“When you feel a cold spot on a hot day, that’s a ghost,” Max declared as we drove home from dinner.
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“Do you really think that?”
“Yes,” he answered emphatically.
“Well, I don’t believe in ghosts.”
He gasped. “I’ve seen one. And if you say you don’t believe in them, you will see one too.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts. Anyway, when have you seen one?”
“Well, one night in my room when it was dark and I was in my bed, I saw one floating through my room and it went out the window.”
“How did it go out the window? Your window is always closed.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Mom, ghosts can go through windows. Of course.”
“Oh. Well, was it a friendly ghost?”
“There are no friendly ghosts.”
“What about Casper the Friendly Ghost?”
“He’s the only one.”
“Well, how do you know the ghost in your room wasn’t friendly?”
“Because when he came through, he made a face at me and he whispered, ‘I’m going to get you!’.”
“Wow. I bet that was scary.”
“It was! At night, all the mean ghosts party in our back yard when we go to bed.”
“How do they know when you’re in bed?”
“They have brains!”
“Yes. Brains like mad scientists on the outside of their bodies. But not all of them have brains. But the ones that have brains tell all the other ghosts when we go to bed.”
“How big are their brains?”
“As big as my head! And I have a big head. A bigger head than anyone you know.”
“Well, don’t I have a big head?”
“I guess so.”
My phone rang, so I interrupted our debate to answer it. It was my sister informing me that all of our chickens appeared to be dead.
I hung up the phone and wondered if the ghosts of five chickens would dance through Max’s room that night, and if they did if they’d be friendly.