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think about what might happen next.

The Ghost Let Go
    T HUNDER rumbled overhead.
    A crack of lightning split the midnight sky.
    My father said a word I don’t get to use.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, James?” asked Chris Gurley. (My father’s name is actually Henry, but Chris and I were sitting in the backseat and pretending he was our chauffeur, so we were calling him James.)
    â€œNothing,” Dad muttered, as heavy drops began to spatter the windshield. “I just wanted to get back to Syracuse before this storm started. I’m exhausted.”
    We were driving home from a Halloween storytelling concert put on by a couple of Dad’s friends. I was thinking about their last story, the tale of “The Phantom Hitchhiker,” when I spotted a woman walking along the road ahead of us.
    I felt a shiver, as if the story was coming true.
Stop it, Nine
, I told myself.
You’re being silly
. Before I could suggest to Dad that we should offer the woman a ride she turned and ran straight at us, waving her arms wildly. As she got closer I could see that she was screaming. For a terrifying moment, I actually thought she was going to fling herself onto our hood.
    â€œDad, watch out!” I cried—unnecessarily, since he was already slamming his foot against the brake and wrenching the steering wheel to the right. I caught a terrifying glimpse of the woman’s twisted, screaming face through my window as we shot past, missing her by inches.
    We were going way too fast when we hit the side of the road. Next thing I knew we were bouncing down a steep bank, and I realized with horror that we were going to roll over.
    Everything seemed to slow down as the car went onto its side, then its top. When we stopped, I was hanging upside down in the dark, held in place by my seat belt. The radio had somehow gotten turned on, and a country-and-westem song was blaring through the dark, which only added to the weirdness.
    â€œNine!” cried my father, shouting to be heard above the radio. “Chris! Are you all right?”
    â€œI think so,” muttered Chris. I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was also upside down.
    â€œI’m all right,” I said. “Except for the blood rushing to my head.”
    I noticed that my voice was shaking.
    â€œSee if you can unhook your seat belts,” said Dad.
    I reached down with my hand. The car roof—which was now the floor—was only a couple of inches from my skull. Bracing myself, I fiddled with the seat belt. When I finally opened the buckle I fell to the ceiling, landing on my head.
    I heard a thump as Chris landed beside me. Between the music, the darkness, the hanging upside down, and the terror of the accident, we were pretty confused. It took a few moments of crawling around on the ceiling/floor to find one of the doors, and a few more to pry it open.
    The rain was coming down so hard that within seconds my clothes were soaked and clinging to my skin. I was so relieved to be out of the car that I didn’t really care.
    Once we had finished checking to see if we really were all okay, my father muttered, “I’d like to get my hands on that dame. Do you think that was some sort of Halloween prank, or is she merely crazy?” He stopped as if struck by what he had just said and looked around nervously, obviously wondering if a crazy woman might be watching us even now.
    â€œWhere do you suppose she went, anyway?” asked Chris, sounding as nervous as I felt.
    I looked around, but between the darkness and the rain, I doubt I would have seen her if she was standing more than ten feet away.
    â€œYou two keep your eyes open,” ordered Dad. Then he turned his attention to the car.
    â€œHow bad is it, Mr. T.?” asked Chris after a minute.
    â€œI won’t know until we can get a better look at it,” he said mournfully.
    I felt really bad for him. The Golden Chariot, as he calls our car, is a