“I know it’s not the same as having a mom and dad who are really there for you, but you were never alone, Rosie, even though you felt like you were. The times you’ve woken up from nightmares and your mom wouldn’t comfort you. The times you’ve fallen and she didn’t get you a Band-Aid. Your first steps that she ignored. I’ve been here through all of it; all of us ghosts in your house have. You just couldn’t see it.”

I stare at him quietly, feeling my face flush. Even though he’s trying to be nice, I don’t like the idea of ghosts lingering around for my whole life without me knowing it—not at all. I’ve always been a secretive kind of person—especially about my feelings. I like to keep myself a secret from pretty much everyone but Germ. And now I wonder, how many of my secrets does Ebb know?

The night is just beginning to fade when we see the warm lights of my house up ahead, glowing through the dark wet dimness. Several ghosts are floating across the lawn as if leaving after a long night’s haunt.

A small creature, all fangs and claws, is running across the grass toward us, and he lunges at my leg, though he passes right through it. He growls and snarls up at me before lurching away.

“What was that?” I ask, shuddering. An evil creature? I wonder. A witch’s familiar?

“Just the ghost of a rabid possum,” Ebb says. “He’s a mean old thing, tries to bite everybody. We all wish he’d move on, honestly.”

We are just venturing onto the grass when I almost walk right into a flesh-and-blood, breathing man.

I stumble back, shocked. It takes a few moments of staring and getting my bearings to realize it’s only Gerald, the guy who sometimes fixes things around the property, whom I pay with my mom’s checkbook.

Germ and I stand frozen in our tracks, Ebb hovering between us. We stare at Gerald and Gerald stares back. And then he smiles.

“You two are up early,” he says. Neither Germ nor I can find words to reply, because we are waiting for him to notice Ebb.

“Um,” I say, “we were… bird-watching.”

Gerald cocks his head at me. “Birds?”

“You have to get up early to see the red-breasted, uh, warble… um… jay,” Germ puts in.

Gerald stares at us for a moment, then nods. At the same time, a translucent old woman—the washerwoman I saw last night—barrels through him with an arm full of filmy sheets, and Germ almost loses it, snorting into her hand.

“Bless you,” I say.