Sam was crying again. He didn't used to cry this much when dad was away. Not until Dee slipped up and told him exactly what dad did when he left them alone in these crummy motel rooms. Told him what dad fought every day. Sure, Dee had tried to explain that he was a superhero, that he would always come back for them, but she didn't think Sam believed her. She'd tried comforting him, cooking for him, pulling out every toy they had, even flat out telling him to shut up. Nothing worked. Maybe this would.
Dee looked at the odds and ends she had gathered on the table, and hoped her father would never find out. There was a new white T-shirt from the pack of three he had just bought her, a pair of scissors she had lifted from the front desk of the motel, a pen she found in the dresser drawer, some dental floss, slat, an orange plastic lighter, and a needle she had found in her father's first aid kit. It was a ghost hunt this time. Hopefully he wouldn't need stitches. If he did, maybe he'd think he'd just lost it? It was small, right?
Keeping her hands from shaking, dad would kill her for this; she cut a blobby form from both layers of the T-shirt. It looked…nothing like a ghost. She had seen a ghost, once. It looked just like a person, until it disappeared. Or until someone lit the remains on fire. Oh well. The two pieces didn't meet exactly, and the edges were rough. It would work for what she needed. She clipped a long piece of floss and tied a knot in the end. Slowly and unevenly, she stitched the pieces together. Little bulges appeared where she pulled the stitches too tight or didn't hold the two pieces together quite right. She grimaced. Sammy had better appreciate this.
When the ghost was sewed almost all the way around, she started shoving the rest of the T-shirt into the gap. The floss stretched, but it held. She finished the last few sloppy stitches and drew a spooky face on it with the pen. It took three tries to get the ballpoint to work on the fabric. She hid the needle where she knew she would remember to put it back in her father's kit, and put the pen and scissors in the nightstand drawer before grabbing the doll, the salt shaker, and the lighter, and plopping next to her brother on the bed.
There were still tearstains on Sam's face, but he had stopped crying for now. Dee looked at the stuff in her hands, instead of seeing those marks on his face. "Okay. So this," she said, holding up the mutilated T-shirt, "is what dad is fighting. It's a ghost."
"Ghosts can't hurt people, right?"
Dee resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course they can hurt people. That's why he has to fight them. But they're nothing. Not compared to dad. Not compared to us. Hold this."
Sam took what she offered and raised an eyebrow. "Salt?" he asked in a small voice.
"That's right. Ghosts? They can't stand this stuff. Go on, throw it at him." Sam looked at her like she'd gone crazy. Maybe she had at this point. Kid had been crying for weeks. "Trust me. Do it." Rolling his eyes and cracking a smile, Sam sprinkled some salt on the little cloth effigy. "See Sammy? It's that easy. That's why we salt the doors and the windows when dad's gone. Ghosts hate the stuff. A real ghost? He'd just disappear, and leave you alone for a while. Iron works too."
"Can I hit it with iron now?"
Dee chuckled. "And break something? No way. I tell you what. The day you're bigger than me, I'll let you man the iron. Until then, you're on salt duty." Sam groaned, but at least he was still smiling a little.
"I'll never be bigger than you!"
Dee smiled. "That's the plan."
Suddenly, Sam's smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. Dee worried for a second that she'd said something wrong. Son of a gun! She wasn't supposed to be making him feel bad here! "Wait. Dee. Salt and iron. You said they'd only work for a while. What about when it comes back?"
Dee sighed in relief. This she could handle. She smiled, and there was a little bit of devil in her smile. She raised the cheap plastic lighter and flicked it on, wishing her father would let her carry a heavy metal one like his on her, instead of keeping a small plastic one in the room. "This is the best part. You find the bones, and you cover them in salt and light them on fire. Now, we've already salted this ghost here…" She moved the flam toward the white cloth, ready to burn the evidence of the money she'd wasted.
"Stop!" cried Sam, snatching the little toy. "Don't." He held it to his chest. Dee looked at her little brother, looking every one of his five years young, and took her finger off the lighter.
"I'm teaching you how to hunt here. Besides, you want dad to come home and find you playing with a doll? A ghost? What do you think he'd say about that?" She watched the wheels turn in her brother's head. He was a smart enough kid. He'd realize it had to be burnt.
"He won't find it," the boy said with conviction. He smiled and brought the little stuffed toy to his backpack, where he buried it in the bottom. "Want to build with Legos?"
