"No thanks required. Let's go get what we need," he said, and we left the house.
The cold watermelon was refreshing. After I had eaten some, I used the bathroom while Jack gathered the bedding and a kerosene lamp. Then we returned to the house.
"Where do you want to camp?" he asked after we entered and stood gazing into the dark.
"Upstairs," I said. "My mother's old bedroom." The glow from the kerosene lamp cast pools of dull yellow light over the walls as we climbed the stairs.
Our shadows spilled behind us down the steps and over the entryway. Jack saw where my attention had gone and laughed. He lifted the lamp making the shadows change their shapes and sizes.
"We're gigantic," he said. "We'll scare away any ghosts that might dwell in these crannies."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Jack?" I asked him. "Sure. I've seen them occasionally."
"Stop," I said.
"No. I have." He paused at the landing and turned to me. "In the swamp at night, floating over the water. Indian ghosts, I'm sure."
"Maybe it was just that swamp gas you described," I told him.
"You don't believe in spiritual things?"
"I believe in God, but not in goblins and ghosts and voodoo spirits. I'm a scientist," I said. "I believe there's a logical cause and a logical reason for everything. We might not know it yet, but there is."
"Okay," he said with a small, smug smile on his lips.
"You think I'll be proven wrong?"
"Don't know. I just know what I've seen," he said confidently and continued to the bedroom.
When we entered with the brighter light from the kerosene lamp, the room looked larger. When Jack started to put the lantern down on the vanity table, I spotted something on the bed.
"Wait!" I cried. "Bring the lantern closer to the bed."
He followed me. We both stared down between the two pillows.
"What the heck is that?" Jack asked. "I didn't see it before, did you?"
"No." I reached for it slowly. "It's a mojo," I said. "A what?"
"The leg bone of a black cat that's been killed exactly at midnight. Powerful gris-gris," I told him. "My mother was definitely here! Either we didn't see this when we were here before or she came back after we left to go to the trailer."
When I turned around, Jack was standing there with his mouth open. "Leg of a black cat?"
"My mother's old cook gave her this mojo. She was the woman who died and came back with the warning my mother never got because she was at a party celebrating her new art exhibit. That's one of the reasons she blames herself for what happened to Jean," I explained.
Jack gazed at me as if I were crazy. "This woman died and came back?"
"I don't really believe any of this," I said. "I told you my mother's having some sort of emotional breakdown."
He nodded and then looked around the room. "Sure you want to stay here?" he asked again, a little tremor in his voice now.
"Positive. My mother might return."
"But what if she's off doing something weird someplace else?" he asked.
"The only way to be sure is to stay here and wait," I said, more determined than ever. He sensed the resolution in my voice and stopped trying to talk me out of staying.
"Okay. You want to sleep on that mattress? It's a little dusty, but if I put this blanket over it and this one over the pillow . . ."