Ghosters

by Corbitt, Diana;

  Kerry grins. “What if we actually do see a ghost, Mr. Martinez?”

  Dad smiles his oh-you’re-so-young smile and picks up his glass. “That, Kerry, is something I’m not worried about.”

  Everyone laughs except Joey, who’s been studying Kerry’s face all through dinner.

  Noticing, she says, “I like the way you eat your pizza, Joey.”

  His gaze falls back to his plate. When he doesn’t answer, I reach under the table and tap his leg with my foot.

  After a few seconds, Joey looks up at Kerry and says, “Thank you. I like how your eyes are two different colors.”

  Ghost chasing is going to be interesting.

  CHAPTER 5

  BACK BEFORE MOM died, Dad would always put in at least an hour of writing after dinner. These days, he spends his evenings flopped on the recliner, watching baseball, leaving me and Joey to clean up. Kerry helps, and since there’s no dishwasher, we do everything by hand. Once everything is washed and put away, I toss my dish towel onto the kitchen counter.

  “This is your big chance, Kerry. What do you want to see first?”

  She tips her head toward the wooden door next to the avocado green refrigerator. “Is that the basement?”

  The basement. Great. Even though that’s where the washer and dryer are, I haven’t been down there yet. There’s no lock on the door, just a bolt to hold it shut.

  Joey slides the bolt and pulls the door open with a creak. “It’s extremely dark down there.”

  Taller than Joey by more than a foot, Kerry peers over his head. “Perfect, that’s exactly what we want. Got a torch handy?”

  “You kidding?” I imagine Kerry leading the way, flaming torch in hand.

  She bites her lip. “Sorry, I forgot they’re called flashlights here.”

  “This house is old,” Joey says, “but it does have electricity.”

  “Of course, but traditionally, one looks for ghosts in the dark. They never use lights on Ghosters.”

  I giggle. “I don’t want to be mean, but why didn’t you bring a flashlight?”

  Kerry’s shoulders slump. “My brother ran down the batteries.”

  “No problem. I think I saw some in a drawer.” While I search, Kerry heads off to get her EMF meter. By the time I track down the flashlights she’s back in the kitchen waving the little black box out in front of her.

  “Dad’s not going to like you taking his TV remote,” Joey tells her.

  She paces the room, arm outstretched. “It might as well be a remote, for all the good it’s doing.”

  “That’s an EMF meter,” I explain to Joey. “A ghost detecting tool. Kerry must expect the kitchen to be crawling with them.”

  My brother scans the linoleum for ghosts until Kerry pulls her cell phone from her back pocket. “Kerry,” he says, eyeing her phone, “even if ghosts do exist, I doubt if they accept phone calls—or texts for that matter.”

  “I wasn’t planning on . . .” She studies Joey’s blank expression. “Like most mobile telephones, this one’s got a video camera. Not the best, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Joey crinkles his brow, and we wait as he chooses his words. “Oh, I get it. You want to document what we see.”

  “Right.”

  For a moment, he meets Kerry’s eyes. “Can I be in the one to work it?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I can’t very well monitor the EMF meter and film ghosts at the same time.” She passes him the cell phone. “Who knows, maybe you’ll capture images good enough for the Ghosters contest.”

  “What’s that?” Joey asks.

  “It’s a contest that pays a lot of money to whoever captures the best images of a ghost.”

  As if to remind me of how broke we are, the ancient refrigerator clicks on with a loud whomp. I cut my eyes at it. The only way that antique gets replaced is if we really do win the contest.

  I flick the flashlights on and off, then pass one to Kerry. “Here’s your torch. What do we do now?”

  “We turn off the lights and start working our way down.”

  Hmmm. Creeping around in a dark basement. Did I actually think this would be fun?With a sigh, I drag over one of the kitchen chairs.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Kerry asks.

  I swing the basement door open and shove the chair up against it, propping it wide. “If we’re going to do this, the kitchen lights stay on. That way we’ll be able to see it if something happens down there.”

  Kerry blinks. “Why? What do you think will happen?”

  “Theresa’s scared of the dark,” Joey says as his fingers work the cell phone.

  “What?” I realize my mouth is hanging open and snap it shut. Joey, you big mouth.“I’m not scared, I just—”

  “You asked Dad to put a night light in the hallway upstairs.”

  “Okay, fine. Joey’s right. But I’m not scared so much when it’s dark-ish. It’s the dark-dark that really gets me, you know? Like when you can’t see a thing.” I cross my arms and look at Kerry. Okay, go ahead and laugh.

  Instead, she reaches through the basement doorway and flicks the light switch.

  “Darn, it doesn’t work,” she mutters.

  “What’s the problem?” Joey asks. “You said ghost-chasers don’t use lights anyway.”

  “I was hoping to give Theresa a little preview of what she’s getting herself into.”

  Aw. Is it just Kerry, or are all British people this considerate? I throw back my shoulders and click on my flashlight. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER 6

  FROM UPSTAIRS LOOKING down, the basement is just creepy. But once I go down a few steps, I realize I’m not just leaving the light of the kitchen, I’m leaving its safety too. For all I know, this darkness is filled with horrible creatures waiting to snatch me up and swallow me whole. I take a deep breath and slowly blow it out. In this dim light Joey seems calm, almost bored.

  Not nearly as anxious to get down there as Kerry, I take one step at a time.

  Why does she have to be into ghosts?

  Step.

  Why couldn’t it be cooking?

  Step.

  Halfway down, I stop, draw in another deep breath. Directly in front of us, the flashlight shows a big wooden shelf stocked with dusty jars of canned tomatoes. Nothing scary there, but what about the rest of the place?

  “Think I’ll check for monsters,” I tell them. Only half kidding, I lean against the railing, peer over.

  “See any?” Joey asks, serious as ever.

  Since I don’t want Kerry to think I’m a baby, I shake my head and make myself smile. “Jojo, I was only—”

  Crreeaaak!

  The wooden railing falls away, crashing and banging into the darkness below. Off balance, I shriek and flap my arms. My shirt tightens against my chest and neck. Someone’s pulling me back. Kerry.

  I fling my arms around her. “Oh my God, you saved my life.”

  She clears her throat. I realize how tight my hug really is and pull away, ears burning. Geez, can I act like more of an idiot?

  “So, did you see any monsters?” Joey asks, still filming me.

  I shake my head and run down the last few steps. Once at the bottom, Kerry and I shine our flashlights all around us. The smell reminds me a lot of the antiques store Mom sometimes visited back in Crescent City. Old and moldy.

  “Oh, look. There’s the washer and dryer.” Kerry points them out with her light.

  I shake my head at the dusty yellow appliances stacked with old newspapers. “Yuck. They’re all rusty. Things must be fifty years old.”

  “You should be happy you have them,” Kerry says. “When we first moved here, my mum and I had to wash our clothes at a Laundromat.”

  I scowl. “At least Laundromats have lights. I sure don’t want to come down here every time I need clean socks.” I think back to the pile of dirty clothes at the bottom of my closet.

  Kerry giggles. “Thought you didn’t mind the
shadows.”

  “Guess I was wrong.”

  “Darkness is just the absence of light,” Joey says matter-of-factly.

  I shine my light over the shelf full of canning jars. “Yeah, but when all you see are shadows, your imagination fills in the blanks.”

  His eyes follow the beam. “In total darkness there are no shadows.”

  “Whatever.” Frowning, I turn around slowly. There’s a rusty old bike, over here a three-legged table. What a mess.

  Kerry points her flashlight above us. “Look. That’s why the lights don’t work.”

  A cloth-covered wire snakes across the ceiling, clamped in places to thick wooden beams. It ends at a ceramic knob and an empty light socket.

  “Even I know how to fix that,” Joey says.

  “The job is yours, little brother. You can—” As I speak, I turn to my left, earning myself a mouthful of cobwebs. “Oh, yuck.” I shove the flashlight at Joey and swipe at the gunk strung across my face and shoulders.

  Joey points the beam directly into my eyes. “What do they feel like?”

  What does he think they feel like? I turn my back to the light. “Like cobwebs, silly!”

  “Yeah, but are they thick and sticky?”

  “See for yourself.” I turn and drag my silk-covered hand across the front of his shirt. Joey’s lips curl like I just smeared dog poop on him, and immediately, I regret my little joke.

  “Stop it, Theresa.” He paws at the tiny threads on his chest. “I just wanted to know if it was from a black widow.”

  “Black widow?” What’s on my neck? My guilt vanishes at the thought of a hamster-sized creature sinking its fangs into my skin. “Get it off me!” I twirl, slapping myself all over like some freaked-out ballerina.

  “Oh, stop,” Kerry tells me. “There’s nothing there.”

  Joey plucks the last strand from his shirt and rubs it between his fingers. “This silk is weak.”

  “So, it’s probably from a daddy longlegs,” Kerry says.

  “Actually, daddy longlegs are not really spiders. They’re more closely related to scorpions.”

  “What? They can sting? I didn’t know that.” I swing my head from side to side, trying to see over my shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says, turning his attention to a table stacked with old magazines.

  Sure, the thing’s not crawling on you, is it?

  Kerry tips her head to the side. “And why is that?”

  “Because that web is probably from a common cellar spider,” he says, running his finger across the dusty table. “Daddy longlegs don’t make webs.”

  I quit spinning. “Okay, so are cellar spiders poisonous?” Say no. Please, say no.

  He shakes his head.

  I take back the flashlight. “Thanks. That’s all I need to know.”

  Kerry aims her beam into the darkness. “Even with this flashlight I still can’t see very far. This place is huge.”

  Yeah, huge. Big enough for all sorts of things to hide in.

  Something squeaks behind us. As one, we swing our lights back toward the washing machine. Do we see anything move? No, but we hear it. Small. Scurrying through the darkness.

  Holy crabs!“Is that what I think it is?”

  “All right, so there are a few mice,” Kerry says. “I suppose we should have expected it.”

  Expected it? We’re talking about little hairy creatures, not a surprise rain shower. No matter how cute they looked in the pet shops, the thought of their little toenails clawing their way up my bare leg makes me shiver. Regretting my decision to wear shorts, I pan my beam along the floor in quick semicircles, trying to surround myself with light.

  Kerry lays a calming hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Theresa. They’re running because they’re scared.”

  They’re scared? I glance longingly toward the stairs and the light from the kitchen, but don’t resist as Kerry nudges me deeper into the basement. There’s a wall behind the washer and dryer. We step around it to discover a huge, white, rectangular box.

  “Looks like a coffin for a big fat fellow,” Kerry says, poking me with her elbow.

  The thing really does look like a coffin.

  “It’s a freezer,” Joey announces.

  ¡Tonta! Of course, it’s a freezer. I step closer then stop. A brick props the top open a few inches, revealing nothing but darkness. Again, my imagination kicks in. What if there’s a body in there? Or . . . something worse?I picture a Golem-like creature licking its chops at the hope of fresh meat. It’s watching me now, hoping I’ll heave open the lid and lean in, because then it could—

  “Want to open it?”

  Kerry’s voice drags me back to reality, and my “What for?” comes out higher pitched than I like. Stupid. I’m too old to be acting like this. We barely take a handful of steps. An odd sound cuts through the silence, a lot like a yelp from a puppy.

  It’s Kerry. “I was wrong about there being mice,” she mutters.

  Why does she sound so disappointed? “Okay, but what made that squeaking sound?”

  She aims her light at the shelves beside the freezer.

  A rat the size of Dad’s shoe sits up. Blinks.

  “That’s it. We’re done.” I turn and take a couple steps for the stairs. Joey is still standing there and I grab his arm and drag him with me.

  Kerry hustles after us. “Hold on,” she pleads. “I’m not mad about rats either, but there’s only been one. We’ll stay out in the open. Rats simply don’t attack people for no reason. Isn’t that right, Joey?”

  I stop, narrow my gaze on Joey.

  “That’s correct,” he says, peeling my fingers from his arm. “There are no known accounts of rats attacking people who are vertical and moving.”

  “Yeah?” Not totally convinced, I scan the floor around us. “Because I saw this old movie once, and those rats sure as heck—”

  “This isn’t a movie, Theresa.” Kerry hauls me back to where we saw the rat. This time the shelf is empty. “See?” she says, giving me a big fake smile, “it was probably blinded by the flashlight.”

  Joey nods. “The rat was blinded . . . temporarily when its pupils contracted.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, embarrassed for being the only one to freak out about it. “I guess I can handle one rat at a time, especially if they run off like that one did.” Did I really say that? Maybe I’m braver than I thought.

  The space ahead of us is a cluttered mess, just like the part we’ve come through. We pass all kinds of junk: a broken TV . . . boxes of old records . . . a stack of rolled up carpeting. In some places the boxes are piled as high as Kerry’s head. A netting of dusty cobwebs covers most of it, giving everything a creepy, forgotten feeling.

  “Joey, I hate to say it, but it looks like our grandparents were hoarders.”

  He nods his agreement and aims the camera in the direction of Kerry’s flashlight beam. “I don’t want to go that way,” he announces as his nose starts to crinkle. “There’s a bad smell coming from over there.”

  Kerry takes a few steps and stops. “Crikey, Joey’s right. I think something died down here.”

  Died?

  “Crikey.” Joey repeats the word a few times as if trying it on for size.

  I move closer to Kerry, and now I smell it too. “Does that mean there’s a . . . a corpse?” Again, my voice reaches an embarrassing pitch. So much for being brave.

  “Theresa . . .” Kerry smirks. “I was talking about a cat or, more likely, a rat.” As she picks her way toward the mysterious odor, she raises her hand to her face. “Ugh. It’s even worse over here. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

  “Putrid?” Joey suggests.

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Kerry waves Joey over. “Come on. Like you said, I want you to document everything. Whatever it is.”

  “Oh, all right.” With one hand holding the cell phone/camera out in front of him, he raises his free arm to his face like he’s sneezing into his elbow and ed
ges forward.

  Kerry eyes a tall stack of boxes. “I can’t really see what’s causing the smell without pushing some of this rubbish out of the way. Do you think your dad would mind?” She pulls the neck of her tee-shirt up and perches it on her nose.

  “He’ll have to clean it all out anyway.” With one hand holding my nose, I wave her on with my flashlight hand. “Go ahead, push.”

  She sets her feet. “All right, now get ready to move . . . because if there’s something living in there . . .”

  “Oh, wow, I didn’t think of that. Hold on a sec.” On a rack, a short-handled shovel hangs between a spade and some kind of pitchfork. I pull it off and position my flashlight on a stack of crates about six feet from Kerry. Breathing through my mouth, I raise the shovel over my head.

  Kerry shines her light on me. “You really believe you’re going to stand there and pound whatever comes at you?”

  Am I?“I don’t know.” I take a couple of practice swings. “But holding it sure makes me feel safer.”

  “Okay, but watch out with that shovel, because if anything does run out, the first thing coming at you will be me.” She rests her palm against the middle of the junk heap. “Ready with the camera, Joey?”

  He nods.

  “Okay, here goes.”

  She gives the pile a push and it crashes to the side, raising a small cloud of dust and destroying the homes of at least ten generations of spiders. I hear a couple of squeaks so I shift from one foot to the other, chest pounding, shovel ready. Kerry hustles toward us, coughing as she searches the floor with her light.

  We only see one rat. It runs out into the open and stops, probably confused by the dust.

  All pumped up, I swing the shovel and show it my teeth. “Aaaah. Get lost, you.” I stomp my feet. To my relief, the thing scuttles off.

  “Very impressive.” Kerry grins between inhaler puffs. “Told you they would run away.”

  “He’d be crazy not to,” Joey says. “A giant was swinging a shovel at him.”

  A giant? Hmm . . . never looked at it that way.

  Once the dust settles, Kerry leads us back to what she uncovered, a wilted cardboard box buzzing with flies. She shines her light inside. “Aw, poor little guy.”