Baby-Sitters' Haunted House

by Ann M. Martin

  We did a lot of shuffling around and discussing, but, finally, we settled on the following room assignments.

  By the time we figured out our room arrangements, Lionel and Jason were already in their rooms with the doors closed. I took Martha and Karen to their room and put them to sleep with a story. When I came back into the hall I saw that Jill was sleepily trailing Dawn. (“I’ll go to sleep when you do, Dawn.”)

  I returned to my own room and looked around. I don’t think the third floor of the west wing had been used in a very long time. The Coopers had done their best to dust and air everything out. And the beds were made up with fresh sheets. But I had this eerie feeling that I’d gone back in time. As I took in the details of the room I imagined another girl — a hundred years earlier — touching the very same curtain, seeing her reflection in the same mirror, sleeping in the same bed. A shiver ran up my spine. I was glad my friends and I had decided to leave the doors to the hall and between our rooms opened while we unpacked and got ready for bed.

  I studied the headboard of the bed. It was decorated with a night view of a stormy sea and a lighthouse. A painted shaft of light beamed from a lighthouse across the painted sea.

  After I put my clothes away I opened my casement window and looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. I could hear its roar and feel the moist, salty breeze on my face. I noticed a moving beam of light playing its way over the ocean. “Kristy,” I called. “Come here.”

  Claudia, Dawn, Kristy, and Jill ran into my room. We stood at my window watching as the rough sea was illuminated section by section. “A lighthouse,” I explained, “just like the one painted on my headboard.”

  “This place feels weird to me,” Dawn whispered. “I bet it’s haunted.”

  “Come on, Dawn,” I whispered back. “Don’t start. We need a good night’s sleep if we’re going to be baby-sitting all day tomorrow.”

  Just then I felt a furry mass brush against my leg. I shrieked. The furry mass jumped on my bed, arched its back, and hissed at me. It was a black cat with green eyes. I screamed again. This time Claudia, Dawn, and Kristy joined in.

  But Jill said, “Oh, there you are, Spooky.” She walked toward the cat. “You scared my new friends.”

  “That’s your cat?” Dawn asked Jill. (I was still speechless from the fright.)

  “Sort of,” Jill answered. “It was already here when we came. I guess it was great-uncle Randolph’s.”

  Spooky let Jill pick him up, but his eyes were still trained on me. I love cats. I do. But a black one, slinking out of nowhere?

  “Okay, Jill,” Dawn said. “It is definitely time for bed. I’ll read you a story.”

  After Dawn, Jill, and Spooky left, I said, “I think I’ll close my door.”

  “Me, too,” said Claud as she darted across the hall.

  Kristy and I decided to leave the doors between our rooms opened and she returned to her bedroom. I slid between the clean sheets and tried to calm down by writing in our Reese Notebook. (The BSC notebook was back in Stoneybrook with Mal and Jessi.)

  When I finished my notebook entry and turned off my lamp, I lay in bed listening to the creaks and groans of the mansion. I couldn’t close my eyes, much less sleep. I told myself that of course there are creaks and groans. This is a windy night, in a very old house that isn’t used to having so many people in it. That’s when I saw a flickering light under the door to the hall. At first I thought it must be the beam from the lighthouse, but then I realized the lighthouse didn’t shine in the house. Flicker. Flicker. There it was again.

  I lay stiffly in bed, barely breathing. I was afraid if I stayed alone in my room my heart would burst with fright. The doors between my room and Kristy’s were still open. I took a deep breath, jumped out of bed, and flew through the bathroom to Kristy’s room. She was sitting up in bed, staring at the door to her room. Andrew was asleep, so I whispered, “Did you see that?”

  Kristy nodded.

  “Maybe someone turned on the hall light, and the bulb’s nearly burned out, so it’s flickering,” I suggested.

  “It looks like candlelight,” Kristy said.

  “Ohh — ohh.” We heard a low ghostly moan in the hall. “Oh-hh.”

  I grabbed Kristy.

  We sat there holding our breath — and each other — as we stared at the door. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the flickering light went out and the moaning ended.

  Silence.

  “Do you think Claud and Dawn heard that?” Kristy asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m not going over there to find out.”

  I spent the night in Kristy’s room. By the time I finally fell asleep, I wasn’t so sure that I was glad to be in the historic seaside town of Reese, Maine.

  “Guys,” Kristy said, “if this is such a big house, why are we all crowded into one little bathroom?”

  It was seven-thirty on our first morning in Reese, and Kristy, Claud, Mary Anne, and I were brushing our teeth in what was probably the only small room in the mansion — the bathroom between Kristy’s and Mary Anne’s rooms.

  As I brushed my teeth, my elbow caught Kristy in the neck. “Sorry,” I gurgled.

  “There is another bathroom right down the hall,” Kristy commented.

  “Claud and I heard and saw some pretty weird things last night —” Rinse. Rinse. Spit. Spit. “— in that hall,” I said.

  In the mirror I saw a look pass between Mary Anne and Kristy. I figured they’d seen and heard some pretty weird things, too. Then we were all talking at once, comparing notes on the ghost.

  “Maybe it was our imaginations,” Mary Anne said. “You know, because we’re in a strange place and everything.”

  “But we all imagined the same thing,” I replied. “That’s called ‘evidence,’ not ‘imagination.’ ”

  A sleepy voice accompanied a knock on the bathroom door. “Dawn, are you in there?”

  It was Jill. Kristy put a finger to her lips as we exchanged a look silently agreeing not to talk about ghostly matters in front of the Menders kids.

  “I’ll be right out, Jill,” I said.

  “What are you going to wear today, Dawn?” Jill asked.

  We stifled giggles.

  “Shorts and a T-shirt,” I answered. “Over my bathing suit. See you at breakfast.”

  Breakfast was set up on the side veranda, a huge wooden-pillared porch that ran along the side of the house. It was a perfect, clear-skied, warm summer day. The mansion and its grounds were even more impressive in daylight than at night. And much less scary.

  Cereals, bananas, fresh strawberries, yogurt, juice, and milk were laid out on a sideboard. We served ourselves and sat down around a big wooden table. When Mrs. Cooper appeared with a basket of homemade blueberry muffins, Mrs. Menders introduced her to us. Mrs. Cooper was younger than I expected — probably about my mother’s age — and very pretty, with straight dark hair pulled back in a bun. But Lionel was right, she didn’t talk. She had a nice smile, though.

  As I ate a bowl of fresh strawberries and yogurt, I looked out at the beautiful estate gardens and the ocean beyond. I was thinking about the ghostly apparition of the night before and wondering what ghosts did during the day. Suddenly a deep, ominous voice murmured in my ear, “Sleep well last night, my pretty?”

  I shrieked and practically jumped out of my skin.

  “Lionel!” his mother said sharply, “That is not funny.”

  Lionel looked around at us sitters and asked in his horror-movie voice, “Ev-very-one get a go-od night’s sleep?”

  “Just eat your breakfast, Lionel,” Mr. Menders said. “You kids can go to the beach today, if you want. The Coopers will pack you a picnic lunch. Tonight we’ll have a cookout. And, Lionel, behave yourself.”

  “Yes, sir. Right, sir.” (That was Lionel as a soldier.) Lionel was as annoying with his so-called acting as my brother Jeff is with his so-called comedy routines.

  Fortunately, all the kids agreed that they wanted to go to the
beach. (Lionel: “I’ll go along. If anybody is anybody around here they’ll probably be there.” Jason: “Sure. Why not?” Jill: “Is that what you’re going to do, Dawn?” Martha: “Okay. I guess.” Karen: “Great. There’ll be lots of kids for Martha to meet at the beach.” Andrew: “Can I look for frogs? Can I?”)

  The adults made sure we knew the way to the beach, and gave us some beach rules to follow with their kids. We decided that, for the morning, at least, Claud and I would be responsible for Karen, Martha, and — since she was practically glued to me anyway — Jill. Kristy and Mary Anne would take care of Andrew and Jason. Lionel, of course, could do whatever he wanted, which I was sure would include pestering us.

  While everyone else was finishing up breakfast and clearing the table, Claud and I headed for the third floor of the west wing to make our beds and pack up some beach things. The moment we were away from the others, Claud and I started talking about the ghost.

  “Let’s check out the hallway for evidence,” Claud said.

  First we turned the hall light on and off a few times. No flickers. It worked perfectly. “The light we saw under the doorways looked like candlelight, anyway,” Claud said. “It had a yellowy glow. The bulb in the hall light fixture gives off a pink glow.”

  I dropped to my hands and knees. “Let’s look for wax. Candles and dripping wax go together.”

  “I don’t know if a ghost’s candle would drip,” Claud said.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a small, dark-orange blob on the carpet.

  Claud knelt down and rubbed the spot with her finger. “Wax,” she said. “And here’s another spot.”

  And there were more. Not big hunks of wax, but fine little flecks of it here and there, all the way down the hall.

  Suddenly a booming, sinister voice asked, “What are you do-o-ing?”

  I was startled and afraid. Still, I looked up. Lionel was standing over us.

  “Why are you crawling around on the floor?” he asked in his natural voice.

  “Dawn dropped the back to an earring,” Claud said.

  I stood up. “Well, it’s no big deal. Let’s go to the beach.”

  “If it’s not a big deal why did you look in the first place?” Lionel asked as he swung around and entered his room.

  Claud and I exchanged a look. “What is it with him?” I asked in a whisper.

  “Maybe he knows something about the wax on the rug,” Claud said. “Maybe he’s our ghost.”

  I nodded. Lionel was a strong suspect.

  During the next half an hour we made beds and helped the kids pack up for the beach. Then we headed down the long drive toward the gate. We must have been a sight — ten kids of all ages loaded with picnic baskets, beach toys, towels, etc. Maybe that’s why the dark, handsome guy we saw walking toward us was smiling. Or was he laughing? It was hard to tell, because he was wearing reflective sunglasses.

  Here’s what the stranger looked like — one of those brooding teenage rebel loners. A sinister one, with his black T-shirt, black jeans, and those sunglasses. But it wasn’t the clothes that made him seem sinister as much as his looks. He had straight black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a crooked smile.

  “Hi,” he said when he reached us.

  “Hi,” we all answered.

  He’d stopped, so we did too.

  “Can we help you?” efficient Kristy asked.

  “I work here,” he said. Just as I was thinking I wished he’d take off his sunglasses so I could see his eyes, he did. They were dark brown and alight with interest. Or was that an evil glint? The guy was really hard to read.

  “You must be the Menders kids,” he said. “I didn’t know there were so many of you. Good thing the house is big.”

  There was that crooked smile again. Was it sinister or friendly? He was making me nervous.

  “I’m Georgio Trono,” he said as he extended a hand to shake with Claudia.

  “I’m Claudia Kishi,” she replied. “And we don’t all live here. Some of us are baby-sitting for the —” Claud gestured around at the younger kids “— others.” I could tell she was flustered, especially when Georgio’s handshake lasted a few seconds longer than a handshake should. Georgio, whether he was friendly or not, was definitely a flirt. And he was flirting with Claud.

  Kristy took care of the rest of the introductions. Then Georgio told us that his grandparents had been the caretakers of the mansion when Mr. Randolph was alive. “They’re retired now,” he explained, “but I’m still the summer gardener here. I practically lived here when I was a kid. What rooms are you guys staying in?”

  We told him the west wing of the third floor and I mentioned that the house was so big we hadn’t even been on the fourth floor yet.

  Georgio’s smile disappeared. “Don’t go up there!” he said in a firm voice.

  “Why not?” Claud asked.

  “For one thing, the widow’s walk isn’t safe,” he said. “And there’re bats and . . .” He paused before adding, “. . . who knows what else in the attic.”

  I felt a chill run down my spine. No one said anything for a second.

  Georgio smiled again. “But don’t let that ruin your vacation. Reese is a great place.”

  We let out a collective sigh of relief and said good-bye. Georgio kept going toward the mansion, and we headed toward the gate.

  “Wow,” Mary Anne whispered to me. “Did you see the way he looked at Claud?”

  We ran to Claud, who was walking between Karen and Martha. “Karen and Martha, why don’t you race to the gate?” I suggested. “We’ll carry your stuff.”

  As soon as Karen and Martha were “on your mark, get set, gone,” Mary Anne and I both asked Claud what she had thought about the mysterious Georgio.

  “He’s a Babe,” Claud said. “But I have an uneasy feeling about him. I wonder why he doesn’t want us to go to the fourth floor?”

  “And why is he so interested in what rooms we’re staying in?” Mary Anne asked.

  “He gives me the creeps,” I said. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t trust him.”

  “Me, either,” Claud said. But I noticed that she was looking dreamy, and was gently rubbing the palm of the hand Georgio had shaken.

  When we arrived at the beach we put Georgio out of our minds and concentrated on getting our blankets laid out and the kids coated with sunblock. Just being on a beach, any beach, reminds me of California and makes me feel homesick for my life there. That’s been happening to me more and more lately — missing California, I mean.

  Lionel put on his sunglasses and checked out the beach for any “actor-types.” In ten minutes he gave us his evaluation. “Only conservative, family types. No one sophisticated. No one hip. No one cool. Reese is one big fat no-place. I’ll see you all back at the mansion.” Oh, no. Were we losing Lionel so quickly? We were supposed to be helping him adjust.

  “Come on, Lionel,” I said. “Hang out here. It’s a little early for the hip crowd. In California, nobody who’s anybody shows up at the beach before noon. Have a little patience.”

  “How do you know what they do in California?” he asked.

  Mary Anne and Kristy answered in unison, “She’s from California!”

  Lionel’s face lit up. “You are?”

  When I told him I’d grown up in California and lived there most of my life, he sat down next to me.

  Lionel asked me dozens of questions about California and the Hollywood movie scene. Fortunately, I had had a lot of actor sightings. And, since the father of one of my best California friends is a movie producer, I’d even met a few famous actors. Lionel was thrilled.

  “Boy,” Lionel said, “why couldn’t Uncle Edward have had a mansion in L.A.? I’d have moved there in an instant!”

  While we were talking, Mary Anne was building a castle with Karen and Martha, and Andrew was burying Kristy’s feet and legs in sand. I saw Karen introduce herself to two girls who she then brought over to work on the sand castle. But Martha, meanwhi
le, stood up and walked to the edge of the water. She was pretending, as far as I could tell, that she didn’t know Karen. Mary Anne signaled me to take over at the sand castle while she talked to Martha. I excused myself from Lionel’s company and approached Karen and her new “friends.”

  I could hear Karen telling the other girls, “You will love Martha. She is so much fun.” Then Karen called out, “Come on, Martha, build with us. Everyone wants to meet you.”

  Poor shy Martha, I thought. This is not what she needs. While Mary Anne took Martha’s hand and walked down the beach with her, I squatted next to Karen. (In a flash, Jill was right there beside me.) “Can we help?” I asked Karen.

  “Sure,” she answered.

  “Great,” I said. I played with them for awhile, but the sea was beckoning. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  Jill, who an instant before had seemed extremely enthusiastic about sand castle building, stood up, too. “Where are you going?” she asked as she brushed the sand off her knees. “I want to do whatever the teenagers do.” I’d been thinking that if Jill were working on the sand castle it would be easier for Martha to join in later. Scratch that. Jill was going for a swim with me. Which meant I couldn’t go out as far as I wanted. Or even have two minutes to myself to think about the haunted house and the orange wax, or to wonder about Georgio.

  Jason, meanwhile, was sitting alone on his towel. He’d moved himself farther down the beach, so as not to look as if he were at the beach with seven girls. I waved to him. “Come on, Jason. We’re going for a swim.”

  He shook his head glumly and lay down. Lionel, who was now reading a book of plays, ignored his little brother. He didn’t even seem to notice — or care — that Jason was isolating himself from the rest of us.

  Once again I realized that while the Menders kids were all perfectly nice, sitting for them was not going to be easy.

  After a swim in the ocean, more sand castle building, and a terrific picnic lunch courtesy of the Coopers, Claud suggested we pack up our stuff and go for a walk through town.