The store was called Earth Age, and on Wednesdays it was open until seven. Grant pulled the door open then almost puked from the pungent mix of patchouli and less identifiable odors coming from inside. He took a deep breath and went in anyway.Inside, the store was cramped and a little dingy. Herbs in jars lined the back wall behind the counter. A token rack of books lined another wall. Everything else looked like refuse from a Halloween sale: gaudy, sparkly scarves; glass balls hanging from the ceiling on macramé cords; mass-produced skulls and pentagrams. The girl behind the counter smiled at him.

“Can I help you?”

His first impulse was to say no and leave. “I think there’s a ghost in my house.”

“All right.” She didn’t look like she believed him, but she also didn’t look at him like he was crazy. “What kind of ghost?”

“A small one,” he said, offering her a little smile. “Look, I just want to get rid of it, okay? Do you have any … ” he waved his hand. “Spells? Incantations? Something?” It was hard to ask for what he wanted when most of him was thinking that he didn’t believe in this stuff. He broadened his smile a bit, hoping a little flirting wouldn’t hurt his case. He made sure to keep eye contact, not let his gaze slip to the curves peeking through the low collar of her dress.

“Ghosts are often psychic impressions left by those who have lived in a place,” she said in a sing-song voice. “They can also be manifestations of the psyche, after times of … ”

“I already talked to my therapist. Let’s go with ‘impression.’ How do I make it go away?”

She walked from behind the counter. Grant was a little disappointed to realize that her figure wasn’t voluptuous so much as dependent on one too many doughnuts in her diet. The girl’s eyes narrowed as she saw his expression change, and then she went to a display rack of bound twigs. She tossed him one.

“Smudge stick. Burn it and wave the smoke around the area to be cleansed. One of these should do two rooms. Visualize the smoke chasing away the manifestation and it should leave.”

He bought three, thanked the girl, and took the sticks home.

The burning twigs didn’t smell as bad as he thought they would. He expected the baby to cry as he spread the smoke through the house but there wasn’t a peep. When he finished the house was filled with a strange fragrant haze that made the cat sneeze, but he couldn’t hear or see anything that wasn’t normal.

He slept with his door locked anyway, burrowed under sheets that smelled of herbal smoke.

*** The morning was bright and cold and Grant didn’t see or hear the baby as he went through his morning routine. He managed to stay pleasant at work, even crack a few jokes, and by the time he went home, he’d told himself that the meds had kicked in, that he was in a better mental place now, and that he’d just needed a symbolic cleansing of his life to make the transition.The baby sat in the hallway when he turned on the light. It looked up with an expression Grant could only think of as “betrayed,” and began to cry.

Bob Marley didn’t help. Neither did anything else Grant could dial up on the radio. The baby screamed all night, pausing only to take an imaginary breath now and then. At four a.m., Grant dragged himself out of bed, went into the hallway and said, “I’m sorry. Go to sleep, will you?”

The baby kept crying, and ready to cry himself, Grant started to sing, “Rock-a-Bye Baby.” After a few verses the baby stopped howling and started sniffling. He kept singing, too tired to do anything else. Eventually, the baby closed its eyes and fell asleep.

Without thinking, Grant went to pat it on the head, only remembering when his hand went through and went cold. He hadn’t tried touching it before. He was suddenly wide awake. He placed his hand on the baby’s back, feeling the demarcation between air and whatever the baby was made of, felt the change in temperature and sensation.

Mandy hit the floor in the bedroom with a thump, came out, and curled up on the floor next to the baby. She had always acted like she could see it. She wasn’t afraid.

Grant went back to bed. He didn’t shut the door.

*** “Your sticks didn’t work.”He hadn’t said hello. It was the same girl. She looked at him, confused at first before she placed him.

“They’re a first step. They get rid of a lot of nasties. So your ghost is still there?”

He nodded. Then he tapped his hand on his leg. “How do you communicate with ghosts?”

“Well, you could use a Ouija board,” she said. “But I’d make fun of you behind your back. Why don’t you just talk to it? Most ghosts that are actual manifestations stay around on this plane in order to resolve something. Ask what it wants and it might leave you alone.”

Grant looked around the little store, but there was no one else. “It’s a baby.”

“What?” She stared at him in polite confusion.

“Baby. The ghost is a baby.”

“You’re screwed.” She shut her book.

He sighed. “How bad?”

“You can’t ask a baby what it wants. Babies want food and comfort. Bottles. That sort of thing. You can’t give that to a ghost.”

“Great. So what do I do?”

“Move. Or just be grateful ghost babies don’t poop.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy.”

She shrugged. “There are two ghosts in my house. They’re pretty common, if you can see them.”

“Do yours bother you?”

“Not anymore.” But she wouldn’t say anything else about them.

Her name was Sally. She lived with her girlfriend, and apparently two ghosts as well, and she sent Grant home with some incense free of charge. Also, she asked for his number, though after the comment abut her girlfriend he wasn’t sure why.