But I’ve only taken a few steps when a cry rips through the air. Something bangs, like metal smashing against a wall. Then another blood-curdling cry from inside the gym. Ghosts?

Not afraid…well maybe a little. Not a fan of the dead. They should just stay that way—and away from me. I don’t see ghosts like my friend Sabine but knowing they’re near is freaky. There’s no good reason for them to stick around—only bad reasons like they’re confused and need a psychic like Sabine to guide them to the light or they’re dangerously demented trouble-makers.

Ghosts are not my friends.

I start to leave when I hear a very human shout for “Help!” from inside the gym.

Gritting my teeth, I think of all the times I’ve been sucked into other people’s problems. I don’t want to get involved. But when a thundering crash echoes so loudly I nearly jump out of my army boots, I stare at the gym; its busted windows, sagging timbers and pealing paint. My heart races, imagining someone trapped inside.

How can I just walk away?

Before I decide, the rusted gym door bursts open. A tall shadowy figure rushes through the doorway. He’s swathed in black jeans, western boots, a long dark jacket and a black knit ski mask with eye-slits. I jump aside, realizing he’s not a ghost who will float through me. He radiates powerful confidence that’s totally human—and he’s spotted me.

He stops abruptly; a twig snaps like a fragile bone under his dark western boots. All I can see of his face are piercing black eyes fixed on me like a hunter sighting his rifle on his prey. If glares can kill, I’m already dead.

I would have preferred a ghost.