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Sitting alone in a dark room, drinking wine and talking to her dead mother? Sheesh.
    She needed electricity—and she needed visitors. She needed human contact. After living in Manhattan for the past five years, she found the silence of the house almost terrifying. Dudley Road had been bustling that morning, and she’d savored the din of voices and traffic.
    She liked tranquillity and she enjoyed solitude. But still…She wanted visitors.
    The children hadn’t come back today. She assumedthat because it was Monday they’d been in school all day, but she had hoped maybe they would come prowling around her property after school so she could meet them. She’d even bought a bag of cookies, just in case they’d wanted a snack.
    But they hadn’t returned.
    â€œMaybe tomorrow,” she said out loud, and the possibility made her smile. Thinking about her mother, her debts, the numerous tasks and chores that awaited her was depressing. But thinking about the children who’d left their little fingerprints and footprints on her house lifted her spirits.
    She hoped with all her heart they’d visit her house again.
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    â€œW HAT ARE YOU DOING ?” Gracie squealed.
    â€œShh!” Billy waved her off, then tiptoed through the hall to the top of the stairs. Down in the kitchen, it was poker night. Dad and a bunch of guys played every Tuesday night, always at the Myers house because Dad claimed he had baby-sitting problems. Billy was glad the game was at his house. If Dad had gone to someone else’s house and left a baby-sitter behind, she might actually pay attention when Billy made his escape.
    He hovered near the stairway, listening to the sounds of the men’s voices. They were talking about the New England Patriots, debating whether the team had a shot at the Super Bowl this year. Billy wanted to shout, “Of course they do!” but he kept his mouth shut.
    Dad and his buddies were fine. They were drinking beer, rattling their chips—Billy believed they played for maybe a nickel a game, something really cheap—andthey sure weren’t thinking about him. Which was a good thing.
    He tiptoed back down the hall. Gracie blocked his bedroom door. She was wearing her nightgown and her fluffy slippers with Minnie Mouse sewn onto the toes. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
    â€œI’m going out.”
    â€œYou can’t go out!” Amazing how loud her whisper sounded.
    â€œShh.” He ducked into his bedroom.
    She followed him in, her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side. “Where are you going?”
    â€œThe haunted house.”
    â€œYou can’t go there, Billy! It’s haunted!”
    â€œIt is not. Anyway, you told me you don’t believe in ghosts.”
    â€œIt’s got spirits in it. I saw a spirit. You did, too.”
    Well, yeah, he had seen a spirit in the big stone house. And that really bothered him. It bothered them both. Him more than Gracie, because she wasn’t too good at hanging on to an idea from one day to the next. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about the ghost, or spirit, or whatever it was he’d seen moving in the house on Sunday. Wondering about it was driving him crazy. He had to go back and figure out what was in there.
    He couldn’t go during the day, because by the time Dad picked him up from Scott’s house or the after-school program, it was time for dinner, and then he had to read or do a page from a workbook or something. So there was no way he could hike over to the stone house to see if it was really haunted.
    He could do it tonight, though, because of the poker game. His dad wouldn’t notice he was gone. He’d justrun through the woods, peek in the window, come up with an explanation for what it was he and Gracie had seen on Sunday and then come home. Dad would never even know.
    â€œHow are you going to get out?” Gracie asked as he pulled a hooded