Where the Lost Ones Go

CHAPTER ONE
Our new house smells like lemons. Mom says it’s because the previous owners cleaned the floors so well, but it isn’t just the floors-it’s everything.
Babung’s house never reeked of scented chemicals. Most of the time her living room smelled like orchids and jasmine tea, her kitchen smelled like tonkatsu curry and dumplings, and her bedroom always, always smelled like peppermint.
But then my grandma died, and took all the good smells with
her.
My eyes start to water, and the sharp tang of lemon hits my nostrils again, making me sneeze.
Maybe I’m allergic to this house. And not the mild kind of allergic, like Dad is around cats. The serious kind of allergic, like how some people can die if they eat peanuts or shellfish.
If I’m deathly allergic to this house, does that mean I won’t
have to live in it?
“What are you up to, Eliot?” Dad appears in the doorway and flashes one of his signature everything-is-going-to-be-great smiles. In his arms is a cardboard box marked “kitchen” with big, swooping letters.
“I can’t breathe in this house. I think I’m going into anaphylactic shock,” I say with a flat tone. It takes a surprising amount of skill, considering I’m on the verge of sneezing again.
“I think you’d have to ingest part of the house to have a reaction like that.” Dad hums, amused. “If you’re going to test the theory, maybe start with the wallpaper? Most of it has to come down anyway. Just make sure you start at the edges, and watch for splinters.”
“This isn’t a joke!” I wave my hands around, motioning to-
well, everything. “What if the house has asbestos? We could all get sick. Really sick.” it
Dad’s laugh echoes through the space, and for a moment feels like the house is laughing at me, too.
I glare at the walls like we’re on the brink of becoming mortal
enemies.
“How do you even know what that is? And anyway, this house was built in the ’90s. I doubt it has any asbestos.” Dad looks around, twisting his mouth thoughtfully. “Ghosts, maybe. But not any life-threatening fibers.”
My heart thumps. He knows my weakness, and he’s using it against me. I can’t hide the hope in my voice. “You really think there
could be ghosts here?”
“You’re the expert,” he says with a shrug. “Why don’t you get
your toy out and have a look around?”
The hope evaporates. My parents never take me seriously. Not about ghosts, or allergies, or moving to this house in the first place.
Babung always listened to me. At least, she used to. Before everything changed.
I blink firmly, fighting the sting of frustration in my eyes. “It’s not a toy. It’s a scientific device that detects electromagnetic energy. It shows you when there’s paranormal activity nearby.”
He snorts. “For forty bucks, it had better!”
I cross my arms over my chest, but Dad is too busy admiring the wide entrance hall to notice. He made a point of talking it up when he and Mom announced we were moving. They tried to sell me on things like “crown moldings” and “exposed beams,” as if it was somehow going to make leaving California easier.
For the record: It did not. “So, what do you think?” he asks. “Pretty cool place, huh?”