Gravity - By Abigail Boyd Page 0,1

it were a contest. Who's the best daughter? Even now that the mom could no longer receive handmade cards or runaway threats scribbled in crayon.

Hugh handed me a bag stuffed with tissue paper. "Here you go kiddo. Happy birthday. I hope you like it."

Inside was a fitted gray and black coat. Claire had probably picked it out, but I thanked him for his good taste. It seemed like something I would have picked out myself, as my wardrobe consisted entirely of muted colors.

"Hopefully it's the right size. You've grown so much taller since last year," he said, with a touch of nostalgia in his voice that made me wistful. He exaggerated. I'd gained maybe an inch, which barely put me over 5'5". But I knew that inch seemed like the year to him, coming too fast and changing me into a different person, one small aspect at a time.

Aunt Corinne's present would have obviously been hers, even in a pile. The paper was shiny purple, dotted with silver crescent moons. One would never tell from her uptight demeanor and plain clothing, but Corinne had an obsession with the occult. Tarot cards and scrying mirrors filled the spare room of her condo.

I pulled off the paper along the seam and laid it flat, revealing three chunky hardcovers. I lifted the books up one by one; they all had "ghost" in the title.

"Thanks, I needed something new to read," I told her. "These are perfect."

She beamed, the look on her face declaring she'd found me the best gift. I almost expected her to stick her tongue out at Claire.

I've always loved ghost stories, even when they scare me. Maybe especially then. Truthfully, all my life I've been a bit strange, with an interest in the macabre. When I was seven, I made a shoebox diorama about the Donner Party, complete with tiny clay body parts and half a bottle of red food coloring. The teacher safety-pinned a note to my backpack that day, asking Claire if we had any trouble at home. She pasted it in one of her scrapbooks.

Claire grimaced, the bridge of her upturned nose creasing.

"Really, when are you going to give this up?" she asked Corinne, picking up The Truth about Real Ghosts. My mother hated even the mention of anything supernatural. All scams, according to her, for gullible people. Her disapproval of Corinne was the footnote to that assessment.

"Never," Corinne retorted, looking insulted. She puffed her chest up a little. "How do you give up a sacred truth about the universe? Would I ask you to give up number crunching?" Claire set the book down as she pooh-poohed her under her breath.

Hugh looked as uncomfortable as I felt, a tight, unnatural smile tugging on his lips. Whenever the twins got together it was a draining situation for everyone else unlucky enough to be around. Aunt Corinne could suck all the energy out of a room into herself, like a tornado, fueling her bad moods. I didn't want to reach that point today. I didn't think I could take it.

I set the volumes aside, running my index finger over the silver lettering on the top selection. Even with the false cheery atmosphere, I could feel the creep of death in the room, between my Grandmother's necklace and the subject of the books.

"Ariel, I really do need to get going," Aunt Corinne said yet again, flipping her limp bangs. I resisted the urge to clench my jaw, telling myself that at least she would be gone. Pulling on her coat and mustard yellow scarf, she lifted her hefty leather purse off of the table. Three cake plates sat untouched beside it. Only Hugh had managed to eat his.

"Happy birthday. Enjoy them while you can," she advised me.

We exchanged a sterile hug, and she clomped across the carpeted living room in her boots. I could practically hear Claire's teeth on edge. Usually, no one was allowed to come in or go out the front door because of the pale living room carpeting. There was even a tidy print-out, complete with a little border of vacuums, taped on the back of the front door. Any time a mark appeared on the carpet, Claire got on her hands and knees with the spray bottle, scrubbing long after it became invisible to most human eyes.

My parents followed behind Corinne out to her minivan. I waved from the doorway. Occult bumper stickers decorated the back beneath the tinted windows. I shut the door, and headed