A Good Night for Ghosts

started down the rope ladder.
    “I
guess
that’s a plan,” murmured Jack. “Sort of.” He put the New Orleans book in his bag and followed her.
    In their bare feet, Jack and Annie hurried a short distance to the wide, busy street. A sign read CANAL STREET.
    The sidewalks on both sides of Canal Street were crowded with vendors pushing carts and shouting in rich, loud voices.
    “Buttermilk! Buttermilk! Fresh from the buttermilk man! Bring out your bucket! Bring out your can!” shouted a man.
    “Blackberries! Mighty fine! Three sacks for a dime!” called an old woman.
    “Read all the news! Chase away the blues!” sang a boy with newspapers.
    “Let’s buy a paper,” said Jack. “It’ll tell us the date.”
    Jack and Annie ran over to the boy selling newspapers.
    “A paper, please,” said Annie.
    “A penny, please,” said the boy.
    Jack and Annie dug into their pockets.
    “Uh-oh,” said Annie. “No money.”
    “Uh-oh,” said the boy. “No paper.” He started to walk away.
    “Wait, please,” said Jack. “Can you just tell us the date?”
    “October thirty-first, the eve of All Saints’ Day,” said the boy. “You didn’t know that?”
    “Uh, not really,” said Jack.
    “And what year is it?” Annie asked.
    The newsboy scowled. “It’s 1915! Don’t you two know anything? Who are you?”
    Before Jack could think of an answer, Annie blurted out, “We’re musicians. We came all the way from Frog Creek, Pennsylvania.” She held up their trumpet.
    “Oh, right. And it’s a different year in Frog Creek, Pennsylvania, than here in New Orleans, Louisiana! I forgot!” The newsboy headed up thestreet, laughing at his own joke.
    “Well,
yeah
,” said Annie.
    Jack laughed. “Okay, Louis Armstrong was born in 1901, so if it’s 1915…”
    “He’s fourteen years old,” said Annie. “So that means he’s playing with kid bands in the streets. Excuse me!” she called to the buttermilk man. “Can you tell us where some kid bands might be playing today?”
    “Try Jackson Square in the French Quarter,” said the man.
    “What’s the French Quarter?” asked Jack.
    “It’s the oldest section of the city,” said the buttermilk man. “Catch that streetcar that’s stopping up ahead! It will take you right there.”
    “Thanks!” said Annie. She and Jack ran up the sidewalk.
    “So I guess those train cars in the street are called streetcars,” said Jack.
    “Makes sense!” said Annie.
    Jack and Annie ran to a streetcar stop. Theystood in line and then climbed aboard. “Oh, wait,” Jack said to Annie. “We can’t! We don’t have money!” He started to leave.
    “Hey, sonny, are you coming or going?” said the conductor.
    “Sorry. We made a mistake,” said Jack. “We don’t have any money.”
    “Don’t worry, there’s no fare today. It’s the eve of All Saints’ Day,” said the conductor.
    “Oh! Good,” said Jack. He and Annie chose a wooden seat near the door and sat down.
    “Could you tell us when to get out for Jackson Square in the French Quarter?” Annie asked the conductor.
    “Sure thing,” the conductor said.
    Annie rested their magic trumpet on her lap. “Lucky for us we came here on the eve of All Saints’ Day,” she said to Jack.
    “Yeah, but what does that mean?” said Jack. As the streetcar headed along Canal, he looked up All Saints’ Day in their book. He read aloud:
    November first is celebrated as All Saints’ Day in New Orleans. It is a day to honor those who have passed away. Sometimes on the eve of All Saints’ Day, people wear costumes and have parties and parades. Considered the spookiest night of the year, the eve of All Saints’ Day is a good time for ghost sightings .
    “The eve of All Saints’ Day sounds like Halloween,” said Annie. “It’s the same day, too: October thirty-first.”
    “Yeah,” said Jack. “But what do they mean, ‘a good time for ghost sightings’?” He kept reading:
    The city of New Orleans is often called the most haunted city in America. According to legend, the old blacksmith shop on Bourbon Street is haunted by the ghost of the famous pirate Jean Lafitte. Some say that Saint Louis Cathedral is haunted by a Spanish priest, and that a hotel on Chartres Street is haunted by Confederate soldiers. There have been ghost sightings in many other places throughout the city as well .
    “Ooh, sounds scary,” said Annie.
    “Huh,” said Jack. “Well!” He slammed the book shut. “Forget ghosts. We