by Annie Bryant
“You girls stay here with the lantern. Make sure you keep it out of that draft, away from the stairs. We don’t want to use up all the matches,” Mr. Ramsey instructed. He took the flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on. “I’ll go upstairs to investigate.”
“Dad, don’t go up there alone!” Charlotte pleaded.
“Yeah,” Avery said with an attempt at bravado. “It’s like when you’re watching a scary movie and you want to yell, ‘No, don’t do it!’”
Just then the howling became louder, and the girls, including Avery, moved closer together.
“I’ll go with you,” Lissie offered.
“I think you better stay with the girls,” Mr. Ramsey hesitated, looking at three frightened faces.
“We’re not babies,” Avery protested. “I think we can stay down here by ourselves. Besides, I don’t think Lissie can scare away any ghosts or anything.”
“I don’t like ghosts,” whispered a shaking Maeve.
Staying downstairs by themselves sounded like a bad idea to Charlotte, but Lissie had already joined Mr. Ramsey at the bottom of the stairs.
The light grew dimmer as Charlotte’s dad and Lissie creaked up the old, winding staircase.
Avery inched around the corner of the desk and looked up the stairs. “No ghost attacks yet!” she reported with a grin.
“Avery! Get back here!” Maeve said in a loud whisper. “Charlotte’s dad said we’re supposed to stay out of the draft. What are you talking about anyway? Ghosts don’t attack people. They just haunt.”
“Do you know that for sure, Maeve?” Avery asked. “Have you ever met a ghost? Maybe the ones here in Dry Gulch are extra creepy. Remember, there were a lot of bad guys in the Old West.”
“Shhhh!” Charlotte demanded, cocking her head.
After a moment of tense silence, Avery couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well, at least they’re not screaming in terror,” she blurted out.
“SHHHHHH!” Maeve and Charlotte shushed her at the same time.
Avery made a face and folded her arms across her chest. She was tired of being shushed.
Finally there were noises from upstairs. A window slid firmly shut. A swish of curtains. Instantly the eerie howling stopped.
Charlotte gasped. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until that very moment.
“So it was the wind all along and not a real ghost?” Avery asked, obviously disappointed.
“Avery, you really thought it was a ghost?” Maeve asked her.
“No,” Avery shook her head slowly, “I thought it was a gigantic mouse!”
“EWWWWWW! Gross!” Maeve cried. Ever since a mouse ran across her hair at the first BSG sleepover, the thought of mice sent Maeve into panic mode.
A sudden and very loud noise from upstairs captured everyone’s attention.
“What was that?” A trembling Maeve grabbed Char-lotte’s hand.
“Maybe it’s a body being dragged across the floor,” Avery said.
“Your dad’s still doing something up there, right?” Maeve asked Charlotte.
“Yeah, I’m sure he is,” Charlotte said, patting Maeve’s arm. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to comfort more— Maeve or herself.
Just then, a beam of light bounced off the wall and shined into their eyes. The collective scream from all three girls rattled all the windows.
“It’s just Mr. Ramsey and Lissie,” Avery yelled a little too loudly.
Charlotte was so happy to see her father that she ran up and gave him a big hug. His hands were full with a huge pile of blankets and pillows, and he dropped them on the spot. Lissie had the flashlight, and an unlit kerosene lamp dangled from Mr. Ramsey’s right arm.
“So . . . what’s the story?” Avery asked.
“Well, the wind was blowing in through the west window. It was only open a crack, which is why it howled and whistled so loudly. It’ll be a little warmer down here now that we’ve stopped that draft.”
“But I’m still frrrreezing,” Maeve chattered, blowing out a cloud of breath.
“These will help with that,” Lissie said.
“You don’t think there are any mice in those blankets, do you?” a shaky Maeve asked, backing away slowly.
“No. These blankets were in a trunk, Maeve. A mouse-proof trunk, I’m sure,” Mr. Ramsey assured her.
“So what’s up there?” Avery asked, obviously itching to know about any gruesome discoveries.
“It’s very odd. We went into all the rooms and . . .” Lissie started.
“And what?” Avery asked impatiently.
“And the beds in the bedrooms were all made up,” Mr. Ramsey said.
“Really? That’s weird,” Charlotte mused.
“Yes, it’s almost like . . .” Lissie trailed off.
“Almost like WHAT?” Avery asked, her patience wearing thin.
“It’s almost as if someone’s been living here,” Lissie mused, looking around the lobby.
“Living here? Are you serious?” Maeve shuddered.
“The sheets are worn, but clean. They seem like they’re in fairly good shape and recently laundered,” Lissie reported.
The girls looked at each other. “No wonder it feels like there are ghosts all around us. We’re trespassing,” Charlotte said.
“What if whoever lives here comes back and is mad that we broke in?” Maeve wondered. “You know, sort of like Goldilocks and the three bears?”
“We didn’t break in,” Mr. Ramsey corrected her. “The door was open.”
“But if this hotel belongs to someone else, where are they?” Maeve wondered out loud.
“Let’s see what’s in the parlor,” said Mr. Ramsey a little too cheerfully. Trooping after him into what appeared to be the old hotel’s large common sitting room, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
They found more pieces of furniture covered with sheets—a couch and two chairs facing the fireplace. Logs and kindling were laid out and plenty of wood was stacked up next to a large stone fireplace. It did look pretty inviting.
“Lissie must be right! Someone is definitely living here,” Maeve confirmed.
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Ramsey said as he knelt before the fireplace with the box of matches in hand. “It looks to me like whoever was staying here isn’t anymore. We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We should get a fire going and see if we can find something to eat besides Avery’s granola bars.”
Mr. Ramsey struck a match and held it to the dry kindling. With a little blowing and coaxing, the fire crackled to life. Charlotte breathed in the comforting aroma of woodsmoke. The glow of the fire and snap and pop of the wood gave the chilly, dank room a little cheer.
“Lissie and Charlotte, why don’t you explore the kitchen and see if there are any emergency provisions? After I warm my hands up a bit, I think I’ll drag a couple of the mattresses downstairs. We can all camp out in front of the fire,” Mr. Ramsey said. “You know . . . like a sleepover.”
“Can I go exploring too?” Avery asked.
“Sure, Avery. As long as you stay in the house.”
Maeve was happy to crouch next to the cozy fire as the others wandered off to look around.
When they walked into the old kitchen, Charlotte was surprised at what they found. “Look at this! A real French kitchen in the middle of Montana. Maybe the Hotel de Paris really was built by a Frenchman.”
“What’s so French about it?” Avery asked.
“Well, first of all, the worktable has a marble top,” Charlotte pointed out.
“That means it’s French?” Avery asked.
“Just trust me . . . it does,” Charlotte assured her. Having lived in Paris for several years, Charlotte was attuned to all things French.
The hungry trio couldn’t find any food in the kitchen, but they hit the jackpot when they ventured into the pantry.
“Look! Bottles of spring water.” Charlotte gathered one under each arm.
“Instant coffee,” Lis
sie sighed with relief.
“And check out this stash of canned goods,” Charlotte said, turning the cans so she could read the labels. “Pork and beans, chili and beans, and pinto beans. Someone really likes beans around here.”
“Score big time! Look what I found!” Avery hoisted a huge, unopened restaurant-size container of peanut butter and a package of graham crackers in the air.
Lissie checked all the expiration dates. “Great . . . everything’s still safe and usable.”
They loaded up the canned goods, water, and instant coffee into a large basket.
“Wait! We need a can opener,” Avery remembered.
“Here.” Lissie held up an odd-looking contraption.
“That doesn’t look like any can opener I’ve ever seen.” Avery looked skeptical.
“Trust me. It’s an old-fashioned kind,” Lissie said.
“But what are we going to cook all this in?” Charlotte asked as she opened up some of the cabinets.
“Look, here’s a skillet with legs.” Avery dragged it from beneath the sink.
“They call that a spider, I think. It’s perfect,” Lissie said, lifting it. “Whoa! It’s heavy.”
“We struck gold,” Avery announced as they returned to the parlor.
“Are you sure it’s okay if we use this stuff?” Maeve asked as Mr. Ramsey jabbed the pointed part of the can opener in the can and worked it around the top. “It’s not going to make us sick, is it?”
“None of it has expired,” Lissie assured her. “Be careful, Richard. The jagged edges are lethal.”
While the girls opened the peanut butter, Lissie poured several cans of beans into the skillet. The delicious fragrance of the cooking beans wafted through the air and made their mouths water. Mr. Ramsey disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pile of metal coffee cups and spoons.
Lissie went outside and scooped up a bucketful of snow. “No use wasting bottled water on dishwashing duties,” she said, hooking a bucket so that it dangled just above the fire. Once the snow melted and was steaming, she loaded the bucket with the metal cups and spoons and washed them out. “We really need to let them boil for a bit to make sure they’re clean.”
Ten minutes later everyone had mugs full of hot, steaming beans.
“I never knew beans could taste so delightful!” Maeve exclaimed, savoring every morsel and licking her spoon clean at the end.
“I saved the best for last,” Lissie announced. “Chocolate!” She held two huge Hershey bars above her head victoriously.
Maeve almost swooned.
“Where did that come from?” Charlotte asked, her mouth watering.
“It was in the pantry on the very top shelf,” Lissie answered. “I wanted to surprise you!” Lissie’s yellow-brown eyes glistened happily in the firelight.
“Yay! We can make s’mores. S’mores! S’mores!” Avery chanted gleefully.
“Well, we have the graham crackers and the chocolate, but no marshmallows.” Lissie shrugged her shoulders.
“What kind of hotel is this?” Maeve joked. “S’mores are a must-have.”
“That’s it! I want to speak to the manager right now!” Avery giggled.
“Wait. I have an idea!” Maeve pulled out her stash of Swedish Fish. “These might work.”
“What! Are you crazy?” Avery asked.
“Trust me,” Maeve said. She took a few Swedish Fish and stacked them in an empty metal mug, which she placed on top of the red-hot coals.
A few moments later, Maeve carefully tested the fish with her finger. “Perfect,” she determined. “Just ooooeygoooeeey enough.” She assembled the strange s’more with confidence.
“Open wide,” Maeve told Avery.
“Why do I have to be the first one to try it?” Avery asked suspiciously.
“Oh, please . . . don’t tell me you’re scared?” Maeve egged her on. “Not the great Avery Madden.”
“I’m not scared,” Avery said.
“Then be quiet and open your mouth!” Maeve urged.
“Here goes nothing,” Avery murmured before opening her mouth wide.
Maeve held out the s’more and Avery took a big bite.
“Yum! It tastes exactly like a s’more. No, it’s better! Maeve, you’re a genius!” Avery exclaimed as she snatched the rest of the s’more from Maeve’s hand and gobbled it up.
“But we can’t just call it a s’more. It needs another name,” Maeve said.
“How about a s’fishmore?” Charlotte suggested.
“That’s it!” Maeve said. “We’ll have to make a huge box and send them to whoever owns this hotel as a thank-you.”
“Well, I’m not completely convinced that anyone lives here. But if someone does, who do you think it is?” Mr. Ramsey asked, raising his eyebrows up and down.
“Maybe they’re bank robbers hiding out from the law,” Avery speculated.
“Hope not!” Charlotte replied, licking some melted chocolate from her fingers. “Maybe it’s a writer—a western writer who wants to get in the spirit of the Old West by living in this ghost town.”
“No. No. NO! You’re both wrong,” Maeve insisted. “It’s probably someone who lost his only love and rather than going out into the world, hides out here trying to mend his broken heart.”
“Eeew! Why does everything have to be about love and romance with you?” Avery groaned.
“Maeve is what writers call a hopeless romantic,” Charlotte explained to Lissie.
“Hopeful romantic,” Maeve corrected Charlotte. “And very proud of it!” she asserted.
Lissie set the dinner dishes in boiling water and then poured drinking water into the coffeepot. She placed the pot over a bed of red hot coals she had raked to the side of the fire and waited until steam came shooting from the spout. Then she poured the steaming water into two mugs and stirred in instant coffee.
Mr. Ramsey accepted his mug eagerly. “Ahhh!” he said after the first sip. “Warms you from the inside out.”
“I have an idea,” Lissie said when her mug was almost empty. “Let’s play animal charades. It’s like normal charades—when you act out a word or phrase—but instead you have to act out an animal. But you can’t make sounds! That makes it too easy. Here, I’ll start.”
Lissie pretended to lick her balled-up hand and then rubbed it over her face to clean herself. Charlotte thought she looked exactly like Orangina, the cat that had lived on her houseboat in Paris.
“A cat!” Charlotte shouted out.
“You got it! You’re up next,” Lissie said.
Charlotte thought for a minute, then stood up. She folded her arms, tucking her hands inside her armpits to make wings.
“Bird!” Avery shouted.
Charlotte stretched her neck longer. She tried to remember exactly how the largest bird in the world looked on the plains of the Serengeti.
“Chicken,” Mr. Ramsey guessed.
Charlotte shook her head and motioned to her lengthened neck.
“Giraffe,” Maeve called out.
Charlotte shook her head again and emphasized the flapping of her wings.
“Swan!” Avery shouted.
Charlotte ran around the couch, slapping her feet on the floor to show their large size.
“Ostrich!” Maeve made one more guess.
“Yup, that’s it. Your turn.”
Maeve scrunched up into a small, compact shape. She wiggled her nose up and down and side to side.
“A mouse,” Avery grinned.
“Eeew, ick! Absolutely NOT!” Maeve cried.
“We’re playing charades,” Avery reminded her. “You aren’t supposed to talk.”
Maeve fell back into character . . . a small shape with a wiggling nose. She scampered over to Avery and gave her whisker kisses on her cheek.
“Romeo and Juliet,” Avery giggled and batted Maeve away from her.
“Huh?” Lissie asked.
“Maeve’s guinea pigs,” Avery explained.
“You named
your guinea pigs Romeo and Juliet?” Lissie asked.
“Actually, I’m calling them Marcia and Jan this week. But you’re still right, Avery. I’m a guinea pig.”
Avery didn’t need to be reminded it was her turn. She jumped on the couch and crouched down. Her knees were sticking up and her arms were resting in her lap. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, then quickly brought it back in. Then she pretended to catch something with her tongue and swallow it with a big gulp.
Charlotte was trying to choke out a guess, but she was so busy laughing she couldn’t get the word out.
Avery caught another fly with her tongue. As soon as she had swallowed this imaginary treat, she leaped into the air and landed on the old wooden floor with a thud. Even Mr. Ramsey and Lissie couldn’t stop laughing. Avery then proceeded to leap-frog over Maeve, who was giggling so hard she couldn’t speak.
“A frog! A frog!” Mr. Ramsey finally managed to get out between laughs.
“You got it, Mr. Ramsey,” Avery said as she settled on the couch, a human being once again.
“I don’t know if I can top that one, but let me see . . .”
Avery had no idea what sort of animal Mr. Ramsey was trying to portray. He moved very slowly, pretended to eat something, and scratched at his beard a lot. Avery wasn’t sure if the beard scratching was part of the clue or if Mr. Ramsey’s beard was just really itchy.
After a few guesses, Charlotte finally shouted out the right answer: “Wombat!”
“I thought you’d never get it,” Mr. Ramsey said, collapsing back against the couch. “I thought I’d remain a wombat for the rest of my days!”
“What’s a wombat, anyway?” Maeve asked.
“It’s a mammal that lives in Australia, and it looks like a cross between a small pig and a bear. They are totally adorable,” Charlotte assured a skeptical Maeve.
Everyone was having so much fun that they kept going for three more rounds. It was hard to tell who was better at animal charades—Avery, with her very convincing portrayal of a frog, or Mr. Ramsey, who became a hulking, snorting, turf-pawing buffalo right before their very eyes.
