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he had told me about the ghost - was a mystery.
    Finally, on Thursday, I ran into Doug in the hallway. I thought my suspicions were confirmed; there was a welt over his left eye, slowly healing but still obvious. We only said hello very briefly, but at lunch, I decided to confront him and ask about what happened over the weekend.
    “ It was the ghost,” he finally admitted.
    “ You’re not just saying that to cover up for your folks, are you?”
    Doug recoiled, giving me a disgusted look. “No! I asked them if you could stay over next weekend. At first, they said no - they didn’t want you to...see anything, or have anything happen.”
    “ So then what?”
    “ It...got mad. It started to throw things around. Papers, a salt shaker, then some mugs and glasses from out of our kitchen cabinets. I got hit in the head with a mug, and that’s when my parents said yes.”
    “ And the ghost stopped?”
    “ Uh-huh. I think...I think it wants someone else to visit. As soon as Mom and Dad said you could come over, everything stopped. Its been real quiet all this week. I think it’s waiting for you.”
    It’s waiting for you.
    The most awesome four words I’d ever heard. A ghost - a real, actual spirit that could pick things up and throw them around a room - was waiting for me to visit! I couldn’t sleep that night, and instead I packed what I thought of as my “ghost hunting kit”. I borrowed a Polariod camera from my parents, put new batteries in my flashlight, and dug a small signal mirror out of my camping gear. I packed this with my change of clothes and other necessities, since I’d be going straight from school to Doug’s house.
    The next day, I could barely pay attention to anything in class. What would my first encounter with a real ghost be like? Would I be scared, or would it just be exciting? Would it talk to me, or would it not even realize I was there - just drift by through the air, maybe passing into a wall? I knew that some ghosts interacted with people, while others just did the same thing over and over, like a film reel playing the same picture time and time again. From the sound of it, this was a ghost that interacted with people, but who knew - maybe it just acted out without reason, and the people experiencing the events were putting meaning to them that didn’t exist?
    From everything I had read, that was actually what most people thought ghosts really were; random events, unusual but explainable, that are given supernatural meaning by people with overactive or easily suggestible imaginations. Doug’s ghost didn’t sound like that, of course. Anything throwing around salt shakers and coffee mugs seemed far beyond a door creaking open because the door frame was at an angle.
    Doug actually seemed annoyed at my level of excitement during lunch.
    “ You’re acting like you’re going to Disneyland,” he said.
    “ I’m sorry - this is just too cool for me.”
    Doug frowned. “Owen, it’s not cool for me at all. I don’t sleep through the night because it knocks things over, or sometimes slams the door to my room. My parents are always jittery, and my mom cries a lot. It’s really stressful.”
    I felt my cheeks turn red. “Well...have you tried to get rid of it? Contact a - you know - an exorcist or something? I read that they really exist.”
    Doug looked oddly horrified. “No! My, uh, my parents don’t want to do that. They’re worried they’ll just make it mad, or that it’ll get, I dunno, hurt or something. We don’t think it’s evil, it’s just upset sometimes.”
    “ Yeah, but if this things is making you guys miserable -”
    “ No, it’s fine, really. Sometimes it can get a little crazy, but it really isn’t so bad. Please, just don’t mention that idea around my folks, okay?”
    Doug seemed to be in a panic, so I just nodded and finished my lunch.
    We shared a seat on the bus during the ride to Doug’s house. He seemed nervous, fidgety, and I think he was about to call