She gestures to the burying ground. Old headstones rise at crooked angles from the grass, many with worn-down etchings. “One of the cemetery’s most nefarious occupants is Judge John Hathorne, who is sometimes referred to as ‘the hanging judge.’ There have been many, many sightings of a dark shadow lurking near his grave, including several instances where it was caught on camera. There have also been sightings of a tall, thin man who wanders through the graves but disappears if you try to look too closely. If he is standing behind me, please do not tell me.”

“Yikes,” Willow says.

“Now, who is ready to see the most haunted house in Salem? The Joshua Ward House is right this way.”

Despite my best efforts, I get completely sucked into the tour, so much so that I almost forget that Willow is next to me, her ponytail brushing my arm every so often. Almost. Emma is great at treating the many tragedies in Salem with respect while still keeping things fun, and we stop at a shuttered bookstore, where books are said to fly off shelves, and a restaurant where staff is always waiting with extra silverware on hand because of a fork-stealing ghost. The Joshua Ward House is my personal favorite. It’s a large Federal-style building that had once been the home of one of Salem’s most notorious witch killers, George Corwin. Emma pulls out an iPad to show an image that had appeared in the background of a guest’s photo, and when Willow and I squeeze in for a look, shivers run straight down my back. It’s a woman dressed in black, staring intensely through a cloud of black hair.

My mom would love this.

By the time we are close to finishing, Emma has won over the entire group, Red Sox Hat included, and the moon has risen high in the sky. It’s a hazy, cloudy night, terrible for stargazing, which is fine because for once I’m more interested in what is happening down here on planet Earth.

Willow is quiet for most of the tour, but she stays close, the ends of her hair brushing my arm as we walk. Once we round the corner back to the spot where we started, she grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop. When I look down, she’s holding out my star log.

I grab it quickly, wrapping my fingers tightly around its coiled spine. “Thank you,” I say, my voice coming out semi-muffled. Relief is trickling through me, but when I look at Willow, I realize she’s blushing again, her eyes darting nervously.

“You okay?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath before meeting my eye. “I was wondering if you’d go somewhere with me. After the tour,” she adds.

My heart jumps, and it takes everything in me to answer like a normal human. “No problem.”