“Yeah,” Mike Stimson said, taking Marci’s gloved hand. “Let’s go.”
“But what about that house,” a small voice asked.
“What house?” Mike asked. “Who said that?”
“That house.” From behind Stacy Johnson appeared a red mitten pointing to a large house at the end of the darkened road, followed by Mellissa Johnson, whose nose and cheeks matched the scarlet shade of her mittens and cap.
“I didn’t think you even talked,” Marci said.
“I talk,” Mellissa said, and popped her gum.