We approach the old barn cautiously, leaving Malcolm’s convertible on the gravel shoulder of the county road. Although the sun won’t set for several hours, a hush has fallen over the area, as if everything around us is holding its breath.
“Sense anything?” Malcolm whispers.
I shake my head. The air tastes serene. Sunlight dapples the tree-lined path in front of us, glinting off rainwater that remains in some of the deeper ruts. Even the hum of insects has faded to something soft, a lullaby of a sound.
“I don’t like this.” He holds the Tupperware container at eye level and peers into it.
The ghost floats, neither agitated nor happy to be home. I nod toward the barn.
“Let’s just release it and run back to the car.”
We both glance behind us. It’s like we’re worried the path back to the
