The Hanging Hill by Chris Grabenstein

trapped inside an unlit closet.
    “Give it up, old-timer,” said the man in the chair as bursts of blindingly white light flared up from his metal skullcap. “You can’t talk to Clara! Not now, not never again!” Another laugh. More stench. “What’s that old saying? When one door closes, another door opens? Too bad it ain’t gonna be that closet door. It’s gonna be ours! The doorway of the damned is all set to swing wide open, pops! Tomorrow night! Tomorrow night!”

44
    Zack found his room key and opened the door.
    “I heard something fall over here,” said Judy. “A crash.”
    “Yep.” Zack pointed to the shards of shattered glass near his chest of drawers. “I packed a picture. Guess it must’ve fallen off the dresser.”
    Judy bent down and picked up the photograph underneath the sheet of splintered glass. It was a snapshot of the new Jennings family: Judy, George, Zack, and Zipper.
    “Well,” said Judy, “the photograph isn’t damaged. We can always buy a new frame.”
    “Wonder how come it fell.”
    “Me too,” said Judy, standing up. “Did you put it near the edge?”
    “Nope. I put it on top, right there in the middle.”
    “And the window’s closed, so a breeze didn’t knock it over.”
    “Judy?”
    “Yes, Zack?”
    “I think we might have ghosts again.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. I saw some stuff downstairs in the basement.”
    “You went where the janitor told you not to?”
    “Sorry.”
    Judy smiled. “I would’ve done the same thing.”
    “Meghan McKenna told me every theater she’s ever worked in was haunted. Probably because there’s so many emotions stirred up inside ’em. Plus, you know actors. If they have a good part, they never want to leave the stage.”
    “Meghan might be right. I just saw a very strange lady walking down the hall. Actually, it looked like she was gliding down the hall.”
    “You know, Mom, you’re one of the few adults who can see ghosts during the day.”
    “Lucky me. I think she may have come in here, even though both doors were locked.”
    “Probably oozed her way in.”
    “Then she walked out—right through the wall.”
    “Was she juggling?” Zack asked.
    “No. No juggling. Just, you know, silently drifting.”
    “One of the ghosts Meghan and I met juggles.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. Mostly in the stairwell.”
    “I see.”
    “Another one is a Pilgrim. He hangs himself. Then there’s the actress who comes onstage for her standing ovation, and the Shakespearean actor with the sword, and the sad Indian girl…”
    “You and Meghan McKenna have seen that many ghosts?”
    “Well, she hasn’t seen the Pilgrim guy or the actress taking her bows.”
    “But Meghan sees ghosts? Like we do?”
    “Yep. But Derek doesn’t.”
    They finished picking up the broken glass and tossed the pieces into a wicker trash basket.
    “So, do you think it was a ghost lady who knocked the picture frame off the dresser?”
    “I don’t know, Zack. The ghosts back in North Chester couldn’t really do anything, remember?”
    “True. But I’ve read that if they concentrate all their energy, if they get, let’s say, really mad or incredibly sad, they can rattle chains and push stuff around.”
    “You’ve been reading books about ghosts?”
    “Sure. After that night in the crossroads, haven’t you?”
    “Yeah. About a dozen. Everything the library had.” Judy stared at the door. “Wow. I wonder who she was.”
    “Just another actress who never heard her cue to exit. So, you hungry?”
    “Starving.”
    “I told Meghan that we might join her and her mother across the street at the diner.”
    “Great.” Judy remembered something else from back at the crossroads. “Your new friend Meghan’s not a ghost, is she?”
    “Nah. I saw her eat a hunk out of a doughnut this morning.”
    “Good.”

45
    He hears the ancient command: Ego sum te peto et videre queo .
    “I seek you and demand to see you.”
    He hears his name being called.
    “I seek