She popped the tray into the oven. “I was like a madwoman. I worked day and night, night and day, trying every combination I could think of to make my biscuits lighter, fluffier, more wonderful than any that had ever been made. I wanted biscuits that would float out of the oven and melt in your mouth. I wanted biscuits that would make a kiss seem heavy. I wanted biscuits that would make the angels weep with envy. I tried adding whipped egg whites, baking soda and vinegar, even yeast. But do too much of that and you don’t really have a biscuit anymore. No, the key is in the baking powder.”

Her eyes were getting wild now, and I was beginning to be frightened again. I wondered if she really was crazy—and if she was, just what a crazy ghost might do.

“One Sunday I was sure I had it; I came to church with a basket of biscuits that were like a stack of tiny featherbeds. But after the judging, Reverend Zephyr shook his head sadly and said, ‘I’m sorry, Elvira, but Dan’s biscuits are just lighter and fluffier than yours.’

“By the next Saturday night I was wild, desperate, half insane. In a fit of desperation, I dumped an entire can of baking powder into my dough.”

“What happened?” I asked breathlessly.

“The oven door blew off and killed me on the spot. And ever since, I’ve been doomed to bake a batch of biscuits every Saturday at midnight, as punishment for my pride. What’s worse, I finally know the secret. Learned it on the other side. These biscuits are the lightest, fluffiest ever made, Benjie. Just plain heavenly. But no one has ever tasted them, and I can’t rest until someone does.”

“How come no one has ever tasted them?”

“How can they? My biscuits of glory are so light and fluffy they float right out of the oven and disappear through the ceiling. If I could leave them on the counter overnight someone might have tried them by now. But they’re always gone before anyone gets a chance.”

She sounded like she was going to cry. “I’m so weary of biscuits,” she sighed, “so everlastingly weary of baking biscuits . . .”

“These biscuits of yours—they wouldn’t hurt someone who ate them, would they?”

“Of course not!” she cried, and I could tell that I had offended her. “These are biscuits of glory. One bite and you’ll never be the same.”

“What if I grabbed one as it came out of the oven?”

“You’d burn your hand.”

“Wait here!” I said.