Get out your tape recorders, crystals, and extra batteries—you’re about to go where our world meets the spirit world. Psychic Kids, Paranormal State, Haunting Evidence—these and countless other television shows are making believers out of millions of people: Ghosts exist, and they’re living right beside us. For centuries, individuals have been trying to prove the existence of ghosts. But without hard evidence, it’s been difficult to make the case. But now as science and technology have progressed, ghost hunters have been able to use scientific means, along with more traditional psychic tools, to make their case. Photographs, video recordings, and sound recordings are all producing some amazing results. In this new series, Ghost Huntress, meet Kendall Moorehead, a seemingly typical teen. When her family moves from Chicago to the small historical town of Radisson, Georgia, her psychic abilities awaken. She’s hearing, feeling, and seeing things that seem unbelievable at first, but with the help of the town psychic, Kendall is able to come to terms with her newly emerging gift. So, together with her new BFF, Celia, Kendall forms a ghost hunting team. They’ve got all the latest technology. They’ve got Kendall for their psychic. Now they’re going to clean up Radisson of its less savory spirits. The story is fiction. The science is real. Welcome to a new reality. Perfect for Halloween reading - Ideal for fans of the supernatural - For teens who love dark and scary stories "This book reads like a good episode of your favorite ghost-hunting show. Gibson is clearly a believer, but manages to maintain a realistic feel and avoid any sensationalization or melodrama that would push the story over the edge. Teens who watch Ghost Whisperer or Haunting Evidence, who flock to everything Buffy, or who like their ghosts to feel real (with a hint of humor and romance) will eat this up and eagerly await the next installment in the Ghost Huntress series."-- Booklist "This trilogy is well put together and attractively packaged--fast-paced, twisty plot."--VOYA, 3Q4P MARLEY GIBSON  is the author of all of the Ghost Huntress books, and co-wrote  The Other Side  with Patrick Burns and Dave Schrader. She lives in Savannah, GA, and can be found online at www.marleygibson.com or at her blog, www.booksboysbuzz.com. Chapter One It’s too freaking quiet here!    I can’t sleep. Not a wink.    This is the third night in a row this has happened. Ever since we moved from my beloved twenty-two-hundred-square-foot high-rise condo on the Gold Coast of Chicago to this creaky old Victorian house here in Radisson, Georgia—i.e. out where God lost his shoes—I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep.    A teenager like me needs the proper amount of rest or else her growth will be stunted. It’s bad enough I’m not blessed in the boobage department, like my thirteen-year-old sister, Kaitlin. Aren’t older sisters supposed to develop faster? Now this whole insomnia prob. Oh, like dark circles under my eyes are going to make me even more popular when I start my new school tomorrow.    I roll onto my side and hang off the bed, peering over at the North American Van Lines cardboard box marked “Moorehead—Kendall’s Bedroom.” I wonder if there’s any Tylenol PM in there from when I couldn’t sleep last summer because I was working part-time at Intelligentsia Coffee on North Broadway and had a caffeine contact high. Hmm, probably not. I shouldn’t take that anyway, especially since I turned down Mom’s offer of a sleeping pill sample she got from the pharm rep—she’s a nurse—that she occasionally takes. Course, my sleep disorder isn’t related to hot flashes, like hers is. Mine’s because of this freaking silence!    I mean, living in downtown Chicago since my birth, I got used to the noise of a city: The cacophony of cars, taxis, and delivery trucks. The hustle and bustle of tourists and townies alike trekking around the Windy City. The El with its metallic symphony along the rails. The planes from O’Hare and Midway coasting through the sky, like you could reach up, grab them, and hang on. To me, it’s a harmonious concerto of urban life. Not this unbelievably earsplitting silence of Main Street in Radisson, Georgia.    I’m seriously not kidding about this deafening quiet. I’m almost on a first- name basis with the crickets and chirping cicadas that live in our backyard. I have to crack the window to let air in—I have a ceiling fan, but it’s not helping with the night warmth—and the outdoor insects serenade me with their nightly opera while I lay here staring up at the crown molding on my bedroom ceiling. As my Grandma Ethel used to say, “It’s so quiet you can hear the dead thinking.” Yeah, like that’s what I want.    What I want is to see the inside of my eyelids and some colorful, vivid dreams of the Justin Timberlake or Channing Tatum variety. That’s what I’m talking about.    Flipping to the middle of the bed, I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, mopping u