The car shakes. All the unpressed call buttons light up as the light fixture in the ceiling above them goes dark. Shelly’s never been stuck in an enclosed space with an angry ghost before. She doesn’t often see angry ghosts. Usually they’re nice to her. Usually they want to move on or they want to talk, happy to be finally noticed by someone.

Shelly thought she and the boy would be able to talk. They both lost their mothers. They’re both waiting for something to happen. This is different from how things are supposed to go. This is different from how she’s supposed to interact with ghosts. “Where am I?” the boy asks. “Where’s my mom? Where did she go?”

“I don’t know!” Shelly says. “I don’t know what happens next! I don’t know where people go!” Shelly’s hands are shaking. She’s not like Grandma. She’s not going to make the ghost leave just because she can, but part of her wants to push him toward what comes next, to make him move on. He’s been waiting for years. His mother isn’t coming back for him.

“What happened?” the boy demands, stomping his foot. “Tell me!”

The lights flash one more time and then the elevator goes ding as it reaches the next floor. When the doors slide open, the ghost is gone. Shelly gets out and takes the stairs down to the lobby.

• • •

It’s late when she gets home and the lights are on in the living room. Shelly doesn’t have to unlock the door because Grandma opens it before Shelly can even get the key out of her pocket.

“Shelly,” she says, her voice stern and full of anger and worry, “where have you been?”

“I went for a walk.” It’s not the whole truth, but Shelly and Grandma had secrets from her mom, and Shelly and Mom had secrets from Grandma. This is Shelly’s secret.

She doesn’t want to talk about the boy in the hotel. She doesn’t want to think about him losing his sense of self and becoming an angry shade. She doesn’t want to think she might have caused it by talking to him.

He was upset, but he’ll probably calm down, at least for a little while. Shelly knows now why Grandma wanted to get him out of the hotel. If he stays angry, maybe he’ll become like the ghost at Isabel’s house—all anger, lashing out, unable to do anything but rage at the people who come into the space he considers his.

“I’ve been home for half an hour. It’s dark out and Mrs. Potts said you came home because you weren’t feeling well. I was worried about you.” Grandma reaches out to touch Shelly’s loose hair. “Your hair is down.”