“Well, you better come in then.”

Mr. Hampton opens the door to his house. He walks slowly up the stairs, deep rings of sweat under his armpits. “I knew I never should have stayed here after she died,” he says. “Millie was never satisfied. Should have known death wouldn’t be any different.”

“Millie…?”

“Oh, my wife,” he says, wiping a thick handkerchief across his forehead. “She was always stomping her feet, thumping her cane on the wall, and now she keeps doing it, pacing back and forth, rocking in her chair. Haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Can we look around?” Elliot says. He leans forward, listening intently. To be honest, I’m surprised Elliot and Jackson are even friends, let alone best friends. Elliot’s the sensitive one. The one who always shows up when he says he will, who doesn’t say much, but when he does, you can tell he’s chosen his words carefully.

Mr. Hampton seems to stall at Elliot’s request. Jackson takes over. “It would help if you show us where you’ve come in contact with Millie,” he says.

“Of course.” Mr. Hampton takes us around the living room, pointing out where he heard the knock, by the fireplace. There, and then again. I take notes. Sometimes I make diagrams. Draw pictures. Anything to keep my hands busy so I don’t have to look Mr. Hampton in the eyes.

He leads us into the kitchen. “Here, in this little door, I heard some scraping, then banging. Knew it was Millie just by the thwacks. She always liked knocking that cane around. Letting me know what was what.”

Elliot bends down and glances through the cupboard. There’s a small hole in the back. He hangs back with me as Mr. Hampton and the others go ahead. “Probably some animal in the walls. Running around. Starving for food,” he says, his voice low.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” I reply, trying not to show how nervous I am. Mr. Hampton looks back at us.

“This is a nice old house, mister,” Elliot says to Mr. Hampton. He runs his hands along the wall. “Good bones.”

Mr. Hampton smiles. “Lived here all my life. Don’t know anything else.”

He takes us up the ladder to the attic. A couple of rats scurry against the wall. Other than that though, there’s just cobwebs, cardboard boxes, lots of dust. We balance on the wooden beams. Elliot helps me down the ladder, wrapping his arms around my waist and lowering me gently to the floor.

After surveying the whole house and detailing all the places Millie has made contact, Mr. Hampton stands by the sink, washing his hands and drying them with a damp washcloth. “So, how are you going to do it?” he asks.