Page 59

The rods stop moving.

“Mr. Truman? Mr. Truman? Dang.” Myah shivers. “It’s freezing in here.”

My spine locks stiff. A sudden drop of temperature … that’s a sure sign of a ghost!

As I set down the robot, it clicks on. The thermal meter passes Myah, and she’s a bright red blob on the controller. But when I face the robot the opposite way, I notice a bright blue blob. It’s quick, like a blip on the screen before it disappears. I look in that direction. Empty.

I swallow hard and start to rationalize. Maybe it was a false alarm. Maybe the meter is picking something up outside. Maybe I broke it. But the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

“I … I think something’s here …” I whisper, trailing off, desperately trying to work the controller. But I can’t get the robot to move.

Myah throws the rods on the ground with a grunt and grabs her book bag, digging around. I’m too busy messing with the robot to worry about what she’s doing. I know Robby taught me what to do, but I can’t remember all that programming stuff. And what was that blob?

When I turn around, I see Myah is on the floor, setting up a tan-and-black Ouija board.

“What is that!”

Myah purses her lips. “What’s it look like?”

“Have you lost your mind?” I snap, looming over her. “Put that away!”

“But we’re so close! I feel it. Let’s just try!”

“Maverick said not to mess with those things!”

“He also told us that he didn’t believe in ghosts. So I’ll stick with what I know.”

“Wait! Did you steal that from your grandma’s house?”

She looks at me, the guilt all over her face. I can’t believe I trusted this girl. Again.

“Myah, we’re not supposed to—”

A door somewhere down the hall creaks. We freeze, staring at each other. I go through a mental checklist that would explain the noise but come up empty.

Then, footsteps. Real footsteps. Creeping closer.

Oh no.

Myah jumps to her feet, staring at the door.

“Psst,” a raspy voice says, and I lose all feeling in my legs.

“Myah,” I gasp, lips quivering. Really, my whole body is shaking.

Myah searches the room, grabs a piece of wood, and shouts, “Who’s there?”

I point the flashlight at the door. Myah reels the stick back like a bat, ready to swing.

The footsteps grow faster, closer, until they’re right on us.

Just as I’m about to start crying, Robby turns the corner.

“Robby?!” we shout.

Robby, dressed in a light gray suit and black tie, puts up his hand, shielding his eyes from the light. His little pocket flashlight makes only a pinprick of light for him to work with.

“What are you doing here?” I yell.