"Yes, I am. It's all that science stuff you do."

I couldn't help but smile at Sarah's comment. "You make it sound like being a physicist is tantamount to being a crack addict."

"It's not quite that bad, but it's definitely rotting your mind."

"Oh, come on, that's being a bit extreme." I avoided a startled rabbit in the narrow country road, and spotted a humpbacked stone bridge in the distance. No doubt that was the exit we needed to get to the tiny little village that was Sarah's destination.

"Not in the least. Just look at how your precious skepticism has ruined the trip so far. First, there was the ghost walk in London."

"At which, I feel obligated to point out, no actual ghosts were present."

A look filled with suspicion was leveled at me. "We had you and your doubting Thomas attitude to thank for that, no doubt."

"Hey, all I ask is that people who insist someplace is haunted show me a ghost. Just one, just one little, itty-bitty ghost. That tour guide couldn't produce so much as a spectral hand, let alone a whole ghost. I don't think it's expecting too much for people to back up their claims with empirical proof."

"Ghosts aren't like you and me! They don't like to materialize around non-believers. All that negative energy is bad for them. So if they don't show up around you, you have no one but yourself to blame."

I would have rolled my eyes at that ridiculous statement, but I was negotiating the crossing of an old, narrow stone bridge, and decided safety was more important than expressing my opinion. "Is that the inn?"

Sarah peered out the window at a rustic pub. "No, ours is the Tattered Stote. That's the Indignant Widow. Top of the hill, the instructions say."

"OK. Cute village. I didn't know people here still had thatched roofs."

"Then there was the mystery tour in Edinburgh. I was never so mortified as when you told the tour guide that the spirit facilitators were lame."