As Mrs. Fillmore moved in front of Billy to cover the door with her large shotgun, Billy stepped backwards, now more afraid of the old lady than the ghost. Moving away from her, he bumped into her bed and stopped. Then somehow finding that he had a little courage left in him he spoke, “Mrs. Fillmore, I think there is something odd going on with you. People in Autumnville don’t turn their bedrooms into safe rooms, or keep nasty looking weapons in them. We are not in Los Angeles.”
Mrs. Fillmore’s shoulders then slumped and she let out a loud sigh. Turning to face the boy, Billy saw that she was crying. It did not look good for him.