Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rocky opened his eyes.
The room was very dark, and shadows of furniture made very creepy shapes that reminded him of every creepy ghost story his cousins had ever told him.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his blanket. His warm skin felt colder than usual.
Drip.
Something was dripping. Water? Blood? Ghost slime?
He swallowed hard.
"Kelpie?" he whispered.
No answer.
He turned his head. Kelpie was sleeping soundly in the bed beside him, his hands folded neatly on his chest, his chest rising and falling peacefully. His water droplets had stilled for once, hovering around him like tiny floating stars.
Drip.
Rocky's eyes darted to the window. Nothing. Just darkness and the faint outline of peach trees.
Maybe he should call Boo. That was a good idea. Boo was a ghost. If there was a ghost in the room, Boo could talk to it. Or fight it. Or scare it away.
Or become best friends with it and make the problem worse.
But still. Boo was better than nothing.
