by Joe McGee
“Always know!” said the librarian, popping her head around the corner again and then slipping back into the hallway. “Always know…,” she said. Her voice trailed down the hallway, away from them.
Parker and Lucas waited to make sure she wasn’t going to poke her head back in, before they said anything.
“How’d she get down from the balcony so quick?” Parker whispered.
“Who cares,” said Lucas. “Let’s just check the story and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
Parker opened the creaky old book. Pages and pages of age-yellowed newspaper clippings had been carefully placed in protective plastic. A centipede slithered out from the binding, and Lucas nearly screamed.
“Scutigera coleoptrata,” said Parker. “Common house centipede.”
“You know I hate bugs, Parker,” said Lucas.
“It’s gone,” said Parker, turning the pages. “Here it is, October 19, 1888. Look! It’s the front-page article.”
The headline read Quarry Explosion Rocks Wolver Hollow, and underneath that was a grainy photograph of a man standing before what must have been the black powder storehouse. He stared directly at the boys.
“It’s so hard to see anything,” said Lucas. “The photo is so old!”
“Hold on, I’ve got just the thing,” said Parker. He reached into his pocket and took out a small magnifying glass. It had been a gift from his aunt Clementine Foggbottom to help him with his detective work. And for looking at bugs. Parker fancied himself a bit of an entomologist.
Parker leaned forward and studied the picture. It wasn’t the man’s dark eyes, or the tall hat he held in his hand, or even the caption that read Bockius Beauregard, longtime quarry employee, was, unfortunately, exploded. No, what caught Parker’s attention was his mustache. It was, indeed, a magnificent mustache. Mr. Noffler had not been exaggerating.
It was thick and full, completely hiding his upper lip. But not one whisker dared grow longer than any other. Every. Single. Hair. Was trimmed, in line, with the hairs to the right and the left of it. Bockius’s mustache stretched from ear to ear in a breathtaking swoop of precisely waxed curls. Starting from right under each nostril, Bockius’s mustache was like a gentle ski slope, a downhill ride that suddenly became a complete corkscrew, a roller coaster that turned upside down and back out again, in a loop so defined, so exact, that you could place a nickel in that space and it would fit there perfectly.
Bockius Beauregard’s mustache was truly something to behold.
“Let me have a look,” said Lucas.
Parker handed the magnifying glass over, and Lucas scooted closer to the book.
“He doesn’t look very happy in this picture.”
“I don’t think anyone was happy back then,” said Parker. “Who could be happy when you had to go out back to a wooden outhouse in the middle of winter to poop?”
“Good point,” said Lucas. He read through the rest of the article. “Well, Mr. Noffler’s story checks out. The explosion was as big as he said, and the mustache was really all that remained.”
“Let me see,” said Parker. He slid the book closer and turned a few pages. “Here’s an article about his memorial service.” Parker and Lucas leaned in, reading the old print.
Parker stopped and tapped at one line in particular. Nothing could ever get between him and his mustache, read the article. “I’d sooner be caught dead than to be without my mustache,” said Bockius Beauregard, days before the unfortunate accident in which he was exploded.
Lucas read the next line aloud. “ ‘Mr. Beauregard, of Hill Crest Manor, was known to apply one tin of Handsome Hank’s mustache wax to his magnificent mustache weekly.’ ”
“Well, that’s just it!” said Parker.
“What is?”
“We need some Handsome Hank’s,” Parker said. “If there is a haunted mustache, it stands to reason that it comes back as a ghost because it can’t rest, right? I’ll bet it appears by the grave of Bockius Beauregard, right?”
“Okay, that makes sense,” said Lucas. “And when… if we find it there, then what?”
“We’d need something to put it at ease,” Parker said. “Something to connect it to its former life so it doesn’t have to be restless anymore. I’ll bet Handsome Hank’s mustache wax would put the ghost to rest and stop it from haunting Wolver Hollow.”
“Where are we supposed to get Handsome Hank’s mustache wax?” Lucas asked.
Parker shrugged. “The pharmacy?”
“You think it’s that simple?”
“Maybe the ghost won’t be angry anymore. Maybe it’ll be reminded of Bockius and it can finally rest in peace. A happy, no-longer-haunted mustache.”
Lucas was about to say something else, something about the old Hill Crest Manor, but the grainy picture of the memorial service caught his attention. He took the magnifying glass from Parker and got so close to the old article that his nose touched the book.
“Isn’t that the librarian?” he asked, sitting back up. “In the picture?”
Parker was just about to have a look for himself when the librarian’s voice startled them.
“You boys find everything you were looking for?” she asked. She took the book from them and closed it.
“You have to stop doing that!” Parker said.
“Doing what, dear?”
“Sneaking up on us,” said Lucas.
She just smiled and leaned in closer. She smelled a bit like rotten eggs, like that sulfur smell from chemistry class. Lucas thought he saw that centipede slide around the back of her ear and crawl up into her hair.
Parker tapped the table.
“It’s just an old legend, right?” he asked the librarian as she climbed the ladder to the top shelf.
“Is it?” she said.
“If it’s not a legend, then why has no one died since then?” Parker asked.
She slid the book back into place. “How do you know they haven’t?”
Parker and Lucas gulped.
“Why has no one seen it?” Lucas asked.
“Who says they haven’t?” said the librarian.
The boys got goose bumps.
“How do we stop it from trying to steal our lips if we’re just trying to help it?” Parker asked.
“You boys ask a lot of questions,” she said. “I’d suggest you read Lester’s Lore and Legends, but it’s already been checked out. I’ll tell you this, though. Most spirits just want their old life back, or at least some part of it.”
Parker nudged Lucas. “See? Handsome Hank’s mustache wax.”
“If the mustache can’t have Bockius,” the librarian continued, “perhaps it would settle for its old home.”
“Hill Crest Manor,” Parker and Lucas said at the same time.
The old librarian grinned. “But first you’d have to get it there.”
“How do you know all of this?” asked Lucas.
The old librarian grinned wider. “I read.”
She escorted the boys out of the archives and closed the velvet rope behind them.
They thanked her for helping them and made their way to the front doors.
“Old Giroux’s cabin,” she said, just as Parker was about to open the front door.
The boys turned, unsure what she was talking about.
“That’s where the records are,” she said. “That’s how you’ll find Bockius’s grave. A boy can get into all sorts of trouble wandering around a cemetery at night. Best he knows where he’s going when he’s got business to attend to. Good luck.”
Parker nodded. Lucas tugged at his elbow, and they stepped out of the dark library and into the light of the late-afternoon sun.
“I am never going in there again,” said Lucas.
Parker glanced behind them. The librarian stood in the window watching them.
“Me neither,” said Parker.
3
They walked their bikes down the street in silence for a bit. They passed the pet store
, with a litter of black kittens in the window. The kittens hissed and spit and clawed the air as the boys walked past. Church Street was just a block ahead, and the entrance to the old cemetery was at the end of it.
“Do you believe any of what she said?” Lucas asked. “And did you get a look at that last picture? I swear that was the librarian. But she didn’t look a day different!”
“I don’t know about any of it,” said Parker. “But I suppose that’s why it’s a mystery. If the mustache is real, it seems most likely that it will appear at Bockius’s grave tomorrow night. If it appears, we can lure it with some Handsome Hank’s mustache wax back to Hill Crest Manor.”
“Then what?” Lucas asked. “How do we put it to rest? Do we just hand over the mustache wax and say ‘See ya later, ghost mustache. Have a good night. Please stop haunting our town’?”
“I’ll bet that book would tell us,” Parker said. “Lester’s Lore and Legends.”
“But you heard the librarian. It’s checked out.”
“I think I know who checked it out.”
“Who?” Lucas asked.
Parker clapped Lucas on the shoulder. “Think about it. Who else would bother to check out a book on spirits and monsters?”
“You?”
“Samantha von Oppelstein!” said Parker. “She must have checked it out. She was just telling me how she likes to write poetry in the cemetery.”
“That’s odd,” said Lucas.
“That’s what I said!” Parker said.
A police car drove by slowly, and Sheriff Macklin stared at them through his mirrored sunglasses. Lucas and Parker waited until he passed before continuing. The way he looked at them, it was as if he somehow knew what they were conspiring about. Or maybe they were just being paranoid.
“What about the curfew?” asked Lucas.
“We’ll have to be careful,” said Parker. “You can sleep over my house tomorrow night, and we’ll sneak out from there.”
“Parker, how am I supposed to convince my parents to let me sleep over tomorrow night? They’ll never let me out of the house on October 19!”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Meet me at the gazebo tomorrow at noon.” Parker hopped on his bike and pedaled down Second Street. “And bring whatever money you have,” he called over his shoulder. “We need to buy some Handsome Hank’s!”
* * *
The gazebo was not empty when Lucas arrived the next day. Samantha von Oppelstein sat on the railing, reading through an old black book.
“Hey,” said Lucas. He looked around for Parker. “You haven’t seen—”
“Parker?” she asked, not looking up.
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“I’m supposed to meet him here,” said Lucas. “Detective business.”
“I know.”
“You know?” Lucas laid his bike in the grass. “How do you know?”
“He told me,” she said. “Asked me to meet him here too.”
Lucas tried to see what she was reading. “Is that—”
“Lester’s Lore and Legends? Yes.”
Parker turned the corner of Pine and Mill, pedaling toward them. Lucas breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea what to say to Samantha von Oppelstein, and she seemed more interested in the book than in talking with him.
“You came,” said Parker. He coasted up to the gazebo.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” said Samantha von Oppelstein. “So, let’s hear it.” She closed the book, slid off the railing, and leaned on the inside of the gazebo. “What’s the Midnight Owl Detective Agency up to?”
“Well, it’s like this,” Parker began, and he told her everything they’d learned in the library yesterday and what they planned to do. “But once we get the mustache to Hill Crest Manor, we don’t know what to do.”
“And the librarian said the answers were in that book,” Lucas said.
“Then you’re in luck,” said Samantha von Oppelstein.
“We are?” Parker and Lucas asked at the same time.
“Yep,” she said. She hugged the book against her. “But I want in.”
“In what?” asked Parker.
“The Midnight Owl Detective Agency?” Lucas asked.
“Yep,” she said. “In on the agency and in on this case.”
“But you said you didn’t believe the legend,” Parker said.
“The agency isn’t for girls…,” Lucas sputtered. “I mean, the agency is just—”
“Well, then I guess you won’t know how to get rid of your ghost,” she said. She took two steps toward the gazebo exit.
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Parker.
Samantha von Oppelstein stopped and looked at the boys. She raised one eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“You can help us with the case,” Parker said.
“And?” she asked. One corner of her mouth rose in a slight smirk.
Parker nudged Lucas in the ribs.
“You can join the detective agency,” Lucas said.
Samantha von Oppelstein smiled. “Good. Then here’s what we need to do….”
According to what Samantha von Oppelstein had read in Lester’s Lore and Legends, once the restless ghost was drawn to the last place it called home, it had to be trapped in a circle of salt, in full view of the rising sun. Once the sunlight fell upon the spirit, it would find peace and never again be able to rise from the dead and haunt the living.
“So all we need now is some salt and a tin of Handsome Hank’s mustache wax!” Parker said.
Samantha von Oppelstein volunteered to bring the salt, and Parker and Lucas scraped together the change and few crumpled dollar bills they had to buy the mustache wax at Silverman’s Pharmacy.
“You’re in luck,” said Mr. Silverman, handing them a tin of Handsome Hank’s mustache wax: GUARANTEED TO SHAPE YOUR ’STACHE! “Last tin left. Now you kids better get home and get inside.”
Mr. Silverman closed the door behind them and flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.
“Hill Crest Manor is haunted, you know,” Samantha von Oppelstein said as they walked their bikes along the sidewalk.
“So is the cemetery,” said Lucas.
“I suppose we shall see soon enough,” said Parker, turning down his street. “Samantha, Lucas and I will meet you at the sign on the edge of town when the sun goes down.”
“Don’t chicken out,” she said.
“As if!” said Lucas.
“Oh, we’ll be there, mustaches, mustache wax, and all,” said Parker. “Don’t forget the salt.”
Samantha von Oppelstein gave them two thumbs up and turned down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
“Parker?” said Lucas.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.”
A slight gust of wind kicked up, swirling a pile of autumn leaves, and overhead, dark clouds began to form.
4
Lucas managed to convince his parents to let him stay at Parker’s house as long as he promised to wear his mustache and to stay inside.
“Well, you’ll only be breaking one of those promises,” Parker said. “You will be wearing your mustache.”
“I don’t like breaking any of those promises,” Lucas said, trying his mustache on in the mirror. He reached for the tin of Handsome Hank’s, but Parker pulled it away.
“You can’t use this!” he said. “We need a full and complete tin in order to lure that mustache to Hill Crest Manor. And you’re going to have to break the second promise. We already told Samantha von Oppelstein we’d be there, and if we don’t show up, she’ll think we’re chickens. Even worse, she’ll be out there, alone, when the mustache is on the hunt.”
“If there’s a mustache,” said Lucas.
“If the mustache exists,” Parker agreed. “If it doesn’t, then the Midnight Owl Detective Agency can put this case to rest and prove to the town that October 19 is no longer a date to be terrified of.”
Aft
er dinner, the boys waited in Parker’s room until it was dark. The plan had been to wait until Parker’s mom sat down in the living room to watch television, before slipping out Parker’s bedroom window and down the ivy-covered trellis. That way she wouldn’t see them from the kitchen window. But tonight, of all nights, she decided to put together a puzzle at the kitchen table.
“What do we do now?” Lucas asked.
“We just have to wait,” Parker said, peeking around the corner of the kitchen doorway. “Every once in a while she decides to do a puzzle. This appears to be a thousand-piece puzzle. She’ll be frustrated in half an hour, forty-five minutes tops, and then give up and go watch TV. Happens all the time.”
Parker and Lucas watched the clouds get darker and angrier, unable to do anything but think about what may be waiting for them in the cemetery. Finally, as Parker had predicted, his mom gave a very loud and frustrated sigh. Her footsteps clicked across the wood floor, and the television snapped on.
“Go time,” said Parker.
He slipped his bedroom window open, and the boys quietly climbed out. They crawled along the porch roof and then down the ivy-covered trellis. Once on the ground, they dared a peek through the living room window. Parker’s mom sat on the couch, watching some old black-and-white television show. The light from the TV cast her shadow, and the shadow of her fake mustache, on the wall behind her.
“Let’s go,” Parker whispered. He shouldered his backpack. It was filled with gloves, bug spray, flashlights, extra batteries, and a tin of Handsome Hank’s mustache wax: GUARANTEED TO SHAPE YOUR ’STACHE!
“Hold on,” said Lucas. He pressed his mustache harder against his face. “How’s it look?”
“Good,” Parker whispered. “Mine?”
“Perfect,” said Lucas.
“Oh, almost forgot…” Parker reached back into his bag and took out two cardboard Midnight Owl Detective Agency badges that he’d made. He pinned one to his shirt with the attached safety pin. “Figured that a case this big deserved a badge.”
“Cool!” said Lucas.
“Now we’re official,” Parker said.
