We crept out just before the moon rose, to use the darkness. Kallie led the way.
“How many years?” I asked again.
“Like 100,” Kallie whispered back. “I told you. People have reported seeing her the week before Halloween, every year for a century.”
“A little girl. With a doll.”
She stopped, peered around the empty streets to make sure nobody was nearby, and then she smacked me upside the head.
“Ow!”
“I told you! Young, but not little. And every year the doll always looks like someone who was found horribly murdered.”
“And we’re trying to find her instead of running away like smart people because…?”
Kallie sighed. “Grandma.”
“Your grandma died of being 97 years old,” I said.
“I want to make sure. She had enemies.”
“Who? Her insurance agent? Ow! Stop that!”
“Grandma had an adventurous life, all right? I just want to see. Are you scared of the girl?”
“I’m mostly scared of you right now,” I said, rubbing my head.
Kallie smiled. “Good.” We moved on.
We found her by the schoolyard, over on the playground. She was in her early teens, pale-skinned, dark-lipped. She seemed less solid than the steps she was sitting on, somehow. I felt a chill pass over me, just seeing her there. And in her hands, crusted with dark stains, eerily lifelike, was–
“It’s not your grandma.”
“Nope,” Kallie agreed happily. “Kinda looks like old man Harrison from the next street over, though. In hideous doll form.”
“Was he horribly murdered?”
“Apparently. Hey, if we hurry we can get back in time to watch ‘Westworld.'”
“Deal. Goodbye, creepy girl!”
She waved back at us, smiling and holding up Mr. Harrison.
He didn’t wave. But then, he never did before, either.