“Who's there?” I call out, taking a step back.

  I reach into my pocket, instinctively searching for something I can use as a weapon, but all I feel are some gum wrappers and a chewed pen.

  The rustling sound has stopped now, but my heart is pounding.

  Taking my phone from my back pocket, I ignore a message from Dad and quickly bring up a flashlight app. I shine the beam toward the bushes and – although this thing is no substitute for a proper light – I'm just about able to make out the leaves blowing gently in the night air. I aim the flashlight along the row of shrubs, watching for any hint that I'm being observed, but I don't see anything at all and after a moment I start to feel a little silly.

  I guess maybe I just spooked myself.

  Sighing, I lower my phone to switch the app off.

  And in that half-second, I spot a face in one of the bushes.

  “What the -”

  I stumble back and aim the flashlight again, but already I can hear a crashing sound. Whoever's there, they're running, and I can hear them even if I can't see them. The bushes are shaking in one particular spot, but a moment later the shaking stops and instead I hear footsteps racing away into the night. Whoever was watching me, he or she clearly wants to get away as fast as possible.

  “Hey!” I yell, running past the end of the bushes and then stopping to look out across the far end of the cemetery. “Who are you?”

  I can just about see a dark figure clambering over the wall, and then the figure is gone. I could run over and try to catch up, but I wouldn't have a chance. Whoever that was, they'll be long gone by now.

  I saw a face, though.

  I saw shocked eyes, and skin blasted white by the light. My first instinct is to think that it was a guy, but after a moment I start wondering whether it might instead have been a girl. Pretty soon I have no idea what I saw, but I know I saw someone and I know it wasn't the ghost of Leanne Halperin or anything nuts like that.

  Maybe it was just some local perv. I'm sure there are a few of them about. He was probably building up the courage to leap out and show me his junk, but evidently I scared him off. Typical. A girl can't even loiter in a cemetery these days without having some weirdo show up.

  “Thanks a lot,” I mutter, before shoving my hands into my pockets as I turn and head toward the gate. I glance around, just to make sure that no-one's coming, and then I head out onto the sidewalk and start making my way home.

  The world is a messed-up place sometimes. I guess you can't pick your ghosts.

  Twenty-Three

  Sheriff James Kopperud

  “Huh? What?”

  Startled, I sit up as my phone starts ringing. For a moment I don't remember where I am, but then I realize the film has ended and apparently some other show has started. I must have drifted off, but now my phone's going so I mute the TV before answering.

  “Hey,” I say, rubbing the back of my head in an attempt to force myself fully awake, “it's me. What's up?”

  “You won't believe this,” Deputy Michaels says on the other end of the line.

  “Did someone do something?” I ask, unable to stifle a hint of excitement. “Do we have an actual crime to investigate? I can be down at the station in ten minutes.”

  “It's not quite a crime,” he replies with a heavy sigh, and then I hear another voice ranting in the background.

  “Who's that?” I ask.

  “That's Father Porter from the church,” Michaels explains. “He called me out 'cause he said he almost hit something with his car. The thing is, he said it was...”

  His voice trails off for a moment.

  “He said it was what?” I ask.

  No reply.

  “Spit it out,” I say firmly. “What does he think he almost hit?”

  “He said it was a demon,” Michaels says, sounding more than a little uncertain. “Or something like that. A monster. But that's just what he thinks.”

  “Check his breath,” I reply. “Make sure he hasn't been at the communion wine.”

  “That's what I assumed. I was convinced it had to be something like that, but he doesn't seem to have been drinking.”

  “What about drugs?”

  “Drugs?”

  “You never know.”

  “This is Father Porter we're talking about,” he reminds me. “The man's eighty years old and... Oh, uh, actually I think he's about to -”

  “Give me that!” an angry voice splutters, and I hear a clicking noise. “Who's this?” Father Porter asks. “James Kopperud, is that you? Who the blazes am I talking to?”

  “This is Sheriff Kopperud,” I reply, sitting up straight on the sofa and taking a swig of beer. “Father Porter, I'm sorry to hear that you've been having some difficulties tonight, might I ask how -”

  “I saw it plain as day!” he says firmly, interrupting me. “I was driving home from Mrs. Pennicost's farm and this beast ran out in front of my car. I had to swerve to avoid the wretched thing, and I'm telling you, it was black as night and its eyes were burning!”

  “That seems unlikely,” I point out.

  “I don't care what's unlikely!” he roars. “Your deputy has already intimated that I imagined the whole thing! Don't think I haven't seen the look in his eyes, and don't think I can't hear the tone in your voice!”

  “There's no -”

  “I saw that thing!”

  “Maybe it was a dog,” I suggest.

  “It was no dog!” he shouts, loud enough for me to move the phone away from my ear. “I know what a dog looks like, Sheriff Kopperud! A dog doesn't walk on its hind legs! A dog doesn't snarl at a man! A dog doesn't stumble away through the burned forest! I am telling you, Sheriff Kopperud, that I saw a demon, and I expect you to take me seriously!”

  I take another sip of beer.

  “Well -”

  “Do you?” he barks. “Well?”

  “Did you see its horns?” I ask.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This demon,” I continue, feeling that I need to defuse the situation somehow. “If it really was a demon, then -”

  “Not all demons have horns!” he shouts. “Don't be ridiculous, man!”

  “Of course not,” I reply, getting to my feet. “I just think -”

  Before I can finish, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. For a moment, I'm shocked to see that I look so old and haggard. I tilt my head slightly and the shadows change, making me look better, but I can't help stepping over and peering at my reflection.

  “You just think what?” Father Porter snaps.

  “Would you mind putting Deputy Michaels back on the line, please?” I reply, staring at myself for a moment longer before forcing myself to turn away from the mirror. “I need to, uh, discuss our next step in this investigation.”

  I hear a sigh, and then another clicking sound as the phone is handed back.

  “Hey, boss,” Michaels says. “I'm not quite sure what you want me to do but, uh, it's getting pretty late.”

  “Are you sure he hasn't been drinking?”

  “Pretty sure. But boss, I -”

  “Then obviously he just had a near-miss with one of the many town drunks,” I explain. “Humor the man. Take down a statement, make him think that you're listening to him, and then file that report in the trash as soon as you get back to the station.”

  “Um, actually -”

  “The man's clearly lost his mind,” I point out, “and I don't think he's going to listen to reason. He's a grumpy old thing at the best of times, but he's harmless enough. He's just an old kook who won't admit when he's wrong.”

  I wait for Michaels to agree.

  “And then you might as well go home for the night,” I add. “There's no need for you to stay out there, responding to calls from cranks and lunatics.”

  Again I wait.

  “That's okay with you, isn't it?” I ask cautiously. “Michaels?”

  “Sure,” he stammers, “it's fine, but... Well, Father Porter's right here next to me.”

  “Get rid of him. Make him feel like he's been listened to, and send him home. Let's just try not to piss him off, okay? Make him think we're taking him seriously.”

  “Right.” Michaels pauses. “It's just, Sir... When he took the phone, he changed it to speaker mode. And like I said, he's... Well, he's standing right next to me, Sir.”

  Sighing, I close my eyes and put a hand over my face.

  Twenty-Four

  Ramsey Kopperud

  Stopping on the path that leads to the front door, I spot movement in Dad's front room. He's pacing back and forth, talking to someone on the phone, although after a moment he cuts the call. He turns to go to the sofa, but then he stops and gently bumps his forehead against the wall.

  Then again.

  Then a third time.

  He looks annoyed about something. After a moment, he turns and looks at the mirror, and he seems to be staring at his own reflection. At the same time, he's fiddling with the silver ring he always wear on his right index finger, which is a habit he's got whenever he's worried. He's been doing that a lot lately, as if he senses something is wrong. And why wouldn't he?

  I wait, and then slowly he reaches up and touches the side of his face.

  Does he feel different?

  I haven't told him what I did, and how I saved his life, but I'm starting to think that he's figuring a lot of it out. He must realize his cancer can't have miraculously cured itself, and he must have a whole load of questions. Then again, maybe he's too scared to ask those questions, because maybe he's worried the cure isn't permanent.

  If he knew what I did, what I had to give up in order to save him, I don't think -

  Suddenly hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and look back across the lawn. To my surprise, I see a little girl stumbling into view, although she stops as soon as we make eye-contact. She looks to be only about seven or eight years old, and I'm pretty sure she's not supposed to be out alone this late. In fact, I don't even remember seeing a kid living on this street. I guess she must be visiting someone.

  “Hey,” I say cautiously.

  She stares at me.

  “It's okay, I don't bite,” I continue, before stepping over to her and reaching out my hand. Anything to delay going into the house. “My name's Ramsey Kopperud. Do you live round here?”

  She pauses, before finally nodding.

  “So like I said, I'm Ramsey,” I continue. “What's your name?”

  She seems reluctant to answer.

  “I already told you mine,” I point out. “What's yours?”

  She furrows her brow, almost as if she doesn't quite understand what I want.

  “Sophia,” she says finally, just as I was about to ask again. “Sophia Landsome.”

  “And do your parents know you're out alone this late, Sophia Landsome?”

  She pauses, and then she nods again.

  “Are you telling the truth, Sophia?”

  “I've been sick,” she replies, “but Mommy says I'm better now. I have to go back to school in the morning, for the first time in two weeks, but I don't want to go. I've got a headache and I don't want to play with anyone.”

  “Tell me about it,” I mutter, before putting my hands on my hips. “Everyone has to go to school, Sophia. What's the worst that could happen?”

  I wait, but she's staring at me with her mouth hanging slightly open.

  “Are you being bullied?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “That's good,” I continue. “Listen, it's nice to meet you, but I really don't think you should be out here. Why don't I walk you home?”

  “I know the way.”

  “Sure, but -”

  “I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I think something bad's going to happen if I do.”

  “Bad? Like what?”

  She shrugs.

  “Well, I'm sure it's not,” I tell her, giving her a smile. “School can be like that sometimes, but don't worry. All you really have to do at school is just find a way to survive. It can feel like a war-zone sometimes.”

  “Mrs. Cooper doesn't like me,” she continues. “She doesn't like my best friend very much, either, but she especially doesn't like me. She thinks I'm naughty.”

  “And are you?”

  She shakes her head.

  I can't help smiling.

  “Not ever?” I ask, hoping to tease her a little.

  Again, she shakes her head.

  “I was naughty,” I continue. “Well, not crazy naughty, but I had my moments. All the best girls are naughty occasionally. It'd be boring to be good all the time.”

  “I just don't want to go back to school tomorrow,” Sophia replies. “I've got a funny feeling in my tummy.”

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  “It's like a tickle. And my head feels funny too. I'm scared that something bad'll happen if I have to go back to school tomorrow.”

  She looks down at her own hands, wiggling her fingers for a moment.

  “Sometimes you have to ignore your fears,” I tell her. “We all get them, but you just have to put them out of your mind and hope for the best.”

  I wait for her to reply, and then I reach a hand out.

  “Come on. Let me walk you home. Which house do you live in?”

  “Mommy and Daddy think I'm just pretending to feel sick, to get out of school,” she continues, still staring at her own hands, “but I'm not. Something really bad is going to happen. I'm going to do something really bad.”

  “I don't believe that for a second,” I reply, before reaching into my pocket and taking out my phone. “I'll bring up a map and you can show me where you live. There's no way your parents can be happy with you out alone like this.” I take to open a map app. “It's not like I'm desperate to get home any time soon.”

  I turn to look at her, but suddenly she's gone. A moment later, hearing footsteps rustling through the grass, I look over at the bushes and listen as the rustling fades into the distance. It's like she was there one second and gone the next.

  “Hey, come back!” I call after her, but I guess it's already too late.

  Sighing, I slip my phone away and head back into the house, reaching the kitchen just as Dad comes through with an empty coffee mug.

  “Do you think people go to Hell if they offend a priest?” he asks. “Like, automatically? Do they have special influence over that sort of thing?”

  “I just met this kid who was out alone,” I tell him, relieved to be able to fill the silence and avoid any awkward questions. Heading over to the sink, I pour myself a glass of water. “That's weird, right? You'd never have let me go running about on my own at night when I was just seven or eight, would you?”

  “Are you kidding? Your mother would've had a heart attack.”

  “That's what I figured,” I reply, peering out the window just in case I spot Sophia again. “It's funny how some people don't seem to care about stuff like that. This kid was just hanging around out there like it was the middle of the day.”

  “Did you ask if she was okay?”

  “She said she was fine. She just said she didn't want to go to school tomorrow.” I take a sip of water and turn to him. “Maybe I should go back out and look for her. Do you know where the Landsomes live?”

  He furrows his brow. “The Landsomes?”

  “That's what she said her name was. Sophia Landsome.”

  I wait for an answer, but now Dad's simply staring at me as if I'm talking nonsense.

  “I just met her on the lawn.” I take another sip. “I think I might grab my jacket and go see if I can find her. She shouldn't be out there alone. I shouldn't have let her wander off in the first place.”

  Setting my cup down, I can't help noticing that Dad's still staring at me as if I'm some kind of lunatic.

  “What?” I ask finally.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I wait again, but he seems genuinely concerned.

  “What's the big deal?” I ask. “If you're worried, I can go back out there and look for her again.”

  “The Landsomes moved away from Deal back in the nineties,” he says cautiously. “They left twenty years ago. Right after their nine-year-old daughter Sophia died in the schoolyard.”

  “Then it must have been someone else,” I point out. “Dad, seriously, there must be another Sophia Landsome in town.”

  “There are no Landsomes in Deal anymore,” he explains. “Ramsey, they all left after the tragedy. I don't think any of them have even been back to visit once. They have no connection to the place. I don't know if you're trying to be funny, but I promise you, there's no way you met Sophia Landsome out there. And if you think it's funny to make up some kind of story, I'm surprised at you, Ramsey.”

  “I'm not making anything up!” I tell him, starting to feel like maybe he's trying to prank me. “Dad, why would I lie about something like this?”

  “I don't -”

  He sighs, and then his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, and then he sighs again.

  “I have to get to the station and make peace with an angry priest,” he explains, setting his beer down and stepping past me, heading toward the door. “Ramsey, let's just go easy with the Sophia Landsome talk, okay? It's still a sensitive topic around here. I'm not surprised you don't know anything about what happened. People tend to clam up whenever she's mentioned.”

  He slips his coat on, before grabbing his car keys and opening the front door.

  “I won't be long. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone, okay?”

  “But Dad -”

  Before I can finish, however, he pulls the door shut, leaving me standing alone in the silent house.

  “I know what I saw,” I say finally. “I met that little girl. I met Sophia Landsome.”

  Twenty-Five

  Sheriff James Kopperud

  “I am telling you exactly what happened!” Father Porter says firmly, as we stand in my office at the station. “A demon ran out in front of my car and I almost hit it! I had to take avoiding action! I could have been killed!”