Read The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] for Free Online Page A

of smudged colors, mixing together in a conglomerate of hues, shades, and beauty. I’ve been parasailing before; however, it doesn’t even come close to this. I feel like an angel, as though I’m being called homeward. Before I know it, the bold and brilliant lights of the Windy City, my birth place—my beautiful former residence—come into view. We zoom past airplanes coming in for a landing at O’Hare. We sail over Lake Michigan. We zip down the Miracle Mile filled with shops and stores sporting their Christmas decorations and holiday cheer.
    “Oh, my God, Taylor! We’re in Chicago!”
    I haven’t been back here since the moving truck pulled away, headed for Georgia filled with all our worldly belongings. The air is tinged with the sweetness from the Brach’s Candy Warehouse. A waft of grilled brats and Chicago red hots from a street vendor makes me drool unconsciously for the culinary delight. And the snow. It’s so fresh, white, and thick. I long to run through Grant Park or go for a spin on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. I wonder if the Bears or Blackhawks or playing right now?
    Taylor tugs on my arm and clicks her tongue. “We’re not here for sports, Kendall.” She adjusts our flight slightly north of the city and we touch down on the wet pavement of the sidewalk. To my left is a white sign with blue lettering. An N and M merged together. The symbol for Northwestern Memorial Hospital: the place where I was born.
    “What are we doing here?” I ask.
    “You need to see your past, Kendall.”
    “I know my past, Taylor. My mother died here after she had me. Thanks for reminding me of that depressing moment. I never knew her except as an imaginary friend when I was little and a ghost when I started having psychic visions.”
    Taylor grins and adjusts her shiny tiara. “Be quiet. You have more than one mother, cherie .”
    We walk into the hospital. Into a time long past. We blend into the scenery, unseen by the residents of this time. They’re concerned with their own matters. Funny, no one’s sitting around with their noses buried in a Smartphone. People are actually watching TV, talking to each other, and reading. Imagine that. There was life before technology.
    We slide into the emergency room where I see a conclave of doctors and nurses standing outside a curtained off area. A young nurse with neat brown hair is pleading to the doctor on call.
    “She’s lost so much blood. I don’t think she’s going to make it much longer,” the nurse says. “She’s slipping and it seems as though she has no will to survive.”
    “And the child?”
    The nurse lowers her eyes. “She’s only four pounds and three ounces, but her vitals are good. We have her in the incubator on a ventilator. She’s so… tiny, frail, and alone.”
    When the nurse looks up this time, I recognize her eyes. Those soft hazel orbs that have watched over me since the night of my birth.
    “Mom.” I choke on my whisper.
    “She’s was a total babe,” Taylor says. “She still is, actually.”
    I don’t even realize that I’m crying as I follow Sarah Moorehead into the neonatal care unit. A gasp escapes me when I see her reach her hand toward a miniscule clear box filled with tubes and monitors and hoses and…
    “Holy crap! Is that me ?”
    A squirming little purple-ish human wriggles and cries inside the container. I don’t hear myself, but I know that Baby Me is not happy.
    “You’re adorable,” Taylor says. “Look at the love on Miss Sarah’s face. You were hers even then, Kendall.”
    I wipe a wayward tear with the back of my hand and continue to observe.
    “Shhh, little girl,” my mom says to me. “Don’t you worry about anything. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You just concentrate on getting stronger and breathing on your own. I’m not going anywhere.”
    She places her hand inside the incubator and, almost instinctively, my tiny, premature one—not much bigger than any of my baby