ghosts are there? I mean, is the whole world haunted?”
Mindy shrugged. “Most places, not so much. In this suburb I’m mostly alone, because no one remembers their neighbors. But little towns . . .” Her voice dropped a little. “They’re crawling with whispers.”
A knock came at the door, and I jumped a little.
“It’s just Anna,” Mindy said.
I tried to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, Mom?”
She opened the door, her eyes scanning the room. “Um, were you talking to someone?”
“I wish. No phone.” I tried not to look at Mindy. “I was just singing along with something.”
Mom looked at my laptop, which was shut. Other than my phone, it was the only thing I ever played music on.
“Something in my head,” I clarified, pushing wet hair behind my ears.
“Okay.” She gave me a nervous look. “I thought we might make pasta tonight. From scratch, with squid ink. I’ve got the island all cleaned off so we can make a mess.”
“Perfect time to make a mess. I just took a shower.”
My mother hesitated, so I smiled again to show I was kidding, still managing not to look at Mindy. After what I’d been through, it wouldn’t take much to convince my mom that I was going crazy.
“Great! I’ll go start the sauce,” she said, and shut the door.
“Mmmm . . . spaghetti,” Mindy said.
I looked at her. “Ghosts can eat?”
“We can smell,” she said.
“Oh, right.” I was whispering now, convinced that my mother was outside with her ear pressed against the door. “But you have to stay in here while we cook. I’m not used to this invisible friend thing yet, and I don’t want to look insane in front of Mom.”
Mindy pouted, running a palm across the bedspread as if she were smoothing it out. But the wrinkles stayed. It had to be frustrating, being shut off from the world of objects and people, unable to connect.
“That’s not very nice of you,” she said. “Now that you’re a pomp, we should be friends .”
“But Mom’s going to want to talk about stuff. She always gets deep and meaningful when we cook. And I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re hanging around. So please?”
“I’ll sit in the corner and not say anything. Promise!”
I hesitated, wondering how reliable Mindy’s promises were. She might be two months older than my mother, but she still talked like an eleven-year-old. I wondered if ghost children never grew up.
“If you let me hang out, I’ll tell you a secret,” she offered.
“Awkward details from my mother’s childhood? No thanks.”
Mindy shook her head. “It’s something really important. Something you need to know.”
“Okay, I guess.” Mindy knew more about the afterlife than I did. And given Yamaraj’s warnings about dangers and predators, it wouldn’t hurt to learn more. “What’s your big secret?”
“There’s a man watching our house,” she said. “He’s been there for three days.”
* * *
I took the backyard path, the recycling bin trundling behind me. My mother had seemed a little surprised when I’d volunteered to take it out, but she hadn’t argued.
Mindy was walking ahead, checking that the way was clear, but my nerves were jumping. I had no reason to trust Mindy. My mother had never even mentioned her. What if there wasn’t anybody watching the house, and this was some kind of . . . ghost trap?
But what else could I do? Pretend Mindy hadn’t said anything?
“He’s not in the back lane,” Mindy said from the other side of the gate. “He usually parks his car in front of the Andersons’ house.”
“Who are the Andersons?”
“You don’t know our neighbors very well, do you?”
I didn’t answer, pulling open the gate and rattling the bin into its usual spot in the back lane. Ghosts had plenty of free time on their hands, I supposed, and spying on the neighbors was probably more interesting than staring at the walls of my mother’s closet.
With a glance at the house to make sure Mom
Mindy shrugged. “Most places, not so much. In this suburb I’m mostly alone, because no one remembers their neighbors. But little towns . . .” Her voice dropped a little. “They’re crawling with whispers.”
A knock came at the door, and I jumped a little.
“It’s just Anna,” Mindy said.
I tried to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, Mom?”
She opened the door, her eyes scanning the room. “Um, were you talking to someone?”
“I wish. No phone.” I tried not to look at Mindy. “I was just singing along with something.”
Mom looked at my laptop, which was shut. Other than my phone, it was the only thing I ever played music on.
“Something in my head,” I clarified, pushing wet hair behind my ears.
“Okay.” She gave me a nervous look. “I thought we might make pasta tonight. From scratch, with squid ink. I’ve got the island all cleaned off so we can make a mess.”
“Perfect time to make a mess. I just took a shower.”
My mother hesitated, so I smiled again to show I was kidding, still managing not to look at Mindy. After what I’d been through, it wouldn’t take much to convince my mom that I was going crazy.
“Great! I’ll go start the sauce,” she said, and shut the door.
“Mmmm . . . spaghetti,” Mindy said.
I looked at her. “Ghosts can eat?”
“We can smell,” she said.
“Oh, right.” I was whispering now, convinced that my mother was outside with her ear pressed against the door. “But you have to stay in here while we cook. I’m not used to this invisible friend thing yet, and I don’t want to look insane in front of Mom.”
Mindy pouted, running a palm across the bedspread as if she were smoothing it out. But the wrinkles stayed. It had to be frustrating, being shut off from the world of objects and people, unable to connect.
“That’s not very nice of you,” she said. “Now that you’re a pomp, we should be friends .”
“But Mom’s going to want to talk about stuff. She always gets deep and meaningful when we cook. And I won’t be able to concentrate if you’re hanging around. So please?”
“I’ll sit in the corner and not say anything. Promise!”
I hesitated, wondering how reliable Mindy’s promises were. She might be two months older than my mother, but she still talked like an eleven-year-old. I wondered if ghost children never grew up.
“If you let me hang out, I’ll tell you a secret,” she offered.
“Awkward details from my mother’s childhood? No thanks.”
Mindy shook her head. “It’s something really important. Something you need to know.”
“Okay, I guess.” Mindy knew more about the afterlife than I did. And given Yamaraj’s warnings about dangers and predators, it wouldn’t hurt to learn more. “What’s your big secret?”
“There’s a man watching our house,” she said. “He’s been there for three days.”
* * *
I took the backyard path, the recycling bin trundling behind me. My mother had seemed a little surprised when I’d volunteered to take it out, but she hadn’t argued.
Mindy was walking ahead, checking that the way was clear, but my nerves were jumping. I had no reason to trust Mindy. My mother had never even mentioned her. What if there wasn’t anybody watching the house, and this was some kind of . . . ghost trap?
But what else could I do? Pretend Mindy hadn’t said anything?
“He’s not in the back lane,” Mindy said from the other side of the gate. “He usually parks his car in front of the Andersons’ house.”
“Who are the Andersons?”
“You don’t know our neighbors very well, do you?”
I didn’t answer, pulling open the gate and rattling the bin into its usual spot in the back lane. Ghosts had plenty of free time on their hands, I supposed, and spying on the neighbors was probably more interesting than staring at the walls of my mother’s closet.
With a glance at the house to make sure Mom
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