Grandma keeps leaving her with Mrs. Potts and Mrs. Potts won’t let Shelly out of the house on her own anymore, although she does let Shelly come with her on errands. They go to the grocery store and Mrs. Potts gets Shelly a chocolate bar. They go to the thrift store and when Shelly drifts to the back corner and spots a tape by a band called Siouxsie and the Banshees, Mrs. Potts buys it for her, amused.

“It’s very appropriate,” Mrs. Potts says. “I didn’t know you had a cassette player at home.”

Shelly just smiles and slips the tape into her pocket.

• • •

Maybe Shelly was unfair to Joseph. Of all the ghosts she’s talked to, he’s the most sympathetic, and he’s the only one who still acts like he sees her. Maybe he doesn’t know what it’s like, losing someone from this side of death, but Shelly wasn’t very polite to him before and it’s nice to be able to talk to someone who acts more or less normal around her.

She waits until she’s sure Grandma’s asleep, like the night she got Estelle, and then slips out of bed and pulls on clothes.

“Are you going to bring back more ghosts?” Estelle asks, poking her head out of Shelly’s closet. “Really?”

“I’m not bringing anyone back,” Shelly says, checking to see that she’s still got the tape. She’s annoyed at Estelle for assuming that’s what she’s doing and for sounding so judgmental about it. “I could if I wanted to, though.”

She leaves her room and the house, locking the door behind her, and sets out into the cold night. Shelly can see her breath in the air as she walks down the street as fast as she can, heading toward the cemetery. It’s no less scary the second time around, but when she gets to the graveyard she relaxes. When she’s surrounded by the dead, she’s safe, even if the moon is the only light she has to guide her. She has more in common with them than she does with most of the living.

Shelly picks her way over to Joseph’s grave. He’s not there, but she digs the tape out of her pocket and sets it down. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I was rude.”

Joseph is there, suddenly, closer than she expected, like maybe he was waiting for someone to visit.

“You were,” he says, taking the tape from the ground and examining it. He pops open his Walkman and slides the cassette inside. A song starts playing from his headphones as soon as he snaps it shut, a mournful woman singing about a happy house. “Good choice, Little Shell. Apology accepted.” He looks up at her. “Should you be out at this hour?”