9e945bf3b1d705d5d70aa6e5ed9fa2ba

The white figure raised what seemed to be a hundred arms and waggled them in the air before disappearing completely.

“URGH!” Officer Travis gurgled as he flung the flashlight at the sink, sending it clattering onto the counter. Then he raced over and looked inside. There was nothing there, just a fine powdery residue sprinkled on the countertop.

He quickly bent down, examining the cabinet under the sink.

Nothing.

“What was it?” Officer Marlowe called from the living room.

“Was it the ghost?” Mrs. Third Floor squeaked.

Officer Travis leaned against the sink for a long minute, then looked back into the living room, his eyes glazed.“Nothing. It was nothing.” He picked up the flashlight and hooked it back onto his belt.

Officer Marlowe appeared in the doorway.“But what—”

“This is a waste of time,” Officer Travis said abruptly, pushing past her into the living room. “We’ve got the report. I’m leaving. Waste of time.” He lunged for the door and slammed it hard behind him.

Walt squirmed free of Mrs. Food’s grip and streaked into the kitchen, where Butterbean was standing with her paws on the counter. Walt hopped up and examined the white powder as Officer Marlowe came in.

“I apologize for my partner. But please, ma’am, could you control your animals?” Officer Marlowe’s voice was tight.

Mrs. Third Floor peered through the doorway.“What’s that white stuff?” She gasped. “ECTOPLASM?”

Walt sniffed it.“Flour.”

“Was that Chad?” Butterbean asked softly as Madison hurried into the kitchen.

“Sorry about that.” Chad’s voice drifted up from the drain in the sink. “I picked a bad hiding place. It’s all over me.”

Madison picked the canister lid up off of the floor.“I think your flour canister exploded,” she said, turning the lid over in her hands. Then she nudged Butterbean conspiratorially.

“Look, this is all super weird, right?” Madison whispered softly. “But I’m just not getting a ghosty feeling. Are you?” She looked at Butterbean with a serious expression.

Butterbean thumped her tail. It had worked last time, and she wasn’t good at whispering.

Madison nodded.“Right.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Mrs. Third Floor. “You know, that happens with flour A LOT, from what I hear.” She shot Mrs. Food a significant look.

Mrs. Food looked puzzled for a second and then nodded like she was a bobblehead.“Oh yes, all the time,” Mrs. Food agreed. “It’s the… um… pressure. It just builds up. Right, Officer?”

Officer Marlowe sighed.“Sure. Tons of flour explosion reports. If I had a nickel,” she said stiffly, patting Mrs. Third Floor on the back. “Nothing to worry about here.” She held up the paper. “Thanks for the report. I’ll be in touch.”

Shooting a worried glance into the kitchen, she turned and hurried out of the apartment.

“It really was just a fluke,” Mrs. Food said. “Bad batch of flour.”

“Probably expired,” Madison added.

Butterbean wagged her tail. Sounded plausible to her.

Mrs. Third Floor shook her head.“I don’t care. I’ve had it. This is the last straw.” She jutted her chin out at Madison. “I’M CALLING THE GHOST MEN.”

— 10 —

MADISON COLLAPSED ONTO MRS. FOOD’S couch. “She won’t really do it, right? Call those TV guys?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Food said, sinking down onto the couch next to her. “Technically, it doesn’t qualify as a ghost sighting, so even if she did, I doubt they’d be interested. But then, I thought the police would’ve found the intruder by now, so…” She threw up her hands.

They’d spent the last few hours helping Mrs. Third Floor clean up after the police left, which meant they cleaned while Mrs. Third Floor sniffled and hugged Walt. It was a relief to be back home again.

“Sheesh,” Madison said. She was too tired to move. She never would’ve expected ghosts to be so exhausting. She looked at the clock. “Oh shoot. Butterbean needs to go out.” She didn’t move.

“She can wait a little longer,” Mrs. Food said, closing her eyes.

“It’s okay, I used Walt’s litter box,” Butterbean said, trotting in from the kitchen.

“HEY!” Walt jumped onto the armchair, her fur bristling.

“Desperate times, Walt.” Butterbean flopped onto the floor next to the rats’ aquarium. “So what are we going to do? Are those ghost guys really going to investigate the apartment?”

Wallace poked his head out from underneath the cedar chips.“I don’t want them there,” Wallace said. “Don’t I have any tenant’s rights?”

Oscar gave him a sympathetic look.“Technically, I think you’re a squatter,” he said. “So no, not really.”

“You should’ve signed a lease,” Marco said, patting Wallace on what he thought was his shoulder. It was hard to tell with all the cedar chips in the way.

Madison cleared her throat.“So you think it’s definitely an intruder?” she asked tentatively.

“Of course it’s an intruder.” Mrs. Food opened her eyes. “Nothing else makes sense. It’s not a ghost, that’s for sure. Why would a ghost order pizza?” She picked up the remote. “Let’s see if we made the news. The publicity would just kill Mildred.” She turned on the Television.