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"I don't know."
"Efram, come on. You can tell me. Honestly, it won't bother me."
The boy shifted uneasily in his seat. "I really don't know, miss. I have only heard stories of—things."
"Things?"
"Noises. Moans." He swallowed. "Things."
"Have you heard these 'things,' Efram?"
"Oh never, miss. I would not go into that house... I mean, I prefer not to."
"And you've never seen anything?"
Efram looked at her. "Well... well once, I was with some kids. We meant no harm, of course." Kathryn nodded. "Of course."
"We came through the garden, there at the back of the house. It was late at night, you see..."
"Go on."
"Well, we, ah, we saw someone."
"In the garden?"
"Yes."
"What did he look like?"
"I didn't get a good look, miss, except to see that he was tall and skinny. And he had long, funny hair."
Kathryn grinned. She leaned over and tugged lightly at one of his dreadlocks.
"Long and funny, huh?"
Efram was beyond seeing the joke.
"Not like mine. Tied back, you know, like in the old days. And he was carryin' somethin' in his hand."
"What?"
"I don't know." He did; she could tell.
"Efram, come on. What was this—person—carrying?" Efram shook his head. "I told you, I don't know."
"But you think he was a ghost?"
The boy's mouth tightened. "Don't know that either, miss."
"Well," Kathryn said carefully, "let's just assume for a minute that he was a ghost. Why would he be haunting my house?"
"Efram?"
"I don't know."
Her patience snapped. "Will you stop saying that? Of course you know!"
"I don't."
