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“Oh, ha-ha!” Butterbean barked in embarrassment, looking over at the looming figure nearby, which had turned out to be a not-a-ghost. “Nice coat rack. I knew it. Ha.” She nudged Walt in the side. “See that? That’s a coat rack.”

Walt nodded. She’d seen coat racks before. She patted Butterbean on the back and turned toward the living room. Then she gasped.

There was a reason the shadows had seemed wrong.

Nothing was the way they had left it.

The silver tray of fruit had been tossed on the floor.

One lemon had been partially eaten and then thrown so that it splatted against the wall.

And a trail of something red and sticky led from the kitchen to the living room, ending in a thick pool in the middle of the carpet.

Oscar flew to the edge of the coffee table and eyed it carefully, his heart racing. Ghost stories were supposed to be fun. They weren’t supposed to involve dark red trails of…

“Is it?” Walt cleared her throat. “I mean, that liquid. Is that—”

Butterbean trotted over, sniffed it carefully, and then licked it.

“EEEEWWWWW!” the rats screamed.

“Cocktail sauce,” Butterbean said, licking her lips. “It’s cocktail sauce.”

“What?” Walt followed the trail into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was gaping open, and there was a plastic tray on the floor.

“SHE LICKED IT WITH HER TONGUE!” Polo shrieked. Marco made gagging noises.

Oscar flew over and picked up a bit of plastic wrap with a label on it.“Shrimp cocktail with sauce. Tail on. Butterbean’s right.”

“Found one!” Butterbean said, nosing a shrimp tail on the floor. The rest of the shrimp was nowhere to be seen. “Look, there are tails all over!”

“I don’t think the cat did this, Oscar,” Walt said. “She’s not the ghost.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t look like it.” Oscar cocked his head and listened. “But the question is: Is whatever did this still here?”

The animals froze, afraid to look into the shadows.

“Weren’t you going to do a perimeter search?” Walt said, not meeting Oscar’s eye. She didn’t want to be the one to check out the other rooms, that was for sure.

“Yes.” Oscar clicked his beak grimly. “I’ll do the search. If it’s safe, we should set up in the living room, I guess. If we’re still doing the stakeout. Just keep away from the um…” He cringed, eyeing the red pool. “Stay on the couch.”

Walt lashed her tail nervously.“Nobody touch anything,” she said to the others. “We need to preserve the scene just as is for Mrs. Food.”

“Urk, sorry,” Butterbean said, spitting a half-chewed shrimp tail back out onto the floor.

“I’ll do my sweep now,” Oscar said, hopping from one foot to another. “I’m going. Sweep of the perimeter. Right now.” He didn’t move.

“Good plan,” Walt said. Her whiskers hadn’t stopped trembling since they’d been inside. She hoped no one had noticed. “Oscar?”

Oscar sighed.“Going now.” He took off and flew out of the kitchen.

Walt ducked her head down so the bag around her neck fell on the floor.“There you go,” she said to Marco and Polo. “Sleeping bags. If you can sleep.”

“Really?” Polo perked up. She scrambled over and grabbed the bag. “Marco, Wallace! Help me get this to the couch.”

They dragged the bag to the edge of the couch, and then Polo opened it, sticking the top half of her body inside to rummage around.“OH, WALT!” she said in a muffled voice. “THESE ARE PERFECT!”

She emerged from the bag, tugging the edge of a sock.

Butterbean’s nostrils quivered. “SOCKS?”

“Sleeping bags,” Walt corrected, blocking Butterbean’s path. Butterbean had a thing for socks. Walt didn’t blame her. “Tonight they’re rat sleeping bags.”

“Are they your compression socks?” Butterbean whispered. Walt had stashed away a pair of Mrs. Food’s compression socks a while ago. She was very attached to them.

Walt snorted.“Of course not. Those are too valuable. I got these out of the laundry.”

“Nice!” Wallace held up a white sock with a pom-pom on the end. “This one comes with a pillow!”

“Theseare perfect!” Marco said, climbing into his own pom-pom sock. “And we’ve got my snacks. This is going to be great sleepover.” He caught sight of Oscar flying back into the room. “Er. Stakeout. As long as we don’t get killed by the ghost,” he added.

“Sheesh, Marco,” Polo said, climbing into her sock. “We’ll get that ghost first. Just you wait.”

Oscar landed on the couch.“Everything looks secure. I saw no signs of paranormal activity. Also no intruders. But I have an idea. Wait here.” He took off and flew in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later he came back, his feet clutching various types of cutlery. “Just in case, we have weapons.”

He landed on the couch with a thud. His wings felt weak with relief. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he had found an intruder. Or a ghost, for that matter. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. But if it comes back, we’re prepared.”

“Dibs on the spoon,” Polo said, reaching out and grabbing a teaspoon. Once everyone had grabbed a utensil, they settled back to wait.