On the outskirts of the graveyard are small graves with tiny aluminum stakes and rusted old plaques instead of proper headstones. They’re the cheap seats of burial places for people who can’t afford or aren’t willing to pay for a big headstone get buried. The graves are closer together and weeds sprout up between them. There’s a ghost there, a teenaged boy, sitting on a small grave, playing with a black plastic box that looks almost like a radio.

He looks up at Grandma and Shelly with eyes like black holes.

“Hello, Joseph,” Grandma says, sticking a hand in her purse and pulling out a stack of old cassette tapes. Shelly’s mom has a tape deck in her car, but these days tapes are all of old music and hard to find. Grandma puts them on the grave in front of the boy and he smiles at her.

“Old Lady,” he says. His mouth moves, but his voice comes from the headphones around his neck. He pops open his ghostly radio-like box and inserts the tapes one by one right after each other. They disappear as they slide into place, dissolving into the player. Ghosts don’t usually come with accessories—Joseph having the player and headphones means he was buried with them. “You want to know who’s roaming around the yard?”

“First I want to introduce you to my granddaughter,” Grandma says. “Joseph, this is Shelly.”

Joseph turns his unsettling eyes on Shelly. She does her best not to take a step back. After a moment, she bows to him, just a quick up-and-down bob, because she’s not sure what else to do when he’s staring like that.

Joseph laughs. “I like her,” he says. “Old Lady never introduced me to anyone before, Little Shell. You must be special. You ever heard of The Cure?”

Shelly shakes her head.

Joseph opens his box again and reaches inside. His hand slips down, down, all the way to his elbow as he digs around inside, and he pulls out a cassette and holds it out to Shelly. “They’re my favorite band. This is a good tape,” he says. “My favorite album. Take care of it for me.”

Shelly takes the tape. The faded lettering on it reads Disintegration. It’s so icy cold that touching it feels like being burned, but Grandma taught her how to accept gifts from the dead. When they give you something, you have to be grateful. You smile, say thank you, and take good care of it.

“Thank you,” Shelly says. “Do you want me to bring it back?”

“Nah,” Joseph says. “You keep that one for you. I got it memorized. Old Lady here brings me new stuff to listen to all the time.”