“Look, please, I need you to listen to me for real,” she said. Mateo dropped his half smile. “No one’s been able to find the ruins of the old church, which means those bodies were never buried, and that’s bad, bad news when it comes to vengeful spirits. Look, you’ve got to know there’s something here. You can feel it. Everybody at this school can. This is the only explanation that makes sense.”

“There are a hundred other explanations that make sense,” Mateo started to say, but Felicia cut him off again.

“The plantation was falling apart when the school took it over. The founders got it for next to nothing because there were so many rumors about the place being haunted, and now there are all kinds of stories from the past couple of decades. Alumni post about it sometimes in forums and stuff. They say the ghosts here can get inside your head. They take whatever shape makes you most afraid, and sometimes they even make you do things for them.”

“Of course alums say stuff like that online,” Mateo said. “People love to make shit up. And if it gives them an excuse for something they did when they were a kid that they feel bad about now, well . . .”

“You’re not listening to me. I’m saying—”

That was when Mateo spotted Peter, one of the groundskeepers, passing their picnic table with an unlit cigarette in his hand. Felicia didn’t seem to care what Mateo had to say, but she might listen to Peter. He’d worked at this school forever.

Mateo waved to him. “Hey, man!”

Peter glanced his way, tucking his cigarette back into his pocket. “Hola, Mateo.”

“Hola, Peter. Ven acá un momento.” Can you come over for a second?

Peter glanced down at his cigarette, sighed, and walked toward their bench. “Está bien. Estoy tomando mi break.” Sure. I’m on my break.

Mateo introduced Peter to Felicia. Peter smiled at her. Felicia smiled back, looking confused. Mateo switched to English.

“How long have you worked here?” he asked Peter.

“Eh, about eight years?” Peter scratched his ear.

“Could you help us settle a bet? Have you ever heard any stories about there being ghosts at this school?” Mateo smiled so Peter would know he was joking.

Peter kept scratching his ear. “What kind of stories?”

“Oh, you know.” Mateo kept his voice light. “Urban legends. Things that go bump in the night.”

Peter slid his cigarette into his pocket. “You mean about old man Lennox?”

This wasn’t the response Mateo had been hoping for. He glanced at Felicia. She was staring at Peter, rapt.

“Exactly,” she said. “What do you know about the Lennoxes?”

Peter glanced back and forth between her and Mateo. “Why do you want to know?”