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out of a tree. Or something like that. He’s probably still haunting the place.”
    Steve made a farting noise. “Oh, yeah? What about the old lady? She lived there for about a hundred years and no ghost ever scared her away,” he said.
    â€œYes, but the thing about child ghosts,” said Lucy, “is that only other children can see them.”
    â€œMy mom and dad sure can’t see this one,” I said. “But then again, neither can I.”
    â€œYou can hear it, though,” said Lucy. “You can feel its presence in the house.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” I said dejectedly. “And Sally can see it. I’m sure of that.”
    â€œThat’s what scares me,” said Lucy, leaning forward. “What if the little boy ghost wants another child for company. Permanently.”
    I stared at her, my mind a wordless blank.
    Even Steve looked horrified.
    â€œOh, my God,” I said.
    â€œI think you’d better keep an eye on her,” Lucy said. “You’re the only one who can keep her safe.”

19
    That night I pretended to be asleep when my parents came up to bed.
    They couldn’t help—it was up to me.
    Once the house was quiet—as quiet as it ever got—I dragged the chair from my room out into the hall and down next to Sally’s door, which was open just enough for me to see her bed.
    I sat in the chair with a baseball bat across my knees, waiting. Let it come! I was pumped up. Nothing was going to hurt my little sister, not if I had anything to say about it.
    Nothing happened. The house remained quiet. Sally slept peacefully. The hours slowly passed.
    My eyes grew heavy. I fought to stay awake but it was no use. I drifted off listening to the slow, rhythmic sounds of Sally breathing gently as she slept.…
    Suddenly I woke up with a start. At first I couldn’t remember where I was, or what I was doing there. Then my mind cleared and my hands gripped the baseball bat.
    A glance told me Sally’s door was still open a few inches exactly as it had been. I was getting up to go inside and check on her when a noise from downstairs stopped me cold.
    Screeeeek .
    There was a scrape on the floor as if someone down there had bumped into a chair.
    Eeeeeerk .
    That was the sound of a drawer opening very slowly.
    Steve. Maybe he was down there playing a prank after all that spooky talk.
    Crouching close to the wall, I started hesitantly for the stairs, clutching the bat. More shuffling, stirring noises, then an eerie, echoey voice.
    â€œ Mama. My mama .”
    A child’s voice! Sally must be down there!
    I bolted down the stairs and tripped. Hanging on to the stair rail, I lost the bat. It was so loud thumping down the steps that surely it would wake my parents. And Steve would be scared off, right?
    Right?
    The noises stopped. I fumbled around for the light switch and clicked it on.
    Nothing happened. The lights weren’t working. It remained so dark I could barely see my own hands.
    I heard a rustling noise. Cloth on cloth, somebody moving.
    â€œWho’s there?” I called out, my voice echoing in the darkness.
    No answer.
    I advanced slowly into the downstairs hall. A movement at my shoulder made me jump.
    The clock. It was just the grandfather clock rearing up out of the dark, moonlight catching on its face. Just the clock—but my heart thudded.
    â€œSally?” I called softly.
    No answer. I moved farther into the dining room.
    Behind me a floorboard creaked. I whirled around. The shadows under the stairs stirred and parted. Cloth whispered against cloth.
    If only I hadn’t dropped the baseball bat.
    â€œDad?” I breathed, hopefully.
    From under the stairs came a raspy, whispery voice. “ Where is it? You stole it from me, give it back !”
    My skin crawled. It was like the voice was getting inside me, making my blood freeze.
    â€œWho—” My voice cracked. “Who’s