Bennett Scott heard a creak, like someone stepping on a weak floorboard. His eyes opened wide. There it was again, now in the hall not far from his door. He definitely was not imagining it, and no one else was in the old Victorian house, except Mara, who was running the electric mixer in the kitchen downstairs at that moment.
Ben, a lanky sixteen-year-old with wavy auburn hair, stepped to his bedroom door and quietly eased it open. He peered surreptitiously into the hall. She was there again! Not more than ten feet away, he saw the same figure he had seen two nights before, an attractive but rugged looking woman, apparently in her forties, wearing a medieval-looking leather jacket. This was not his “overactive imagination,” no matter what the Professor thought.
The phantom’s head began to turn in his direction. He quickly closed the door. He wasn’t imagining that she was transparent either. Whether she was a ghost or not, this time he had seen the painting at the end of the hall right through her body.
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