“Do you think D’quan or Andrew Silva is cuter?” asks Germ. Germ is increasingly boy crazy. To me, boys seem as uninteresting as they always have.

We wait. And wait and wait. In fact, we wait for half the night, long past midnight, and no ghost appears. No creaking, no booing, nothing. We watch part of a PG-13 movie that Germ’s not allowed to watch. We wait because we want to see something, but also, we’re afraid to go to sleep. Eventually we do sleep, though, me lying in one direction in the fort and Germ the other.

I only stir when I hear the whispering. For a moment, I can’t move. I slide my eyes to the clock. It’s two a.m.

“Hate her,” the voice rasps. It’s coming from the direction of the basement.

My body goes hot and cold. My heart thrums, my stomach drops like a roller coaster, a heaviness and coldness comes over me.

I nudge Germ with just the slightest movement, and feel her stir awake.

Slowly we sit up, facing each other.

“Do you hear that?” I mouth silently to Germ. She looks at me, head cocked, then shakes her head.

“My house,” the voice says. It gets louder. I wait for Germ to acknowledge it, but she only gazes at me with wide, confused eyes.

We move slowly to the entrance to our fort, and crawl halfway out. I stare at the basement door.

There’s no doubt; the voice is coming from behind it. And there is a glow. And as the voice gets closer, as if its owner is climbing the stairs, the glow gets brighter.

I can feel my hands begin to tremble.

“Rosie, what is it?” Germ whispers. “Are you okay?”

“You can’t hear it? Really?” I whisper, low.

She shakes her head again. But instead of looking like she doubts me, she appears to listen harder. I’m panicked. I need Germ to hear it. I need to know I’m not crazy, at least.

“Never tell, never tell,” the voice says, growing ever closer.

Germ looks to be straining her ears with all her might, though the voice is as loud and clear as day. I reach for her hand, terrified, and squeeze it tight.

“Serves them right.”

At that moment, Germ’s eyes widen.

“I hear it,” she mouths. But she’s straining, even though the voice is loud by now.

I point to the door, to the glow coming from under the crack.

Germ stares hard at it. She squeezes my fingers harder. And then the glow flares, as if in anger. And we both jump, and Germ grasps my sleeve.

“I see it,” she whispers.

We both cower in the blankets, facing the door, clutching the spoons we’ve hung around our necks.