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up?
    “My name is Morris Dyson,” he continues. “I’m a writer. I write a column for the local paper. Mostly short history pieces.”
    The name sounds familiar. He pauses and I’m wondering what I should do. I don’t want to talk to this guy.
    “I just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all. It’s not for print. It’s not for an article.” There’s a long pause. “I have a personal interest.”
    “Well, I really can’t talk right now. Sorry.” And before I know it, I’ve hung up. I’m totally surprised I did that. It’s not like me.
    Immediately the phone rings again, and I suddenly realize where I’ve seen him before. I answer it.

    “Amelia?” He starts speaking before I even say hello, talking faster. “I’m sorry but I think something very strange happened to your friend Matthew.” He pauses. I’m holding my breath. “And I don’t think the police are going to figure out what it was.”
    “You were at my mother’s funeral too. I remember you standing at the back of the church.”
    He almost stutters. “I … yes … I knew your mother … I did.”
    “I don’t understand why you’re calling me.”
    “If you think about it, you probably do.… You know why I’m calling you.”
    All I can think about is hanging up again, but then he asks me, “Aren’t you curious about what
D-O-T
means?”
    “Sorry?”
    “
D-O-T
. Dot. I saw it in the police report.”
    “The carving in Matthew’s desk? I don’t know anything about that.”
    “But I’ve heard you and Matthew were close.”
    “Obviously not
that
close.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    I hesitate. “Because he was off to meet some girl that night.”
    “Do you really believe that?”
    My throat constricts. My eyes sting. No, I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. But all I can say is “I don’t know.”
    “Well, did you think he was suicidal? Did he seem depressed?”
    Of course not. Not Matthew. “I always thought he was a happy enough person, whatever that means.” But what do I know? Not much, it seems.
    “You know what I think? I think that if he’d had a secret girlfriend, you’d have been suspicious before Saturday. I think that if he’d been a suicide risk, you might have sensed something waswrong. Amelia, something’s not right here, and I want to figure out what really happened.”
    “Why?”
    “Because … his isn’t the first strange death to take place in that barn.”
    My stomach sinks. I swear I don’t want to know, but I hear myself ask, “Who else?”
    “Do you know Hank Telford, the farmer? His son, Paul, was my best friend. Back in March 1980 , he died in that barn. He was nineteen years old. They said it was suicide, but I never bought it. So you might say I’m on a personal quest. I think there’s something going on in there. Something paranormal.”
    I feel a sensation like cold water is creeping up the back of my head. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?”
    “I know you’re afraid, Amelia. I think it’s because you know something—maybe more than you realize.”
    “I don’t know anything, and I have to go. I’m sorry.”
    I hang up, shut the door and sit down on my bed before my shaky legs give way. He doesn’t call back, but I can still hear his voice over my pounding heart.
There’s something going on in there
.

6
    T he leaves are red and yellow and orange but soon they’ll be gone, leaving black skeleton branches against the grey clouds. The apple orchards look best in fall. All bare, twisted and tortured. Makes you wonder if Tim Burton grew up in Grey County.
    The news that the police think Matthew committed suicide was a big relief to a lot of people. At first. That meant there was no insane killer out there. The rest of us were safe. But after a week or so, people began saying it didn’t make sense. Not Matthew. He was a pretty cheerful guy. He got on with everyone well enough. He seemed to like his parents. He didn’t seem like