Here it was, the first time I was ever face to face with an actual ghost, and it was clear as clear could be: She was afraid of me.

When I was small, I was afraid of bugs and frogs and lizards and things like that. Over and over my father would tell me, "They're more afraid of you than you are of them."

Of course, it never helped. How can you tell if a spider's afraid? It doesn't make a sound, and you can't see its face. Then too, the things move so fast, one second you notice them on the wall and the next second they've jumped halfway up your arm.

Scared or not, they never seemed afraid of me.

On the other hand, here it was, the first time I was ever face to face with an actual ghost, and it was clear as clear could be: She was afraid of me.

Of course, I was afraid of her, too. I was scared to death! I'm still surprised I didn't wet the bed when it happened.

And yet, the confusion and uncertainty on Misty's face didn't make me brave. I couldn't unlock my throat and get any words out. I tried to get a grip on myself.

After a couple gulps of air I managed to clear my throat, and finally croaked out "Marcie."

Then, before she could reply or I could make another sound, there were footsteps in the hall. Another ghost?

In the same moment, Misty and I turned to look toward the sound, then back to look at each other. We were equally startled. She didn't know who it was either!

Then it connected; I knew those fast-approaching feet. "It's my mother," I whispered. The footsteps arrived at my door. The doorknob rattled, then turned. Misty faded out and was gone before the door was even open a crack.

Mom glared at me. Her hair was a mess. She looked like she'd just woken up. When I say she didn't look at all pleased with being awake, I'm putting it mildly. She was loaded for bear. "Who were you talking to?" she demanded. "What in the world were you thinking, using your cell phone at this hour of the night? Was it some boy?"

I gaped at her. What was she talking about? My phone? Why was she talking about my phone? I'd just woken up, too, and her words didn't make sense — they barely registered as words.

"We'll take that phone away from you if you can't be responsible. Where is it? Who were you talking to?" She walked to the middle of my room and looked around her. There wasn't much to see.

"Well?" she demanded. "Answer me!"

I gestured at my backpack. "My ph-phone's in there," I told her. "It's off. I wasn't using it."

She picked up the backpack and fumbled clumsily with it.

"It's in the little outside pocket," I offered, "the one on the strap–" just as she found it and pulled it out.

"It's cold," she said.

"I told you: I wasn't using it."

"I heard you talking. You woke me up."

"I must have been talking in my sleep," I lied. "Sorry."

She drew a heavy sigh and stopped moving. Then she looked down, as if she'd forgotten what she was holding: my backpack in one hand, my phone in the other. She shoved the phone back in its pocket and set my backpack on the floor.

"I'm sorry," Mom said, sounding a little calmer. She came over, sat on the edge of my bed, and took my hand. "I guess I'm still not used to sleeping in a new house. You know all the noises the house makes at night?"

I shook my head.

"No? Oh, it's just the house settling: those creaks and snaps and weird sounds. There's one noise I can't even describe... I don't know what it sounds like or what it is.

"The problem is, that they're just sounds, but they sound like all kinds of things... like somebody opening a door, or footsteps...

"One day when I was here all alone I could have sworn that somebody ran up the stairs. But it was nothing. There was nobody there."

Even though Mom was trying to be reassuring, I could feel the little hairs on my arms standing up in alarm.

"Still, even though I know it's nothing... that it's just an old house... well, you'd think that if it had to settle, it would have been finished and done with it a long time ago... and even though I know that it's nothing, it's keeping me awake at night. Eventually I'll get used to it. You're lucky you don't hear it.

"Anyway... I'd just fallen asleep — finally — and then I heard you... talking... oh–" She looked at my windows, struck by a sudden idea. "Maybe it wasn't even you, maybe some girl was walking by the house, talking to her friend. Maybe she was out there on the sidewalk, and I thought it was you."

She looked in my eyes and ruffled my hair. "I don't think you talk in your sleep. You never did before."

I shrugged.

"So why were you awake?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But I was sound asleep until a couple minutes ago. I like it here. I didn't — I don't hear any weird sounds."

My face felt like it had a wild, guilty look, but Mom either didn't notice or put it down to my just having woken.

"Good," she said. "I'm glad. I like it here too, but I just have to get used to another house's noises. This one doesn't sound like home to me yet."

I smiled. She smiled back, and said good night.

After she left, I lay there for a while, wondering about what happened. When I saw Misty, I thought I was awake, but it could have been a dream. It was exactly like what Maisie said... so it could have been suggestion, you know? She told me about seeing the ghost of Misty Sabatino. I believed it, it made a big impression, and so I dreamed about it that night. When I first woke up, it seemed so real that I could feel the fear on my skin, but now, especially after talking to my mother, it was fading, the way dreams do.

But maybe it wasn't a dream...

I thought about looking around the room and under the bed, but I drifted back to sleep instead...

The next day Maisie was out sick. It turned out to be the flu, and I wondered if maybe she'd just worked too hard last weekend.

When Maisie didn't show up Wednesday, Susan sullenly joined me for lunch. She ate in silence, looking down.

"Susan?" I asked. "If I tell you something, will you promise to not tell Maisie?"

She looked up, but didn't answer. I could see she was interested, but her curiosity hadn't overcome her resentment. "Why don't you want Maisie to know? I thought she was your best friend."

I let that little conversational landmine just slide on by. "This is something serious, and Maisie doesn't take anything seriously."

Susan nodded. "So I'm the serious one."

She wasn't making this easy at all. "Do you believe in ghosts?" I asked.

At first, she wasn't sure how to process that one, but after a couple of chews she said, "Yes, I do." Then she stopped, and turned to me. The full light of her attention was on me, and she got it: she knew exactly what I was saying. "No!" she said in a low voice. "You didn't!"

"I think so," I said, "but I'm not sure." I told her the whole thing: from Maisie's joke to my mother walking in.

"Wow," Susan said, both hands flat on the table. "This is incredible!"

"What do think I should do?" I asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know," she answered. "Do you mind if I ask my grandparents about this?"

I was confused. "What? Your grandparents? Why?"

"Yes, my grandparents," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "They might know something that would help. If it happened to me, I'd go talk to them about it."

"Uh–"

"They're not going to laugh, and they're not going to tell anybody."

"Well, sure, okay then."

"Good!" she said, smiling brightly again.

The old Susan was back.

© 2007 Kaleigh Way