She disappeared into the closet with seconds to spare. The bedroom door flew open, and the kid stormed in, his wiffleball bat at the ready. He knew she was in there. Somewhere.
He wasn’t wrong.
This old Victorian was her otherworldly domain for over a century. Gabby wasn’t the spooky noises, chain rattling type of spirit. Gauche, she felt. But it was still her house no matter who was paying the bills.
These new tenants were different though. Especially, the boy. He could sense her, feel her. She was sure of it.
Which meant the boy was now a problem…
The Weekday One Hundred 