by Dan Poblocki
She had her proof.
Viola glanced over her shoulder to find Woodrow glaring at her. She felt her face start to burn. She tried to tuck the tracing paper out of sight, but knew it was already too late. Woodrow pushed aside a desk and approached her.
“You can’t tell him,” said Woodrow. “He’ll kill me.”
Viola’s mouth went dry. She wouldn’t have been able to respond even if she had the words to do so. Then, before she could think, Woodrow turned and dashed out of the classroom.
Somehow, each of the Question Marks managed to avoid Mickey Molynew for the rest of the day — a good thing, because they needed time to figure out how to handle their discovery. Back on the block where they lived, Viola and Sylvester met Rosie on her front porch. They knew that Woodrow was in his house on the other side of their shared yard. They’d seen him walk home alone.
“Woodrow is the graffiti impostor,” said Viola. “It all makes sense. He never wanted us to help Mickey, obviously, because he knew if we solved the case, he’d get in trouble.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t resist harder,” said Rosie. “Even though he wasn’t much help, he still seemed to go along with us.”
“He must have known that when it comes to the Question Marks,” Sylvester answered, “resistance is futile.” Despite the circumstances, the girls couldn’t keep themselves from smiling at Sylvester’s comment. “We were bound to solve the case, and he knew it.”
“Well, he might have thought that way,” said Viola. “Also, he didn’t want to look suspicious by completely withdrawing from the investigation. What he didn’t realize was that from the very beginning, he was acting suspicious. He said something that first day when Mickey approached us. Before Mickey had even said anything about the silver ink, Woodrow mentioned that it was done with permanent marker. Looking back, how would Woodrow have known what kind of marker the impostor had used unless he was using it?”
“What do we do now?” Rosie asked. “He already knows we know.”
“And he’s scared,” said Viola.
“I guess we only have one option,” said Sylvester. “We try to talk to him.”
They crossed the lawn behind Rosie’s house, went around to the Knoxes’ front door, and rang the doorbell. Moments later, the lock unlatched, the knob turned, and someone pulled the door open a crack. Woodrow peered out at them. His eyes were red. He was silent for a few seconds, then he choked out, “You don’t hate me, do you?”
“Only if you don’t let us in,” teased Sylvester.
Woodrow smiled, then opened the door all the way. “I had a feeling you all would show up. Come on. I made popcorn.”
They sat around the kitchen table, munching giant handfuls of popcorn from the big bowl between them. “I guess you guys want to know why?” said Woodrow.
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” said Viola. “Mickey has been a jerk to you. To all of us, really. You wanted to get him back.”
“I stopped as soon as I found out he was in danger of getting suspended,” said Woodrow. “I never wanted that to happen. I just wanted him to know what it felt like for all of us. I guess it worked.”
“Yeah, but look where we are now,” said Rosie. “You’ve dug yourself a pretty deep hole, Woodrow. How are we going to explain this to him? How is he going to react?”
“Mickey promised not to get revenge,” said Sylvester hopefully. “Maybe everything will be fine when you tell him what you did.”
Woodrow looked like he might faint. “I have to tell him?”
Viola nodded. “It’s only fair. Don’t you think? That way, you can apologize at the same time.”
Woodrow closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. “Fine. Let’s just hope he keeps his promise.”
As it turned out, Mickey did keep his promise. That didn’t make Woodrow’s conversation with him the next day any less intimidating, especially when Mickey insisted Woodrow tell Principal Dzielski who the real graffitist was.
“How did she take it?” Sylvester asked during lunch period.
Woodrow hung his shoulders, staring at his peanut butter sandwich as if it were the most unappetizing meal anyone had ever crafted in the history of Moon Hollow Middle School lunches. “She was annoyed with me, of course. And she’s going to call my mom and tell her what I did. Plus, I have after-school detention for the next week. I guess I deserve it. I’m not a very good bad guy.”
“I don’t think there is such a thing,” said Viola. “But at least we now know that just because someone is a bully doesn’t mean they’re a villain.”
“Yeah,” said Sylvester. “From now on, Mickey said he’s going to try to stop being so mean. And that’s a good thing.”
“Hmm,” said Woodrow, the news finally sinking in. “You’re right. That is a good thing.” He picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. “I’m happy that no one is calling me a bully. Some people might even consider me a hero.”
“Well, I bet those people are not sitting at this table,” said Viola, laughing. Sylvester and Rosie joined in. Finally, Woodrow managed to crack a smile. Viola sat back, enjoying the fact that the mysterious four were finally on the same side again.
2
STEPPING INTO THE VILLAIN’S WEB
All day before her first play rehearsal, Rosie Smithers’s stomach hurt so badly that she almost went home instead of meeting the rest of the cast in the school auditorium. Still, she forced herself to show up. When Viola saw Rosie sitting in the last row, clutching at her rib cage, she slipped into the empty chair beside her. She knew exactly what her friend was going through — Viola had felt the same way before many rehearsals back in Pennsylvania. “It’s just nerves,” Viola said, rubbing Rosie’s back.
“I know,” Rosie answered. “But if I’m feeling like this now, how am I ever going to get onstage in front of a huge audience? I had no idea what I was signing up for.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Viola. She nodded at the rest of the drama club, who were sitting in the front rows of the auditorium, laughing and chatting with one another. “We’re all friends here. Or at least, we soon will be.” When Rosie made a doubtful face and clutched at her seat, Viola glanced at her classmates again. “Did one of them say something to you?”
Rosie closed her eyes, not wanting to answer. But since Viola had asked …
“Clea Keene has been cast as the lead in school productions ever since first grade. But when Mrs. Glick took over drama club this year, Clea’s streak ended. She got a really small part.” Rosie winced. “I overheard Clea telling someone in the lunch line that I didn’t deserve the role of Jessalynn. And ever since then, I keep thinking that maybe Clea is right. Why was I cast? I’ve never even thought about acting before you talked me into auditioning.”
Viola fixed her jaw and squinted at Rosie purposefully. “Clea’s jealous, pure and simple. You got cast because Mrs. Glick thought you would be the best person for the role.”
A loud clap rang out from the front of the auditorium and echoed through the cavernous room. “Can I have your attention!” Mrs. Glick stood on the stage. She was a short, striking figure, who easily filled her extra-large orange sweatshirt and black leggings. She raised her arms and stared out at the group of students expectantly. Soon, the cast quieted, and Mrs. Glick was able to continue. “Welcome to the first rehearsal of The Villain’s Web. If everyone can come together up front, I’ll distribute your scripts. Today, we’re going to jump right in and read through it aloud. How’s that sound?”
“Terrifying,” Rosie whispered.
Viola squeezed her friend’s hand as they made their way down the aisle together. “The only villain you should fear, my dear Jessalynn, is me,” she said in the creepy old lady voice she’d used during her audition, the one that had helped her get the part of Lady Edith. “ ‘Everyone else here is just a child playing at being bad,’ “ she quoted. “ ‘A wise girl would learn to tell the difference between those who pretend to be monsters and those who are truly
wicked.’”
Rosie squeezed back, stifling her giggles as they approached the rest of their new cast mates. Thankfully, her stomach had already stopped hurting.
When the girls got back to their block, they found Sylvester and Woodrow tossing a baseball in the yard behind all of their houses. Though the sky was now a deepening blue, the day had been the warmest they’d felt since the end of winter. They hadn’t gathered for a Question Marks meeting at the Four Corners — the place where their properties met — in an even longer time. Soon it would be warm enough to return to their original meeting spot.
“How did it go?” asked Woodrow. “Did you win an Oscar yet?”
Viola rolled her eyes, but smiled. “If we were to win an award for acting in a play, it would be a Tony award. Being that our play is not on Broadway, and this was our first rehearsal, I’d hope you’d have been able to deduce that —”
“I was kidding, Viola.” Woodrow tossed her the ball. She caught it one-handed. She nodded an acknowledgment of her awesomeness.
“Once my nerves settled down,” Rosie said, “it went pretty well. Everyone was really nice.”
“Well, I hope you two aren’t too busy to meet with us anymore,” said Sylvester. “I was just about to tell Woodrow a ghost story I overheard at the diner this afternoon. I know how much you guys love those.”
3
THE PHANTOM IN THE GLASS
(A ??? MYSTERY)
“I was doing my history homework at the counter,” Sylvester began, once the four had settled into Woodrow’s kitchen, “and who should walk in but our old friend Betsy Ulrich.”
“The Realtor?” asked Viola. “Does she still have those crazy blond braids piled on top of her head?”
“Of course. She was the same as always — kooky — just like those ads she posts on the Grand Union bulletin board. She waved at me, then sat at a booth against the wall with a friend — a skinny woman dressed in a black business suit. I overheard Betsy call the woman Carla. She’s another Moon Hollow Realtor. Carla was telling Betsy the story of her latest client. It was a weird one.”
“How weird?” asked Rosie.
“You know the Blackstone mansion down on Marshville Road?” said Sylvester. The other three nodded. One of the biggest homes in Moon Hollow, the mansion stood surrounded by trees on the edge of town. It was impossible to drive by the Blackstones’ without slowing down and peeking at the gabled rooftop, the sprawling rock walls, the majestic wooden doors at the entrance. Once or twice, a car had even spun off the road in front of the house, and as a result, rumors had swirled through the area that the place was haunted. “After old Mrs. Blackstone passed away recently, her children had taken a vote and decided to hire Carla to sell it. Not everyone in the family was happy to let the house go, but since Mrs. Blackstone had left equal parts of the property to all her children, the majority vote ruled.
“Carla said at first she was excited to sell the house, but as she began to show it to potential buyers, the experience turned into a nightmare.”
“Why?” asked Woodrow. “No one wanted it because it was too expensive?”
“Not too expensive,” said Sylvester. “Too haunted. One room in particular gave her a lot of problems. It was a bedroom up on the second floor. The room didn’t get a lot of light because of all the shade from the trees, so it was already particularly spooky.”
“Did people actually see ghosts there?” asked Viola.
“Carla said that every now and again, the people looking to buy the house claimed that they’d seen a transparent, angry face staring at them from outside that bedroom window.”
“On the second floor?” said Rosie in disbelief. “Was there a balcony outside?” Sylvester shook his head. “That is so weird. What did the face look like?”
“A glowing, green-bearded man,” Sylvester said. “But the really weird thing was, he always appeared upside down.”
“Upside down?” said Woodrow. “That’s just bizarre.”
“Whenever this face appeared, her clients would rush out of the mansion, shocked and frightened. The house has been on the market for almost two months, and no one is biting.”
“That’s too bad,” said Viola. “At this rate, you have to wonder if the mansion will ever sell.”
“Carla said the same thing,” said Sylvester. “In fact, she said that she suspected that might be the point. And that she didn’t believe the face in the window was a ghost at all.”
“Let me guess,” said Viola. “A member of the Blackstone family who didn’t want the house sold was playing a prank.”
“That’s what Carla told Betsy,” said Sylvester. “Dennis Blackstone, the oldest son, had set the whole thing up. It was his face at the window.”
“Either way, I’m confused,” said Rosie.“How did Dennis create the illusion that he was a ghost floating outside the second-floor window?”
“I know,” said Woodrow. “Since Dennis was seen upside down in the window, he must have been hanging down from above.”
“But that wouldn’t account for how he looked transparent,” said Viola. She thought for a moment. “I have an idea.” Viola stood and went to the kitchen window. Outside, a blue tint of light still illuminated the yard. She pointed at the glass. “There. What do you see?”
“Your … reflection?” said Rosie.
“Exactly,” said Viola. “You can see outside through the glass of the window. But you can also see my face looking at you.”
“So?” said Woodrow. “Are you saying that Dennis was in the second-floor bedroom with Carla’s clients? Wouldn’t they have noticed him standing behind them?”
“He wasn’t in the room with the clients,” said Viola. “But I believe he might have used his own reflection to make it appear as though he were staring at them from just outside. All he needed was a piece of glass hanging outside at the correct angle.”
Sylvester nodded. “Carla told Betsy that she’d found a large piece of glass rigged up outside the window, hanging away from the house at forty-five degrees. When Dennis looked into the glass, his reflection was visible to the people in the bedroom.”
“If that’s the case,” said Woodrow, “where was Dennis hiding?”
“He must have been directly below the second-floor bedroom,” said Rosie. “He simply stuck his head out the window of the room he was in, held a green-tinted flashlight at his face, and … oooh, ghostly image outside.”
“But then why did Dennis appear to be upside down?” asked Woodrow.
“Simple science, really,” said Rosie. She took out her notebook and quickly drew a diagram. “Look. If Dennis had stuck his head out the window on the first floor and looked directly upward into the rigged piece of glass, his reflection would appear to be upside down. He must not have taken that into consideration when creating his ghostly persona.”
“Ha,” said Viola. “Clever. So what did Carla do when she found out who was really haunting Blackstone Mansion?”
“She told the rest of the family,” said Sylvester. “They were so upset that Dennis had attempted to deceive them, they won’t allow him in the house again until it sells.
“Betsy and Carla chuckled together about the story as my dad brought them the check. As they left the diner, I overheard Betsy mention that she too had once tried to sell a house that people thought was haunted. But we’re already familiar with that story.”
“Yes,” said Viola, with a smirk. “All too familiar.”
4
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DRAMA
Having thought about Sylvester’s ghost story all night, Rosie decided to share it with her cast mates the next day during a break at rehearsal. Viola sat back and listened. Their new friends sat in a circle on the stage, entranced by the tale of the Blackstone Mansion and the Realtor who debunked the haunting. Afterward, while Mrs. Glick had stepped away to take a phone call, everyone debated whether or not ghosts truly existed.
“Well, of course they exist.” One voice spoke louder than
the others. Clea Keene stood up, towering over the group. Remembering Rosie’s account of Clea’s lunchtime cruelty, Viola thought she looked fairly ordinary. Her straight brown hair fell to her shoulders. She wore thick, round glasses. Her wide eyes were the color of ice. “Everyone here should know that, especially those of us who’ve performed in this auditorium before.”
“What do you mean?” asked Viola.
“There’s a ghost haunting this very stage,” Clea claimed. “The Lady in Green. Lots of people have seen her — a pale apparition in a green dress. They say that if you wear the color green on this stage, the Lady will curse you during your performance. She’s quite a jealous ghost.”
Rosie gasped. Yesterday, Mrs. Glick had showed the cast sketches of their costumes. Rosie’s was a pine-colored velveteen gown. Viola noticed Rosie clutching her ankles. “What kind of curse are we talking about?” asked Viola. She wondered if Clea wasn’t the jealous one here.
“Oh, you know,” said Clea, waving her hands dramatically. “People have tripped and fallen off the stage. They’ve forgotten their lines halfway through the performance. Once, I heard that a girl even got a really bad stomach flu. This girl was so superstitious after that, she never set foot in this room again … or wore the color green.”
Now, Rosie hugged her knees tight to her chest.
Viola leaned forward. “Have you ever seen this Lady in Green?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Clea, “I have experienced some ghostly phenomena in here in the past … when I had a leading role.” She crossed her arms. “The ghost doesn’t seem to like people who get the big parts. Guess I got lucky this year.”
Viola wasn’t impressed. “What kinds of things did you see?”
Clea looked down her nose at Viola, obviously unhappy that someone was challenging her. “If you must know, the Lady in Green knocked over my flower vase in my dressing room last year. I was looking in the mirror, checking my makeup, when suddenly the good-luck rose my mom had gotten me simply fell over by itself. I knew it was the Lady who’d done it.” Clea smiled. “Then, during that same show, I was coming offstage when I heard someone call my name. I thought it was one of my friends about to tell me what a good job I’d done, but when I looked around, I realized that I was alone back there in the wings. I got the biggest goose bumps ever!” Clea rubbed at her arms as if she still felt a chill.
