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silent as the grave except for a little ground wind rattling the gourd vine against the cobhouse.
    The first girl to be initiated—first and last—was Barbara Jean Jeeter. She wore babydoll shorty pajamas and Spooly plastic curlers. She had to crawl out in the patch, steal a squash within range of Mrs. Dowdel, and crawl back. The other part of the initiation, to eat a lard sandwich and recite a dirty limerick, was slated for later back at Waynetta’s house.
    Edna-Earl Stubbs and Vanette Pankey, the sorority sergeants at arms, gave Barbara Jean a kick to start her out. Even if she didn’t believe in ghosts, she had to believe in Mrs. Dowdel’s shotgun. So she belly-crawled low, and it would have been pretty dank down in that sandy soil for a girl dressed in as little as Barbara Jean was. But freshmen will do anything to belong.
    Barbara Jean crept on, from melon to melon, from squash to squash. At this point eyewitness reports differ. Vanette Pankey said that even from the Pickle she heard a sound, a rattle of dried beans in a gourd. Edna-Earl Stubbs said no. The first sound was a distant drumbeat, very far-off. Boom, boom, boom—like that. Anyway, it didn’t wake Mrs. Dowdel.
    Then we come to some real confusion. Firelight played against the cobhouse wall. The gourd vine cast fluttering shadows. Waynetta herself said she was the first to see somebody or something standing there, the vines grown up around her. Some creature of the night, or history. Not quite life-size, but definitely there. Another sorority girl saidno. The first sighting of the ghost was right up by Mrs. Dowdel, like it had just stepped out from behind her. Or floated. With firelight on its face.
    Wrong, Edna-Earl said. She clearly saw the Kickapoo Princess descending from a great height, probably heaven or the Happy Hunting Ground. Edna-Earl saw a pair of beaded moccasins dangling a good six feet above the ground. Maybe higher.
    They were all scared too speechless to warn Barbara Jean. But they all agreed on one point: The Kickapoo Princess was wearing a full feathered headdress and carried a pair of gourd rattles in her weirdly pale little hands. And they all said her hair was in braids.
    Anyway, here came Barbara Jean through the melons, working along on her elbows. She was within reach of the dying fire and spotting for squash when she heard something or saw something. She jumped up before she thought, stumbled and fell back. Then sat down hard.
    Everybody over by the Pickle heard a snapping sound. Barbara Jean sent up a scream that tore the night in two.
    “HELP!” she shrieked. “I been grabbed. The ghost’s dragging me with her into her grave. SAVE ME!”
    Barbara Jean was heard uptown. She certainly brought Mrs. Dowdel around. She vaulted out of deep sleep, and her pails went over behind her. She fished two shells out of her apron and fed them into the shotgun. Shouldering the butt of the gun into her afghans, she swung wildly.
    “Hold your fire!” Barbara Jean screamed. “I’m already half buried, and the ghost is biting me right on my—”
    KABOOM, KABOOM. Mrs. Dowdel fired twice. A tongue of red flame from each barrel licked the night. People all over the township called the chief of police.
    Barbara Jean’s screams knocked me out of bed. Then the gunplay. When I came out of my room, the door to Phyllis and Ruth Ann’s was closed. How could they sleep through this? I wondered. Downstairs Mother and Dad were on the back porch, wearing blankets. The Pickle stood alone. Seeing a sorority sister in dire danger, the Iota Nu Betas had all hightailed it home to save their own skins. As president, Waynetta Blalock was no doubt in the lead.
    Mrs. Dowdel had already released Barbara Jean from the steel jaws of a spring-action rabbit trap, which had a good firm hold on her where it hurts most.
    Now the red light on the police chief’s Dodge lit up everything. There was enough light to explain any Unexplained Presence. Mrs. Dowdel stood with