Muma always said, “No ghosts, Zeline. If you ever meet one, turn away and run.” before I went to sleep. And even though I knew the stories of ghosts were rubbish, it kept me awake. The soft rustling of the velvet curtains, the whispers outside my window and the small creaks in the old wooden stairs were always there. I always got a tense feeling that someone was in our house. The sounds frightening me, chilling my bones, holding my eyes awake. So I decided I would find the culprit. If there was one, anyway. Getting up at 1:37, known as the ghost’s minute, I crept down the hall to our praise room, the room where my family honored the dead. Amazingly, the candles were still lit and the bread and goodies that were from last week were mostly fresh. Then I noticed suspicious activity. There was no wind, but the smoke from the candles were curling and bending in an odd way, like hands molding tack putty. The bread was rolling around the table and I had to steady them a countless amount of times to keep them from falling. A munching and a “Mmmm,” came from behind me. I whirled around, grabbing a cross that Muma told me that would fend off unwanted spirits and I thrust it in front of me. There, a spirit, a girl no older or younger than me, was licking the dulce leche frosting off a triple chocolate muffin. My eyes widened. She screamed and fell off the chair she was sitting on into a large bucket, but I didn’t. I was too frightened, anyway. The muffin flew in the air but was miraculously caught by some invisible force and led to an empty plate. “Who are you?” The spirit licked her lips. “What are you doing in my house?” She tried to get up but the bucket held still. “Y-your house?” I asked. “You must be confused. This house is ours.” She sniffed. “My papa built this magnificent house with his own hands! He was known as the Builder of the Century! This house was the envy of our neighbors, so of course it is ours!” I lowered the cross, a thought swimming madly inside my head. How did the spirit get in here? The cross was in the room. Unwanted spirits would surely be fended off. What was her unfinished business? “Pish.” She spat, as if reading my mind. “Of course I can get in here. This house belonged to us until some men came and shot my Mummy and Papa,” An unearthly sparkling tear slid down her pale, translucent cheek. Nevertheless, she continued. “And they demanded our money but I refused to tell them our money hiding place. So they shot me too. But before I died, I swore on my Mummy and Papa’s spirits that I would take care of the house.” The dim light bulb in my head was illuminated. That was the promise. “So… are you planning to stay here forever?” I asked. She nodded. “I won’t haunt you or your family. But maybe we can become friends in return for some food and keeping the house clean. I’m Renata, by the way.” I smiled. “I’m Zeline.” I thought about the muffins we had left in the kitchen. “Are you still up for muffins?”