More Adventures of the Great Brain

by John D. Fitzgerald

  “There is no such thing as a ghost,” Tom said.

  Sammy looked at my brother as if Tom had just said there was no sun in the sky. “How about the ghost of Silverlode?” he asked. “My own Pa told me he’d seen the ghost.”

  “And mine,” Danny said.

  “My Pa too,” Seth said.

  “I don’t care what your fathers think they saw,” Tom said. “There is no such thing as a ghost.”

  Sammy got angry. “Are you calling my Pa a liar?” he demanded.

  “I’m not calling any of your fathers a liar,” Tom said. “All I’m saying is there is no such thing as a ghost, and there is a perfectly logical explanation for what they think they saw.”

  “But,” I protested, “Uncle Mark says he saw the ghost, and he is a Marshal and Deputy Sheriff.”

  Tom could sure be stubborn at times. “I don’t care what Uncle Mark or anybody says. My great brain tells me there is no such thing as a ghost.”

  Sammy got that sly city-slicker look on his face. “Have you ever been to Silverlode at night?” he asked.

  “No,” Tom admitted, “but my father took me and my brothers there in the daytime once.”

  “Everybody knows that ghosts only appear at night,” Sammy said. “My Pa says when it gets dark the ghost of Tinker comes right up from his grave. I’ll bet you are afraid to go there at night.”

  “I promised my father I’d never go to Silverlode unless he was with me,” Tom said. “And besides, I also promised him I’d never make any more bets with you kids.”

  “A poor excuse is better than none,” Sammy said with a sneering look.

  That got to Tom. “If I went there alone at night and came back and told you kids there was no ghost who would believe me?” he asked. “The only way I could prove it would be to have witnesses. All right, Sammy, are you willing to go there at night with me and be a witness?”

  Poor old Sammy suddenly lost his sly look. “Why me?” he asked.

  “The more witnesses the better,” Tom said. “All of you meet me here after curfew Monday night, and I’ll prove there is no such thing as the ghost of Silverlode.”

  I figured Tom had neatly turned the tables on Sammy. None of the kids in their right minds would meet him. But I was wrong.

  Parley Benson pushed his coon-skin cap to the back of his head. He patted the Bowie knife in the scabbard on his belt. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “I’ll meet you.”

  Tom looked at Parley with surprise but only for a second. “How about you other fellows?” he asked. “The more witnesses the better.”

  The other kids either had to volunteer or admit they were cowards.

  “I’ll be here,” Sammy said but sure didn’t look pleased with the idea.

  “Me too,” Danny said.

  “I’m game if the rest of you are,” Seth said and sounded as if he were pronouncing his own death sentence.

  “Me no afraid to go,” Basil said, “but I can’t sneak out of my room.”

  Basil was right. He lived in an apartment above the Palace Cafe. Even if he jumped from the second-story window of his bedroom and didn’t hurt himself, he could never get back in his room.

  Tom looked at the rope ladder leading up to his loft. “You can borrow my rope ladder,” he said. “Tie it to your bed or something and use it to get out and back into your bedroom.”

  On Monday morning Papa told Tom and me to come to the Advocate office after we’d finished our morning chores and distribute some handbills for a livestock auction.

  When we arrived at the Advocate office, Tom took one stack of handbills and put them in the basket on his bicycle to deliver in town. I took the other stack with the tack hammer and box of tacks to post on trees and on the light poles on Main Street. I met Seth Smith when I was about half done. He offered to help me.

  “I told my Uncle Steve we are going to Silverlode tonight,” Seth said.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked. “Now the whole deal is off. He’ll tell your mother and father, and they will tell the parents of all the other kids.”

  I acted like I was angry, but I was really happy. I hadn’t volunteered to go but this would give Tom a good excuse to not go.

  “Uncle Steve gave me his word he won’t tell a soul,” Seth said. “I just wanted him to know because he is interested in ghosts and ghost stories.”

  Well, I thought to myself, if that is the case, it isn’t even important enough to mention to Tom.

  * * *

  That night when Tom and I went up to our bedroom, I started to get undressed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Tom asked.

  “Going to bed,” I said.

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” Tom said. “You are coming with me.”

  “You didn’t hear me volunteer to go,” I said as I pulled off one shoe.

  “I’ll need you as a witness in case the other kids back out,” Tom said.

  “Then take Sweyn as a witness,” I said as I took off my other shoe.

  A slow smile came to Tom’s lips which suddenly broke into a big grin. “Why not?” he asked. “I’ll take you both, if big brother isn’t afraid.”

  I put my shoes back on trying to think of some excuse for not going. Maybe I could pretend I was suddenly very sick. No, Tom was too smart for that. And if I said I was afraid to go, that would make me a coward. I was trapped.

  We had to wait until almost nine o’clock before Sweyn came upstairs. Papa and Mamma said he was old enough to stay up an hour later than Tom and me. Tom met him at the top of the stairs and brought him into our bedroom.

  “We are going to Silverlode as soon as the curfew whistle blows,” Tom said. “I’m going to prove there is no such thing as a ghost.”

  “You must be crazy,” Sweyn said and looked afraid.

  “I’m not crazy,” Tom said, “but it looks as if us little grade-school kids have more courage than you big Academy fellows.”

  Sweyn had to admit he was a coward or go after that. Tom removed the screen from our bedroom window and we all shinnied down the elm tree. We went to our corral and waited in the bright moonlight. Parley was the first to arrive, then Sammy and Danny, followed by Seth. A few minutes later Basil arrived.

  We all sneaked up alleys until we came to the town limits and the sign. We walked along the old road until we were at the corner of Whiskey Row, which used to be the main street of the mining camp, and Corry Street.

  I looked around and began to shiver. The thrifty Mormons had torn down many of the wooden buildings to use the lumber for making barns and pens, but there were still several deserted buildings on Whiskey Row. And I could see old weather-beaten shacks on both sides of the canyon, and the entrance to several old mine tunnels, and the giant excavations of big mines now overgrown with weeds and underbrush.

  Tom led us up Corry Street as if he was just taking us on a nice safe hike. We had only gone a few steps when we heard a ghostly sound and all of us except Tom stopped. He looked back over his shoulder.

  “It was just an owl,” he said.

  We continued on to the end of Corry Street and started up a trail that led to Boot Hill.

  “Go single file now,” Tom ordered us. “We are safe as long as we stay on the path. Get off it and you might fall into an old mine shaft or tunnel or an old well.”

  We were about halfway up the path leading to the cemetery when we heard a roaring flapping sound and saw what looked like a thousand bats flying out of a hole by the side of the path. That was enough to make even Tom stop.

  Seth was the first to speak. “May-may-maybe they are vampire bats,” he said, stuttering he was so scared. “My Uncle Steve said vampire bats will attack a person and drink their blood.”

  “These are mine bats,” Tom said. “You don’t see them attacking us, do you? Come on.”

  Tom continued to lead us up the trail until we came to a place where the ground leveled out and we could see Boot Hill. In the eerie moonlight I could see old weather-beaten wood
en grave markers and two big marble headstones almost as high as I was. I knew one of those marble headstones was over the grave of Mr. Tinker because Papa had showed it to us on our daylight trip to Silverlode.

  “Take a good look, fellows,” Tom said casually. You’d think he’d told us to look at a nice flower garden. “You don’t see any ghost, do you? I told you there was no such thing as a ghost.”

  He had no sooner got the words out of his mouth when the ghost of Tinker came right up out of its grave behind its headstone. He was dressed in a white sheet just like a ghost is supposed to be.

  “Ohhhhhhh!” the ghost cried out in a shrill high voice. “It is so cold and dark in that grave.”

  Then he saw us and the most shrill and terrifying cackling laughter came from him I’d ever heard.

  My feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground and my tongue suddenly got so big I couldn’t even scream. I could feel the hair on my head standing as stiff as bristles on a hairbrush. I could hear all the other kids except Tom screaming with terror. They all took off, running lickity-split down the trail.

  Tom grabbed my arm and spun me around as the ghost started coming toward us. “Let’s get out of here!” he shouted as he gave me a push.

  My feet came loose from the ground, and my tongue got small again. I let out a terrified scream and ran like sixty down the trail with Tom behind me and the sound of that crazy, horrible, cackling laughter of the ghost in my ears.

  By the time Tom and I reached the corner of Corry Street and turned onto Whiskey Row, the other kids were a block in front of us. And who do you think was in the lead? My big brother Sweyn!

  I took out after them, and if I’d ever run that fast at the foot races at the County Fair, I’d have won every prize. I thought the other kids would wait for us when they reached the town limits of Adenville, but they didn’t. I learned the next day none of them stopped until they were safe in their own beds.

  When Tom and I climbed through our bedroom window, my oldest brother was sitting on my bed puffing like a racehorse. Tom and I sat down beside him, and boy, were we puffing too. I never thought I could run more than a mile at top speed, but I did that night.

  Sweyn was the first to get his breath. “I hope your great brain doesn’t get any more crazy ideas,” he whispered so Mamma, Papa, and Aunt Bertha wouldn’t hear us downstairs. “And don’t ever try to tell me again there is no ghost of Silverlode.”

  “My great brain still tells me there is no such thing as a ghost,” Tom whispered.

  “Then your great brain has shrunk down to the size of a pea,” Sweyn said. “We saw the ghost come right up out of its grave, and we heard the ghost. What more do you want? And I didn’t see you standing there and telling the ghost there was no such thing as a ghost.”

  “At least I wasn’t leading the pack like you,” Tom said. “I made sure J.D. got out of there because I knew he was plenty scared.”

  “And you weren’t,” Sweyn said sarcastically.

  “Why should I have been?” Tom asked. “Did you ever hear of a ghost who physically harmed anybody?”

  “Then why did you run?” Sweyn asked.

  “Because my big Academy brother ran like a scared rabbit and left J.D. standing there petrified with fright,” Tom said.

  Sweyn got up from the bed. “Just count me out of any more crazy ideas you get,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

  Tom and I got undressed and into bed. Then a reaction set in on me. I began to shiver and whimper with fright.

  “Go to sleep,” Tom said.

  “How can I?” I asked. “That ghost is going to haunt us for sure for disturbing him. I don’t care what your great brain tells you. For my money that was an honest-to-goodness ghost.”

  “Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t,” Tom said. “If it was a ghost, my great brain won’t rest until I get a chance to talk to it and find out what makes a ghost, and why they go around haunting places and people. And if it isn’t a real ghost, my great brain won’t rest until I find out who has been scaring the daylights out of kids and grownups all these years.”

  “Well, all I can say is that you’re not going to get any help from me,” I said.

  When I woke up in the morning, I was more sure than ever that Tom wouldn’t get any help from me. I had nothing but terrible nightmares all night with ghosts chasing me.

  After we’d finished our morning chores, Tom went up to his loft to think. This was one time I hoped his great brain had sense enough to tell him to leave ghosts alone.

  That afternoon we went swimming. Parley, Sammy, Danny, Seth, and Basil went with us. They all looked red-eyed as if they’d had the same kind of nightmares I’d had. We talked about the ghost on our way to the swimming hole. Everybody agreed it was a sure-enough ghost except Tom.

  “My great brain won’t rest until I find out if it was a real ghost,” Tom said.

  Basil shook his head. “If you don’t find out last night, you never do.”

  “And,” I said, “your great brain is never going to get any rest as far as I’m concerned.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “All I want you to do is to go to Silverlode with me again tonight,” Tom said. “If we see and hear the ghost again, then I’ll believe in ghosts. But maybe we all just imagined we saw and heard a ghost last night. How about it?”

  This time Tom didn’t get one volunteer.

  “Are you cowards or men?” Tom demanded. “I say anybody who refuses to go is a coward.”

  Tom had us over a barrel.

  “I’ll go.” Parley was the first to volunteer.

  The rest of us had to admit we were cowards or meet Tom outside our barn that night.

  Well, I sure wouldn’t have volunteered if I’d known what Tom planned to do that night. I would have cheerfully let every kid in town call me a coward first. But I didn’t know until we went up to our room that night.

  “I didn’t want to tell the other kids, J.D.,” Tom said as we waited for the curfew whistle to blow, “but tonight I’m going to capture that ghost or whatever it is. And you are going to help me.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not,” I said. “The ghost of Silverlode never did me any harm and won’t as long as I leave him alone.”

  “Oh, yes, you are,” Tom said.

  “What are you going to do with a ghost if you do capture it?” I asked, hoping that would make him change his mind.

  “If it is a real ghost,” Tom said, “I’ll interview it. I’ll find out all about ghosts and Papa can print the story in the Advocate. It will make him world-famous. You wouldn’t do anything to prevent Papa from becoming a world-famous journalist would you?”

  “Of course not,” I answered.

  “That is why I knew you would help me,” Tom said. “And if it isn’t a real ghost like my great brain tells me, I’ll find out who has been scaring kids and grownups by pretending to be a ghost.”

  The curfew whistle finally blew. We met the other kids in front of our barn. Tom went into the barn, where I’d locked up my dogs. When he came out, he was carrying Sweyn’s lariat.

  Sammy pointed at it. “Why the lariat?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there,” Tom said.

  Again we sneaked without being seen to the town limits and then walked to the corner of Whiskey Row and Corry Streets.

  “Now I’ll tell you fellows about the lariat,” Tom said. “I’m going to capture that ghost or whatever it is tonight. You fellows stay here for five minutes. That will give J.D. and me time to sneak up that other trail leading to a mine in back of the cemetery. I’m going to sneak up behind the ghost or whatever it is when he steps in front of the tombstone and lasso him to the tombstone.”

  “Not me,” Seth said. “I’m going home right now.”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of,” Tom said. “If the ghost is going to be mad at anybody it will be J.D. and me for trying to capture him and not you fellows.”

  “How will we know w
hen it is five minutes?” Sammy asked.

  “All you’ve got to do is count slowly up to three hundred,” Tom said. “Then go up the trail to where we were last night. Stay there until the ghost appears and stands up in front of that big tombstone. Then you can all beat it home. That is, unless you want to stay and help me capture the ghost.”

  Tom sure didn’t get any volunteers that time.

  “J.D. and I will leave now, so you can start counting,” Tom said.

  I had no choice but to follow my brother or be branded a coward. I knew Papa would rather see me dead than walking around a coward. And I was sure I was going to drop dead from fright if nothing else that night.

  Tom ran with me down Whiskey Row to another street, where we turned to the right. We ran softly to the end of that street and then began to walk carefully and quietly up a trail that led to a mine in back of Boot Hill. Then we crawled on our hands and knees through the cemetery until we came to the big marble tombstone in back of the big tombstone of Mr. Tinker’s grave. We were only about thirty feet from where we’d seen the ghost the night before. Tom peeked around the tombstone where we were hiding.

  “There is something fishy about this,” he whispered to me. “The ghost or whatever it is is hiding behind the Tinker tombstone.”

  My curiosity overcame my fright. I peeked around the headstone. Sure enough, I could see something white crouched behind the tombstone in front of us.

  Then we heard the footsteps of the kids coming up the trail to Boot Hill. Again I peeked around the tombstone. I saw them stop where we had all stopped the night before. Then the ghost got up from behind the headstone and stepped around in front of it with his back toward us, facing the other kids.

  “Ohhhhhh!” the ghost cried in that high shrill voice of his. “It is so cold and dark in that grave.” Then he began that terrible cackling laughter that sent chills all over my body. I stared with fascinated horror as Tom got up and walked toward the ghost. He stopped about fifteen feet from the ghost and made a loop in the lariat. The kids began to scream with terror and run down the trail. Tom began to whirl the lariat over his head. It made a whining noise which the ghost couldn’t hear because of his cackling laughter and the screaming of the kids. Then Tom made a perfect throw with the lariat. The noose dropped smack over the ghost and the big tombstone. Tom jerked it tight and then began running around the big tombstone and the ghost, making coil after coil of rope, tying the ghost to the tombstone. When the end of the lariat got short, Tom stopped behind the tombstone and tied it with a slipknot to the noose of the lariat.