The Last Rhee Witch

Standing in the parking lot at Camp Foster, Ronnie Miller reminded herself that ghosts did not exist. She was ninety-nine percent sure, which was as certain as a person could be. One pecent was set aside for just-in-case and you-never-know. Because there should be a percent likelihood for everything. Even the impossible.

Like that gleaming white figure hovering in the treetops . . . a hundred feet in the air . . . with a streak of crimson running down the front. Ronnie was ninety-nine percent certain it was the morning mist messing with her vision. And after staring at nothing but mountains and forests on the long drive to Central Washington, you're bound to start seeing things—eighty-five percent positive.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ronnie gave them a good rub. When she opened them again, there was no white ghost. No red streak. Only gray mist. She sagged with relief. If she started seeing things that weren't there, her dad would worry. And by the look on her dad's face as he stepped out of the SUV, he was already plenty worried.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" The crease between his brows deepend as he glanced around the parking lot filling up with other kids and their parents. "I mean, with everything that's going on?"

By everything, he meant the way Ronnie had been rhyming when she spoke. It began a few months ago on her twelfth birthday. At first, he thought it was clever. But then he realized she couldn't control it, especially when she was upset.

Like when he broke their birthday tradition of cooking their favorite foods together at home. Not only had he insisted on going to a restaurant for Ronnie's birthday this year, he also invited Kristie-with-a-K. Aplparently, she'd been dying to meet Ronnie. Ronnie, on the ohter hand, had never heard of Kristie—with a K or otherwise. At least eighty percent of Ronnie's sentences that night were in rhyme.

It must have freaked Kristie out, because Ronnie never saw her again. She could live with that. But it freaked her dad out, too, which troubled ronnie. He worried it had something to do with Ronnie losing her mom at a young age. Or her having a single dad. Or being Korean. Or not being Korean enough because her Korean dad was adopted by white parents. And like any problem he couldn't  fix with modern medicine, he either ignored it or got rid of it.

First came the new rule of speaking only Korean or Konglish (a mix of Korean and English words) at home. Ronnie was about as fluent in Korean as a three-year-old and her dad wasn't much better, so there was a lot of bad miming and awkward misunderstandings. And Ronnie always felt a little embarrassed speaking Korean beccause she was sure she had an American accent. It wasn't long before Ronnie was rhyming more than ever.

When that failed, her dad had brought up summer camp.

"It'll give you a chance to try something new!" he'd said two weeks ago at the medical center he worked at.

Ronnie's back was to him as she organized the books on his office shelf. She could hear the forced, over-the-top smile in his voice, but Ronnie knew what was really going on: He was getting rid of the problem. He was getting rid of her.

"But I like the things I do now," she'd protested as she squeezed Digestive Health into its place to the right of Clinical Gastroenterology.

"You'll get to do all sorts of kid things—normal things—like swimming and kayaking. I hear there's a ropes course. And campfires with s'mores."

Ronnie waited for the punch line. Although she was a really good swimmer, her dad made her take swim lessons every summer because drowning was "one of the top five causes of death for people aged one to fourteen years." He kept her off ladders because "the second leading cause of uninentional injury deaths worldwide" was falling. Not to mention the seasonal fire drills—at home. Her dad was famously risk-averse. So this talk of water sports, heights, and playing with fire had to be a joke.

"Maybe you'll even make new friends!" he added, which was not even a little bit funny.

Ronnie spun around to face him. "I already have friends, Dad."

He crossed his arms. "Besides Jack. Who, by the way, is also going to be at camp."

Ronnie mirrored his crossed arms, annoyed that her dad would use Jack to get rid of her. Then she was doubly annoyed that Jack had suddenly become the kind of kid that did stuff like go to summer camp and try new things and make new friends. Her stomach began to twist into a knot, but she smiled against it—big and radiant and aimed straight at her dad. "I have you!" she said cheerfully. "And Julie on Monday through Wednesday, Edgar on Thursday and Friday, and Patty on call!"

Her dad's smile fell. He dropped his arms, letting them hang at his sides. "They're front-desk staff, Ronnie. And I am your friend, but I'm also your dad. And as your dad, I say hanging out in a waiting room is no way for a kid to spend her summer."

"But I like our routines." The book in her hand was suddenly very heavy. "I thought you liked me coming to work with you."

"Of course I do. But a new routine might be in order. We can consider clubs when school starts up again." He saw Ronnie's grimace and tried again. "What about sports?"

"Why not just send me away to boarding school?" she said under her breath.

Her dad didn't seem to hear her. He dragged a hand down his face and started mumbling to himself. "I don't know. A new routine might not be enough. Maybe what we need is a fresh start. A new city—with a strong Korean community. Or maybe a mother figure—"

Move? Stepmom? The last thing she needed was another Korean adult shaking their head at her for not being able to speak Korean better. That only made her want to never speak it at all. The knot in Ronnie's stomach pulled tighter and tighter until she blurted out, "I want to go to summer camp!"

And that had been that.

***

"It's only two weeks, Dad," she said now. "I'll be okay." I just have to watch the words that I say. The rhyme crashed into the back of her teeth and her stomach somersaulted.

Two weeks.

It wasn't long enough for her dad to move them across the country or get married, but it might be long enough for Ronnie to get rid of her impulsive rhyming so her dad would stop trying to get rid of her. Plus, she and Jack could still do most of the things they usually did at home during the summer. Yes. She could definitely survive summer camp for two measly weeks—ninety-nine percent positive.

Two weeks away from home to stop her dad from turning their lives upside down.

Two weeks to fix it all and return everything to normal.

"Wait." Her dad pulled a duffel bag from the car. "Two weeks? I only signed up for one week, six days, and nineteen hours. We're going to have to rethink this whole summer camp business."

Ronnie rolled her eyes extra hard to mask a smile. He hadn't cracked a proper dad joke since her rhyming began. Hope fluttered in her chest. This was going to work.

"It was your suggestion—I just agreed! Came without question and followed your lead!" She bit down on her tongue fourteen words too late. The grin on her dad's face slipped at the rhyme, making Ronnie want to kick herself. Move on quickly. Make him forget. Distract from the rhyme before he's upset.

"You should go check me in." She slung her backpack over her shoulder. "I bet there's a line. And don't worry about me. I'll be just—" Fine, she almost said. She'd caught herself just in time. "Looking for Jack!"

Ronnie and Jack Park had been neighbors and best friends for almost their entire lives. Their dads were best friends, which made them practically family. And being best friends with practically-family had the added bonus of sticking-together-no-matter-what. Like when Jack's parents got a divorce two summers ago. Ronnie nad her dad spent a lot of time with Jack and his dad, helping them figure out the single-parent lifestyle. And when Ronnie's grandfather—her dad's dad—died last summer, Jack and his dad came over all the time to distract Ronnie and her dad from being sad.

Ronnie rushed off to a grassy lawn in front of a cluster of squat camp buildings to her right. People were gathered around a fabric banner pulled tight between two trees. It read WELCOME TO CAMP FOSTER in colorful hand-painted block letters.

Meanwhile, her dad headed left toward a sprawling mansion sitting under the shadow of the last cloud in the sky. A stone sign with RHEE ESTATES engraved in elegant script stood before the gloomy gray structure. A strange feeling washed over her, like she'd stood in that very spot and seen that very structure before.

But this was her first time here. She would definitely remember a place like this. With its black-curtained windows and pointy-witch-hat rooftops, the manor belonged in a ghost story set in October—not at a summer camp in July.

Ronnie gave an involuntary shudder that shook her from head to toe. it must have worked to loosen a memory because she realized wehre she'd seen it before: the camp pamphlet. The main office was located inside.

"Hello there!"

Ronnie jumped about a mile high before whirling around. She was ninety percent sure no one was nearby a moment ago. Now an Afro-Asian woman with a warm brown complexion and curly auburn hair cut just above her chin stood before her. She peered expectantly at Ronnie over a clipboard with wide amber eyes. And at her feet, a black cat lazily licked its paw, as though he'd grown bored waiting.

"I'm Ms. Akemi," the omwan said, tapping her name tag. "The camp nurse."

"Um. I"m Veronica Miller, but I go by Ronnie." She gestured at the cat, who had paused its bath to saunter over to her. "Is he yours?"

Ms. Akemi's brows shot up at the sight of the cat rubbing up against Ronnie's leg. "Boojuk is no one's, really. He's been around longer than this camp has." She leaned in close to stage-whisper, "Some say Boo's a familiar spying on campers."

Gooseflesh tingled along Ronnie's arms, but she shook it off. "A familiar? Like a witch's magical pet?" Witches and their familiars were about as probable as ghosts: one percent.

Ms. Akemi nodded, her curls bouncing. "He's not always so friendly."

As if to demonstrate, Boo stiffened and lowered into a crouch, his gold eyes fixed on a point near the manor. There, a boy and his dad stood in the shadow of its towering walls. Boo released a long, slow hiss before darting toward them.

"If you love 'em, let 'em go." Ms. Akemi shrugged. "Although that one may not come back to you. He really can be quite prickly." She nodded toward the manor. "I take it your guardian is signing you in at the main office?"

Ronnie was nodding when her gaze snagged on a flicker of white between the pitched rooftops where the surrounding forest was visible. Small at first, the white shape grew—either expanding or drawing closer. She got the sinking feeling it was both. A chill scraped up her spine.

It was back.

The voices around her grew distant, and Ronnie's vision tunneled around the haunting figure she had been ninety-nine percent sure was impossible. It lurched through the trees, bare feet dragging lifelessly behind. Terror seized Ronnie's lungs. She couldn't breathe, couldn't scream.

It jerked forward. Again and again. Closer and closer. And ninety-nine percent certainty dropped to eighty-nine.

Luckily, the figure didn't move beyond the tree line, and an entire manor stood betweeen them. But Ronnie could see now that this impossible thing was a woman in a white nightgown. Her long, stringy black hair went down past her waist. Her face was pale, with bottomless pits for eyes and lips the same color as the red trailing down her center.

She stared unblinking at Ronnie, who stared back, frozen in fear and seventy-nine percent disbelief. Then the woman reached out and beckoned with a hand as gaunt and pale as death.