The Haunting of Gabriel Ashe

by Poblocki, Dan

  By mid-December, Sharon was worried that she and Seth had switched places, emotionally at least. While she’d found another restaurant job, her son had taken to sleeping half the day. He barely responded when she asked him questions about how he was feeling and never offered comments on his own. She had no idea what would happen if she forced him to be around others while in this state. But, according to Mr. Drover, Seth had already missed enough school that year. And unless she wished him to repeat the year, he needed to go back.

  When Seth limped into homeroom on the first day back, his classmates greeted him with applause. He didn’t know what to do. All of these people who, for the past few years, had treated him like he was a monster were now cheering for him. He nearly turned around and ran down the hall, out the front entrance, and all the way home. Sensing his unease, the teacher took his arm, walked him to his desk, and helped him to his seat.

  “Welcome back,” she whispered in his ear. At that, Seth nearly threw up. How could he ever feel welcome here, when he wasn’t the one who deserved to be back?

  Lunch period was the most difficult. Seth tried to keep to himself—as he’d learned to do several years earlier—even though nearly all eyes followed him. Get up to throw away his brown bag? Knock over his juice box? Sneeze? Everything seemed to matter to these people. He didn’t know whether they watched him because they were planning to somehow ruin him again. Or if they wanted to ask him what had really happened down in that hole in the woods. Neither choice was appealing.

  He’d been purposely vague when the detectives had questioned him—and they’d had so many questions. He lied and claimed he didn’t remember a thing. When he closed his eyes at night, he heard the conversation between Gabe and David that must have occurred in the dreamlike dungeon version of Castle Chicken Guts that Mason had mentioned down in the well. Listening to David’s plea—Tell my brother and my mom that I love them—always woke him up, his chest tight with anxiety. He didn’t know how he remembered this, or why, or even if the dream had simply come from his own imagination. He liked to think that maybe he hadn’t been so far “gone” as David had said, that maybe he’d been right there with them.

  Since he’d switched lunch periods over a month earlier, Felicia and her group were now in constant view from across the room. Once, she’d even waved him over. After that, he sat with his back to them.

  Mazzy was a different story. When she approached in the hallways, inviting him to get together, to play catch, ride bikes, watch a video, Seth told her no, but secretly he was happy that she continued to ask.

  In the evenings Seth threw himself into his homework. Every now and again, hunched over his desk, he thought he saw someone watching him from outside his bedroom window. Shaking off goose bumps, he’d reach for the curtains to block out the night and get back to work.

  Life continued on in this way. By the end of the school year, the other kids seemed to have lost interest in him. He supposed that once they figured out he wasn’t going to be sharing his secrets, he became less interesting again. Still, according to them, Seth Hopper was the Hero of Slade, a moniker that provided protection against any other sort of name-calling. That was enough for him.

  The next summer, Seth found a job at a roadside vegetable stand. He rode his bike there every day. One afternoon Mrs. Ashe, Gabe’s grandmother, approached the counter searching for fresh strawberries. Seth hid, emerging only after his coworker, a college student on break, completed the transaction. He’d managed to avoid the Ashes for months. They’d visited in the aftermath of the accident but hadn’t been by in a long time. Seth had nothing against them—how could he?—Mrs. Ashe had insisted on paying for all his medical bills. But his secret guilt was like a heavy stone on his tongue.

  That September, Seth moved up to the high school with the rest of the ninth-grade class. Whenever he passed Felicia Nielsen, she looked like she’d forgotten what had happened here the previous year. He couldn’t help but wonder if walking these new halls was as difficult for her as it was for him. He’d heard that she’d joined the school newspaper, the Latin club, the Young Republicans group, and the homecoming committee. Sounded like she was trying to keep herself busy.

  Leaves once again fell from the trees, and the events of the previous year replayed in his mind. With October’s end swiftly approaching, Seth found himself waking in the night, his heart pounding. Bad memories lived in nearly every acre of the town—bus rides to and from school, the blackened ground where the old barn had once stood, the stone walls that wound through the woods. Slade had never before looked so threatening, but it was a date that he feared the most.

  Seth had no idea how he’d get through this next Halloween. So when Mazzy asked him to spend it with her at her house handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters, he surprised himself by saying yes.

  He asked his mother for a ride. Later, as he waited for Mazzy to answer her door, he felt dizzy. That feeling of guilt crept up on him again. But then the doorknob turned, and she greeted him with a warm smile. If only she knew the truth.

  A steady stream of ghosts and ghouls, wizards and princesses knocked on the Lermans’ front door. Over the next hour, he commented easily enough on the cuteness of one costume or the next. When the foot traffic slowed down, Mazzy gestured for him to follow her into the living room.

  “I have a surprise,” she said, plopping down on the couch. She picked up the remote and turned on the television. “I recorded this after school, but I didn’t get a chance to watch yet. I hope you haven’t seen it either.”

  “What is it?” Seth asked, sinking into a soft, deep chair.

  On the screen, a strange animated clip began to play. Colors swirled, odd creatures grinned and danced, accompanied by music that was at once cheerful and sad. It seemed to be the opening to one of those weird, funny shows from that cable channel for kids. The title flashed as the music crested. MONSTER TALK. Seth had never heard of it. Then, like a sharp poke in the ribs, a coda appeared. Created by Glen Ashe. Seth released a small gasp.

  They watched the show that Gabe’s dad had been working on the year before. Milton Monster was the star—a fuzzy version of a late-night television host. And his first guest just happened to be the famous illustrator Elyse Ashe. She bantered with the puppet, laughing at his jokes, answering questions. She revealed that her latest project was designing a new production of The Magic Flute, which was opening in December at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in New York City.

  When the program had ended, Mazzy asked, “What did you think?”

  “I liked it,” Seth said softly. “I thought it was good.”

  “We should try to get tickets for The Magic Flute,” Mazzy suggested with enthusiasm. “Take a trip to New York.” When Seth simply nodded, she added, “It was weird seeing Gabe’s grandmother up there, wasn’t it?”

  “A little. But she looked…happy.”

  Mazzy was quiet for a moment. “I hope she is,” she said seriously. Out on the street, some kids ran by, playfully shouting out, “Happy Halloween!”

  “If she can be,” Mazzy continued, “after everything that’s happened, then maybe we can be too.”

  A few days later, Seth came home from the bus stop to find his house empty, his mother still at work. He made himself a snack of crackers and peanut butter, and decided right then to pay Mrs. Ashe a visit.

  For the first time in a year, Seth wandered up the horse trail and into the woods between their houses. His heart raced as memories of Howler’s Notch appeared all around him. But he pushed them away, concentrating on the path so that he wouldn’t trip over a rock or a tree root. He emerged at the bottom of the grassy meadow that led up to the mansion. Hiking up it, he cringed, remembering the nighttime journeys he’d taken with his brother. He went around the side of the building to the front door, pulled the solid brass knocker, then let it go. It hit against the worn wood with a resounding crack. A few seconds later, he heard footsteps approaching.

  The door swung open. �
�Seth,” said Elyse, surprised. Seconds ticked by. He was about to turn and run when she added, “Come in. I just put on a kettle of water. Would you like some tea?”

  With his shoulders hunched, he stepped across the threshold.

  “The house is quiet now that Glen and Dolores moved to Boston to be closer to the studio,” she said, leading him down the hallway toward the living room. “Did you see the show?”

  Seth nodded. She directed him to sit. A few minutes later, she returned with a small tray and two steaming mugs. Before she could even place them on the coffee table, Seth blurted out, “Gabe saved my life.” Elyse froze, and Seth blushed. “I’m sorry,” he added.

  Mrs. Ashe smiled. “What are you sorry for?” She handed him a mug and sat beside him.

  “If it weren’t for me…he’d still be here.”

  “Don’t say that. There’s nothing further from the truth.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand perfectly well.” She glared at him. “Don’t do that to yourself. Trust me. It’s not a good path to go down.”

  “I don’t care if it’s good or not,” Seth answered. “I just needed you to know the truth.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. “I suppose if it weren’t for me, Gabe would still be here too. I’m the one who moved into this house. I’m the one who invited his parents to come when they needed a place to stay. Or better yet, if it weren’t for Gabe’s dad, Gabe would still be here. He was the one whose workshop caught on fire. Better yet, if he’d never built puppets, none of this would have ever happened. But wait, if it weren’t for Jim Henson, Gabe would still be here. Mr. Henson gave my son the brilliant idea to become an artist. I guess we should blame him too.”

  Seth didn’t know what to say. It seemed like she didn’t want to hear the truth. It had been a mistake coming here. He sipped the hot drink and stared at the floor.

  “If Gabriel saved your life, then he thought you were worth it. And you know what you can do for him in return?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You can be thankful.”

  Seth sat silently, considering her advice.

  “Wait here,” she said, and stood. “I have something for you.” She disappeared through the doorway and down the hall. Half a minute later, she returned, clutching a small object in her hand. She placed it on the table in front of him. It was a figure carved from black stone—the one that David had stolen from her that first night. The one Gabe had noticed sitting in David’s bedroom. “I want you to take this.”

  “Wh-why?”

  “You know why,” she said. Elyse stared into his eyes. Seth felt his heart stop. “Take it and go.” She paused, then added, “But come back soon. It gets lonely on this hill. Bring your mother. I’ll make cookies. What do you say?”

  It was too dark now to go back through the woods, so Seth made his way down Temple House’s long driveway. On the street, whenever a car’s headlights approached, he stepped onto the curb. Patting the lump in his coat pocket, he thought about what Mrs. Ashe had said. Be thankful. He hadn’t realized until now that he really was. In spite of everything, he was.

  When he turned into his own driveway, he saw the porch light on, spilling its orange glow out into the yard. His mom was home. He climbed the front steps and opened the door. The smell of spaghetti sauce drifted toward him. “Hello?” he called out.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” his mom answered from the kitchen. “Go wash up.”

  He strolled down the hall toward his bedroom, but when he got to David’s old bedroom door, he stopped. Reaching into his pocket, he stepped inside. Light from the hall spilled across the floor. He pulled out the figurine, felt the weight of it, then placed it on top of David’s old bureau. He stared at it for a moment, imagining its incredible journey. “Mrs. Ashe gave this back to me,” he said quietly, thinking of his brother. “I thought you might want it.”

  He almost expected a response, to see the figurine topple over, to feel a cold touch on the back of his neck. But nothing happened. He stood alone in his brother’s bedroom for a moment more, then turned toward the hall and closed the door quietly behind him. In his own room, he took off his coat and hung it on the back of his desk chair.

  He was so distracted by the aroma coming from the kitchen, that when he passed by David’s door, he didn’t notice it had opened again. Nor did he hear the hush of a whisper from the shadows just inside.

  Thank you to everyone who helped me work through this story. The team at Scholastic, including Rachael Hicks, Stacey Peltz, Jackie Hornberger, Chris Stengel, and Jana Haussmann, as always, has been fantastic. Grazie especially to Nick Eliopulos, David Levithan, Barry Goldblatt, Tricia Ready, Libba Bray, Robin Wasserman, Daniel Villela, Paul Sireci, Amanda Walsh, Bruce Roe. And of course to Maria Giella-Poblocki; my grandmother Wanda; my mom, Gail; my dad, John; my brother, Brendan; my sister, Emily; my friends at Red Horse; and especially to the bloggers, authors, and readers who continue to reach out and remind me why I like to do this crazy thing in the first place.

  DAN POBLOCKI is the author of The Stone Child, The Nightmarys, and the Mysterious Four series. His recent book, The Ghost of Graylock, was a Junior Library Guild Selection and made the American Library Association’s 2013 Best Fiction for Young Adults list. Dan lives in Brooklyn with two adorable cats and more books than he has room for. Visit him at www.danpoblocki.com.

  Copyright © 2013 by Dan Poblocki

  Jacket art © 2013 by Shane Rebenschied

  Jacket design by Christopher Stengel

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

  First edition, August 2013

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-63187-7

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.