We save the old barn for last. Perhaps it’s out of hope that, of any place, a stray ghost might decide to settle here. Or maybe it’s the brilliant September day—the blue sky, a scattering of fluffy clouds, the rich green of the fields, and the gold of the leaves starting to change.
It’s hard to be sad here. Even so, I’m managing it.
The barn is empty, of course. Rodent tracks crisscross the cracked cement floor. Dust tickles my nose. A stall door creaks, but it’s nothing more than the breeze.
Malcolm hazards a few rungs up the ladder and peers into the hayloft. He turns, catches me in his gaze, and shakes his head.
“Nothing. It’s too—”
“Orderly,” I finish. The air is crisp, but devoid of the supernatural.
Malcolm steps down the rungs, taking each gingerly. They groan beneath his weig
