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“Jason almost got badly burned!”
    â€œIt’s that old plumbing,” Dad said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll check it out.”
    My skin felt tender, especially on the back of my neck, but once I was cooled off and in dry clothes I was hungrier than ever.
    I was just mopping up the last of the maple syrup when Dad came into the kitchen, drying his hands and looking pleased, like he always did when tackling a new project.
    â€œThose pipes were about rusted through,” he said to me. “Just your bad luck to be there when they decided to blow.”
    Dad turned to Mom, who still looked a little pale from the incident. “We’ll have to watch out for things like that,” he said cheerfully. “This is an old house. I expect there’s lots of things ready to give way as soon as we lay hands on them. But we knew that when we rented the place, right?”
    Mom looked at me. “Jay seems to think the house is out to get him.”
    Dad said, “It was just an accident, Jay. It could have happened to any one of us.”
    â€œForget it,” I said.
    Maybe the crazy laughter had really been the steaming, rattling pipes. I didn’t really think so, but there was no way my parents were going to believe me, and I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on my overactive imagination.
    Still, it did seem like something was out to get me. How come all the “accidents” in the house seemed to be happening to me? And how come my mother could open the bathroom door so easily when I’d pulled and tugged with all my might, just to have the doorknob come off?
    A guy could get paranoid around here, that was for sure! But before I had a chance to really brood on it, Steve knocked on the backdoor and shouted my name.
    He was standing out there with a bat over his shoulder. “Game time,” he said. “I know you can catch, let’s see if you can hit.”
    Excellent! That would get my mind off this crazy house. I ran upstairs to get my ball and glove. I was heading for the stairs, thinking about maybe sliding down the banister, when I froze. It was like sparkles of ice suddenly forming in my veins.
    Strange laughter.
    I listened and there it was again. Echoing in the hallway. And it seemed to be coming from Sally’s room.
    Very quietly I tiptoed down the hall and stopped outside her door. Inside, Sally giggled—and there was another, answering laugh. A child’s laughter. But not Sally. Definitely not Sally.
    I put my hand on the doorknob. It was icy to the touch, so cold my fingers almost stuck, frozen in place. I got a grip on the baseball, ready to throw it with all my might, and leaned my shoulder into the door.
    It popped open and suddenly I was inside.
    Sally was sitting on the floor, playing by herself. She didn’t seem the slightest bit afraid, and she was smiling at the space across from her, as if someone was there. But she was alone, completely alone.
    And then I saw her pick up Winky, her favorite stuffed bunny, and hold it out, almost as if she was giving it to someone, someone just her size. Of course, there was no one there. Nobody but me, watching.
    Sally let go of the bunny.
    It hung there, suspended in midair.
    â€œNO!” I shouted.
    The flop-eared animal fell to the floor.
    Sally glared at me, her lower lip stuck out. “You scared him away,” she complained.
    â€œWho?”
    Sally turned away, blond curls bouncing.
    I went into the room and knelt beside her. “Who, Sally?” I asked gently. “Who did I scare away?”
    â€œMy new friend,” she answered sulkily, refusing to look at me.
    â€œWhat new friend?” I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Come on, Sally, you can tell me.”
    She squirmed away. “Go away. You’re mean.”
    I couldn’t get another word out of her. Sally can be very stubborn, and when she gets in one of her moods she won’t talk. I