The Ghost of Whispering Willow. Amanda M. Thrasher

      Stewart lay in bed and ignored his mother’s voice, knowing that he had at least five minutes before she’d appear at the foot of his bed and force him to get up. He was tired – very tired. The night had been long, and his day was about to get longer. He was certain that he’d covered up his tracks, but for a split second, the thought of being caught crossed his mind. Knowing that he couldn’t afford to get busted for a third time, he glanced over at his shoes. No mud. Good! Tracks covered, he thought.

      10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, he counted down in his head.

      “Stewart, don’t make me come back in there. Get out of the bed now!” his mom yelled from down the hall.

      And yet, within seconds, there she stood with that look upon her face, and Stewart knew that he couldn’t afford to mess with her. Reluctantly, he crawled out of his nice warm bed. Hadn’t I just gone to sleep? he wondered. It sure felt that way.

      Stewart walked into the bathroom, his brown hair sticking up every which way, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His mind was racing. Did I push record on Camera Three? He couldn’t remember. It was all a blur. He turned the shower on and let the water warm up as his mind ran through the events of the night before. It had been dark and late, and he had been scared, though he wouldn’t share that part with Andy. The most important detail of last evening was that he was certain that something or someone had watched him. Stewart grabbed his phone.

      Andy, Stewart’s neighbor and his best friend since kindergarten, would know what time they had gotten back from the woods. Andy, blond hair and blue eyed, was always dressed nicely and neatly. In fact, Andy’s casual dress was always nicely done, ironed and everything. Stewart had often tried to wrinkle him up a bit, but it had never worked. Andy possessed another trait that stood out: he was always organized, a real detail freak. Stewart was actually glad about the last part. It made his role in the ghost investigation, the one that they’d just started, a whole lot easier. Every now and then, Andy would get a little adventurous and try to change up his look. He’d use product in his hair, spiking it slightly. But for the most part, Andy always looked the same. Because he loved to write, Andy was the official log keeper of the club that they’d started. Every shirt he owned had a pocket of some sort, even his t-shirts, which always held some sort of pen.

      “Hey, it’s me,” Stewart said as soon as Andy picked up. “Were we out all night? Because I hardly remember making it to bed.”

      “Nah,” said Andy, his voice muffled from just waking up. “It was late, but not that late!” he said.

      Their conversation was very brief. The boys agreed that they would meet earlier than usual and catch up, compare their notes on the bus, and then log anything that they might have missed in the journal. The mission the night before had been a successful one; they hadn’t been busted and Stewart was sure that they’d collected some useful data. He threw on his usual attire: t-shirt, jeans, and sneaks.

      ***

      The bus was never late, though Stewart often wished it were, but today was the exception to the rule. He ran down the street and caught the bus one stop before his regular bus stop. This would