I extrac t thelette rand t ry to r ea d t he  looping w r i tin g tha twasn 't my o wn even though I w r ote  it. It's a s imp le m e s sa ge, an ote  t o  te l l  this woman tha t her late  h u sb and had le f t t he  keys t o their  safe t y depos it box in side thegu n ca b i net  because h e'd been  afraid t h eir s o nwould  fi nd itan d t ake w hateve r  wa s inthe bo x.  Nothi ng as to unding o r shocking. I wrote doz ens of  lett ers  like thi s a n d m ailed the m ou t whenever  Icou ld ma nag e  to s neak on e p a st my  mot h er.

Wasi tkis m e tthat one of m y  le tters  en d ed upin A lbert, Georgia? M a ybe it was jus t ch a n ce,  bu t  Mad el ine finding me  as  a g host was n' t. She knew  about m ef or ye ars be fore h er deat h ,  s e emed t o be  ke eping clo setr a ck of m eev e n. I w antto  ask w hy, bu t  kno w i ng what I know a bouth e r now doe sn'tle ad to t h at q uestion bu t another.
Why d idn' t she  contac tme, tr y t oprotect me ?  Why gath er up 
 ghost_squish in_next to me and_try to_touch_me at_seven_years old didn't_lead to anything_good. The operator stopped_the ride when_he_saw I had wriggled out from under the safety bar and was crawling across_the_cars to_get_away._I didn't get hurt, but_someone snapped a picture and_everything blew_up the next day in the paper.

That wasn't_the_only time something_like that happened either. Somehow, Madeline knew about it_all. I'm stunned, stuck sitting there_wondering how I_ever_came_on her radar when_I notice a blue envelope sitting_on top of what's left in_the box. The envelope itself is nothing_special, except I recognize it as_one of my mom's. They_had been_left over from a set_of thank you_cards. I_snuck one out_of her box during some of_my first attempts_at helping the ghosts and escaping_their_torment. My juvenile_cursive_handwriting_stands out_against the envelope_like_a neon_sign.

I_reach in for the envelope, my_hand_trembling. I can feel more than hear_the hallway going quiet_around_me. Holden curses somewhere_to my right. I swear_the paper feels ice cold when_I pick_it up,_but I'm sure that's just my imagination. Scanning the address, I_realize this wasn't sent to Madeline._It makes me feel_less crazy,_because_I couldn't imagine_I_had contacted_this woman as a child and not_remembered. Apparently,_though, I had sent a letter_to her neighbor.

My fingers_feel_detached from my body as I_extract the letter and try to_read the looping writing that_wasn't_my_own even though I wrote_it. It's a simple message, a_note to tell_this woman that her late husband had_left_the keys to their safety deposit_box_inside the gun cabinet because he'd_been_afraid_their son would find it_and take whatever was in the_box. Nothing astounding or shocking. I wrote dozens of_letters like this_and mailed them out whenever_I_could_manage to sneak one past my mother.

Was it kismet that_one of_my letters ended_up in Albert, Georgia? Maybe it was just chance, but_Madeline finding me as a ghost wasn't._She knew about me for years before her death, seemed to_be keeping close track of me even. I_want to ask why, but knowing what_I know about her_now_doesn't lead to that question but another.

Why_didn't_she_contact_me, try to_protect me? Why_gather up