I don’t know what is going on anymore. Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. There . . . well, there has to be an explanation for this. What, like the bag of veggies? There wasn’t much of one for that. No, but this is different. That was just one of those weird things that seems totally inexplicable, except there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation. But no one cares enough to look for it, so you just sort of shrug your shoulders and go, that was weird.
This is different.
And I know Mom keeps saying that I should just accept the spirit activity in our house and view it as playful or mischievous, but this is giving me a really bad feeling. I can’t help thinking that our little household ghosts don’t seem to be all that friendly.
Okay, this is what happened. So I woke up in the middle of the night and Logan was sitting in my room again. On the edge of my bed. Why does he keep doing this? You’d think I would be used to it by now, but it sure as hell made me jump. Six months ago, back in Cali, Logan *never* came into my room. Definitely not while I was sleeping. But now . . . I don’t know. Maybe this is the new normal.
In any case, I didn’t want to overreact or worry Mom or whatever, so I was just like . . . Logan? What’s up? Are you okay?
And he gives me a big sunshiny smile, and he’s like, yeah, I’m great. I wrote Dad another letter last night. So I’m like, okay . . . And he’s like, “We’re out of stamps. Can you take it to the post office in the morning and mail it for me?”
Okay, no big deal. So I bring the letter to school with me, planning to mail it at lunchtime. And in history class I get so bored that I’m like . . . I wonder what he wrote. I don’t know, it was just such a sweet letter last time, and I really don’t think he would care. Well, actually, now . . .
There’s something very wrong about this letter. I’m racking my brain for a reasonable explanation, but . . . it just doesn’t make sense. I need to talk to Logan.