Whispers at Moonrise

once and for all who she thinks is trying to hurt you.”
    *   *   *
    On Friday morning, Kylie had skipped breakfast and Meet Your Campmate hour. She barely made it to English on time.
    Obviously, Burnett wasn’t the only one who needed to learn more about spirits. Kylie didn’t know enough, either, because while she had felt Hannah’s presence in the last few days, and again this morning, the spirit wouldn’t manifest. Kylie had tried to appeal to her the way Holiday suggested. No luck. Kylie had even resorted to begging. Nothing.
    Sitting at her desk, she reached down to make sure she’d brought her phone. The slight bulge in her pocket was reassuring. Maybe she was dreaming, but she hoped Lucas would either call or at least text her. But so far, nothing. That stung.
    Looking up at the front of class, Miss Kane started talking about famous authors and the books they would be reading for the first six weeks. Who knew Jane Austen and so many others were supernatural? Kylie sure as hell didn’t.
    Intrigued by the conversation, Kylie barely noticed the noise when it started. Just a slight knock, as if someone were tapping on a door. The tap became a loud knock. Confused, she looked around, and oddly, no one else reacted.
    Inhaling a strange vibe, she stared straight ahead again. As the noise grew louder, a slight movement to the right of the teacher caught Kylie’s attention. The closet door behind Miss Kane rattled on its hinges, telling her where the banging originated.
    Cutting her eyes left and right, she prayed she’d see someone, anyone, reacting to the obvious disruption.
    Nope.
    Then the cold of a spirit sent goose bumps racing up her arms. A trail of steam floated up from her lips, impairing her vision. Miss Kane said something, but Kylie couldn’t hear over the ear-piercing hammering.
    “Kylie? Kylie?” Someone called her name.
    Who? Kylie couldn’t think.
    Forcing herself to look up, she saw the teacher staring at her as if waiting for a response. Kylie tried to talk, just a muttered, “Huh?” but not a word would leave her shivering lips. Then she saw it. Steam, lots of steam, billowing out from under the closet door.
    Damn! Damn! This wasn’t a normal spirit’s visit. It felt more like the beginning of a vision.
    That thought had hives popping out all over her chilled skin. Not because visions were scarier than hell, but because visions generally ended up with Kylie unconscious, or even worse, babbling incoherently.
    Not here, Kylie pleaded. Not in front of twenty-five other campers.
    An icy touch whispered across her shoulder. She looked back. A woman, her skin a pale ashen color, with dark purple circles under her gray eyes, stared at Kylie.
    “She needs to see you.” The spirit wore a white nightgown and her long brown hair hung around her shoulders. She raised her hand and pointed to the closet in front of the class.
    “Who are you?” Kylie asked, and realized she’d forgotten to talk in her head.
    All the students were now staring. Kylie could hardly think. So cold. She could barely feel her own skin anymore.
    “Who’s in there?” she asked.
    In the distance, like static noise, Kylie heard others talking. Someone else called her name, maybe it was Della, and then she thought she heard Derek, but nothing sounded right, or felt right.
    “She needs to talk to you.”
    Suddenly, realizing it could be Hannah behind that door, Kylie forced herself to stand up and walk to the closet. Even determined to do it, she hated doing it in front of people. But what choice did she have? Her knees wobbled as she neared the closet door.
    She saw Miss Kane backing across the room, fear turning her complexion pale.
    Kylie completely understood. She was pretty damn scared herself.
    She reached for the closet’s doorknob. Before she touched it, a hand ripped through the wood. Bony fingers latched onto the front of her shirt and yanked her through the splintered wood of the closet door. And yet it wasn’t the closet.
    The dark, dank place smelled of dirt, herbs, and death.
    She screamed. Hard. Loud.
    “Kylie? Kylie?” The voices echoed in the distance and then faded. Now, the only sound she heard over her own screams was the clanking sound of metal hitting metal.
    She lay flat on her back. Gritty dirt rained down on her cheeks from above. The desire to brush it away hit, but her arms were locked at her sides. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew where she was.
    The grave—she was in