Hazy Bloom and the Mystery Next Door

by Jennifer Hamburg

  When I got back home later that morning, I took Mr. Cheese for a walk and started thinking up ways to feel sorry for myself, given that this was going to be the worst summer ever. As we passed in front of the Thibodeauxs’ house, which was next to ours, I wondered if maybe I could hang out with them, until I realized that Mr. and Mrs. Thibodeaux were about eighty years old, so I wasn’t sure what activities we’d agree on. Also, I remembered that they went to visit their grandchildren each year for the entire summer, so they weren’t around anyway. That must have been why their porch light was on in the middle of the day—so possible burglars would think they were home. The Thibodeauxs may have been old, but you can’t say they weren’t clever.

  Then something strange happened. Out of nowhere, Mr. Cheese started barking like crazy. At first, I couldn’t figure out why, but then I noticed the Thibodeauxs’ porch light had started flickering on and off. Slowly at first, then faster and faster.

  “Hush!” I told Mr. Cheese. “It’s just a light.” I walked closer to the porch and pointed. “See? A flickering light. No biggie, okay?”

  But Mr. Cheese kept barking. I sighed and tugged on his leash to turn around when the porch light flickered on again, and this time I was close enough to see it light up the welcome mat on their doorstep. Now, I don’t normally pay attention to welcome mats, but there was something about this one that seemed familiar. It has a giant cactus on it: a large green body with two cactus branches sticking out to each side. I gasped as I recognized what it was. A pickle with arms. Right next to the cactus was a giant T, for “Thibodeaux.” It was my vision!

  My first thought was this: Why would anyone have a welcome mat with a cactus on it, since I don’t consider cacti very welcoming? My second thought was: Why would I have a vision about the Thibodeauxs? They weren’t even home; their house was empty. It didn’t make sense, although I was starting to get a gnawing feeling in my belly I couldn’t ignore (and I knew it wasn’t hunger because I was still full from all of those chocolate chip pancakes).

  Then, out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind nearly knocked me off my feet.

  Mr. Cheese started barking again, and the gnawing feeling returned as I began putting things together in my head. Empty house. Flickering lights. Sudden gust of wind. It was exactly like Summer’s ghost story. I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the Thibodeauxs’ front door. Was it possible? Could there really be…? I shook my head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. There was no way a ghost was living in this house. No way! It was way too crazy.

  Or was it?

  5

  I ran home and immediately dialed Elizabeth. I was sort of freaking out, but I knew as soon as I told my best friend what had happened she’d say something reassuring like, You must stay as far away from that house as possible, which may include taking the long way to get to my street or remaining inside all summer. Frankly, I was open to either of those options.

  So you can imagine my surprise when, after I described the cactus welcome mat, the flickering lights, and the unexpected gust of wind, Elizabeth said, “Want to hear my audition song for theater camp?”

  Look, I adored Elizabeth, and I knew she cared about me more than anyone else in the world besides her parents and possibly her “boyfriend,” Antonio, who is in fifth grade and whom I have never seen her speak to once. But sometimes she could be, well, a little self-centered. So when she ignored my shocking news and instead started singing “Tomorrow” from Annie, I cut her off.

  “Elizabeth! Did you hear what I said?”

  She paused on the other end of the line. “Was it about Antonio?”

  “No!”

  Elizabeth apologized and asked me to repeat my story, and this time she gasped as if she finally understood the importance of it all. “Oh my goodness, Hazy Bloom! You know what we need to do, right?”

  “Yep. I need to get my family to move to Machu Picchu.”

  “No. We need to solve the mystery!”

  “What?!”

  “Look. Your job as a superhero is to prevent doom, right?” she argued. “And what’s more doom-y than a ghost!”

  She had a point. And she also wasn’t done.

  “Just think, if you get rid of a ghost, you’ll become a local celebrity, which means as your best friend I’ll become a celebrity, too. I mean, what could be better than that?”

  Honestly, in my mind there were a whole lot of things better than being a celebrity, like inventing a secret language to communicate with owls, or watching The Baby try to do a somersault. Still, it would be pretty cool if word got around I’d gotten rid of a ghost. I’d pretty much become a hero. Maybe I’d even get my picture in the newspaper!

  I smiled. It turned out I had Big Summer Plans after all. I was going to get rid of the ghost next door. After I figured out if there really was one.

  I hung up the phone, feeling energized. I loved a good mystery, even if it did involve a haunted house and a creepy ghost. Good thing I didn’t spook easily.

  But then came a voice.

  And then a loud, long scream from me.

  Okay, it turned out it was just Dad saying hello, but seriously? He came out of nowhere.

  “Sheesh, Hazy, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

  “Not yet.” I forced a laugh.

  Dad arched his eyebrows.

  I decided to change the subject. “So what’s up?”

  Dad threw me his most lovable smile. “Well, I was wondering if my favorite daughter would help me pack my suitcase for our trip?”

  “I’m your only daughter, but sure, what do you need?” I asked, welcoming the distraction.

  “Well first I need … my suitcase. It was in the garage yesterday, but now it’s disappeared.”

  Another mystery! For the next million hours, Dad and I searched the entire house for his missing suitcase. You’d think a big old thing like that would be easy to find, but we had to look in three rooms, the very messy attic, and the garage again before Mom returned with The Baby from the playground and announced she’d already gotten it out of his closet and put it on their bed.

  I helped Dad gather his list of items, checking them off as we went: shirts, pants, underwear, socks, a toothbrush, a camera, batteries, phone cords, a deck of cards, and a travel-sized back scratcher in case he got itchy.

  By lunchtime, Dad was fully packed. He made me a “thanks for helping” grilled cheese sandwich and an iced sweet tea, and then I headed to my room to work on my newest hobby: backbend writing. I was upside down for several minutes, attempting to write my first name, when I felt the sensation—hot and cold. I gulped. A vision was coming—and it might be about the ghost!

  But no vision appeared. It turned out the “hot” was just a nice warm patch of sunlight streaming through my window, and the “cold” was me knocking over the glass of iced tea onto my leg.

  It was only after I’d cleaned up my mess and gone downstairs to watch some TV that I got that prickly, goose-bumpy feeling all over. This time, a tomorrow vision appeared for real: of a small, gray, whiskery mouse.

  Ew.

  6

  A couple of months ago, I really wanted a pet iguana. That didn’t quite work out. (It’s a long story involving a school fundraiser, a trip to the pet store, and a whole bunch of doggie tutus.) But the point is, even though I didn’t get an iguana, I still liked them. They’re smart, friendly, and surprisingly cute.

  The same cannot be said for mice. They are not geniuses, I don’t find them friendly, and they’re most certainly not cute. Which is why the next morning, after I woke up, sat on the edge of my bed, and remembered my vision, I yanked my feet up off the floor in pure panic. I scrunched up into a terrified ball, fearfully scanning my room for the creepy rodent. I didn’t know when I’d see it, or where it would be, or if it might bring along any mouse friends, but one thing was for sure: I’d be avoiding the floor for the rest of the day. I figured as long I didn’t have to leave my room, that shouldn’t be too hard.

  “Kid
s, breakfast!” Mom called from the kitchen.

  Well, this was a curve ball. How was I supposed to get to the kitchen without touching the floor? I had an idea. Standing on my bed, I slid my foot over to my nightstand, then onto my desk, then down to my beanbag chair, hopping from one piece of furniture to the next until I managed to get to my bedroom door. I smiled, delighted with my wildly clever thinking.

  Then I got to the hallway. There was nothing there but walls and a looooong stretch of floor, which I realize is what a hallway is, but it didn’t make me feel any better. And I wasn’t taking any chances. So when Milo came out of his room and walked past my door, I took a flying leap and landed on his back.

  “Piggyback me!” I screeched.

  “HEY!” Milo yowled, completely taken by surprise.

  He tried to wrestle me off him, but I held on tight, like I was on a bucking bronco at the rodeo, as he stumbled down the hallway. (Hey, he should be grateful—at least we didn’t have any stairs.) By the time he finally pried me loose, we were already in the kitchen, where, I’m happy to report, there was plenty of furniture to stand on. And they say big brothers are good-for-nothing, stinky armpits! (Actually, I don’t know for sure if anyone else says that, but I can confirm that I’ve said it numerous times.)

  Milo turned to me, angrily. “What is wrong with you, Hazy? You could have thrown my back out! I start my soccer clinic this week!”

  I apologized and told Milo I appreciated his kindness, and the good news was that I would not need his piggyback services for the rest of the morning. Unfortunately, The Baby had seen us and was now begging for a piggyback ride himself. And what was Milo going to do, reject a BABY? I giggled as Milo reluctantly heaved The Baby onto his back and galloped around the table, The Baby squealing in delight. That’s when I caught Mom looking at me.

  “Hazel, why are you standing on the kitchen table?”

  As a reminder, I was still avoiding the floor.

  “No reason,” I said, untruthfully.

  “Then please get down.”

  “I can’t.”

  “And why not?” Uh-oh. Mom, Dad, and Milo were now staring up at me, waiting for an answer. I needed to come clean.

  “Um … I think … there might be … a mouse?”

  The next thing that happened was what you might call “pandemonium.” Mom squealed and jumped up from her chair, knocking over the syrup, which Mr. Cheese starting lapping up. Dad tripped over Mr. Cheese, and Milo slipped on the floor, almost dropping The Baby, who was still on his back. Meanwhile, I stood patiently on the kitchen table watching my family basically go completely bananas.

  “Did you find it?” my mom screeched to Dad.

  “No!” Dad yelled back. “Hazy, where was it? Where did you see the mouse?”

  “Well, I didn’t … actually … see it … yet.”

  My entire family stopped and turned to me.

  “You didn’t see a mouse? They why did you say you did?” Dad asked.

  “I didn’t say I saw a mouse. I said there might be a mouse.”

  Mom put her hands on her hips and sent her laser glare my way. “Hazel Bloom, is this one of those times where you say you know something, but you won’t tell us how you know it, and we don’t know if we should believe you, but it causes everyone to go running around looking for a mouse?”

  So here’s the trickiest part about tomorrow power: Nobody knows. Well, except for me. And Elizabeth. From the very beginning, Elizabeth and I had decided that if I told other people, either they wouldn’t believe me, or they’d believe me and proceed to ask me every second of the day what would be happening tomorrow, which would become super annoying, for real live. Since neither of these seemed like good choices, we’d decided it was best to keep it a secret.

  This is why I answered Mom’s question the following way: “Yuppers.”

  I was sent to my room for making up stories about a pretend mouse. I didn’t even get a piggyback ride there.

  7

  “Hazy Bloom? What are you doing in our tree?”

  It was later that afternoon, my punishment was over, and I was now perched on a branch of the birch tree outside Elizabeth’s house. She had just arrived home from her first day at theater camp, and I had come over to greet her. As you might have guessed, I still hadn’t found the mouse.

  I told her about my vision.

  She nodded and then switched the subject immediately. “Guess what play we’re doing in theater camp?”

  “Hm … Is it—”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you!” she said, then paused for dramatic effect. “The Wizard of Oz! And guess what my part is?”

  “Uhhh, is it—”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you!” Another dramatic pause. I was expecting her to say “Dorothy” or “The Scarecrow” or “Glinda the Good Witch,” who I admired because she got to travel by bubble, which is obviously a fantastic mode of transportation.

  But instead Elizabeth said, “I’m a dancing winged monkey!”

  I had nothing to say about that. But Elizabeth did.

  “We have rehearsal every day, and then we’ll have dress rehearsal and a tech run. Do you know what that means? No, of course you don’t. But trust me, it’s very important. And the monkeys have this really cool dance and I have a SOLO in it. Isn’t that amazing? Yes, yes, it is!”

  If you didn’t catch that, Elizabeth just asked and answered her own question, which she liked to do sometimes. And given all of the energy I was spending avoiding a mouse, that was fine with me. She went on for a while, telling me about her rehearsals and costumes and how it was going to be so much fun.

  Then she stopped because I think she’d just remembered she was speaking to another actual person, me. She glanced at the ground.

  “I don’t see a mouse, Hazy Bloom. I think you can come down.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “You can’t stay up there all day! Besides, we need to figure out what your vision means.” She paused as if something had just occurred to her. “Maybe it has to do with the ghost next door!”

  “What would a mouse have to do with a ghost?”

  “It could be his pet.”

  “Ghosts don’t have pets!” I paused. “Do they?”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms defiantly. “Well, you’re not going to find out by sitting in that tree.”

  We stared at each other for about ten more seconds before I said, “Fine. I’ll come down.” It wasn’t really that Elizabeth had convinced me of anything. The truth is, my bottom hurt from sitting on that branch for so long. Also, Elizabeth had begun tap-dancing on the sidewalk, so my decision was kind of made for me.

  I climbed down from the tree, and Elizabeth and I began discussing how we could locate the mouse from my vision. I suggested setting mousetraps all the way from her house to mine. Elizabeth said we should try to lure the mouse to us with music, like the Pied Piper, which she pointed out would be a lot less gross than catching it in a trap and would also allow her to play her recorder.

  In the end, we decided to go to my house, build a fort, and get started on one of the seven businesses we planned to have by tenth grade. And if we found a mouse along the way, we’d deal with it then.

  As we made our way down the sidewalk, I carefully followed each of Elizabeth’s footsteps so I was sure not to step on a mouse. This plan was working well when all of a sudden—just as we were passing the Thibodeauxs’ house—a skateboard decorated with a lightning bolt whizzed toward us, and the shock of it sent me tumbling to the ground.

  “Hey!” I hollered. I looked up angrily to see who the skateboarder was, and my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  It was Mapefrl.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, offended that he was appearing in my life outside a school setting.

  “I’m visiting my uncle. He lives one street over,” he replied. “What are YOU doing here?”

  “I live here. This is my street,” I said.

  “Oh, you own it?” he sho
t back. “Like, you’re the queen of your street?” He took a snack bag of cheese puffs out of his pocket and started loudly crunching away.

  This would be a good time to mention that Mapefrl was clearly just as annoying when we weren’t in school.

  Elizabeth piped in. “Yes. She’s the queen of the street, and she commands you leave at once! Right, Hazy?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I command it.” Then I added, “At once.”

  “You can’t command me to leave!”

  “Oh yes I can!”

  Soon we were yelling back and forth, arguing about what a queen does and whether she can actually rule a street, when I suddenly stopped cold. Because that’s when I saw something scurrying across the ground.

  It looked like a mouse.

  I screamed.

  Elizabeth screamed.

  Then we ran like our lives depended on it, across the Thibodeauxs’ lawn and straight into their backyard, where we crouched behind an empty planter. From my hiding spot I could hear Mapefrl skateboarding away, probably heading back to his uncle’s house. I was so freaked out about the mouse, I couldn’t even enjoy the fact that he was now gone.

  “Do you see it?” I said, looking around in alarm. “The mouse?”

  “No, but it could be anywhere!” Elizabeth said back.

  We braced ourselves, listening intently for any sign the mouse was nearby. And that’s when I heard a completely different noise altogether. A horrible, unsettling rattling sound. It was coming from inside the Thibodeauxs’ house. I suddenly realized something even worse than encountering a mouse: being in the Thibodeauxs’ backyard meant we were now possibly very close to a ghost.