Page 19 of Ghost in the Night

“I can just … feel it.” She shrugs with a shiver. “I know about these kinds of things.”

This is the part in the horror movie where a Black person would/should say, “Nahhhhh. Nope!” and head home to mind their Black business. But something about this house doesn’t feel scary. More like … sad.

“So what are you picking up on?” I ask Myah.

“Mr. Truman’s spirit is in this house, for sure,” she mumbles, studying the windows.

I stare at the door, shivering. If Mr. Truman’s ghost is inthis house, he would be the freshest ghost in Calhoun Square.

“He’s probably watching us right now.” She sighs. “I wonder what he would say.”

I huff. “I’d hope he’d tell us what happened to him.”

Myah whips her head my way. “You’re right! He could tell us who murdered him! He probably knows what happened to Jabari too!”

“Oh, wait. I didn’t mean we should try to communicate with—”

“Psst!”

We spin around and find Robby standing by the gate, waving us over.

“Cops just drove by,” he whisper-shouts.

Myah moves quick. I take one last look at the door and follow her. We wade through the weeds, stoop under the chain, and walk to the middle of square as if we’re all thinking the same thing: Get as far away from this house as possible.

But as Robby and I stop to catch our breath, Myah keeps walking.

“Hey, where are you going?” I call after her.

“Back to the shop before my daddy figures out that I left,” she says. “Not like we booming with business or nothing.”

Robby shakes his head. “Well, it was nice meeting you!”

SIX

I’dbe lying if I said I wasn’t still thinking about the photo, Myah, and the haunted house the next afternoon. Did Myah really hearscreamsinside?

Robby, meanwhile, is standing in front of his house, dressed head to toe in every possible protective padding you could own, his helmet making his head look bigger than it already is.

“Man, it’s not going to hurt you,” Dad says, laughing. “Come on!”

Robby shakes his head, helmet jiggling. “Studies showthat the most common bone break and skull fractures have been from attempting a bike ride.”

Daddy grips the handle of the small black bike, rocking it back and forth. “Well. Good thing you have your … uh … safety gear.”

“Yo, you’re ten,” I say.

“You need to know how to ride a bike,” Daddy says. “How else do you plan on keeping up with all the other kids?”

Robby squirms. “Um, have my mom drop me off … I guess.”

On the porch, Lena watches with a tight smile, arms crossed over her chest. When Daddy offered to teach Robby how to ride the bike that had been collecting dust in the backyard, she was all for it. Now, it seems like she’s ready to toss the bike into the nearest dumpster.

“You mean none of your friends ride bikes?” I ask.

“I … don’t know anyone who rides a bike,” Robby says, avoiding my stare.

Daddy raises an eyebrow at me. Sounds like Robby really doesn’t have any friends to visit even if he could ride his bike.