“I’m sorry, did you mean yes or no to that?”
Again, the light flashes once then twice.
“Are you trying to say maybe or sort of? I get that. That was a complicated question I asked. Can I ask what made it sort of or maybe happy?”
The candles go out in a flush of wind, plunging me into the dark and making every hair on the back of my neck stand up. I grab my dad’s lighter to relight the candles but pause when I hear a noise. It sounds like a voice, but I can’t make out the words.
“Can you repeat that?” I ask, attempting a steady tone.
I hear the sound again.
I bang the heels of my palms together twice in a muted clap, pressing my closed fists to my mouth to conceal my grin. This is amazing. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but this isamazing. I contain my squeal before I say, “I’m so sorry, I can’t understand. Let me see if the phone picked it up.”
I pick up my phone and stop the backup recording I have going. I press play and fast forward to the end. I turn the volume up and listen closely. There! I bite the corner of my mouth. Muffled, I hear something like, “Cherry pie.” If the phonepicked it up this well, the EVP recorder likely caught it more clearly.
“Cherry pie?” I repeat, mulling over the phrase.
Kit starts whooping in my head. “Remember?!” he yells. “Remember?! Violet was famous in the neighborhood for her cherry pie!”
“She was. Oh my god.” I direct my next words to the ghost, switching my phone back on. “Your cherry pie. You made a mean cherry pie. Do you miss baking?” As I ask the question, I relight a couple of the candles.
Two flashes.
“No? But you loved it while you were living here?”
One flash.
“If you could, would you bake a cherry pie again?”
Two flashes, then I hear a muffled sound again. “Sorry, Violet, I need to listen to that on the recording. Can you give me a moment?”
I play back the recording on my phone and hear: “Too many.”
I laugh. “Understandable. Well, Violet, I have probably taken up enough of your time. Thank you for talking to me today.”
I move to stand, and that’s when I see it. Or…or I guess I should sayher. A flash of blonde hair before it fades into a solid black void, blocking the moonlight flooding in from the window. Then it disappears, taking the light of the candles with it.
“Thank you,” I whisper, a tear rolling down my cheek. Oh, this is a ridiculous reaction. While that is not the first ghost I have seen with my own eyes thanks to that fun experience withthe malevolent spirit, it is the first friendly ghost I have seen. I blink quickly, but a few more tears escape, sliding into my smile.
“You okay?” Kit asks gently.
“I’mfantastic,” I emphasize.
I look up, whispering to August, “Did you see that?”
Kit keeps quiet, knowing that comment wasn’t for him.
I pick up the camera still attached to the tripod, nearly dropping it. The footage of me struggling can be edited out later. I leave the room and move on to the next bedroom, then continue on to the other bedrooms, not having a lot of luck in any of them. Next, I stop by one of the upstairs bathrooms, where, with nowhere else to sit, I take a seat on the closed lid of the toilet after my camera is set up and set the EVP recorder and my phone on the counter beside me.
“Hi,” I say. “My name is Lacy. Is there anyone?—”
A singular knock on the wall cuts me off. I don’t let myself get too excited—it could have been the pipes, but I ask, “Was that you? Is someone here with me?”
No response.
“I usually like to use this flashlight”—I tap it—“for communication, but we can use knocks on the wall, too. One knock for yes, two for no.” This is the bathroom that someone slipped and hit their head in. “Did you die in this bathroom?” I ask.
No response.
