A huge moth.

The bug fluttered off the tree’s trunk just before Charlie could grab it, ruining its camouflage. How had Charlie even seen it?

While Charlie jumped after the ugly thing, I handed my father one of the heavy brown paper grocery bags weighing down my arms.

He took the bag and asked the obligatory, “How was school?”

“Okay,” I said, supplying the obligatory answer. “Except I found out that, apparently, our house is haunted.”

“Humph.” Dad retrieved the other bag from me.

“So,” I said, pulling the rest of the groceries from the Civic, “when were you going to tell me we had specters?”

He smirked. Dad didn’t believe in ghosts any more than I did.

“Why bother when I knew the neighborhood kids would do it for me?” he replied. “You know, I’m surprised it took this long. I thought for sure you’d come back on Monday with some cock-and-bull story.”

Charlie whooped past us, back to the car, where she’d left her My Little Pony lunchbox.

“First off, Dad, you have to live in a neighborhood to have ‘neighborhood kids’ and, secondly, unlike you, I do not broadcast the fact that I live in an ancient Victorian deathtrap.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not that bad.” His mouth quirked, dark beard wrinkling. “As long as you stay out of the basement.”

“Why? Did you go down there today?”

“No. I’m actually kinda scared to go back down there.”

“Because of the ghosts?” Now it was my turn to smile.

“Because I’m pretty sure we’re going to need a new furnace, and I don’t even want to know what it’s going to cost to heat a place like this. And because I still need to get an estimate on installing a washer-dryer setup down there. You know. The really scary stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” I glanced behind me to where Charlie pulled open the Civic’s rear door. “I wish you would have told me up front whatever the realtor said about this place.”

“Why’s that? See something strange?”

“Not me.”

“Chess?”

Our eyes met for the first time, Dad’s hazel stare shadowed by his heavy brow and, I was glad to see, by concern, too.

“Last night, Charlie complained about a man in her closet. I’m worried the kids at her school may have said something to her. Apparently, this place is some kind of paranormal hotspot. Or am I telling you something you already know?”

“Humph,” Dad said again.

“Dad.” I glowered at him. “What did the realtor say?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “When I asked if this place was haunted, I’d meant it mostly as a joke. You know, to make him sweat since they’re supposed to disclose stuff like that if you ask.”

“And he just said, ‘Yes, here be ghosts’?”

“He checked his papers and stated the place was ‘rumored to be.’ But no stories. Why? You hear some good ones today?”

“Nothing specific.”

“Well.” Dad laughed, a soft sandpaper-on-stone sound that I loved. “Might be a fun research project. And, after what I discovered today, I know where you can start.”