“Um, do spirits carry lanterns?” I asked. Frankie almost jumped for joy. “They’re not spirits! They’re … people! Three of them ….” “And one of them is Muff Potter!” whispered Tom. “Cute name,” I said. “Not so cute guy.” Muff Potter was a large, sloppy-looking man who staggered out front, his arm out and his chubby fingers seeming to point to the grave. Two others were following him, but it wasn’t easy to see what they looked like. The cemetery, of course, was darker than dark. “The second one is Doc Robinson,” said Huck. “I can see his long coat.” Then, out of the shadows came the third member of the pack. It was a guy about seven feet tall, all muscles, and with a face that could stop a bus. Actually, it looked as if it had stopped a bus. The nose was all pushed to one side and the cheeks were bumpy and wide and the mouth was in a permanent angry sneer. He wore a hat pulled low over his brow, but the lamplight caught and flickered on his eyes, which were black and piercing and spooky beyond belief.
