The Mansion on Benson Hill was quite gorgeous to me in its Gothic way, but an eyesore to everyone else. It was the biggest house in town— and the emptiest. My dad says that's because it's in probate. Becky says it's because it's haunted. I think it's because women in this town are afraid of dust.

The Mansion, of course, had always fascinated me. It was my Barbie Dream House, and I climbed the hill many nights hoping to spot a ghost. But I actually went inside only once, when I was twelve. I was hoping I could fix it up and make it my playhouse. I was going to put up a sign that said, NO NERD BOYS allowed. One night I climbed the wrought iron gate and scurried up the winding driveway.

The Mansion was truly magnificent, with vines dripping down its sides like falling tears, chipped paint, shattered roof tiles, and a spooky attic window. The wooden door stood like Godzilla, tall and powerful—and locked. I snuck around the back. All the windows were boarded up with long nails, but I noticed some loose boards hanging over the basement window. I was trying to pull them loose when I heard voices.

I crouched behind some bushes as a gang of high-school seniors stumbled near. Most were drunk and one was scared.

"C'mon, Jack, we've all done it," they lied, pushing a guy wearing a baseball cap toward the Mansion. "Go in and get us a shrunken head!"

I could see Jack Patterson was nervous. He was a handsome crush-worthy guy, the kind who should be spending his time shooting hoops or making girls swoon, not sneaking into haunted houses to win friends.

It was like Jack had already seen a ghost as he approached the Mansion. Suddenly he looked behind the bushes where I was hiding. I gasped and he screamed. I thought we were both going to have a heart attack. I crouched back down, because I heard the gang approaching.