“Nothing, I thought—” A horsefly landed on my knee with its gigantic coal-colored body; I quickly flicked it away before it took a bite. “I told the story to Colette when we were here last summer, and yesterday in a park, I saw someone who reminded me of William.”

“Who’s William?”

“The guy in the ghost story.”

“Is he real?”

“No, Frankie, I made him up,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But then I saw someone who looked like how I pictured the guy.”

“Cool.” My sister was making faces at herself in the camera. She currently had her mouth open as wide as it would go. I could see she needed to floss more.

“It was scary, actually.”

“You think everything is scary,” Frankie said, hurting my feelings. “It’s weird you like haunted houses and scary books so much when they freak you out.”

I don’t as much now.

“It was our thing, mine and Colette’s,” I said.

“Duh.” She clenched her jaw and started snarling at the camera like a wolf. Through her teeth, she asked, “What did the guy in the park do?”

“He looked at me in a creepy way and followed me out,” I said confidently, even though it was possible he hadn’t actually followed me but just left on his own.

“Cool.”

Frankie said cool a lot. It was almost always a sign she was only half listening. She started alternating exaggerated “ooh” and “aah” faces.

“And he tapped his foot every time I took a step when I went by him. It was so weird. I mean, who does that?”

“Like Colette’s soundtrack game,” Frankie interrupted.

“What game?” I asked, hugging myself tighter, shivering for no reason. I looked around the prairie; no one was nearby.

“It was really stupid,” Frankie said flatly. “It was one of those recess games . . . like jail and jumper.”

“I remember those,” I said, a creepy feeling spreading through my body. “What was the soundtrack game?” I waited as Frankie contorted her face a few more times. “Frankie! Will you look at me and answer?”

“I can do two things at once,” she replied, now admiring her extreme close-up. “One kid walked or ran or hopped around as quietly as they could and someone else tried to make the sounds that matched their movements. The third person was the judge.” She looked at the lens for maybe the first time. “See? Stupid. That’s why you don’t remember it.”

“I sort of do,” I said, curling deeper into a ball. “But . . . why would the man . . .” It didn’t make sense.

Frankie turned the phone so she was upside down. In a monotone voice, she said, “Maybe he’s a ghost messenger and Colette’s trying to communicate with you.”

“Ohmygod, Frankie!” I said, holding the phone out from my face, scared and annoyed at the same time. “That’s such a terrible thing to say!”