Finding Gilbert

By Robin Martin

May knows she is different — she can see ghosts. She just didn't expect to meet one in her school library when she decided to skip class. At first she is totally freaked out, but then she learns this boy ghost needs her help. Gilbert doesn't know who he is or why he only appears when a book on Australian horses is opened. Despite the fact that May has tried to block out her psychic abilities, she decides to find out. After all, it's the only interesting thing that's happened to her since she moved to this sleepy beachside town from her beloved Melbourne. But, as she begins to search for Gilbert's identity, May discovers answers she never really expects. They are two teens from two different eras, and yet they find a connection. In Finding Gilbert, May not only learns about his troubled past, but comes to terms with her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martin
• Release date: Oct 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780648925828

Robin Martin

Robin Martin is a freelance editor, content creator, copyeditor, project coordinator, coach, and editorial guide. She serves on the Board of Governors of the Editorial Freelancers Association as the Chairperson of the Publications Committee.

Book preview

Chapter One

Heat flooded into my cold, dark essence and I was pulled into harsh light that hit like a bullet. Searing pain told me I was becoming again. It was awful, and yet strangely beautiful. Anything was better than the emptiness of my existence. A whirlpool of colours and shapes flashed around me, twirling like a spinning top. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear it any more, everything slowed down, and objects came into focus, until finally, the spinning stopped and I knew I had arrived.

I was standing in a large, bright room, book stacks looming on either side of me. My eyes were drawn to a strange-looking girl, with dark hair, wearing dungarees. She was sitting on the floor, an open book in her lap. The crisp sound of a page turning focussed my sight on a picture in the book of a bay horse, muscular and compact. I knew that horse. I knew that book. My words tumbled out, ‘He looks like Bill.’

The hunched shoulders jumped. She scrambled to her feet, turning to face me, with the open book still clutched against her chest. Dark eyes looked into mine. For a moment, or maybe it was an eternity, her energy seeped into me and I felt alive. Then she relaxed and smiled. That shocked me even more. It was almost as if she knew I was there, which had never happened before.

‘You can see me?’ Like earlier, my words burst out, and I was aware of a feeling I could only describe as joy.

‘Of course I can see you,’ she said, looking down at the book again.

‘But no one has ever seen me before.’

Brows contracted in her pale forehead and her mouth tightened. I sensed I was either annoying her or scaring her, neither of which was my intention. I tried again, this time to speak in what I hoped was a more normal, acceptable fashion.

‘I’m Gilbert.’ The name, which had escaped me for so long, came without effort. ‘And you are…’

She hesitated. Perhaps I’d been too forward?

Then she said, ‘May.’

It was so appropriate. May: when the heat of an Australian summer was gone, and the early frost tipped the grass tops in dawn’s first light. She was fresh, cool, and made me feel as if the blood I didn’t have was stirring in my veins. ‘That’s a pretty name.’

She actually snorted. ‘You must be the only one who thinks so. I think my Mum was still high on Pethidine when she gave me that one.’

I had no idea what she was talking about.

‘I hate my name. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been called ‘May Be’, or ‘May Be Not’, and don’t even get me started on what jokes are made on the fourth of May.’

It was as if she were speaking a foreign language.

‘Shouldn’t you be in class?’ she asked, raising an accusing eyebrow.

I looked around. Beyond these book stacks stretched a large room filled with tables that fit together and odd looking chairs. A dark blue carpet spread from wall-to-wall, and overhead, harsh lights made everything bright. Where were the oil lamps? I’d never been in a room like this, both strange and minimal in its furnishing. A paper sign stuck to a window read Tickets available now for the Seniors’ dance.

‘Is this a school? It’s so big. My school only had one room and it was half the size of this.’ A memory flashed through my mind of a small room with wooden desks and inkwells. Children crowded together on long wooden seats. I remember the smell of Billy Parsons, who never washed, and the long, tempting braids of Flossie Jones, in front of me. If this was a school, it was like none other I’d known. And yet there were books and desks. Where, I wondered, were the students?

‘Hang on, don’t you even know? Who are you?’ I heard the impatience and anger in her voice.

Who was I? I wish I knew. I existed, mostly in a vacuum. I knew I’d been somebody once. But who? Now I was nothing. So I said the only thing I could. It was the only thing that made sense. I looked down into the cool, dark eyes appraising me and said, ‘I’m a ghost.’

***

Nausea punched my stomach as I looked at this strange guy standing in front of me. No, not again, this couldn’t be happening to me again. Every sense I had rejected the idea. Except for his crazy talk, he seemed normal. His clear, hazel eyes held my gaze. For a moment neither of us said anything. I forced myself to deny the sick, tight, oh-so familiar feeling in my belly, and studied him closely. His light brown hair was short, and his clothes, even though it was free dress day, were unusual. Did he think it was fancy dress or something? He was wearing a grey collarless shirt and olive green trousers held up by suspenders. Woollen strips of cloth wound around his shins, down to his black boots. I didn’t remember seeing him in class, or around the school. He must be new, like me. New and weird, also like me. Not a ghost. Just someone with a stupid sense of humour.

I started to feel annoyed. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Just because I’m the new kid or something — so not cool. And that’s not the way to make friends, you know.’

I was about to turn my back on him when the thought ran through my mind: Had he heard about me? How could anyone here possibly know what happened in Melbourne? I only thought I saw that girl near the school lockers, and it was only later I’d found out she’d died. But that was nearly two years ago. How could anyone here know that?

He sighed, then said. ‘You don’t believe me? I guess you need some proof. Okay, watch. Let me see if I can do this.’ He slowly dissolved into thin air.

If I’d been capable of making any sound, I would have screamed. But instead, a deep dread gripped me. Every nerve tingled. This was so much worse than any episode I’d had before.

Everything in me rejected this. Instead, my mind searched for a logical solution. Did some creep at school slip something into that weak coffee I’d gotten at the canteen during second break? Maybe that was it. I took a few deep breaths.

‘Hello, May,’ said a voice behind me. I whirled around, still clutching the book as if it would offer some protection. He was standing there beside the book stacks. I started to shake. Maybe now was the time to escape, but my feet didn’t seem to want to move.

My voice came out as a squeak. ‘Go away. Leave me alone.’ I closed my eyes, willing whatever this was to be gone.

None of it was real. It was just some stupid trick my mind was playing on me. I was hallucinating.

After a few moments, I opened my eyes, expecting to see nothing. He was still there.

A dozen words in my head struggled to get out, but failed.

His sad eyes stared back at me, and I sensed a deep loneliness. He looked as lost as I felt.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ll leave if you want me to.’

For a few moments we just looked at each other. I didn’t want to feel a connection, but I did. There was something about him that touched me. Some of my fear disappeared, enough for me to say, ‘Who are you?’

A deep sigh appeared to shudder through him. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did. I think I’m connected to that book.’ He pointed to the volume I was still clutching.

I lowered it and looked at the cover. ‘The Horse in Australian History,’ I read the title out loud. ‘There’s nothing unusual about this, except it’s a bit old. Must have missed the librarian’s cull. I knocked it off the shelf by accident when I was browsing.’

I had come to the library to be alone — to escape the unending social drama called high school. It was the last period and the air conditioning here was an improvement over the creaky fans that circulated hot air in our stuffy classroom, where the kids were running riot over the hapless supply teacher filling in. I knew I wouldn’t be missed. So, I’d sat on the floor and opened the book. If I’d known I was going to see a ghost… .

I looked back at him, half wishing he was just some kid playing an elaborate hoax. But I knew, my gut knew, he wasn’t. Taking a deep breath, I decided to do something I’d never done before. I decided to accept this. Okay, I said to myself, I can see ghosts, like I saw that girl two years ago. But she was just a fleeting image, and she could have been a trick of my imagination, or someone else who looked like her. This guy was different. He was here, right in front of me and he was talking. That hadn’t happened before. I wondered if I was maybe going a little crazy.

I scanned the room for teachers who might ask awkward questions about why I wasn’t in class, and even more awkward ones about who Gilbert was. But the library was empty as usual. It was why I liked it. I turned back to him.

‘Why are you connected to a book?’

His eyes clouded. ‘I don’t know. I’m in this kind of nothingness until someone opens it, and then I feel pulled into the world, but never for long, because no one ever sees me.’

A ghost attached to a book — that was bizarre. I looked down at it, searching for a clue. Flipping back to the title page, I read out loud, ‘To Daniel, Happy Birthday from your loving wife.’ I looked at him. ‘Who’s that?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have no idea. Maybe whoever owned the book had some connection to me. I remember the first time I appeared I saw an old man and a woman. Another time, there was a boy with the man. They were reading the book together and looking at the pictures. I tried so hard to reach them, to get them to see me, or at least hear me. But, they never did.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘After a while, I lost energy and faded back into nothingness, until you came along, and here I am.’ He looked at me. ‘There must be a reason you can see me. You must be special.’

Special that was me, but not in a good way. After all, I was weird, and weird things happened to me. The girl by the lockers was not my only experience. Ever since my accident a few years ago, I sensed presences or heard sounds that filled my mind with shadowy images. Nothing as dramatic as this, and mostly, I was able to block it out. I’d learned to live a semi-normal life…until now.

That was why I never fit in. And that was in Melbourne. Here, at White Sands, I stood out even more. I was never, ever going to find any besties among these tanned, surfy kids here. I liked live music, coffee, and the colour black, none of which was common in White Sands, unless you counted bush bands at the monthly markets, and the occasional black T-shirt in winter. Of coffee I say nothing. Maybe seeing Gilbert was just my reaction to being here. That, and the fact that I was seriously different, and had felt it for several years now. I saw things, felt things that no one else did. I was a freak, and nobody knew it better than me. I also knew it was all my fault.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

His voice brought me back to the present. His slightly upturned nose had a smattering of freckles across it and his eyes were filled with concern. It was still hard to believe he was a ghost.

‘That’s an ironic question, considering you’re dead and I’m — not.’ I was not known for my diplomacy, but he didn’t seem to notice. I took a deep breath and repeated the question I’d asked before. ‘But who are you, or who were you?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure. I know I’m sixteen, but they believed me when I told them I was eighteen.’

We were the same age, but he looked older. His last statement puzzled me. ‘What do you mean you told them you were eighteen? Who?’

Ignoring my question, he said, ‘I don’t know how I died. I don’t remember anything.’

‘Maybe you were in an accident or something.’

His eyes were expressionless. The quietness stretched between us as if he were absent. Then he said, ‘Do you like horses?’

Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his past. That I could understand.

‘Yeah, I guess. Who’s Bill?’ I asked, remembering the first thing he’d said to me.

‘Bill was a horse I helped look after. He was a good old fella.’

‘Oh, so you worked on a farm then?’ I was still trying to understand his story.

‘Yes, I think I had parents and a younger sister, and we lived somewhere in the country.’ His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to remember.

‘Tell me about them,’ I said.

But just then the bell rang, shattering the silence of the library. It startled me and I dropped the book, which shut as it hit the floor. He disappeared — just like that. Leaning against the bookshelf, I waited for my heartbeat to return to normal. Then, still shaky, and drained of all energy, I picked up the book, flipped it open, and waited for him to appear, but nothing happened. I wanted to ask him so much more, but after opening and closing the book several times, he still didn’t appear. What was up with this ghost anyway?

Part of me was still scared. I didn’t like these supernatural experiences, and up to now I’d tried to block them out. But, I was also curious. Who was he? What was he doing here of all places? White Sands, with its endless sunshine and extremely normal people, was hardly the place you would expect to find a ghost.

I put the book inside my bag, knowing I needed to explore this further. As I headed out the door, a resolution formed in my mind. Something had changed inside me. I’d spent the last few years rejecting my extra sensory abilities, and retreating into myself. I didn’t want anyone to know because they would think I was crazy, and sometimes I thought I was too. But this was different; Gilbert seemed so real and I wanted to find out more about him. I had this weird feeling, as if in some way it was important. Plus, it was the most interesting thing that had happened to me since I’d come to this sleepy seaside town. Maybe, in finding out about Gilbert, I might also find out more about this freakish ability I had to sense the unseen world. And maybe it would help me forget how much I hated it here, where I felt even more of an outsider than I had in Melbourne.

Chapter Two

‘H ey May, Jarred’s having a party tonight, you wanna come?’

I turned around to see Kirsty Adams, hurrying to catch up with me as I headed up the street towards home.

Even though I was determined to enjoy my own company, it wasn’t as easy here in White Sands as it was in Melbourne. People here were so uber friendly – and Kirsty was a perfect example of that.

The Queensland sun was furnace hot and my T-shirt stuck to me like a second skin. Kirsty, on the other hand, looked fresh and annoyingly bubbly. Her pink shirt was wrinkle free, and her white linen shorts looked like they had just been taken out of the wash. Because we lived several doors from each other, and about a fifteen minute walk from school, we often found ourselves walking home together. Fact check: I walked home and she joined me. Kirsty was a junior surf lifesaver and loved living by the beach. She was nice, but seriously, we didn’t have much in common. She never read a book she didn’t have to, and probably couldn’t tell the difference between instant and real coffee. We were never going to be soul-mates, but we tolerated each other.

I looked into her bright grey eyes, trying to work out how I could say no without offending her. Kirsty was always trying to include me in things, mainly because she felt sorry for me I think. Perhaps her mum, who was even more determinedly social than she was, put her up to it. But, I was still freaked out from what happened to me in the school library, and a party was the last thing I needed or wanted. I couldn’t wait to get home and collapse under the fan in my room.

‘Thanks, but I’m kinda busy,’ was my lame excuse.

‘Oh,’ she said and looked disappointed. ‘It’s going to be cool, you know. Jarred has a pool and a spa.’

That, if anything, just convinced me even more that I didn’t want to go. I hated swimming and anything to do with water sports. Once again, I wished my family had never moved here.

‘Sorry, I have to babysit my brother, Marcus,’ I lied. Thinking of my street-smart, twelve-year-old brother and how infuriated he would feel about having to be babysat, I almost smiled.

Kirsty put her head on one side, her blonde ponytail swinging, and gave me a shrewd look. ‘That’s okay, May, you don’t have to make excuses. If you don’t want to come, fine.’

‘No, seriously, I do,’ I said, sounding even more lame. I wasn’t good at lying.

She shrugged and turned from me. ‘Whatever,’ she said as she walked away.

For a nanosecond or two I felt bad. I’m not rude, at least not usually, and not with people who were trying to be nice to me. It wasn’t Kirsty’s fault that I wasn’t a social creature. Even in Melbourne I’d only had one close friend, Joe. We shared the same taste in music, clothes, social issues, and just about everything. I was the first person Joe came out to when he was thirteen. I comforted him when his first boyfriend dumped him. He sympathised with me when I found out my family was moving to Queensland to a beach town no one had ever heard of before. And even though he knew about my experiences, he never judged me or treated me as if I was a freak. In fact, we never talked about it and that suited me fine. I missed him so much.

I turned into our driveway, looking up at the old wooden Queenslander with its wrap-around verandah. It was one of the few older buildings in White Sands. Thankfully, my parents hadn’t moved into a modern white stucco box with air conditioning and a pool, that was the standard type of house in this area. Our family room and my bedroom were downstairs, which had been built-in. The one thing I liked about living here was that my bedroom was separate to everyone else’s upstairs. The second bathroom was down here too so, other than to eat, I hardly had to go upstairs at all.

I pushed open the door that led to the family room and saw Marcus sprawled on the couch, playing his Xbox, schoolbag dropped on the floor. He barely looked up when I came in, which was pretty standard.

‘Hey,’ I said as I passed, getting a grunt for an answer. I headed to my room, automatically locking the door and dropping my bag. I flicked on the overhead fan, flopped on the bed, and thought about Gilbert. But the more my thoughts whirled around, the more exhausted I felt, until I tumbled into sleep.

When I woke up it