Page 39 of Ghost in the Night

“He was murdered in that house,” I say with a shiver.

“But Mr. Truman was found in an alleyway,” Robby says, frowning.

“Oh lawd,” Myah gasps. “What ifJabariis in the Myers House and he’s dead! What if it’sJabari’sghost you saw, Harmony?”

I feel a chill go through me.

Robby holds up his hands. “Hang on! Ms. Trina said she told the police all this, right? They would’ve looked already, and found—um, Jabari’s body.”

“That house doesn’t look like it’s been searched by the anybody,” I say.

I think again of Rebecca Hutton. If the police were told that was the last place she was seen, wouldn’t they have torn up that house looking for her? And Robby does (annoyingly) have a point. What if Tim Truman wasn’t in that house that night? Then there’s still a chance that it’s the Myers ghost … or another ghost, or nothing at all.

“We need to get in that house. It’s the only way to know anything for sure.” I turn to Myah. “What do you think?”

Myah nibbles on her thumbnail and nods. “I think … it’s time we talk to my grandmama.”

THIRTEEN

Outsidea one-level home about twenty minutes from the print shop, there’s a skinny tree planted in the front yard. On each of the bare branches are blue glass bottles. Maybe fifty in total. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It looks like one of those art pieces you’d see in a gallery.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Robby whispers as we pile out of Myah’s dad’s car on a rocky driveway. Actually it’s not just rocks. Most are broken oyster shells.

“ ’Cause I ain’t going in no haunted house withoutknowing how to protect ourselves from demons,” Myah snaps, but low enough so her dad can’t hear. She shoulders a book bag as we head up the walkway.

In a rocking chair, an old woman waves at us, smiling before slowly standing up, her knees a little wobbly.

“Hey, Mama,” Mr. Horton says, climbing up the porch steps. “Myah wanted to stop by, and I figure I’d fix the cable. For the hundredth time.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” the old lady grunts with a grin, swatting him away.

He walks into the house while Myah runs up the steps and dives into her arms.

“Heyyy, Grandmama!”

“Miss Missy, what you up to now?” Grandmama says, but laughs and swallows her up in a tight hug. A hug like my grandma used to give me.

Fighting the prickling tears, I clear my throat.

“Oh, right,” Myah says. “Harmony, Robby … this is my grandmama. Grand, these are my new friends!”

“Hello, there,” Grandmama says in a scratchy voice. She tall, tall as Myah’s dad, with the same wide smile andchocolaty skin. No one can say those three aren’t related. “Y’all come on up here. Want some lemonade?”

On the porch, Grandmama passes around slices of her lemon pound cake and cups of lemonade that’s more sugar than water. Robby eats like he’s never been fed before, which only makes us all laugh.

I don’t want to talk bad about her grandmama’s house, but even out here on the porch she got a lot of stuff and most of it look like trash. Dry weave baskets, shells, rocks, rocking chairs, nets, even a mirror. Then that tree … I take my camera out and snap a few photos.

“Grandmama, we got questions about haints,” Myah says.

Grandmama gives her a dark look. “What you getting yourself into now? Ain’t I tell you to leave that stuff alone?”

“I know,” Myah says shyly. She shifts so her back is a little to me. “But my friend here has the questions. Not me.”

Why she acting like that? She’s the one who wanted to come here!

“You call them haints, but they’re really just ghosts, right?” I ask Grandmama.

“You’re all wrong, baby. See, spirits, or ghosts, are justpeople who pass. But haints, they mischievous, evil little demons. When I was a little girl, haints would get in the house, sit up on your chest, and steal your breath while you sleep. Others would take your skin, so they can walk around during the daytime. They’re attracted to pain and prey on the weak. That’s why when somebody dies, you gotta do what you gotta to keep them from coming up in your house.”