Julie, who is one of the most serious people I know, had been working on being not quite so serious, and when we got back down to the basement she told us a joke.

“I bet you guys don’t know why ghosts make bad liars.”

Greg and I looked at each other and shrugged.

Julie got this big grin on her face. “Because you can see right through them!”

We groaned, of course. Somebody else made a noise, too.

We whirled around to see a man — or more like a teenager — in a dirty blue Union army uniform, his tattered hat cocked to one side like it had been knocked over there and never straightened.

“Where is my little brother?!” he demanded.

We were so caught off guard that nobody could speak right away, not even Julie.

The ghost was standing over the old trunk, as if looking for something. The lid was open and there was a strange golden light inside. He took a step toward us — a menacing step, or that’s how it seemed — and said it, or demanded it, again.

“Where is my little brother?!”

We were all still scared speechless, trying to think of something, anything, to say back.

The ghost stood firm and waited, hands on the hips of his dirty pants, which seemed a couple of sizes too big. The uniform coat seemed too big, too. For some reason there was a sprig of wilted green leaves tucked into the collar. The ghost was short and it was obvious that he didn’t shave or didn’t need to — that’s how young he was. But he still looked like he wanted to fight somebody. I wanted to assure him that we weren’t part of the Confederate army. I mean, I was from the South, sure, but I wasn’t a Rebel or anything. I didn’t even like the Rebels, or what they stood for and what they fought for.

But it didn’t seem like the time or place to tell the Union soldier — or ghost — all that.

Julie finally found her voice. “We don’t know where your little brother is,” she said calmly — way calmer than Greg or I could have been, or were likely to be for another hour. “And we don’t know who he is. But maybe we can help you figure it out.”

“Help me?” the ghost said, his voice so high that I thought he could almost pass for a girl.

“Yes, help you,” Julie said. “We’ve helped some other ghosts. They had things in that trunk.” She pointed and the ghost turned to look at the trunk, which was still open, and still giving off that golden light.

Julie continued, “Is there something of yours in there?”

The ghost continued staring for a minute, and then nodded. “I lost it in the battle, but there it is.” He thought for a minute, then added, “I can’t pick it up.”

“Can you tell us what it is?” Julie asked.

“They told us to fix bayonets,” the ghost said. “That’s all I remember.”

I knew all about bayonets, which are like long knives, or more like the end of a spear, and you attach it to the end of your gun so you can use it as a weapon for close fighting. “Fix bayonets” is the order they give when soldiers are supposed to get out their bayonets and put them on their rifles.

“Is there a bayonet in the trunk?” Julie asked. “Is that what you’re missing?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had it,” the ghost said, not answering Julie’s question. “Nobody got close enough. Nobody at all.”

And with that the ghost vanished, the golden light blinked out, the trunk lid slammed shut on its own, and the dogs next door started up their barking once again.

Needless to say, we didn’t get any more practicing done that day, but we did all dive into the trunk to search for the ghost’s bayonet. We didn’t have to look long, though, because there it was, sitting right on top, as if it had been placed there in anticipation of our searching for it.

Julie picked it up. It was rusted steel, a long, thin blade at one end and a sort of cylinder or socket on the other to slide over the end of the barrel on a soldier’s musket in the Civil War.

“So that’s what she was looking for,” Julie said.

“You mean he,” Greg corrected her.

“Yes. That’s what I said,” Julie replied.

Greg and I both shook our heads.

Julie gave an awkward laugh. “I guess I did. I don’t know why. That’s weird.”

“Forget it,” Greg said. “We’re all shook up and tired, and if I have to listen to those dogs bark for one more minute, I think my head’s going to fall off.”

“Yeah, maybe we should call it a day,” I said, already picking up my book bag and heading for the door. We usually left our instruments in the practice room, though Julie was always getting on me and Greg about taking our guitars home and practicing more there. Today she didn’t say anything, though. She still seemed kind of confused.

“Hey, do you think we should give the bayonet to your uncle?” Greg asked. “You remember how upset he was about the hand grenade.”

I thought about it and decided we could probably just hang on to the bayonet, though. I mean, a rusty bayonet wasn’t going to explode or anything, and it looked cool.

Uncle Dex was already closing up shop when we got upstairs. The dogs were still barking. “I’ll be setting up a music system tomorrow,” he told us. “Speakers all over the store. I’m hoping I can drown out at least some of the barking and howling, and actually have a few customers not only come in but stay a while and buy something, too.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Uncle Dex,” I said.

“And I’ll bring some music you can play over your new system,” Julie said.

“Just as long as it’s good old-time rock and roll,” Uncle Dex said. “Has to be loud enough to do the trick, so no soft classical.”

“Plus, you just like old-time rock and roll,” I added. Uncle Dex just winked.

Julie, still in a daze or something, climbed on her bike and rode home without saying anything else to Greg or me. Greg and I rode most of the way home together since we lived close to each other.

“Was Julie acting a little strange?” Greg asked, puffs of his breath appearing in the chilly air. “Didn’t you think?”

“Julie’s always a little strange,” I said. “What I thought was strange was, um, let me see — oh yeah, we met another ghost and this one’s from the Civil War!”

I was working on being sarcastic again, and this time it seemed to come through.

“Well, you don’t have to be that way about it,” Greg said.

“You have to admit it’s still really weird for ghosts to just show up like that,” I said.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “But this one sure is different from the others. I mean, always before we found the thing — the navy pea coat, the dud hand grenade, the medic’s kit — and then the ghost showed up.”

“I suppose it’s like Julie keeps telling us,” I said. “These ghosts are all different — they’re people, too — and this one seems to be living right next door. At least in November and December.”

“These mysteries — they’re exhausting,” Greg said. “But I guess call me tonight if the new one shows up in your bedroom like all the other ones did.”

I shuddered, thinking about the Civil War ghost doing just that. I wasn’t afraid, exactly. I just didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling about this new ghost. Not at all.

Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room when I got home. “Don’t take your shoes off, Anderson,” Dad said. “We need to take your mom to the hospital.”

My heart sank. I went straight over to Mom on the couch and hugged her. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. “I don’t think it’s anything serious.”

Mom has MS — multiple sclerosis — which is what they call an autoimmune disease where her body kind of breaks down and leaves her really weak sometimes, and sometimes some of her organs don’t work right, and sometimes she can get really stiff in her muscles, like she’s almost paralyzed. There are drugs they can give her, and different therapies, and it’s better sometimes and worse other times. They can’t cure it, though.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Oh, well, my leg just seemed to give out from under me a little while ago,” Mom said. “I was in the kitchen, actually feeling good for a change, but then the next thing I know I fell. Your father came home and found me on the floor. I don’t know if I hit my head.”

“Which is why we’re going to the hospital,” Dad interrupted. “To get it checked out. So let’s get going, you two.”

I had this sick feeling in my stomach for the next few hours as we sat in the emergency room, and then waited a long time in an examination room for a doctor to come in to see Mom, and then while we waited for an X-ray on her leg, which didn’t show anything, and an MRI to make sure there wasn’t anything to worry about from maybe hitting her head.

Everything came back negative, except that Mom seemed to get weaker and weaker while we were there and they decided to keep her at the hospital overnight for observation. It was midnight by then, and Dad and I didn’t even bother to go home. We just slept in chairs in Mom’s room. We never even ate dinner, but after everything that had gone on that day — worrying about Mom, and the whole business with the dogs and the Civil War ghost before that — I don’t think I could have eaten anything anyway.