"Place is said to be haunted," Jimmee told her. "Maybe some ghost called you here, girl. Maybe you was supposed to be here, maybe someone called you here." He grinned, exposing a mouth full of cragged teeth.
Obviously she was dealing with a loony toon.
"I don’t believe in ghosts," Samantha told him in a firm voice. She was proud that her voice held steady. "They don’t exist."
"Don’t make no difference," Jimmy informed her. "Just ‘cause a man says somethin’ don’t mean it’s true. Hey, kid, maybe I’m a ghost."
He threw his head back and laughed, a cold, dry laugh. It was like leaves scraping across the sidewalk.
Samantha took a step backwards, afraid.
"Don’t worry about me, miss," he told her. "I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Sorry if I scairt you. It gets lonely down here, some nights. Why don’ you stay awhile, girl?" he whispered, his eyes hungry and evil and cold. "It gets mighty lonesome."
Samantha didn’t answer. She turned and ran from the room, her feet pounding on the white tile floor.
She wanted to get away from this place—and the strange janitor with his evil eyes—as fast as possible.