I shuddered, partially with fear, partially from excitement. My mother was annoyed at grandpa for scaring us, for several of my friends had ducked their heads into their pillows they had brought for the sleepover.She said, “There is no ghost haunting the grave; A’zaira went to London and found a family there, I heard,â€?
“Bit of a long walk for a seven year old,â€? remarked Grandpa, then he leaned toward us secretively, “And I bet she can’t explain the roses either,â€? he winked at me.
“Probably some sympathizer of the Patasons,â€? said Mum, irritably,“Now off to bed all of you.â€?
As I kissed my Grandpa goodnight I heard a friend ask Mum, “What’s a sympathizer?â€?
That night I stared at the ceiling for hours, thinking about the mystery of A’zaira Patason.