Raising the Dead by Mara Purnhagen

didn’t die childless like everyone thought. Which makes me your cousin. And we have family business to discuss.”
    “I don’t understand what you mean,” William said. His voice was soft and strained.
    “The police are on their way,” Avery said. “You can discuss things with them.”
    Jeremiah looked past us. His eyes focused on something in the hallway. “I’m trying,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”
    “Who are you talking to?” Noah asked.
    “He’s right there,” Jeremiah said. “You see him, don’t you? Standing in the doorway?”
    It was a diversion, a trick to get us all to look at the same time so he could try to break free. Noah and Jared didn’t fall for it. Neither did Avery. But I turned my head so I could see what Jeremiah was talking about.
    I didn’t see anything at first. The hallway was dark, the kitchen lights turned off. It was dark. Against that darkness, though, I thought I saw a curl of white smoke. It was faint, like apuff of breath against a cold winter’s night. But it was something. Wasn’t it? I didn’t feel a cold breeze or obvious presence, but something about the mist was unsettling to me.
    “Do you see him?” Jeremiah’s eyes were wide, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the space. “I’m trying!” he yelled. “I’m trying to fix this!”
    “What is that?” Avery whispered. The little cloud of smoke had become a more visible shade of white.
    “It’s him! He won’t let me sleep until I take back what’s his.” Jeremiah began to struggle in Noah’s and Jared’s hold. “Give it back to me!” His wild eyes were fixed on William. “Give it all back!”
    Behind his frantic screams I could hear the distant wail of a police siren. Help would be here in minutes. The white cloud was still there, hovering in the hallway. Noah noticed it. I saw him cast a confused glance in its direction before trying to reposition himself on the sofa. Jeremiah was thrashing, but it seemed like he was trying to curl up, to shield himself from the ball of pale mist.
    “He’s been visiting me for years,” Jeremiah whimpered. “He says I’m his great-great-grandson, and it’s up to me to restore his memory. He won’t let me rest until I do it. You have to help me.”
    Red and blue lights flashed outside. “Everything’s okay now,” I told William. He was watching Jeremiah with a strange mix of wonder and fear.
    Avery opened the door for the two police officers, who quickly placed Jeremiah in handcuffs. My parents arrived a minute later, followed by Shane and Trisha. Trisha sobbed as she hugged Noah, then cupped his face in her hands and made him promise a hundred times that he was all right. Mom was the same way with me. She didn’t cry, but her wide eyes told me that she was about to. Dad and Shane were more stoic, immediately trying to assess the situation and speak with the officers.
    It was a calm commotion. There were a lot of people talking, but it felt under control. We had to give statements to the police. They tried talking to Jeremiah, but he simply closed his eyes and refused to speak.
    “Did you see it?” Avery asked me. “The misty cloud thing?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you think it was, you know, a real ghost?”
    Jeremiah was curled up on the sofa, his arms behind his back. It looked like he was sleeping. “He thought it was,” I said.
    Mom walked over to us. “Well, this has been quite an eventful Halloween.” She rubbed my shoulder. “How are you doing?”
    “Fine. Tired.” I was tired, but not exactly fine. My pulse was still racing, and I felt jumpy.
    “We’ll leave as soon as the police are finished here.”
    “How was the morgue?” Avery asked. Then she giggled, almost hysterically. “I’ve never asked anyone that before.”
    Mom smiled. “We have a lot of artifacts to catalog. The child’s coffin wasn’t really a coffin at all.”
    “What was it?” I asked.
    “It was a storage box filled with papers and documents. And