After I had been through Tim's room, I took Porkie outside for a little while and watched her poke around in the grass. It was a pretty day, but I couldn't hide the truth from myself: I just didn't want to be inside the house all on my own.

How was I going to manage preparing for an estate sale if I couldn't spend a day on my own in Gran's house? What was going on?

I didn't actually believe in ghosts.

But I didn't disbelieve in ghosts. I wasn't sure I'd ever realized that until now.

"I don't disbelieve in psychotic breaks, either," I murmured to myself. Porkie paused in her exploration of a large mushroom and looked up at me, her ears perked. "Sorry, sorry. Don't let me interrupt."

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I sat on the steps of the porch, angled so that I could see both the front door and the yard to watch Porkie. I watched the windows on either side of the door for a moment, but they looked completely normal and innocent: just tall, skinny windows veiled by gathered sheer curtain panels, framing a completely ordinary door.

I unlocked my phone and typed into Google: How do you know if your house is haunted?

I scrolled through the results until I saw an article from a familiar website and tapped into it to read.

You sense that you're not alone.

You hear unexplained sounds.

You feel unexplained cold spots or sensations.

Objects move on their own.

There are unidentified odors.

You see things, like shadows, pale figures, or reflections.

"Jesus," I whispered. The back of my neck prickled with a chill of foreboding. This couldn't be happening...could it?

"Gran..." I looked up again at the doors and those tall, skinny windows, half-expecting to see a shadow there, watching me, but there was nothing. I folded my arms around myself, overcome with sorrow at the thought that my grandmother, my sweet gran, could be haunting this place, a ghost lingering in the world of the living.

Didn't it normally happen when somebody had unfinished business? Had Gran died with something undone? Maybe something in a personal relationship had gone unresolved, or maybe she had died before she could finish a painting she'd been working on.

But there was another reason I'd heard that might cause a spirit to remain in the world after death: if the person died in a tragic or traumatic way.

Edith had said that Gran had died in her sleep, the way everybody wants to go. But she had been out here all on her own. I didn't know how long she had been there before she'd been found. Could that be a reason for her soul, or her spirit, or whatever, to linger on?

Strangely, having half of an answer as to what was happening comforted me. I still couldn't fully believe that Gran's house was haunted. It was too much to accept. I could, however, wrap my mind around the possibility as one explanation for what I'd experienced there.

It was the notion that Gran was still there that troubled me now, and not because I was afraid. It would be impossible to be afraid of Gran.

It was because she should be at peace.

Unsettled, I sat with my thoughts for a few minutes. I wasn't looking forward to going back inside with all of this knowledge fresh in my mind. That's when I remembered one way to get out of the house for a little while: I could call Uncle Royal and take him up on an offer of a visit. That would allow me a few hours' break from everything that had been happening here.

Just as I decided to call Uncle Royal, I realized I hadn't been watching Porkie. I glanced out over the yard to see where she was and didn't see her. I stood and stepped down off of the porch, walking into the grass. "Porkie?"

The grass was so high and wild that it took me a moment to find her: there she was, a dark brown lump in the lawn a good distance away. She was standing very still, looking toward the forest and the gentle slope beyond which the pond lay. I couldn't see the water from where I stood, but I knew it was there.

"Porkie, come inside, girl."

She didn't move, although her little squiggle of a tail wagged a couple times, briefly. She perked her ears up, but she kept toward the pond. Out of the blue, the memory of the fox's scream sliced through my awareness, chilling me.

"Porkie!" I snapped.

She started and looked at me over her shoulder.

"Come!"

She lowered her ears and then her head, moving toward me through the grass with obvious disappointment. She even stopped halfway back to look behind her again, but she didn't give me further trouble, following me sedately toward the house. I opened the door and let her inside, then sat on the front porch steps again and dialed Uncle Royal's number. It was about 3 PM.

"M'hello."

"Hello, Uncle Royal. It's Tabitha."

"Tabitha! How are you?" He sounded surprised, but pleased.

"I'm doing alright. It's been hard to be out at Gran's house, and a little bit lonely."

"I'm sure. I'm sure. Are you going to come on by for lunch one of these days here?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you were free tonight. It would be nice to catch up with you." This was half-true. Thinking of seeing Royal and Mary Ellen made me a little anxious; I knew them, but not well. Although our family was small, they felt like distant relatives, the sort of connections people talked about meeting at family reunions, half-remembered and offering proclamations of, Last time I saw you, you were this high!

"Oh, well, that would be nice. I think that would work just fine."

"I know it's last minute. Are you sure?"

"I don't know." A hint of playfulness entered his tone. "Our afternoon is pretty packed, but I think we could move some things around."

I laughed. "You wouldn't hurt my feelings if you took a rain check. What time do you think would work for you?"

"If you want to have dinner at the nursing home, they start that at five."

"That's fine, or I could bring something, if you want. Something from Myrtle or Eldora. I'm not sure what options are out there—I haven't been back in town for very long, but—"

"Well, they do a good fried chicken at the Crossroads, if you like that."

"The Crossroads? The gas station?"

"That's it."

I wasn't completely sold on gas station food in general, but there would not exactly be a wealth of options here. "Then fried chicken you shall have," I said. "I can pick it up on my way over. Is there anything else you would need while I'm out and about?"

"I think that should do it. What time will you be on over?"

"Maybe 4:15, 4:30?"

"Perfect. When you get here, you'll just need to check in at the front, and Mary Ellen's room is 1202. It's the Heartland Nursing Home—do you need the address?"

"I think I've got it here," I said, knowing I could just navigate with Maps, "and if I have any trouble finding it, I'll give you a call, is that okay?"

"Yes. This number is a cell phone number. The one you've called me at. I'll have it with me, even though I'm going to head on over to Mary Ellen's room."

"Perfect." I knew Uncle Royal was a little older than Gran, but I wondered how his kids kept in touch with him. He didn't seem quite comfortable with the whole cell phone thing. Or maybe he thought I wouldn't be comfortable. "I'll call you if I have any trouble finding it, and I'll be there soon. Thanks, Uncle Royal. I look forward to seeing you."

"Drive safe, now."

"I will. Bye."