I'm serious this time, Cody said, leaning across the cracked picnic table.

His breath smelled like sour candy and his eyes looked huge behind his bent-up glasses.

It's a real ritual, real, real.

I didn't just find it on Google or YouTube this time. I had to go through

this whole creepy website you can't even find unless you do this thing with your computer.

It's called a hidden browser or something.

I snorted and picked at the peeling paint on the table. Yeah, just like the real ritual,

where you made me eat a crayon and told me my future would come true if I pooped out the whole thing in one piece?

Cody shoved me with his elbow, but it barely counted as a shove.

He was skinny, always had been, with elbows so pointy he could probably stab someone if he wanted.

That was a joke. This is different. I did research this time. Real research. Hours of it.

I leaned back and squinted at him, trying to keep a straight face.

Cody doing research usually meant he found some kid on a forum who told him how to summon

a ghost with a spoon and a prayer.

Thing was, he was my friend. Always had been.

Ever since kindergarten, when he wore a cape to school for three weeks straight and told

everyone he had wizard blood.

Cody had this thing about creepy stuff.

Monsters, spells, ghost stories, you name it.

He collected weird facts the same way normal kids collect baseball cards.

Every week he had a new ritual or a new monster or a new story about a haunted road

he read about somewhere on a blog.

...