CHAPTER 17

“I used to use this place as my hideout, back when I was living. I called it ‘pirate’s cove.’ I loved to come down here and look for fish and shells and sea critters. That was eighty-seven years ago.…” His voice trails off for a moment.

“The afternoon I died, I’d caught this spider in a matchbox and named him Fred.” He nods to his shoulder, where Fred is now perched as if listening raptly to us.

“It was such a hot lazy day. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just lay down on that ledge over there to rest my eyes for a few minutes, enjoy the coolness of the cave.”

Ebb pauses a long time.

“I woke to cold water lapping all around me, the waves crashing in too fast and hard for me to escape. I screamed for my parents. I guess they were out in the yard above, because somehow they heard me. They tried to rescue me. But none of us made it out. Not even Fred.” He reaches for his shoulder, and strokes the spider gently.

“My parents, they moved Beyond right away. One minute we were all waking up as ghosts, looking at each other, trying to understand what had happened. The next moment”—he looks up and out of the cave—“they were surrounded by pink sparkling dust, and then they were gone. I was left behind, stuck here on earth. That’s how it is.”

I feel such sorrow for Ebb. To spend eternity tied to this lonely hole by the sea and a house that used to be his. I want to say something consoling or kind. But as usual, the words don’t come when I need them. Being quiet is a hard habit to break. When even your mom doesn’t want to hear about you, you learn that your feelings have nowhere to go but in.

“I used to fantasize that I could learn from your mom—to hunt the Time Witch. That maybe if I could hunt her, I could make her give my time with my parents back. But I’ve learned over the years—we ghosts hide from witches; we don’t fight them.” He hangs his head.

“Why do you think you didn’t go with them?” I ask.

Ebb shakes his head. “I know it’s different for every ghost. The Beyond, and what ties us here, is such a mystery. But I think… I caused something terrible to happen, and I need to cause something good to happen to make up for it—I’ve believed that for years.” He dims and glows, like a ghost blush, as he looks at me. “I always thought if I could protect you, like I didn’t protect my parents, maybe that would be it. But if anything, I helped get you in trouble in the first place. And also I just want you to be safe.” He blushes again.

As he speaks, something catches my eyes in the dim moonlight that filters into the cave. Ghostly spiderwebs. Hundreds of them, sparkling in the moonlight like fine, delicate strands of silver. The webs are glowing—luminous webs made by a luminous, ghostly creature. They are beautiful and strange, delicate and miraculous.

But the strangest thing of all is that they’ve been—impossibly—spun into words.

“Burp,” went the bat. And out came a galaxy, the inhabitants of which never learned that the bat that burped them out had ever existed.

“I’m Higgle Piggle, the Elf in the shoe, and I’m going to give your breath back to you.”

“Hey,” I say as a strange recognition slowly dawns on me. “Those are words from my stories.”

Now Ebb practically turns supernova bright, a massive blush.

“I taught him,” he admits, gently cupping Fred from his shoulder and depositing him at the center of one of the webs.

“Taught him my stories?”

Ebb glances away, embarrassed. “Yours, and lines from the books you read too. He likes the words. I like them too. They… help me.”

“What do you mean?”

Ebb thinks for a long time, looking sheepish, before continuing.

He sighs. “All I know is, my afterlife was pretty glum until you showed up in the house. Even as a baby, you were quiet, but full of something bright. Then you got older and started writing your stories, and I read them over your shoulder. And… well…” He looks at me, at a loss as to how to explain. “There’s so much to be afraid of,” he goes on. “Even the world’s sweetest, most innocent things are not safe from witch darkness. But your stories always made me feel like it was possible that everything could be okay somehow.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. I don’t know what to say. I think of all the times the books in my room have helped me when I felt sad or lost, and to think that my stories could do that for Ebb feels strange, and good. I feel deeply embarrassed and warm inside. I reach out toward one of the webs, and just barely touch it. There is something so beautiful and delicate about it, fragile but strong somehow.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out of the house,” I finally say. It’s a big step for me.

Ebb nods. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I guess we both just want our parents back,” I say.

Ebb nods. “I want to be in the Beyond with mine, and you want to be here on earth with your mom.”

“Tomorrow is only one more day till the dark moon,” I say, turning glum.

Ebb looks at me for a long time. “I suppose you’re not going to run,” he says, sounding resigned.

I think of my packed backpack, then shake my head. I know in my heart I couldn’t bring myself to leave, to give up.

Something seems to move across Ebb’s face, some kind of choice being finally made. “Then… I have something else to show you,” he says.

He moves toward the back of the cave, and gestures for me to follow.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says. “But I wanted you to run instead of giving you false hope.” He pauses and looks at me. “If you’re staying, you’re going to need it.”

He leads me back deeper into the cave, to a little nook completely protected from the water, where only something smaller than a boy could fit. Then he turns to me very solemnly.

“I’m not the only person who used this cave as a hiding place. Someone else did too, many years after I died.”

He nods me forward, and I look inside. I can’t tell what’s in there, so I pull it out. It is heavy in my hands.

“I don’t know how it works,” Ebb says in a warning tone.

I unwrap whatever it is from the bundle of cloth. And gasp.

It’s a quiver full of arrows, and a bow, but it’s also unlike any bow and arrows I’ve ever seen—like a weapon, but also something more. Each arrow is painted with tiny, exquisite scenes: forests and flowers and sunsets and dreamy landscapes. The bow, too, is covered in brightly colored depictions of rainbows and fields and mountains. The paint is faded, but I would recognize my mom’s art anywhere.

And though I have no experience in these kinds of things, I realize what Ebb has been holding back.

And I know a witch hunting weapon when I see one.