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I raised my hands in mock surrender. "I submit."
"Look, there's a dog ghost, too! A hellhound!"
Anthony the abominable hellhound walked up to the two girls and lay down between them, clearly canvassing for strokes.
"Oh my goodness, the hellhound is so cute!" The older girl crouched down. "Can I pet him?"
"Of course. He likes under-the-chin strokes."
She started to stroke under Anthony's chin. "I'm Lexi. This is my sister, Rhea. We live next door and we’re ghost hunters."
"Ghost-hunting jujitsu experts?” I said. “Very cool. Well, I'm Elara, and this is Anthony. We’re not trained in martial arts or the undead, but we’re quick learners."
"Can I stroke him, too?” asked Rhea. “Will it scare him if we both do it?"
"Honestly, he could never have too many people stroking him. He's a little love sponge."
Rhea giggled. "Love sponge! His ears are so glossy. Lexi, I don't think this is a ghost."
"Could be a trick."
Lexi put her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at me. "Are you our new neighbor?"
"Sort of," I replied with a small smile, trying to choose my words carefully. "I'm just gonna be here for a little while. I used to live here when I was younger.”
“Really?” Rhea’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’ve never seen you.”
“Well, that’s because I’ve been living in New York City for the past few years," I explained.
Lexi's eyes widened. "I want to visit New York so badly!"
"That's how I felt when I was your age."
"Did you buy this place from Mr. O'Neil?" Rhea asked thoughtfully.
Pain lanced through me. "I'm Mr. O'Neil's daughter."
"I'm sorry he died," Lexi said bluntly. It wasn't rude, though. Somehow, I liked the simple way she said it because it felt so sincere. Then she laid a hand on my arm. “By the way, don’t worry. Ghosts aren't real."
I smiled, genuinely touched by her sweetness.
"I wish they were!" Rhea said, crossing her arms over her Bluey T-shirt. "I really wanted to see one."
The girls both nodded in disappointment.
Suddenly, my eyes widened. “Wait here, girls!”
I shot out of the kitchen and back into my room, before flipping open the chest at the end of my childhood bed. Would it still be here?
Who was I kidding? Literally everything was still here.
I rifled through my old dressing-up box. I wore this costume about three years running as a teenager. It was a scrappy ghost outfit made out of an old sheet with holes for the eyes and an elasticated waistband. To my delight, it was still in pretty good shape. I slipped it over my head, adjusting it so I could see through the holes.
Hmm. It was definitely tighter than I remembered. Turns out a twenty-four-year-old is a little bigger than a fifteen-year-old. The fabric clung to my curves in a way it hadn’t back then.
I tiptoed back and hid behind the door frame, then I crouched down, preparing to jump out. The girls were going to love this.
“Boo!” I shouted, springing up from my hiding spot.
