From a block away, I can see the bright yellow van Gregory drives. Even after all these months, he still hasn’t removed the black lettering on the side that reads:
Ghost B Gone
Gregory B. Gone, Proprietor
I’m still not sure how he managed all those ghost “evictions”; he has no sense for anything otherworldly, and I suspect it was the other members of his crew who found the haunted locations—or simply used a bit a stagecraft to manufacture them.
How he feels about substitute teaching at Springside High School? I don’t know. But I think he’s here, permanently, since I’m pretty certain I know how he feels about Belinda.
I walk the one flight up to his apartment. I rap on the door. I wait. I lean forward, as if that will help me hear the telltale signs that someone’s home. I’m debating be
