“Please stop screaming. I can only handle so much screaming in one day, and I’ve already reached my limit.”

  The old voice behind Claire was kindly. She saw his shadow, but didn’t see the accompanying shadow of the looming axe she expected.

  Claire snapped her mouth shut for a moment, which was a long time for her. Then breathlessly demanded: “What did you say?”

  “He means that if you don’t stop screaming, he’s going to cut your tongue out,” Samantha volunteered cheerfully. She still stood nonchalantly beside her dead tree.?She decided the old man was likely not a murderer. Or if he was, then his victims were probably limited to the likes of turtles, and very fat pigeons.

  Claire’s eyes were saucers. She began drawing a great lungful of air to—

  “Quiet girl! That’s not what I meant at all!” the trembling old voice implored. “I just want you to stop screaming, if you please. You’ll wake the little one, and Mandy just got him to sleep.”

  Claire didn’t suppose a murderer would have cared about waking a baby. And he definitely wouldn’t say please. If anything, he sounded like he was the one who was afraid. Claire wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before shuffling around on her knees.

  “Of course a murderer would say that,” Samantha added, sagely stroking her chin. “He wouldn’t want anyone to hear you screaming and come save you. He wouldn’t want to get caught.”

  Claire could now see that the murderer in question was a pale-skinned elderly man with a long droopy nose like a sock half-filled with sand. He was tall and thin, very much like a spider which had learned to stand on its hind legs and dress itself in rather baggy and faded clothing. His wide deep-set eyes were gray and calm as the sea before a storm. Claire felt immensely relieved, realizing that a strong tempered toddler would likely be sufficient to push this frail old thing around.

  “I’m not a murderer!” the old man retorted, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. “That’s Barnes’ fault, my daughter’s no-good boyfriend.”

  “Your daughter married a murderer?” Samantha asked, suddenly eager. “How many people has he killed? If it’s at least three, then it counts as being a serial killer, but only if they weren’t all done at the same time, otherwise he’s a mass murderer instead.”

  The old man shook his head, “He hasn’t killed anybody either. But he started telling stories about me and now everybody thinks...” his voice trailed off into indistinct muttering, which might have been an attempt to disguise the type of language fifteen year old girls aren’t supposed to hear. Even if they secretly say those very same words at every opportunity.

  “You must be Noah then,” Samantha declared. “I heard that people keep catching you with dead animals. They say that you kill them for fun. That’s even worse than killing people you know, because animals never cheat on their taxes, or lie to their mothers.”

  “I don’t ‘kill’ animals either, I put them to sleep,” Noah replied indignantly, “and only if they’re very sick and in pain. I do work at a veterinary clinic, after-all.”

  “I heard you like to watch them die,” Samantha pressed.

  “What’s the crime in that?”

  Claire and Samantha exchanged an unsettled glance. She had been making things up like she usually does for her own fun, and hadn’t expected him to confess.

  “You do like to watch things die?” Samantha asked incredulously, her usual playful tone drenched in accusation.

  Noah looked down at the peeling rubber sole of his sneakers. “It’s not cruel or anything. I just… like watching what happens next.” His eyes darted back to the girls suspiciously. “What are you doing here? Do your parents know where you are?”

  “Did you kill Claire’s cat?” Samantha demanded. Then, on a lighter note, she added, “Oh, this is my friend Claire, and I’m Samantha, or Sam, but never Sammy.”

  “Hi,” Claire mumbled, flourishing a half-hearted wave.

  “Hello, Claire. Hello, never-Sammy,” Noah replied. He lit up with good humor as Sam rolled her eyes. “Is the cat black with a white tuft on its chest like a general wearing a medal?”

  “You’ve seen Mrs. Robinson?! Is she in the animal hospital?” Claire exploded, bouncing onto her feet. She had forgotten about her injured ankle in the excitement, so this action caused her to stagger dangerously. Samantha was there to catch her though, supporting her as they both turned on Noah ferociously.

  “She’s right there, isn’t she?” Noah said, pointing behind Claire. The girls spun on the spot while still holding hands, almost knocking both of them to the ground in the process. They stared at the empty patch of dirt for a moment before rounding once more on the old man.

  “Right where?” Claire asked.

  “He’s teasing you; there’s nothing,” Samantha said. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to play tricks on innocent little girls? Especially when they know how to trick you back.”

  “I’m not talking about her body,” Noah said. He sighed as though the words were weighing him down. He sat heavily on the creaking wooden steps and his remaining air all flooded out in a puff. “I’m talking about her spirit. She’s chasing that butterfly, although she’s never going to catch it, because the butterfly is alive, and well...”

  The girls looked again, and sure enough they saw a butterfly dancing in the wind. Claire cast an uneasy glance at her friend, and she wasn’t thrilled to see Samantha grinning. She always smiled when she wasn’t supposed to, and that made Claire cross.

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  “This isn’t a game, you know,” Claire said. “Mrs. Robinson really is lost, and I’m worried about her. So if you aren’t going to help us, then you might as well be a murderer too, because Mrs. Robinson needs us and… and…”

  “I’m sorry,” Noah cut her off, his voice gentle but sure. “If you don’t see her now, then no amount of looking is going to help. But you should know that she is having a wonderful time, which means she didn’t suffer much. When animals have a painful death, they tend to mope around and complain for a good deal afterward.”

  “Can you really see spirits?” Samantha inquired.

  “It runs in the family,” Noah replied, a bit defensively. He cast a wary glance around as though worried he would be overheard. “Cats can too, you know. Whenever they’re fascinated by something you can’t see, you can be pretty sure there’s a spirit there. Dogs can’t of course—too many distractions in this world, I suppose. Most people can’t either, but people can’t see their own nose, and that’s right in front of their face. Would either of you like a cup of hot cocoa?”

  Claire seriously considered her nose, judging the merit of this explanation. She wasn’t satisfied.

  “Yes, please,” Samantha instantly replied. Standing, Noah offered a hand to help her over the rotten step. She chose to hop it on her own instead of accepting his assistance. “What does a spirit look like?” she pestered.

  “It looks like how Christmas feels,” Noah said. “Would you take a cup as well, Claire? I am sorry about your cat. It’s the least I can do.”

  Claire had absolutely no desire to enter the crumbling house of the strange old man whose denial of being a murderer was dubious at best. Her ankle was starting to feel much better, and she could turn around right now and be back on the street to resume her search. To continue a seemingly endless search, ignoring her best clue which was the first person to have accurately described Mrs. Robinson.

  “It’s only polite,” Samantha said, her lighthearted face refusing to match the gravity of the situation.

  “Oh, very well, but only if Mrs. Robinson can come too,” Claire relented.

  Noah crossed the porch and opened the door, and the two girls followed him, completely oblivious to Mrs. Robinson’s spirit which hopped up the stairs behind them. So too were they unaware of the gaunt stony creature sitting on the mailbox at the end of the driveway. They weren’t aware of the long, hooked claws on the end of its wings or its yellow lidless eyes which watched them enter. Noah’s gaze lingered on the creature for a moment, but he quickly averted his gaze as he smiled down at the girls. They walked past him to enter the house.

  “I just want you to know,” Samantha said to the old man, “that I will find out if you’re trying to play a trick on Claire. Then you really will be seeing spirits, because you’ll be one of them.”

  Noah chuckled and bowed low as he held the door open for the children. “I shall take your warning to heart and tread the line of truth with the utmost care.”

  That was good enough for Samantha, and so it was good enough for Claire as well.

  The interior of the house was in no better repair than the run-down front. The carpet was patchy and threadbare, and only occasional tufts of color hinted that it might have been red in a previous life. Splotches on the ceiling marked where water once dripped through, and the sofa and chairs had stains on them in enough colors that it was difficult to determine which were part of the actual design.

  “We have visitors, Mandy,” Noah called softly upon entering. He held the door open for considerably longer than necessary, his eyes presumably following an invisible cat which took its time deciding whether to follow. The children sat carefully on the couch as though expecting it to collapse as soon as they rested their weight.

  “Hello, darlings.”

  The girls jumped, not having realized that Mandy had been sitting in the dark chair beside them this whole time. She looked to be in her thirties, wearing black all the way from her long brass-buttoned coat and her lacy blouse to her high leather boots. Her skin was as pale as a corpse, and the only color about her was the short golden hair which sprayed wildly from her head like a hose blocked by a thumb.

  “Claire, Samantha, this is my daughter Mandy,” Noah introduced the newcomers, a touch of pride in his voice. “She’s such a devoted mother that it was like she was born to raise little Lewis. I swear she can be all the way across town and still hear him cry when he falls down.”

  “Oh please, you’ll make me blush,” Mandy said, her white skin showing no sign that this was biologically was possible. “I suppose you’re here about the kitten?” she added, looking at the same empty spot in the doorway.

  “Mrs. Robinson is fully grown,” Claire replied. “Perhaps you’ve got the wrong cat after all…”

  “Not on that side she isn’t,” Mandy responded amiably. “They’re always young again after they die. Didn’t you know?”

  “The cat doesn’t want to come in,” Noah grumbled, still holding the door. “Make up your mind, won’t you?”

  “Not so loud, he’s still asleep,” Mandy hissed. Then to the girls, “I’m so sorry about the mess in here. As soon as Lewis’ father gets home, we’re going to move into a nicer place.”

  “When his father gets home,” Noah mimicked. “Never mind that we haven’t seen him since the baby was born. Surely tomorrow is the day!”

  “What’s Mrs. Robinson doing?” Claire interrupted, trying to refocus the topic.

  “She’s walking away now,” Noah sighed. “Just as well, really. There’s the spirit of a raccoon living upstairs, and they might not get along. He’s been there ever since before the place was built, and he’s never quite forgiven us for it.”

  “We have to follow her then!” Claire leaped to her feet, grateful for an excuse to leave.

  “There’s really no point,” Noah replied. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have some cocoa? We already have milk on the stove for Lewis.”

  “There’s every point!” Claire insisted, hurrying back onto the front porch. “Where is she? Over here? Am I close? How about now?” Claire stretched her hands, feeling blindly through the air.

  “Lower,” Noah said. “Over there, rubbing against the railing.”

  Dusk was already gathering outside. Claire had trouble following Noah’s finger. She moved to where she thought he was pointing and reached out again. “How about now?”

  The invisible cat took a roundabout route while Claire followed helplessly through the yard.

  “She’s heading toward the sidewalk,” Noah called after a moment.

  “At least she doesn’t have to worry about cars anymore,” Samantha interjected. She’d just emerged from the house with a steaming cup of coca in her hands. Mandy’s pale face hovered behind her in the shadows.

  “What are you waiting for then?” Claire asked, bounding down the steps, careful to skip the rotten one this time.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Noah cautioned. “Spirits can go places where people can’t follow. What will you even do if you catch her?”

  “She followed me here though, so she still sees me,” Claire announced stubbornly. “I bet she’s trying to send me a message, or lead me somewhere.”

  “You have to come too, Noah,” Samantha said firmly. “We can’t follow her without you to direct us.”

  “I’ve tried following spirits before,” Noah replied despondently. “They always walk through a building, or a highway, or something. You can’t keep up.”

  “The dead aren’t nearly as stubborn as Claire,” Samantha said, dragging the old man down the steps by one of his bony, wrinkled hands. She could clearly feel the veins through the old man’s skin. “Just point the way, and we’ll figure out how to get there.”

  “Oh go ahead, dad,” Mandy bade them off from the doorway. “Lewis will have a chance to sleep, and then he’ll be able to stay up late and watch your old movies with you when you get back.”

  “Dr. Strangelove is not an old movie!” Noah retorted. “I may be getting older, but the movies aren’t. Unlike me, they look exactly the same as the day they were made. Oh bother, this must be how dust-bunnies feel being swept from home against their will.”