by Joe McGee
The old car burst out through the open gate and screeched a hard right. Two hubcaps went clattering off. The boys jumped curbs and cut corners and pumped their legs like madmen, desperate to outrun the clattering old car. The headlights kept on them, holding them like flies in a spider’s web.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
The mustache laid on the horn. It swerved left and right, keeping on the kids’ trail. “We’ve got to make the woods!” Parker said.
They reached the mill and turned onto the covered bridge. They biked back through the shadows. Their tires slapped along the bouncing floorboards of the bridge, echoing across the long, dark tunnel.
They emerged from the other end, just as the junkyard car’s tires squealed around the corner and the old car sped toward them. Parker reached the trail first and dropped down the embankment, bouncing over roots and rocks. Lucas was next. “Hold on!” he said to Samantha von Oppelstein.
She gripped the handlebars tight and closed her eyes.
Lucas had just dropped down the trail when the car passed under the streetlight and skidded to a stop.
The old car backed up and turned toward the forest. It shone its headlights on the wall of pine trees that had already swallowed the kids.
The thought of riding through those woods at night would normally have been terrifying enough to stop them. The woods were dark, and spooky, and it was rumored that all sorts of creatures lurked within, just waiting to make a meal out of children foolish enough to enter at night. But these thoughts did not cross their minds. Not when they had a haunted mustache on their tail that would not stop until it had Parker’s lip and the Handsome Hank’s mustache wax he carried in his pocket. They rode through the woods as fast as they could, up and down bumps and over fallen branches. The trees were so thick that the moonlight barely cut through. There were twisted roots and half-buried stones everywhere, and branches smacked them in the face more than once. It was not an easy ride, and Samantha von Oppelstein’s teeth rattled as she held on for dear life.
They emerged from the forest trail and slid to a stop so that they could catch their breath. One end of the trail led down to town, and the other branch led up to the old Hill Crest Manor. Gnarly trees, scrubland brush and bushes, and tall brown grass stretched in both directions.
“There it is,” said Samantha von Oppelstein. She slid off Lucas’s handlebars.
The cold, lonely shell of the old manor rose out of the grass off to their right. The brick wall that marked the boundary of the estate was covered in creeping vines and ivy. A twisted, spiked metal fence marked the entranceway to the old haunt. Boarded-up windows seemed to call the kids forward.
“Susie Robbins said her cousin spent a night there,” Samantha von Oppelstein said. “She never came back out.”
“Billy Weeks said he knew a kid who stared at the tower window too long,” Parker said. “One week later he was blind.”
“And you really want to go in there?” Lucas asked.
“We have to, right?” Parker said. “After all of this? It’ll just come back for us next year, won’t it?”
Samantha von Oppelstein nodded. “That’s what it says in Lester’s Lore and Legends. Ghosts keep grudges. Obviously this one is super angry. If we trap it here in its last living home and make sure the rays of the rising sun shine on it, it’ll be put to rest forever.”
“And we’ll be safe,” said Parker.
“And we’ll be safe,” said Samantha von Oppelstein. “Us and Wolver Hollow.”
“I’m still going to have nightmares,” Lucas muttered.
A car horn blared out from deep in the woods behind them. From where they stood, they were able to see headlights slowly bouncing along the bumps and twists of the trail.
“It’s coming,” said Lucas.
They left their bikes against the brick wall and slipped through the sagging gate, one by one. The manor’s front yard was a mess of dead grass and briars and piles of decaying leaves. They didn’t waste any time as they hurried up the rotting front steps. The crooked house seemed like it was one strong wind away from blowing down.
“What’s holding this place together?” Lucas asked. “Termites?”
“I’m beginning to think that about this entire town,” Parker said. “I never really realized until tonight that Wolver Hollow is one run-down old place.”
“I could have told you that,” said Samantha von Oppelstein. She took a deep breath and pushed the front door open. The old hinges creaked and groaned. A breeze blew up from behind them, scattering leaves inside the dusty old foyer.
“Are we going in?” Lucas asked. “Or are we going to just stand out here until the mustache shows up?”
“The doorway is filled with cobwebs,” Samantha von Oppelstein said. “I’m not going through that.”
“I thought you liked creepy things,” said Lucas.
“I have my limits,” she said.
“Let me see,” said Parker. He took his flashlight out of his backpack and used it to clear the webs. “They’re just spiders. Beautiful, actually. There.”
“At least the flashlight is good for something now,” said Samantha von Oppelstein.
“No, wait,” Parker said. “That’s right! I forgot, I brought spare batteries! But let’s get inside first.”
Parker stepped through the doorway and into the old house. Samantha von Oppelstein and Lucas followed, and the front door creaked shut behind them.
11
The house smelled stale, like laundry that had been sitting in the hamper too long, and there were spiderwebs everywhere. Something fluttered above them, and the branches of an old tree scratched at the window.
Parker found his batteries and got his flashlight working again. He shone it around the foyer and through the open doors on either side of them. The place was still filled with old furniture, all covered in dusty drop cloths.
A knobby hatstand lurked in one corner, and the fireplace mantel held chipped candelabras.
Something swooped down over their heads, and the three of them screamed and ducked.
“Bats,” said Parker. He shone his light up into the rafters of the second floor.
The rain turned from a light and steady drizzle to a heavy downpour, and a huge bolt of lightning brightened the sky.
“It’s Bockius,” Lucas said.
“The lightning?” Parker asked.
“No, on the wall. Shine your light over there.”
Parker aimed his flashlight where Lucas pointed. A large portrait of Bockius Beauregard hung on the wall, halfway up the stairs. He glared down at the kids through his bushy, black, angry eyebrows. But what really got their attention was the mustache that covered half of his face. It was the same mustache. The same mustache that had been chasing them all night.
And, as if on cue, a car pulled up out front. The headlights shone through the grimy front windows for a second, and then the engine turned off.
“Upstairs,” said Samantha von Oppelstein, pushing Lucas toward the steps.
“But the bats,” said Lucas.
“But the mustache,” Parker said.
“Good point,” Lucas said.
Parker led the way up the steep and narrow steps. He shivered as he passed by Bockius’s portrait. They’d just reached the second-floor landing when the front door creaked open.
Parker turned his flashlight off, and all three of them crouched, peering down into the foyer.
Ever so slowly, the haunted mustache drifted in through the open doorway. The moon was bright behind it, adding to its ghostly blue glow.
The mustache tested the air, as if it could sniff out the kids.
Parker gulped.
“Which way is east?” Samantha von Oppelstein whispered.
“That way, I think,” Lucas said. He pointed toward the front of the house.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Lucas thought for a minute. His mom had made a big deal about planting her sunflowers where they got the most li
ght, especially in the morning. She’d planted them on the side of the house, the side facing the park. The front of Hill Crest Manor faced the park too, so…
“Yes,” he said. “Positive.”
“Okay, let’s go,” said Samantha von Oppelstein. “Quietly. No flashlight.”
They crept, as quiet as mice, toward the room at the front of the house. It was at the far end of the upstairs hallway. They were halfway there when a loose board creaked loud enough to send the bats fluttering.
The haunted mustache looked up and then began to ascend the stairs.
“Go!” Samantha von Oppelstein shouted. They rushed down the hallway toward the door at the far end.
Parker reached it first, but when he grabbed the handle and turned, it wouldn’t budge.
“Hurry!” Lucas said.
“I’m trying!” said Parker. He shook the knob and turned it and pushed against the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked!”
The haunted mustache floated up the narrow stairs. When it reached the landing, it twitched the ends of its crusty, whiskery curls.
Parker pulled out the Handsome Hank’s mustache wax and held it up.
“T-take it,” he said. “You can have it. All of it! Just leave us alone!”
“Move over,” Samantha von Oppelstein hissed. She elbowed Parker out of the way.
The mustache drifted closer.
“There!” Samantha von Oppelstein said. She turned the knob and pushed the door open.
“How?” asked Lucas, stumbling inside.
“Key!” said Samantha von Oppelstein. She held up the key from her great-great-great-grandfather’s crypt. “Doesn’t take much to jiggle these old locks open.”
The haunted mustache surged down the hallway.
Parker dove in after them, and Lucas slammed the door shut.
12
It was a small room with peeling wallpaper on three sides and one large window looking out over the front yard. The kind of window that was sure to let in lots of sun in the morning.
Samantha von Oppelstein yanked open the moth-eaten curtains and let the moonlight spill into the room. Rain painted the window with violent, splattering drops.
“That was close,” Lucas said.
“Too close,” said Parker.
Something banged on the door. Then two bangs. The door shook and the doorknob rattled.
“Did you lock it?” Parker asked.
“Yes, but, like I said, it’s an old lock,” said Samantha von Oppelstein.
“An old door, too,” said Lucas. “Any second now, and that mustache is going to knock the whole thing right off the hinges.”
Four furious bangs in a row.
Parker stood with his back to the big window.
“This is the spot,” he said. “This is where we trap him! The salt!”
“Got it!” said Samantha von Oppelstein. She poured a semicircle of salt a foot away from Parker. The mustache would not be able to cross it to get to Parker.
BOOM!
The door bulged inward, and one of the hinges snapped.
BOOM!
Parker held his breath.
“Behind the curtain!” Lucas said.
He and Samantha von Oppelstein hid behind the folds of the curtain while Parker stood before the window, holding the open tin of Handsome Hank’s mustache wax.
“This is going to work, right?” Parker said. His stomach felt like those bats were flying circles in it.
Before anyone could answer him, the door flew off the hinges and crashed to the floor.
The haunted mustache pulled itself through the open doorway and locked on Parker. Parker stood, trembling.
The mustache twisted its curls and then rocketed toward Parker.
Parker closed his eyes and waited for the mustache to latch on to his lip, but nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, the mustache floated one foot away from him. It had stopped, pressed against an invisible barrier as if it were up against a window. The semicircle of salt had worked again! The mustache could not cross it.
Samantha von Oppelstein ran out from behind the curtain and started dumping salt to close off the circle. She was quick, quicker than the mustache. Before it could move out of the circle, she’d finished pouring.
The mustache darted to the left and could not escape. To the right and found no way out. It spun in circles, not able to go anywhere.
The haunted mustache was trapped.
Lucas tugged the curtain open just a bit wider, making sure that come sunrise, every bit of sun would pour into the room.
Parker let out a huge sigh of relief. Lucas and Samantha von Oppelstein high-fived.
“We did it!” Lucas screamed. “We trapped the haunted mustache!”
“You will never steal another lip,” Parker said. He slipped the mustache wax into his pocket. “Or haunt Wolver Hollow ever again!”
“Rest in peace, mustache,” said Samantha von Oppelstein. “You’re back where you belong.”
“It’s over,” Parker added.
The mustache spun around, watching Parker, Lucas, and Samantha von Oppelstein back out of the room. It floated there, heaving, simmering, staring at their lips but unable to move from the ring of salt. They hurried down the steps and out of the old house, eager to be as far from the haunted mustache as they could. Trapped or not, they didn’t want to take any chances. Fortunately, the storm had become a light drizzle, and the lightning and thunder had stopped. They grabbed their bikes and rode the trail down toward town.
They held their breath without realizing it and didn’t exhale until they reached Samantha von Oppelstein’s house.
“Thanks,” Parker said. “For all that legends and lore stuff.”
“Yeah,” said Lucas. “You were quick with that salt.”
Samantha von Oppelstein smiled. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed that for the world!”
“Here you go,” said Parker. He reached into his bag and handed Samantha von Oppelstein a Midnight Owl Detective Agency badge. “Now you’re official.”
“Really?” she said.
“Yeah, you earned it!” said Lucas.
Samantha von Oppelstein pinned the badge to her dress. “Thanks! I’d better get in the house before someone wakes up. Talk to you guys tomorrow!”
The boys waved goodbye and hurried down the street to Parker’s house. Parker peeked in the living room window. His mom was still asleep on the couch in front of the glow of the television.
They climbed the trellis, crawled across the porch roof, and slipped back in through Parker’s window.
They were in dry pajamas and under their blankets in minutes.
“Do you really think it’s over?” Lucas asked.
“I do,” said Parker. “The Case of the Haunted Mustache is hereby closed.”
He yawned.
Lucas yawned.
They were both snoring a few minutes later.
13
The mustache floated there in the circle of salt, unable to escape. The sun was just starting to rise. In the next few minutes, the sun would light up the room, and the mustache would be forever returned to the grave. Its whiskers sagged in defeat.
Something scurried out from the corner of the room. Something small and furry. The rat stopped and licked its paws, then rubbed its whiskers. It sniffed the air. The rat dropped to all fours and scampered to the line of salt on the floor. It began to lick and chew on the salt, and after several seconds had passed, it had disturbed enough of the salt that the ring was no longer complete.
The mustache slipped out of its prison. It reached up with the curly ends of its filthy whiskers and pulled the heavy curtains closed before the sun could fill the room.
Then it traced out one word in the salt.
Revenge.
And that, my friends, is exactly how it happened. But don’t worry, Parker, Lucas, and Samantha von Oppelstein were okay. The mustache never did return for them, and nobody recalled hearing
about it or seeing it in those parts again. Some say that it moved on, found a new town to haunt, new lips to seek.
Maybe it moved to a town near you. Or maybe… maybe it’s in your very town right now.
Be wary, friends. For when the moon is full and the crickets stop chirping, that old mustache may return, forever seeking a new lip to call its own.
Maybe even yours.
Be ready.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have come into being if it were not for the great writers’ group that I was a part of. Donna Galanti, Erica George, and my awesome wife, Jess Rinker, thank you. I still remember sitting around the table and Donna retelling a historical story about an explosion that happened in the small town of Stockton, New Jersey. Donna uttered one sentence that stuck in my brain and refused to leave: “His mustache was all that remained.” And, as writers are apt to do, I followed my imagination, and a story developed. It wasn’t this story, not at first. It was a different story, and it took many shapes and sizes as I played around with it.
I’d like to thank the Highlights Foundation. It was on a retreat at Highlights that the idea for the Night Frights series was born, and this story, The Haunted Mustache, was to be the first of the many creepy tales in the series. Highlights is a great place for writers to sit with their story sparks and ruminate. Amazing things can come from time alone with your words and your imagination.
I’d be remiss if I did not thank Keith Strunk, actor, writer, all around modern-day Shakespeare. It was his book on Stockton, New Jersey, that prompted Donna to recount the tale in the first place. And here we are.
A great big thank-you to my superstar agent, Jennifer Soloway. You are a treasure, and I’m beyond fortunate to be represented by you. Thank you for your tireless work, amazing support, and endless enthusiasm. I’m proud to have you in my corner.
Thank you, as always, to my editor at Aladdin, Karen Nagel. You’re like a wizard, Karen. Your insight and editorial eye are amazing. You know me, my style, my voice, my strengths and weaknesses, and deftly push, pull, and prod me in the direction that the story needs to go, and when we’re done, we have something far greater than I even imagined it could be. Thank you for continuing to give me the opportunity to create.
