Rosa lifted her head from the pillow. Listening. "Dios mio. Eso muchacho! Eating again."

"Let'im be," Walt grumbled. "He's a growing boy."

A cupboard door banged in the kitchen. Sound of water running from the tap.

"No! I fix for Mama and Grandpa."

She reached for her faded chenille bathrobe. Its roses had long lost their bloom. Not so Rosa. Black eyes snapped. Her firm body gave life to the wilting robe. Bright colored curlers bobbed in her black hair. She headed for the kitchen. Empty.

"Aha! Un chiste," she snorted.

The mottled linoleum covered counter was bare of crumbs (just as she had left it). No dirty dishes in the sink. She opened the refrigerator and found the wrap still snug over the pot of chili. The six-pack of beer she bought for Grandpa sat unopened.

"Un chiste. A joke," she said again, poking her head into Enrique's room. All quiet. No giggling. Enrique rubbed his eyes when she turned on the light.

"Que pasa, Mama?"

"You make un chiste. What you eat?"

"Nada, Mama. You told me not to – remember?"

"Dios, mio." Rosa shrugged and went back to bed.

"Go to sleep, Honey," said Walt. "We've got to be at the airport early to pick up my folks."

Rosa and her kids were Walt's life. After the war he drifted. Did a couple of stints in Alaska and Mexico on a survey crew. On the last one he met Rosa – recently divorced. Two kids. A warm vibrant woman with a built-in family. What he always wanted. Now they had one of their own.

* * *

After a happy reunion at the airport they pulled into the scraggy yard of a low Spanish style house – growing green with mildew. I wish they'd move out of this place, Ethel thought.

"You can use our room," Walt said, bringing in his parents’ suitcase. "We'll use the sofa bed."

"You're lucky, Grandma," said Enrique. "You don't have to sleep with the ghost."

Ethel and Joe looked up, questioning.

"Knock it off!" Walt ordered. "You want to be smart? Get busy and make a fire."

"I make Huevos Rancheros," Rosa offered, heading toward the kitchen.

"Sounds good, doesn't it, Joe?" Ethel asked.

"Yeah. Sure. Anything – long as it's coffee."

Ethel and Joe put away their things. They settled at the big round table by the kitchen window – looking out on a gnarled olive tree. A patch of red geraniums bloomed against the crumbling adobe wall. Rosa brought them steaming mugs of coffee. Started warming tortillas on a low flame.

"Guess what, Grandma," said Rita. "I got accepted at UCLA for the fall term. With a four year scholarship." Ethel lifted her head to see Rita through her bifocals. "That's wonderful!"

"Mama's not so sure. She says she won't be able to get along without me. Huh, Mama?"

"Si, querida." Her proud smile proved otherwise. "She gonna be a teacher. Enrique, he all the time fix radios."

"After breakfast I'll show you my shop, Grandpa. Out in the old shed. No ghosts there." Looking warily at Walt.

Joe looked from face to face. No one offered an explanation. The children set the table. Everyone talked at once. Chop chop chop came the friendly sound of Rosa cutting bright red tomatoes, fresh green onions, peppers. She stirred them in with whipped eggs. Heaped the plates, adding refried beans and warm tortillas. Rita carried some to the table. Returned for another batch.

"You come into the kitchen last night after we sleep?" Rosa asked.

"No, Mama. I went to bed before you – remember?"

"Ah, si."

"Why, Mama? Did you hear it again?"

"Si, querida, si."

When they finished eating Rosa looked at Ethel. "You like I make tamales?"

"That would be a treat! I'd love to see how it's done."

Rosa collected her materials. Walt and Joe went off to the store. Angela spread a faded blue towel on the floor next to the fireplace. A bed for her doll. Ethel stood near, warming herself.

"See, Grandma. This is Dolly's room. Over here is my kitchen. Play house with me, Grandma. PLEASE!"

"Pretty soon. I'm going to help your Mama in the kitchen first."

Rosa showed Ethel how to fill and roll the dry yellow corn husks with hunks of pork and corn meal. She tore thin strips from the husks. Used them to tie the rolls at each end. The house grew quiet except for Angela's soft talking and humming as she rocked her baby doll in the other room.

The humming stopped. Angela appeared in the doorway. "What are you making, Mama?"

"Tamales. You want we make some with raisins?"

"Si. Si." Angela clapped her hands.

"Okay. Okay."

Angela watched them roll and tie for a while. "Mamacita."

"Si, Angelita."

"She came again."

Rosa stopped rolling. Looked up in alarm. "Ahora? Now?"

"Si. Si. She played house with me after Daddy and Grandpa left."

"What is she talking about?" asked Ethel. "There's no one here – is there?"

"I no know, Mama. She tell me all the time. A little girl come and play with her. I no know."

"It's just her imagination." Ethel detected a note of fear. "All kids do that."

"I guess." Rosa unconvincing. "It happen much times. She say it be real."

"It's true, Grandma. She's five years old, just like me. She has a pink dress and

black curls. She's my friend. At night she looks for food. It's all right, isn't it Mamacita, if she eats some of our food?"

"Si. Si, querida. Ve a Rita. Go see Rita now."

"Last night I hear her," she told Ethel when Angela left. Ethel looked surprised. "I hear her bang the cupboards. I think it be Enrique, but he be sleeping."

"Oh, it can't be."

"I no know, Mama." Rosa shook her head.

The men came back. Ethel forgot about the little girl. That night, the wind came up and blew through the sprawling pepper tree outside her window. Scratched and squeaked against the pane. That must be what Rosa heard. She drifted off to sleep.

Everything went smoothly the rest of their visit. Until the last night. They sat up late around the fire drinking wine and coffee. Enjoying the last dregs of their visit. Angela fell asleep on Grandpa's lap.

"Morning will be here too soon," Walt said. "We'd better call it quits."

The fire snapped. Died down to glowing embers. The house grew still. Rosa lay awake long after the others. At last her tired body began to relax. Then she heard it.

Bang! squeak, went the cupboard doors. Water started running from the tap.

She nudged Walt.

"You hear?" she whispered. "She come back."

Walt strained his ears for a minute. The bang and squeak came again.

"I'll catch that boy this time." Walt threw back the covers, rushed into the kitchen, switched on the light. Empty.

"Dios, mio," Rosa said, snuggling tight. "I scared."

"Beats me." Walt reached around for her hand. Squeezed it. "Go to sleep,

Honey. I won't let anything …

* * *

"What was all that commotion last night?" Ethel asked next morning.

"Just a mid-night snacker," Walt said lightly.

"No, Mama," Rosa answered under her breath. "She come back, just like Angela say. I scared."

Ethel's eyelids dropped. Her brow creased. I wish they would move.

On the way to the airport, Ethel couldn't resist. "I hope you can find a different place to live by the time we come again."

Walt darted a look at Rosa. "What've you been telling her?"

Rosa shrugged her shoulders. Nibbled at her thumbnail. Stared out the window with a far away look.

"You know," Ethel said when she and Joe were settled on the plane. "There's something wrong with Walt's place. I don't like it."

"Nothing's wrong. Just those Tiajuana mushrooms."

* * *

Months later, they were sitting at their breakfast table. Ethel set her coffee down. "When did Walt say they were moving? I meant to call them."

She reached around to the desk behind her. Took an envelope from the letter holder. Pushed her glasses back up on her nose and read aloud.

"This ought to make you happy," Walt wrote. "I've put a down payment on a new tract house. We're moving out of this Spook Trap a week from Saturday. It'll be a while before we get our phone connected so if you want to call us you'd better do it before then."

"That means they're moving today. I'm so glad. Rosa was scared to death in that place."

A moment's silence. She began again.

"Last week at Bible Class we were talking about spirits. Maybe people really do come back. Do you think …"

"Some more of your old wives' tales," snorted Joe. "You ought to spend more time watching ballgames with me."

"Oh, Joe. Don't you have any imagination?"

Ethel put through her call. No one answered. "They must be taking a load over to the new place."

Each time she passed the desk she paused, wiped her hands on her apron, tried the number again. The house grew dark. She switched on a light. "I'll try once more. If I don't get them – I quit."

She let the number ring and ring. About to hang up, the receiver lifted. A little girl's voice.

"Hello. Who is this? May I speak to Walt?"

The phone went dead. She tried again. No answer.

"Someone picked up. Who could that have been? Didn't sound like Angela."

Joe sat across the room in his favorite push back chair, sipping beer, watching the evening news.

"Come on. Sit down. You just punched the wrong number. Like I been telling you – you need to get your eyes checked."

* * *

"I tried to get you the day you moved," Ethel said when Walt finally called.

"Someone answered and then hung up."

"No one called while we were there. You must have dialed the wrong number. Or are you hearing things – like Rosa?"

"I know someone answered," Ethel repeated after she hung up.

"Forget it. You dialed the wrong number."

* * *

Weeks later, Ethel came in from getting the mail.

"That road gets steeper every day." She untied the scarf from around her head. Tossed it on the sofa. Plopped down.
Joe looked up from the ball game. "Anything good?"

"Just a bill from Ma Bell. Oh – here's a letter from Walt."

She opened it and began to read.

"See," she said triumphantly. "Walt says the neighbors told them no one ever stayed long in that house. Said the place is haunted. Something about a little girl. Died when she was only five. She's the one who answered. I just know!"

"Poppy cock! Like I said – you just dialed the wrong number."

"You think so?" Ethel asked as she scanned the telephone bill. "Then tell me why there's no charge listed for the call?"

THE END

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