“I didn’t see any ghosts,” Hope assured them and turned her gaze to the front door, still standing wide open. “Just bats. Are you afraid of bats? I’d understand if you are.”

“I’m not. Are you, Adam?”

“Nope. My grandma had bats in her barn last year. They don’t hurt you.” There was a pause before Adam asked his friend, “Are you scared of ghosts?”

“Are you?”

“I’m not if you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not if you’re not. And besides, we got these babies.”

Hope turned her attention back to the boys and watched them load their plastic guns with rubber darts. Personally, Hope would prefer a legion of ghosts to one lone bat.

She glanced from one boy to the other. “How old are you two?”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“You are not.”

“Almost. I’ll be eight in a couple of months.”

“What are you going to do with those toy guns?” she asked.

“Protection,” Adam answered as he licked the suction end of the dart.

“Wait, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said, but neither boy listened as they took off across the yard. She followed them to the foot of the porch. She’d never really been around children, and it occurred to her that maybe she ought to get permission from their parents before she sent them into a bat-infested house. “Maybe I should talk to your mothers first before you go inside.”

“My mom won’t care,” Wally said over his shoulder as the two climbed the steps. “ ‘Sides, she’s talkin’ on the phone with Aunt Genevieve. Probably be a couple hours before she’s off.”

“Can’t call my dad. He’s workin‘ on the mountain today,” Adam added.

The bats were probably long gone and her bag was probably just inside the door, Hope reasoned. The boys probably wouldn’t get attacked and die of rabies. “If you get scared, you run back out. Don’t worry about the purse.”