"Peter, are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Mike stood just inside the Pad's front door, jacket in hand.

"Yeah, Big Peter! Micky slid down the wrought-iron rail of the spiral staircase, landing with a loud "thump" in front of the Texan. "This is supposed to be the spookiest haunted house in the state! It's got different rooms for vampires, and werewolves and ghosts, and you hafta slide down this huge slide into the basement just to get out! You gotta come!"

Peter remained on the bandstand, bent over his guitar, softly strumming chord progressions. He shuddered at Micky's description of the house. "No, thanks! All that stuff gives me nightmares!"

Micky's face fell in disappointment. "Peter, it's Halloween night! You're supposed to be scared!"

"I know, but I don't like being scared!" Peter put the guitar down. Standing up, he turned his gaze to the view outside the big bay window. It was still light, but the sun was steadily dipping in the western sky. It's orange color reminded him of the fiery autumn leaves that would be decorating the trees back home in Connecticut. "I don't know why people would want to go around trying to frighten one another."

Micky opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by a stern look from Mike. "All right, Peter. How about you stay here and hand out the candy we bought to the trick-or-treaters?"

Peter smiled. "I'd like that, Mike. You guy's go on, I'll be fine here."

"Suit youself," Micky answered. "Davy's at that party, and he probably won't be back until late. so it looks like you're on your own for the evening. Don't let those kids pull any tricks on you!"

"I won't," Peter laughed. "You guys have a good time!"

They left, Micky chattering a mile a minute about the fun they were going to have, Mike merely nodding, throwing in the occasional comment.

Peter got out the largest bowl he could find, filling it with the candy they'd gotten yesterday. Placing it on a small table by the front door, he awaited the first of the children.

~*~

Three hours later, Peter tucked the now empty bowl safely away in its' spot underneath the sink. He'd had the time of his life seeing all the kids in their costumes. No matter how hard they tried to look terrifying, even Peter found it impossible to be frightened by a three foot Dracula, or a pint-sized Frankenstein monster. He'd just shut the cabinet door when the doorbell rang yet again.

Opening the door, Peter was greeted by a miniature princess, aged approximately eight years. He was instantly entranced the lovely little girl. Delicately built, she had shoulder-length ringlets the color of coal, huge grey eyes, and a face that could have been lifted straight from one of the cameo pins his mother so loved. She was wearing some sort of frilly dress of pale pink, as if she were ready to go to a child's party.

"Hello," he greeted her politely, smiling at her grave expression. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any more candy left." Noticing that the little girl seemed to be alone, his brows drew together in concern. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, leaving the streets in darkness. "Sweetie, isn't it a bit late for you to be out all alone?"

She regarded him impassively. "I came to get my doll," she announced. "I left it here after the party."

Peter looked at her in confusion. "Doll? Party? Are you sure you've got the right house? We haven't had a party since last week, and I don't think there were any kids here."

The girl pinned him with serious look. "The party wasn't here," she explained patiently. "I used to live here, and I left Susie in my bedroom when I had to go away."

Must be the daughter of the former tenants, Peter thought. But the Pad was in such a mess when we moved in...it looked like it had been empty for years!

The little girl stood quietly waiting. "You're welcome to come in and look for Susie, if you like," Peter invited. "Which bedroom was yours?"

"That one." She pointed toward the upstairs bedroom. "I used to slide down the stair rail every morning," she confided.

Peter laughed at that. "I know someone who does the same thing!" Taking the little girl's hand, he led her up to Mike and Micky's room.

~*~

"She's not here." The girl's face clouded, tears welling in her eyes. The only things to be seen were two twin beds, Mike's neatly made, as usual, Micky's in it's natural state of disarray, and the various masculine items he recognized as belonging to his band mates.

"Let's look in the closet," Peter suggested. If Micky held true to form, he might just have tossed the doll in there when they'd first moved in, instead of throwing it out.

Sure enough, in the very back of the closet, they found Susie. An old-fasioned doll, she was a replica of the little girl, from the ebony curls down to the patent leather party shoes.

"Susie!" The child snatched the doll from Peter's hands, hugging her tightly. "I knew I'd find you!"

Peter stepped carefully over the pile of boxes he'd pulled out of the closet in his efforts to find the doll. "I'm glad we found her." They went back downstairs, the girl now smiling happily. "Thank you. mister!"

"You're welcome," Peter replied. "Listen, you wait by the door, and I'll get my jacket and walk you home." And have a long talk with your parents about letting their daughter go out alone after dark! Poking around in the closet, he finally located his jacket amidst the clutter. "A-hah!" Pulling on the jacket, he turned to the little girl. "Now, where do you..."

She was gone.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Peter combed the first floor, but she wasn't to be found. He looked upstairs, even though he doubted she could have gotten up there without the tell-tale squeaks of the metal staircase alerting him. Finally, he searched outside the Pad, thinking maybe she started home without him, but he found no trace of her. Worried about the girl, and more than a little confused by everything that had happened, Peter returned to the Pad, prowling about the place as if his agitation would bring some sort of enlightenment. Finding no answers in pacing, he decided to turn in, and, saying a little prayer for the child, he drifted off to a restless slumber.

~*~

"Man, I can't believe all this junk!" Micky pawed through the boxes Peter had carried down to the living room, examing it's contents.

"I can't believe you shoved all this in the back of the closet when we moved in," Mike retorted. "You were supposed to throw it away, Mick!"

"Hey, I'm a drummer, not a garbage man!" Micky dodged the flying pillow, and stuck out his tongue.

"Well, I can't believe that story of Petah's," Davy said. "Some mysterious kid comes here looking for a doll, then just vanishes into thin air? I think he got hold of some bad candy or something!"

"It's the truth, David!" Peter picked up one of the boxes, not noticing as as piece of paper fluttered to the floor. "We found Susie in the closet," he reminded them.

"We know, Peter," Mike soothed. "Anyway, it got that closet cleaned out!" Which earned him a glare from his roommate.

Davy picked up the piece of paper. Turning it over, he saw that it waws a picture. "'Ello! What's this?"

Micky snatched the picture from him. "Cute kid."

Peter frowned, moving to take the photo from Micky. Looking down at the image, he felt the blood drain from his face. "It's her!"

"What?" Mike approached the bassist. Something had really spooked the poor guy, judging by his lack of color. "What is it, Peter?"

"That's her!" Peter stabbed at the picture with his finger. "The little girl from last night!"

"You did say she used to live here," Micky reminded him. "Maybe her parents just forgot this box when they moved."

Mike took the picture, studying it closely. Turning it over, his frown deepened. "This can't be right," he muttered.

"Why not?" Peter looked at the picture again. "That's her, Mike, I'm sure of it. She even had on that same dress!"

"It can't be, good buddy." Mike turned the picture over, pointing to the words on the back.

Malibu Beach. 1954

"Yoo hoo, boys!" The silence was broken by the voice of their neighbor, Mrs. Purdy. Letting herself in the front door, she balanced a large tray on one hand. "I made too many caramel apples," she trilled. "And I thought you boys might enjoy some!"

No answer. Setting the tray on their kitchen table, she went to see what was worthy of such rapt attention.

She let out a soft gasp as she saw the picture Mike was holding. "Why, where in the world did you find that?"

Peter looked up hopefully. "Do you know who this is, Mrs. P?"

"Indeed I do," she replied. "That's Becky Babbitt." Her face softened as she gazed at the sligtly faded image. "God rest her soul."

"BECKY BABBITT!" Micky screeched. "You mean old Babbitt has a kid?"

"Had," Mrs. Purdy corrected. "Becky was the sweetest child you'd ever want to meet, and she was the apple of Henry's eye. They used to live here in this house, you know."

"What 'appened to 'er?" Davy asked.

"She died two days after her eighth birthday. She was playing on the beach, and she was caught in a freak rip-tide. She drowned before anyone could help her."

"What happened then?" Peter breathed softly.

"Henry closed this place up. Said he couldn't stand looking out that window everyday and seeing the ocean. That's when he built his house across the street. He couldn't bear to see the ocean, but he didn't want to leave this place behind, either. It's got too many memories for him. I was surprised when he decided to rent it to you boys, since he hadn't let anybody in here for years." Her expression turned thoughtful. "On the other hand, maybe it does make sense, in an odd way. Becky would be just about your ages now."

"I always wondered why he was such an old grouch," Mike mused. "Now I know why. What an awful thing to live through."

"Now you know why I've stayed all these years," Mrs. Purdy answered. "I remember what he was like then, and I know what he went through. Someday, he'll turn around and be the Henry I used to know. You'll see."

They ushered their neighbor out the door, thanking her for the apples, and the information. Alone again, they stood in silence, each of them deep in thought.

After a few moments, Peter's lips quirked in a slight smile.

"What's so funny, Big Peter?" Micky frowned at him.

"I just realized something." He looked at his roommates, shaking his head at the irony of the situation. "I wouldn't go with you guys last night, because I didn't want to be scared. And I wound up spending the evening with a ghost!"