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We didn’t bother to go inside.

Out back, someone had found an extension cord long enough to run a boom box out to the yard. A local “slightly too heavy to be top-forty” station was coming on strong, and the fire was blazing even stronger. I had to wonder what the hell they’d been feeding it. As I looked for someone to ask, a burly, dark-haired fellow came stomping out of the night.

If I remembered correctly, his name was Brian. If I observed correctly, he was carrying the corner of a small wooden shed on his shoulder. It looked like he’d simply chosen a section, kicked it free, and walked away with it.

With a heave and a grunt, he tossed the angular segment of wood into the bonfire. The pit exploded into bright sparks and set to work peeling the paint free from the boards.

“Wow. ”

“Yeah,” Benny agreed.

“Good,” Jamie said. “We’re right on time. ”

About fifteen people were gathered around the fire—some sitting on blankets, some standing and toasting marshmallows and hot dogs. I recognized most of them; all but a few had been at the Pickle Barrel a few nights before. Those who were sober enough to realize that the party had newcomers yelped, cheered, and waved. Those who were not happily ignored us.

Ted came out within a few moments of our arrival. He emerged from the mobile home looking exactly like the last person you’d ever expect to see step out of a trailer. In a gray suit with a red striped tie, he smiled down upon the proceedings as though it were a cocktail party at the Four Seasons instead of a weekend barn-burning with s’mores.

“Eden!” He opened his arms and swept me in for a highly stylized hug, then nodded to my companions. “And gentlemen. Welcome to the soiree. Could I interest you in a hot dog, or a coat hanger upon which to cook it?”

Benny said no, but Jamie was game. “Sure. Could I trouble you for mustard—if you have anything that isn’t primary yellow?”

“Dijon okay?”

“Perfect. Thank you. ”

He took a wire hanger and began to untwist it while Ted went back inside for a tray of cookables.

“Don’t fill up on wieners,” I warned him. “I want to get moving before it gets too late. ”

“Don’t worry. But let me have one or two. I skipped supper. ”

“Hurry up. ”

While I watched the fire and waited on Jamie to finish eating, Benny grabbed a beer and sat down on one of the square-beam railroad ties that had been laid out around the fire. The light glinted off his glasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked me.

I wasn’t sure, so I wandered over to the other side of the fire and sat down next to him. “I don’t have any great plan. I thought I’d go over to the battlefield and look for ghosts. They obviously want to communicate. Maybe they’ll have an easier time talking to me than the people they’ve addressed so far. ”

“Maybe. ” He nodded. “What all do you want to bring?”

“My own bad self—but beyond that I don’t know. You came way better prepared than I did. Should I assume that you’ve done this before?”

“Oh, yeah. But not in a while. And not with anyone like you. No psychics or anything, I mean. ”

“You ever catch any ghosts?”

He adjusted the edge of his glasses and gazed into the fire. “We got some good orb photographs, and we captured some good ghost activity on audiotape. ”

“But did you, personally, ever get anything out of it?”

“Once,” he said. Benny pulled the glasses off and wiped them with the end of his shirt, polishing the lenses though they didn’t seem to need it. “Something talked to me. Addressed me by name. It scared the crap out of me, if you want to know the truth. ”

“Is that why you quit hunting?”

“No. The people I used to go with moved away, and I didn’t want to go by myself. But you understand that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here now. You’d be out there. ” Benny flipped his wrist in the direction of the battlefield.

“You’re right,” I admitted. “And thanks for coming with me, by the way. I appreciate the company. ”