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cringed at her sister’s enthusiasm.
    “You’re acting like a pyro,” Clara observed as she watched Beatrice grin when the match end lit up. She held it up to her face, and Clara watched as the flame danced in her eyes. She looked like a witch in training.
    “Light the wicks already,” Clara said shivering involuntarily.
    The three candles were satisfactory in giving the girls enough light to complete their homework.
    “The milk should be fine tomorrow morning,” Clara said. “Just don’t open the refrigerator until then.”
    “Okay,” Beatrice replied. “What do we do after that?”
    Clara sighed. “Powdered milk, I suppose.”
    “Gross,” Beatrice said, sticking out her tongue.
    “Well, we can always get to school early for breakfast.”
    “Maybe.” Beatrice shrugged.
    They worked in silence for awhile until Beatrice put down her pencil. “All done.”
    “Would you like me to check it?” Clara offered, placing her pen behind her ear.
    “What for? I know it’s all correct,” Beatrice said.
    “Naturally,” Clara replied. She looked around the darkened room and sighed. “Now what?”
    “Are you kidding?” Beatrice asked. “We tell ghost stories, that’s what!”
    “Bea, I don’t know,” Clara said. “You know I don’t like scary stuff.”
    “Clare-Bear, what’s scarier than having no electricity? Know what I’m saying?” Beatrice asked. She smiled, and this time it didn’t look wicked as before when she struck the match.
    “Fine, but I haven’t got any to tell,” Clara said.
    “That’s okay because I do,” Beatrice said. “Wait right here. I’m going for the flashlight!”
    Clara objected, but Beatrice already grabbed a candle and made her way to her bedroom leaving Clara alone. Just in the few short seconds it took to retrieve the flashlight, Clara broke into anticipatory goose bumps. She watched the flickering of the two candles on the coffee table and shivered again.
    “Okay,” Beatrice said, returning and settling on the floor opposite her sister. “We need mood lighting,” and she flicked the switch on the side of the flashlight. She held it under her chin and grinned. “This story is not really a ghost story. But it’s a scary story. Do dee do,” she sang, trying for a scary-sounding tune.
    “Oh good grief,” Clara said flippantly, but she grabbed the blanket thrown carelessly over the back of the couch and pulled it up and around her.
    “Stacy was driving home from a party one night,” Beatrice began. “It was late. The roads were very dark. And she was out in the country.”
    “Of course she was out in the country,” Clara interjected.
    “Clara, I cannot tell this story if you’re going to interrupt,” Beatrice said.
    “Sorry. Go on.”
    “So Stacy was out on the lonely pitch black dark country road driving home from a party. She was all alone,” Beatrice said. She paused for effect. Clara nodded.
    “Suddenly a truck came up behind her and flashed its high beams,” Beatrice said, her voice rising. “Stacy was confused. She slowed down thinking that maybe the truck wanted to pass her, but it didn’t. It slowed along with her, keeping close behind her.”
    Clara took a deep breath. Beatrice saw and doubled her efforts to sound panicked.
    “They drove another mile or so and the truck flashed its lights again!” she said. “Stacy was beginning to get scared. She didn’t know what to do, so she kept driving home. She thought if she got home, she would be safe.”
    “But why would she go home where he could see where she lived?” Clara asked.
    “I don’t know,” Beatrice said annoyed. “Stacy wasn’t all that smart. Now will you let me continue?”
    “Okay.”
    “So Stacy pressed on the gas and floored it. The truck came after her flashing its lights and freaking her out!”
    Beatrice shook the flashlight under her face for dramatic effect. Clara didn’t like it.
    “She pulled into her driveway and got out of the car. She started