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Marco and Polo blinked up at her, their eyes huge. Mrs. Power Walker blinked back.

“Fifth floor,” the elevator voice said. The doors opened.

Butterbean wagged her tail at Mrs. Power Walker and then trotted out, with Walt slinking behind her like a shadow. Mrs. Power Walker looked at them thoughtfully as the doors closed.

“Holy cow, that was CRAZY!” Marco’s eyes were huge. “Did you see? She looked RIGHT AT US! And she didn’t say a THING!”

“Mrs. Power Walker’s nice,” Butterbean said. “Not like Mrs. Hates Dogs on six.”

Oscar closed his eyes. He was never great in social situations. He’d learned his lesson. He should’ve definitely gone with the vents, haunted or not.

“Never mind Mrs. Power Walker,” he said, hopping off Butterbean’s head. “We’re here.”

They turned to look at Apartment 5B. The hallway suddenly felt colder.

Oscar shuddered.

“Maybe we could just go back?” Butterbean whispered. “We can leave the investigating to Mrs. Food.”

“It’s now or never, Bean,” Walt said, trying to keep her voice level. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. And she didn’t even believe in ghosts.

Nobody moved. The freshly painted door looked much more ominous than it had earlier in the day.

Finally, Wallace cleared his throat.“I can’t live in your aquarium forever,” he said from his place on Butterbean’s tummy.

Oscar sighed.“Wallace is right. If there’s a ghost, we need to get rid of it,” he said. “We can’t do that if we don’t go in.”

“And there’s a pretty good chance we won’t die,” Marco said, clutching Walt’s hair so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Right?”

“Right,” Polo said, swallowing hard.

“Unless we die of fright. Or it sucks the breath out of us,” Marco went on. “Ghosts do that, right?”

“MARCO, sheesh!” Polo said, smacking him on the arm.

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, stop!” Polo glared at him and climbed up onto Walt’s head, her jaw set. She held the key in the air. “We’re going in.”

— 6 —

POLO TURNED THE KEY, THEN froze, listening.

“Whew!” she said. “I was afraid something was going to—”

A thin wail filled the hallway.

Polo squeaked and pulled the key out of the keyhole, clutching it to her chest.“What is that?” she squealed.

The wail turned into a low, eerie moan. It echoed throughout the hallway and surrounded them. Butterbean felt the urge to howl along with it.

“GHOST!” Marco buried his face in Walt’s fur.

“That’s it! That’s what I heard,” Wallace shrieked, grabbing tightly to Butterbean’s tummy hair. “It’s the ghost!” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Walt stood wide-eyed, scanning the hallway. But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see anything suspicious. No ghostly apparition, no fog, no floating woman in a white nightgown, nothing. “Is it coming from inside the apartment?”

“It started when she turned the key,” Marco sobbed. “It’s the ghost.”

“Bean? Anything?” Walt said quietly.

Butterbean sniffed the air, but it didn’t help. She still hadn’t figured out what a ghost was supposed to smell like. “I’m not sure.”

Polo grabbed Walt’s ears like they were game controllers and tried to turn her toward the elevator. “That’s it. We’re out of here. Wallace, you can live with us. Let’s go.” When the game controller move didn’t work, she tried digging her heels into the sides of Walt’s head, like she was riding a horse. That didn’t work either.

“Wait, what?” Marco said, peeking up through Walt’s fur. “Wallace is living where?”

“Sorry, Marco, executive decision,” Polo said. “We’ve got a roommate now.”

“Polo. Stop.” Walt tried not to cringe, but Polo had sharp little heels.

“Okay, sure,” Wallace agreed. Anything was better than living in a haunted apartment or vent. “Let’s get out of here.” He let go of Butterbean’s tummy and landed on the floor with a thump. Then he raced over to Walt, vaulting up onto her back in one jump.

Walt gritted her teeth.“Guys. Not a horse.”

Oscar cocked his head.“Butterbean. Quick. Who lives on this floor?”

Butterbean looked around, her ears pressed back against her head. The wailing had turned into a shrieky cry that went straight through her skull and hurt her teeth.“Man Who Smells Like Onions, but he’s gone. Next door is the Potpourri Couple, and the other two are Mechanic Guy and High Heel Woman.”

Oscar frowned. None of them sounded likely to be making spooky ghost noises.“And do you smell anything helpful?”

Butterbean shook her head. She tried to block out the sounds and focus on the smells. But it wasn’t easy. “Nothing ghosty, I don’t think.” Butterbean leaned down and scanned the hallway. “Just hair spray smells from High Heel Woman. And potpourri, of course. And, wait—” Butterbean zigzagged across the hallway, muttering as she went. “Wait wait wait wait wait.”

“WE CAN’T WAIT, BEAN! IT’S A GHOST!” Polo wailed.

“Okay, but I think…” Butterbean zigzagged over to the Potpourri Couple’s apartment and sniffed a few times. “I think…” She glanced back over her shoulder at Oscar, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

The unearthly shrieks instantly stopped.

There was silence.