She closes the front door and waits. Grandma doesn’t come running out behind her. Mrs. Potts’s lights stay off. Nobody is going to stop her from leaving. Even the front yard looks different at night, cast in unfamiliar shadows.

Shelly shivers, alone in the dark, and tugs her coat tighter around her body.

The bus stops running after nine, which means she has to walk to the cemetery. Shelly isn’t afraid of the dead, but the unnatural yellow glow of the streetlights makes the night seem scary, like something bad could be waiting for her around every corner. She takes a step toward the road, moving slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the dark.

The night is noisier than Shelly expected. The trees rustle. There are cars on the road. Dogs barking. Shelly’s not alone, but she feels like she is. Stepping onto the street and starting the long, cold walk to the graveyard, Shelly feels like she’s the only person in an unreal world. She has to keep checking street signs to make sure she’s going the right way. Everything looks different even though she knows it shouldn’t.

She wonders if this is what being a ghost is like. Scary. Confusing. Shelly can see why her mom got lost if it is. Shelly feels like there’s something dark lurking around every corner. Like every time the wind rustles a bush, it’s someone sneaking up on her.

She can’t believe she has to walk home after this, too.

When she reaches the cemetery, the gate is closed but not locked. It’s easy to push it open and step inside. Surrounded by death, a dozen lingering souls tugging at the ends of Shelly’s ponytail, she lets her shoulders relax and her eyes adjust to the darkness. After all this time, and with all she knows, being here is almost like being home.

Shelly tucks her ponytail into the collar of her jacket and begins the trek across the cemetery toward Joseph’s grave. She doesn’t know if he’ll like her tape, but he seemed sorry for her before. She figures he might forgive it being Christmas music.

When she reaches the outskirts of the graveyard, Joseph is there, where he always is, sitting on his grave. He’s singing under his breath and looking up at the sky with his eyes like black holes.

“Joseph.”

He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Little Shell,” he says. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here right now.”

Shelly frowns and digs the tape out of her pocket, holding it out to him. “I’m here to ask you if you’ve seen my mother,” she says. “This is the only thing I could find to bring you.”