Bauscheborzel

I can hear her breathing next to me and smile. All I can see is a faint glint in her green eyes and a beam of light peaking through a tiny gap, dimly lighting her blond curls. "Can you hear something?" she asks quitely, and I can hear how strained and excited she is. I listen. No, actually, I can't. Nothing special, at least. I'm wrong. "Can't you hear the rustling?" she insists. I nod, knowing that she can feel my gesture. The Rustling is the noise my rats use to make, minding their own buisness. She nudges me. How can I possibly stay that calm? "I think..." she pauses, then contiunes „Actually, I think there are ghosts."