Ghosters

by Corbitt, Diana;

  Even though my stomach feels like there’s a dozen miniature cheerleaders jumping around inside it, I wave her forward. “Go ahead, Kerry. Talk to it.” I light up the canvas with my flashlight.Ohmygosh! What if the thing answers?

  She takes a step forward then bends at the waist, literally talking down to the thing. “Hello. I’m Kerry Addison. I’d love to speak with you.”

  Come on, ghost. Say something.

  But it doesn’t, or at least I don’t hear it. From the disappointed look on her face, neither does Kerry.

  She calls out a few more times and then sighs. “My gran says not to take it personally if I don’t get a response. Very few ghosts are both willing and able.”

  “Yeah, they hardly ever hear any actual voices on Ghosters,” I say, hoping to make her feel better.

  The EMF stays lit, but after a few more tries, Kerry says, “All right, enough of this. Time to see what’s under there.” There’s a broken garden rake in the corner. She grabs it, then hands me her flashlight.

  “Afraid to touch it?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes on me. “Would you like the honors?”

  “Maybe next time.”

  Spotlighted by two flashlights, Kerry grips the rake with both hands and stands as far from the canvas-covered lump as possible. “Ready, Joey?”

  He nods.

  “Theresa?”

  I nod. For the second time in three days, an icy finger touches the base of my spine. I grip the flashlights hard, hoping to keep my hand from shaking.

  Like some bored nature photographer filming his ten-thousandth deer, Joey calmly records Kerry as she hooks the tip of the rake on a tiny hole and whips the canvas onto the floor.

  I gasp.

  Kerry snarls. “If you guys post that on the Internet, I’ll strangle you.”

  It’s a little pink tricycle.

  Instead of laughing, I lunge forward to crouch beside it. “Whoa, this is so weird.”

  “What?” Kerry asks. “Was it yours?”

  “I think so, but I always thought I had a red one.” I spin one of the pedals with my finger.

  “Maybe you had two and you don’t remember,” Joey suggests.

  “Why would I have two tricycles?”

  “Does it matter?” Kerry asks. “We’re looking for ghosts, remember? The EMF and my arm hairs say there has to be one close by.”

  Yeah, the ghost. I should be scared, but I can’t stop staring at the trike. There’s a bell attached to the right handlebar. I remember that too. Smiling, I reach down to ring it, but before my hand touches the lever . . .

  Brrrrr-ching.

  I jump back. It’s a good thing Kerry’s a lot bigger, otherwise, we’d both be on the floor.

  “Did you see that?” I shout as Kerry stands me back on my feet.

  “Bloody right, I did.”

  For a while, all we do is stare back and forth from the trike to each other. That’s when we notice Joey’s not filming anymore.

  “Tell me you recorded the bell ringing,” Kerry says.

  “I recorded the bell ringing,” Joey tells her, just as she asked.

  Kerry grins, but since I know my brother I rephrase her question, “Did you record the bell ringing, Joey?”

  “No.”

  “Arrrgh.” Kerry snatches up the now lifeless meter and waves it around the room. “Hello? Ghost? Are you still here?”

  It’s gone. The shock of that crazy trike bell ringing has worn off, and I try to imagine what the Ghosters would do. “I think we should check the bell.”

  “Theresa’s right.” Joey says. “It could have been stuck and pulling the canvas off shook it loose.”

  Kerry shrugs. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I’ll do it,” says Joey. He bends down and thumbs the little metal lever.

  Brrrrr-ching, brrrrr-ching.

  “It doesn’t jam at all,” says Kerry. “That means a ghost must have rung it.” She looks at me, then Joey. “Still feeling strange?”

  We shake our heads.

  “I don’t either,” Kerry says. “It appears tonight’s little adventure is over.”

  Already? I can see why Kerry is so into this ghost stuff. It really is a rush.I sidestep the tricycle and follow her to the door, a confused mess of relief, shock, and frustration.

  “So what? You think the trike is what burst out of that junk pile earlier?”

  “Well . . . yes,” Kerry answers. “With the ghost’s help, of course.”

  “But why?”

  “Who knows why ghosts do what they do?” She stuffs the EMF meter into her back pocket.

  Joey calls me back. “Theresa, we should look for light bulbs. You don’t want to do laundry by flashlight.”

  Joey’s right, but why does he assume it’s me that’s going to wash everybody’s clothes? He’s old enough. I leave that argument for another day, and we search the cabinets. Kerry takes the left side of the room. Joey and I take the right. Grandpa’s workroom is the complete opposite of the rest of the basement. Every cabinet is neat and organized, but from what we can tell, none of them has light bulbs.

  Kerry pulls out the EMF meter, frowns, then checks the time. “Seven forty-five. I should get going.”

  “Watch,” I tell her. “One of those cabinets we haven’t checked yet is going to have a huge box of light bulbs in it.”

  Kerry leads the way out of the workshop, followed by Joey, then me. I almost reach the door when a distant tinkling sound grabs my attention.

  “Did you hear that?” I move to the far end of the workshop, the part none of us has explored yet. Again, the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. Do they know something I don’t?

  “What? Are the light bulbs calling you?” Kerry teases. “Theresa. We’re over here. Don’t leave us.”

  Ignoring Kerry, I yank open another cabinet. “Look what I found.”

  “Are there really light bulbs in there?” Kerry peeks inside. Attached to the back of the door is a tiny rack with five little hooks. A key hangs from each of them. Four have labels. The fifth, lots older and bigger than the rest, doesn’t.

  “I heard them,” I whisper. “I was going to leave, but then I heard them.”

  “Like voices?” Joey asks.

  I start to laugh, then realize he’s serious. “No, not talking, Joey, tinkling. You know, like rattling against each other.”

  “Ohmygosh!” Kerry jostles me back and forth. “A ghost wanted you to find those keys.”

  She’s right. Before the thing with the tricycle, I would have blamed the jingling on an earthquake tremor, but now I stare, heart pounding as Kerry checks the EMF meter again.

  “Nothing,” she tells us. “That ghost sure is a slippery thing. Rattled those keys to get your attention, then legged it.”

  “Legged it?” Joey asks.

  “Took off.” Miming a tiny runner, she points two fingers at the floor, then waggles them.

  I read the tags on the four labeled keys: “Garage . . . shed . . . back door . . . truck.”

  Kerry points at the fifth. “You should take that one with you.”

  I slip the key off the hook and shine my light on it. A dark brassy color, its head is a knot of lacy metal. On the other end is a flat rectangular piece with zigzagging lines cut into it.

  I squint up at Kerry. “Why take it? We don’t even know what it’s for.”

  “Exactly. None of the labeled keys are for the third floor,” Kerry explains. “So there’s a good chance that’s what it opens. Take it.”

  I wince. “But I promised my dad I wouldn’t go to the third floor.”

  With the light shining down on my hand, Kerry’s face looks ghoulish. “That’s okay. Having the key doesn’t mean you’re going to use it.”

  What’s she up to now?

  “Then why take it at all?” Joey asks, always logical.

  Like a teacher dealing with two exasperating students, Kerry rests one hand on her hip. “Let’s say that for some reason your dad need
s to go up there. You pull out the key and say, ‘Hey, Dad, look what I found.’ He’ll probably thank you, especially since he won’t have to search this rat-infested basement to find it.”

  She’s not fooling me. She wants to use it.

  The flashlight is still shining up on her face, and I raise my chin at my creepy looking friend. “So, why keep it a secret? Why not give it straight to my dad?”

  “Because then he won’t . . .” She tips her head to the side, frowns. “Okay, you guessed it. I’m a ghost-obsessed idiot. But you’re not. It’ll be safe in your hands, but leave it right where it is, if you think that’s best.”

  I look at Joey. “What would you do?”

  “Kerry does have a point, but either way is fine.”

  “Whatever.” I stuff the thing into my pocket.

  CHAPTER 9

  WE CLIMB BACK upstairs, and Kerry looks for Dad so she can thank him and say goodbye. We find him in the living room, stretched out on his recliner. He notices Kerry, pauses the TV, and sits up.

  “All done chasing ghosts? Where did you guys explore?”

  “The basement,” I say, trying to act bored. “It was . . . interesting.”

  “Yeah? What did you see?”

  Say it, before Joey does.

  Joey opens his mouth, but I blurt out, “A dead raccoon.”

  Problem solved.

  “And two live rats,” my ridiculously honest brother volunteers.

  Well, crabs. I shrug it off like I’m some junior Indiana Jones. Rats? No biggy.

  Dad purses his lips. “Oh, shoot. I should have told you guys to stay out of there too.” He looks at each of us. “But everybody’s okay, right? No bites?”

  “No bites,” Kerry says. “The rats just scampered away.”

  “Good.” Dad smiles at Joey. “So, did you see lots of ghosts?”

  Eyebrows raised, I hold my breath. Come on, little brother. Just do what we said. Be honest, but don’t volunteer anything.

  He sits on the sofa and pulls one of the throw pillows onto his lap. “I can truthfully say that we did not see one ghost.”

  Great. Now, I can breathe.

  “But there was one part I believe you should know about,” Joey says.

  What? I told him not to volunteer any information.

  “The railing on the left side of the stairs fell off.”

  “Oh, gosh.” Dad’s gaze bounces over to me. “Theresa, that’s dangerous. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sorry.” I stuff my hands in my front pockets. “It happened when we first started, and since nobody got hurt, I kind of forgot about it.” Stupid, Theresa. Like he’s not going to notice.

  Kerry rocks from one foot to the other, obviously dying to spill the rest.

  Good thing I warned her not to. Dad would just laugh and rationalize it all away. Easy to do when you aren’t there to see it happen.

  Before she can change her mind, the black marble clock on the mantel chimes.

  “Time to go,” Kerry says. “Thanks for having me over, Mr. Martinez.” She turns to Joey on the sofa. “Goodbye, Joey. I had fun with you tonight.”

  Joey’s only response is to shift his gaze from the pillow to the paused baseball game on TV.

  Probably wondering why he’s suddenly mad at her, Kerry flicks her gaze between me and my brother before heading for the front door.

  “I’ll walk you out.” As I follow Kerry I make a mental note to write Joey a script for situations like that. Sometimes people expect answers, even when they’re not asking questions.

  I stand on the porch and watch Kerry trot down the steps to the driveway where her bike lies on its side. The sun’s fallen behind the hills, but there’s a headlight on the handlebars.

  “Joey’s not mad at you,” I call down to her. “He didn’t say anything because you weren’t asking a question.” I shrug. “It’s something we’re working on.”

  “Oh, I see. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Hey, why don’t you come over tomorrow afternoon?” I ask. “All we need is fresh batteries.”

  Grinning, she picks up her bike. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll have a few chores to do after school. Is three thirty all right?”

  “Sure. And bring your torch.”

  “Very funny.” Smiling, she waves goodbye and heads off down the gravel driveway to the street.

  Once Kerry rides away, I close the door and head back to the living room. Dad and Joey are already wrapped up in the baseball game.

  “Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?”

  “What?” His eyes never leave the screen.

  “Back at the old house . . . my tricycle. Remember the one I had when I was little?”

  “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He waggles his pointer finger at the TV screen. “Joey, watch this new batter. They just brought him up from the minors.”

  Thankfully, the guy pops out on the first pitch, so I have Dad’s attention for the next few seconds.

  “This probably sounds kind of dumb,” I say, stepping closer, “but I always thought my trike was red. And when we were down in the basement, I found a pink one. Did I have a second tricycle here at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, like for when we came to visit?”

  Dad sits there for a good while, his mouth slightly open. I start to wonder if he even heard me.

  He clears his throat and, with eyes glued to the next batter, says, “Uh . . . I don’t know. So much time has passed since I’ve seen you ride a tricycle.” Again, he pauses.

  I wait for the pitcher to throw. Once . . . twice. The batter strikes out.

  Dad winces and glances at me. “Yeah, well, I . . . uh . . . Now that I think of it, I do remember your grandparents having a pink trike here. Yeah, you . . . you rode it up and down the sidewalk when you came to visit.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I start to leave, but stop at the door. “It was good seeing my old trike down there. Reminds me of when I was little. Good times, huh?”

  For a second his eyes narrow. “Yeah, good times. Now let me watch the game. And keep your brother out of that basement until I take care of those rats. I don’t need him getting bitten . . . or you.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE NEXT DAY, Kerry comes over. I lead her into the living room and we plop down onto the sofa.

  “Thanks to Joey, my dad doesn’t want us going down into the basement anymore.”

  “No surprise there.” She unzips her backpack. “I don’t have to be home ’til five. Why don’t we head upstairs this time?”

  “Sure. I guess there’s just as much chance of seeing a ghost up there as anywhere else.”

  “Is your dad home?”

  “Actually, he’s down in the basement getting rid of that dead raccoon and setting rat traps.”

  Kerry smiles. “Wouldn’t it be funny if he saw a ghost?”

  “Hilarious. I’d love to hear him explain that bell ringing like it did.”

  “I got something in the post today.” After rooting around in her backpack for a while, Kerry pulls out a black plastic box the size and shape of an overfed sunglasses case. Inside is a shiny metal gadget, which she places on her open palm. “What do you think?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the EVP recorder I ordered.”

  What? I frown at it.

  “Electronic. Voice. Phenomenon?”

  Ooooh, yeah. I’ve seen those. “Isn’t that just a fancy name for a tape recorder?”

  “It’s not just a flipping tape recorder.” She leans toward me, eyes wide. “It records sounds that we . . . the living . . . can’t even hear.” She places her toy on her palm like she’s offering me a tiny tray of appetizers. “Brilliant, yes?”

  “Yeah, brilliant, but if you don’t want to catch an earful from my dad, you won’t do that in front of him.” I peer into her open backpack. “I see you brought your flashlight. I’ll go get mine.”

  When I get back, I find Kerry’s already standing at the top of the stairs.
<
br />   I jog up. “Where do you want to start?”

  She peeks into the nearest room, wrinkles her nose, then points down the hall. “Why don’t we try the one at the end?”

  “I knew it.”

  “What? What did I say?”

  “You know. ‘You should take the key,’” I say, trying to copy Kerry’s accent. “‘Your dad will thank you.’”

  “That’s the door to the third floor?” With long-legged strides she sprints toward it. “How was I supposed to know?”

  “Give me a break,” I mutter, racing to catch up. “We talked about it at dinner last night.”

  She looks the big wooden door up and down, and her lips curl into a sly smile.

  “Come on, Kerry.” I slide in front of her, back pressed to the door. “You heard my dad. We could crash through the floor and kill ourselves.”

  She jiggles the knob playfully. “Why is it that when you know you’re not allowed something you want it that much more?”

  I cross my arms in an effort to look tough, no easy job since she’s over a foot taller. “Give it up. We’re not going in.”

  “Don’t bite my arm off. I’m just teasing. This is a big house. Your ghost probably hangs out in lots of rooms.” Her eyes twinkle. “For all you know it stands over you at night when you’re sleeping.”

  I give her a shove. “Quit that. It’s bad enough knowing my house is haunted. Now I—”

  Joey comes out of his room, two doors down. “What are you doing down there?”

  Kerry smirks and gives me a sideways glance. “Not opening this door.”

  “Are you going to look for ghosts again?” He trots toward us.

  Kerry holds up the EVP thingy and nods.

  “My dad doesn’t want us going up to the third floor,” Joey says.

  “Oh, you remember that too.” She glances at the door between Joey’s and the one leading up to the third floor, then turns to me. “All right, if you aren’t willing to use that key we found, why don’t we have a look at this room?”

  Relieved, I join Kerry in front of it. “Okay, it’s not like I know one room from another.”

  “But you were in this house before,” Joey says. “When you were little.”