Ghost Attack

by David Lubar

  “This will never work,” I said. It was one thing to decide to search fields and woods for a cave in a cliff. It was a completely different thing to actually find anything. “It was a bad idea to try to do this on foot.”

  “There’s too much land,” Sarah said. “It’s like a needle in a haystack.”

  “Or a needle in a stack of haystacks,” I said. “I wish the ghost could draw a map.” I glanced down at my arm and pictured a whole map there. “On second thought, I don’t want a map.” And I really didn’t want to tell the ghost that we’d failed. Another brush or two with him and my arms would be so bad Grandma wouldn’t call Mom—she’d put me in the car and drive me to Mom. Or the hospital.

  Sarah popped up as if she’d been startled by a ghost. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she grabbed my shoulder and shouted, “That’s it! I know what we can do!”

  “We need a topographical map,” Sarah said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It shows elevation,” she said. “You know, how high or low stuff is. So we’ll see cliffs and valleys. I’m sure Joshua Thistle had some sort of accident. We’ll look for a cliff or deep pit where a person wandering in a storm could have fallen. We’ll find the cliff first and then look for the cave.”

  “I’ll bet they’d have one of those maps at the historical society,” I said.

  “And I’ll bet Mr. Holworth would be happy for another visit,” Sarah said.

  So we grabbed our bikes and pedaled back to town.

  When we asked about maps, Mr. Holworth was so excited you’d have thought we’d asked to see pictures of his dog.

  “I love maps,” he said after he brought an enormous book over to our table and flipped it open to the page that covered Thistle’s Falls.

  “Me too,” Sarah said. “I think I want to be a cartographer when I grow up.”

  She explained to me how to read the map. It was pretty simple. The lines on it showed everything that was the same height. There’d be a new line for every ten or fifty or one hundred feet, depending on the scale of the map. The closer the lines, the steeper the drop.

  We looked all over my grandparents’ property, but didn’t see any cliffs. I scratched my arms, even though they didn’t itch. I guess I was getting ready for my next encounter with the ghost.

  I got up and walked over to a display case with items from the bank robbery. There was an old book there, open to a page of handwritten numbers. I read the description on the card next to it.

  Replica of a typical bank ledger of the sort that was stolen by Joshua Thistle. The one he took was never recovered. For this reason, nobody knows exactly how much money was stolen. And nobody can explain why he took the ledger.

  “Sarah!” I waved her over and pointed at the display. “What if the ghost’s unfinished clue wasn’t ledge? What if it was ledger?”

  “Then it’s not about the ledge of a cave,” she said. “It’s about a ledger book hidden in a cave!”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  “But it doesn’t narrow things down,” she said. “Even if we know there’s a ledger in a cave, the cave could still be anywhere.”

  “Unless you’re right about the accident,” I said. “And you have to be. Otherwise, we have no idea what to do.”

  I went back to take another look at the map, even though we hadn’t found any cliffs on the farm. Maybe Joshua Thistle had run into some other kind of danger as he fled from the bank.

  Mr. Holworth came to the table and looked over our shoulders. “What are you trying to find?” he asked.

  “Our grandparents bought a house just outside of town,” I said. “We’re looking at the property.”

  “The Higgins’ farm?” he asked. “I heard that had been sold.”

  “I guess,” Sarah said. She pointed to a spot on the map. “The house is here.”

  “Yup. That’s the Higgins’ property. Used to be a lot larger. But they sold a big parcel of the land way back in the 1950s. Before then, the property went all the way to here.” He tapped a spot on the map much farther out than the hills. “Way back, one of the Higgins was pals with Joshua Thistle.”

  Sarah’s mouth opened, like she was about to say something. I could tell she was excited. I could also tell she didn’t want to talk to me until Mr. Holworth left. Luckily, the mail carrier came in just then with a package. As soon as Mr. Holworth walked over to the desk, Sarah jabbed a spot on the map with her finger.

  “Here,” she whispered. “Look at the drop. It’s super steep. See how it’s right in line with where the road out of town curves? And it’s on the path you’d take from the bank to the farm.”

  I looked where she pointed. There was definitely a cliff. If someone had left town in a bad storm and didn’t follow the curve of the road, they’d end up right at that cliff.

  “Let’s go,” Sarah said. “That’s where we’ll search.”

  “Wait,” I said. I pictured both of us falling off a cliff. “If he fell, there’s nothing for us to find at the top. Let’s go around to the bottom. That will be safer. And that’s where we need to search for a cave.”

  Sarah patted my arm. “I guess once in a while you come up with a good idea.”

  We used the map to figure out the best way there. We had to leave our bikes by the side of the road and then walk into the woods. But the cliff was easy to spot. When we reached the bottom, I craned my neck back to look at the top. It was about thirty feet above us.

  “This should be more like finding a football in a haystack,” I said.

  “Or maybe just finding a haystack,” Sarah said.

  We started searching, walking slowly, kicking up leaves when they looked like they covered something.

  Sarah spotted it.

  “There,” she said, pointing to the base of the cliff right next to us. “I think it’s some sort of cave.”

  I knelt and looked inside. The opening was only about two feet wide and three feet tall. It was hard to see anything in the dark space beyond it. “I don’t know if we should go in there.”

  “He probably didn’t go far,” Sarah said. “He had no reason to.” She knelt next to me and reached in.

  I was tempted to yell “Boo!” But I think we were past the point of playing tricks on each other. Instead I said, “Be careful. There could be something sharp.”

  “Or something flat and smooth,” Sarah said. She pulled her hand out, holding an object wrapped in a dirty rag.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Feels like a book,” she said. “I think this is oilcloth. That’s what they wrapped stuff in back in the old days to keep out water.”

  Sarah peeled away the cloth. She was right. There was a book inside. It was the size of my school notebooks, with a cover made of leather. Small, neat letters stamped in front read: Thistle’s Falls Savings Bank. She flipped the cover open and thumbed through the pages. They were filled with entries showing deposits and withdrawals.

  “That has to be the ledger!” I felt a tingle of excitement run through my body. I also felt there’d be more in the book than a bunch of numbers. Joshua Thistle had mentioned the ledger for a reason. “Look for the last page with writing.”

  Sarah started turning pages from the back. “I found it!” she said. She pointed to the top of a page, at a date written in the upper-left corner. “July seventeenth. That’s yesterday. The date they reenacted the robbery.”

  “What did he write?”

  Sarah read the first sentence out loud. “I fear this will be my last entry, for I have suffered a terrible injury in my attempt to safeguard the town’s money from a fierce band of ruthless robbers.”

  Joshua Thistle’s desperate words, even when read by my cousin, turned my shiver into a tremble. And my tremble grew into a shake that rattled my teeth. But I needed to hear the rest.

  “Keep reading,” I said.

  Sarah read the rest. Joshua Thistle’s words were fancy, flowery, and old-fashioned. It would be easier to tel
l his story in my own words.

  He’d been standing near a window at the back of the general store when he’d heard men plotting to rob the bank. He felt the best thing to do would be to take the money away and put it somewhere safe. He took the ledger, too. He was afraid the robbers would use it to figure out who else to rob by seeing which people were always depositing money. Right after he’d slipped out of the bank with the cash, he’d spotted the robbers riding hard down the main street. He’d run off in the other direction, hoping to get to the safety of his friend’s farmhouse. That’s when the storm struck. It was a monster of a storm, with torrents of rain and a punishing wind. Lightning struck all around him. He was already terrified by the robbers. Now, with booming thunder and blinding lightning, he was beyond terror, in total panic. But he pulled together all of his courage and kept going.

  He’d gotten lost. And then he’d gotten in bad trouble. He’d stumbled over a cliff. I’ll never forget, in the middle of all the fancy words, one simple sentence. My leg is broken. He’d crawled into the cave and waited for the storm to pass. Then, as the sun broke through the clouds, he’d written his story in the ledger. It was his greatest fear that the townspeople he loved so much would think he was a thief.

  His last words were: I leave my story here as a testament to my innocence and will now endeavor to seek help, for I fear my strength is draining, and my spark of life will not last much longer without aid.

  And that was it.

  It took me awhile to stop shaking. The weather was sunny and warm right now, even in the woods, but I couldn’t help seeing myself huddled in a small cave, wet, injured, and terrified, cringing with each bone-rattling boom of thunder. I imagined what it would be like, writing desperate words in a journal and hoping someone would find them so I wouldn’t be blamed for something I didn’t do.

  “So he left the cave,” I said.

  “But he never reached the farm,” Sarah said.

  “This proves he wasn’t a thief,” I said. “We can clear his name.”

  “We can,” Sarah said.

  “We should bring the ledger right to town,” I said.

  “We should,” Sarah said.

  We looked at each other. I knew what Sarah was thinking. And I’m sure she knew what I was thinking.

  It would be wonderful to clear Joshua Thistle’s name with the ledger. But it would be wonderful, spectacular, amazing, and unbelievable if we showed up in town with the ledger and the money.

  “We need to look,” I said.

  “We need to look,” Sarah said, agreeing with me. “But where?”

  I stared at the mouth of the cave and then glanced in the direction of the farm. “Maybe he left the money with the ledger,” I said.

  “If he didn’t, it’s out there in the woods somewhere, maybe right next to … ”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. I knew what she was thinking here, too. If the money had been with him when he died, we wouldn’t find just the money. It was already bad enough I was seeing ghosts. I didn’t want to add a skeleton to my list of spooky experiences. “Let’s check the cave first.”

  “Go ahead,” Sarah said.

  “Me?” I asked.

  “Yeah, you,” she said. “I already found the ledger. It’s your turn.”

  “Okay, but I’m not going too far.” I knelt and reached inside. I started to feel around.

  “Ouch!” I yanked my hand back.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah. I just touched the sharp corner of a rock.” I said. I reached back inside and felt around more carefully, hoping I’d discover some kind of sack. But there was nothing on the cave floor except for dirt and stones. I crawled a little farther inside, but stopped when my knees reached the mouth of the cave. It was too dangerous to go any farther.

  “No sign of a bag,” I said.

  “I guess we have to search the woods,” Sarah said.

  “It looks that way.” I started to inch my way back out. My hand landed on the sharp rock again.

  Wait a minute!

  Mom was always telling me not to make assumptions. And Sarah had reminded me not to presume someone was guilty without evidence. Everyone had assumed Joshua Thistle was a thief. They were wrong. The people who did the reenactment also assumed the money was in a sack. So did Sarah and I. Maybe we were wrong about that, too. I slid my hand past the sharp corner of the rock, along the top surface. It was flat and cool. Like metal.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked. “Why’d you stop?”

  “I think I found it.” I reached in with my other hand and felt around for three more corners. Yeah, it was a box, nestled among the dirt and stones. I worked it free and dragged it out of the cave.

  “You did it!” Sarah said.

  “We did it.” I dusted off my hands, got to my feet, and looked down at something that had been lying hidden in the cave since the day Joshua Thistle died. It was a rusted old metal box with a handle on each side. It wasn’t a bag, like in the reenactment. I guess people get history wrong sometimes. Or they change things a bit to make a better story. But that didn’t matter right now.

  I picked up the box and shook it. “Feels pretty full,” I said.

  I couldn’t get the lid up. But Gramps had tools. Sarah and I had done all of the adventurous parts and had all the fun. Now it was time to get some adults involved.

  We hiked back to our bikes and rode to the farmhouse, holding the box between us. I’d tucked the ledger under my shirt.

  “Well, you two look like you’ve been on an adventure,” Grandma said when we walked into the house.

  “We sure have,” I said. “Guess what we discovered?”

  “More bouncy squirrels?” Gramps asked.

  “Not even close,” I said.

  “Get comfortable,” Sarah said. “We have a story to tell you.”

  Across the room, far away enough that the itch wasn’t too bad, the ghost watched us. Sarah told our grandparents all about Joshua Thistle, and about how we’d found the ledger and the box after we’d figured out he’d had an accident. She told them everything except for the part about the ghost.

  Gramps got his tools and opened the box. I held my breath as he pried back the lid. And then I gasped at what I saw. The box was filled with money! It was old-fashioned money, but real bills. I felt like we’d found a treasure chest.

  Sarah and I grinned at each other. If grins could talk, ours would be saying, We are totally awesome.

  “We should take this right into town,” Gramps said.

  So we got in the car and headed to Thistle’s Falls. As we parked, Grandma said, “I wonder whether we should show this to the mayor or the sheriff?”

  “Neither,” I said.

  Everyone looked at me. “I know the perfect guy to take care of all of this.” I pointed at the door of the historical society.

  “Well, what brings you back?” Mr. Holworth asked when we walked inside.

  “You’re not going to believe it,” I said. “Take a seat.”

  It was my turn to tell the story. After I was finished, I saw that I’d made the perfect choice of who to give the ledger and cash box to. Mr. Holworth called the mayor, the sheriff, the town council, and the local reporters. Pretty soon everyone was talking, taking our pictures, congratulating us, and discussing how they’d have to change things for next year’s Thistle Days.

  “You’ll be back, won’t you?” Mr. Holworth asked. “You have to come back.”

  “Of course we will,” I said.

  “Great,” he said. “Next year, you can lead the parade. And I need to get to work writing a new scene for the reenactment.”

  After the excitement died down, we headed out. “That was quite an adventure,” Grandma said.

  “We should celebrate with ice cream,” Gramps said.

  Sarah and I looked at each other. “Maybe tomorrow,” we both said. I think we’d had too much of a good thing.

  Sarah pointed at my arms
and smiled. I looked at them. The blotches were completely gone. “We did it,” I said.

  “We sure did,” she said.

  We drove to the house. There was a familiar car in the driveway. It was my parents.

  “It’s not time to go back, is it?” I asked.

  “No. But your folks and Sarah’s folks wanted to come out for dinner,” Gramps said.

  “Great,” I said. I didn’t want to leave the farm yet, but I guess I really did miss Mom and Dad a bit.

  I saw them waiting for us on the porch.

  As I ran toward them, my arms started to itch.

  Oh no! I looked around. I didn’t see the ghost. But there was a blotch on each of my arms. If Mom saw this, she’d definitely take me right home. And that wasn’t fair. Sarah and I had a whole lot more exploring to do. And we’d done everything the ghost wanted.

  The blotches grew darker and bumpier. I slowed, crouched down, and gritted my teeth. I knew the pain that was coming. But that didn’t matter—I was about to have a much bigger problem than another encounter with unbearable pain. I was heading for a major encounter with an unstoppable allergy doctor. Up on the porch, Mom called, “Alex, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Did you have an allergy attack?”

  A word formed on my left arm:

  THANK

  A word formed on my right arm:

  YOU

  Both rashes immediately started fading. But Sarah had caught up to me and got a quick glimpse of them before they disappeared.

  “You’re welcome,” I whispered. I was glad we’d helped, but I was even more glad my itchy adventure was over. I hoped I would never meet any other ghosts who made me itch. I was definitely sick of monsters.

  I went up the porch to get a hug from Mom.

  “Oh, Alex,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “I missed you so much.”

  “You’re killing me!” I screamed as her arms wrapped around me like a pair of boa constrictors.

  But it felt kind of nice.