by Mimi McCoy
Despite the hot day, it was cool on the first floor. As Casey stepped into the front hallway, the hairs on her neck prickled. She had a feeling she was being watched.
Casey glanced back over her shoulder. The stairway was empty. She looked into the living and dining rooms. They were empty, too.
I’m imagining things, Casey thought. Mom is right. I do probably need some fresh air.
She started toward the front door, and froze. There was a face in the glass window. A pale face, staring right at her.
Casey screamed.
CHAPTER SIX
At once, the face disappeared. A second later, Casey heard a thump, followed by a muffled curse. Heart pounding, she went to the front door and yanked it open.
A boy was standing on the porch. He was bent over, grasping his bare toe as if he’d just stubbed it. When he saw Casey he froze, a half-guilty, half-curious expression on his face.
“What are you doing?” Casey exclaimed. She was frightened and her voice came out louder than she’d meant it to.
The boy blinked in surprise and let go of his foot. “I brought some food,” he said, pointing to a covered foil pan he’d left in front of the door. “It’s from my mom.”
When Casey didn’t say anything, he added, “We live in the big green house just down the way. I’m Erik Greer.”
He was a little bit taller than Casey, with a square chin and light blue-gray eyes. A froth of curly white-blond hair topped his head like a pile of whipped cream.
Casey suddenly thought of the message on the mirror. Could this boy be the one who wrote it? she wondered. Maybe the food was just a ruse, and he was actually scouting their house, planning another break-in.
“Why were you looking in our window?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
“I wanted to see if anyone was home,” Erik said with a shrug. “I rang the doorbell, but I don’t think it works. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He cocked his head and added, “You sure can scream.”
Casey felt herself blush.
“Casey?” Mrs. Slater came to the door behind her. “Oh, hello. I thought I heard voices,” she said when she saw Erik. “I’m Desiree Slater. We just moved in.”
“Erik Greer,” said Erik. “We live just down the road. My mom sent over some supper for you. She would have come herself, but she’s too busy with the kids and Gran,” he explained.
Mrs. Slater looked down at the covered dish, which was still sitting in front of the door. She picked it up and smiled warmly. “That’s very kind. Tell your mother thank you. I look forward to meeting her. And I see you’ve already met my daughter, Casey.”
“Not officially.” Erik turned to Casey and raised his eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, Casey.”
She didn’t say anything. She could tell from his smile that he was teasing her.
“I guess she’s scared of me,” Erik confided to Casey’s mom. “She screamed when I showed up.”
“It’s not you. It’s this peaceful country life,” Mrs. Slater replied with a laugh. “It’s got Casey on edge.”
Casey scowled at her mother. She thought it was rude of them to be talking about her like she wasn’t there. She didn’t care much for this boy and his smug smile. She hoped he would leave soon.
To her dismay, her mother asked, “Can you stay for lunch, Erik?”
Erik took a step backward and shook his head. “I have to get going,” he replied, a little too quickly. “Mom says don’t worry about returning the dish. See you around,” he added to Casey. He turned and headed back down the lane.
“Well, wasn’t he cute,” said Mrs. Slater to Casey.
“Shhh, Mom! He’ll hear you,” Casey hissed. “Anyway, I didn’t think he was so great.” But she continued to watch Erik as he disappeared around the bend.
“It was certainly nice of him to bring over lunch,” her mother replied. “I’m dying to try some local cuisine.”
She eagerly peeled back the foil, and her face fell.
“What’s wrong?” asked Casey. “What is it?”
Mrs. Slater sighed. “Tuna casserole.”
Later that afternoon, Casey’s mother drove to the nearest big town to pick up Casey’s dad, since he’d dropped off the van and needed a ride back.
“You can come if you want,” she said to Casey. “But I think it might be nice if you spent some time today unpacking your room. I don’t want you living out of your suitcase all summer.” Her tone made it clear what she wanted Casey to do.
“I guess I’ll stay,” Casey said.
The instant her mother drove off, Casey regretted her decision. With both her parents gone, the house seemed even gloomier.
Upstairs, Casey slowly unpacked her suitcase, carefully folding each item before placing it in the little chest of drawers. The dresser was full long before her suitcase was empty, and Casey was sorry she’d packed so many clothes. She could already tell that she wasn’t going to have much use for her blue satin bubble skirt and her platform sandals in New Hampshire.
Casey shoved the half-full suitcase under her bed, then sat back on her heels, brushing damp tendrils of hair away from her face. Even that small effort had made her sticky with sweat. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck to cool it, staring resentfully up at the motionless ceiling fan.
“What’s the point of having an electric fan if you don’t have any electricity?” she grumbled to herself.
By now it was late afternoon. Casey’s bedroom had settled into a dusky gloom. She hoped her parents would hurry. Sunset wasn’t far off, and she didn’t think she’d be able to stand a single second alone in the dark, empty house.
As she got to her feet, she felt a cooling breeze across the back of her neck. Casey looked up and saw the ceiling fan slowly rotating.
“Wha —?” She glanced toward the windows, thinking a breeze might have stirred it. But both windows were closed.
The fan began to whir faster, lifting strands of her hair. At that moment, the overhead lights came on. The sudden brightness made Casey jump. Somewhere downstairs, she could hear an indistinct murmur.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Were those … voices?
She held her breath and listened. Yes, it was definitely the sound of people talking, sometimes a single deep man’s voice, sometimes several voices at once. Casey couldn’t make out what they were saying. The words were indistinct, punctuated by bursts of static. Now and then, she thought she heard faint strains of music.
The fan was now spinning so fast it shook on its base. Suddenly, one of the wooden blades came loose. It sliced through the air and smacked the wall right next to Casey’s head. She screamed and ran from the room.
In the hallway, the lights were blazing. Casey could hear fans rattling in the other bedrooms. Downstairs, the noises were growing louder. They were coming from the parlor. Casey stood there, torn between her need to escape and her fear of whatever was down there.
Then she remembered: The kitchen had a back door!
Casey raced down the stairs, skipping steps and stumbling in her haste. The lights in the dining room and kitchen were on as well. From the parlor, there came a burst of music, a jazzy ragtime melody that switched suddenly back to the man’s deep voice.
Casey drew up short. She recognized that voice. It belonged to a popular talk-show host.
Switching directions, Casey crept through the dining room toward the parlor. As with the other rooms, the lights were on and the ceiling fan whirred, but there was no one there. In the corner, the tall wooden radio was on, full blast. It seemed to be tuning in and out of different stations.
As Casey stood there, the lights went out, as abruptly as they’d gone on. The fans slowed to a halt. The radio fell silent. In a few seconds, the house was as dark and quiet as it had been moments before.
Casey let herself out the door with trembling hands. On the porch, she took deep gulps of air and tried to think.
Whenever Casey encountered something suspicious or strange
, she always imagined the worst. But now something truly frightening had happened, and she found herself searching for plausible reasons.
“Dad was going to check on the electricity,” she told herself. “He probably got it turned on and there was a big power surge and everything came on at once. That’s all it was.”
She was only the faintest bit reassured. Casey looked out toward the road. She considered running to get one of the neighbors. But the sun had started to go behind the trees. The woods between her and the nearest house were dark with shadows.
And what would I tell them? Casey thought. That the lights came on and I got scared?
Too afraid to go back into the house and too afraid to venture beyond it, Casey finally sat down on the porch steps. She was still sitting there half an hour later, when her parents’ car appeared around the bend.
Casey leaped up and ran to meet them as the car pulled to a stop. “What took you so long?” she cried.
“We found a wonderful little farm stand off the highway.” Casey’s mother held up a paper bag full of vegetables. “I’m going to make a big salad for dinner tonight.”
“We stopped at the grocery store, too,” her dad said, starting to unload bags from the trunk. “Casey, come help me carry these inside.”
Casey didn’t move. “You went to the electric company, right? You got the electricity turned on?”
“Well, I tried,” said her father. “But they said this house doesn’t show up on the grid. They’re sending someone out tomorrow to make sure we’re connected.”
“Honey, is something wrong?” her mother asked, noticing Casey’s pale face.
“Everything came on,” she told them. “Lights, fans, the radio — everything. It all came on at once.”
“That’s unlikely,” said her father. “According to the electric company, we shouldn’t have any power.”
“But it did,” Casey insisted. “My fan was whipping so fast one of the blades came off. It almost hit me in the head!”
With her parents there, she felt enough courage to go back into the house. She led them up to her room and showed them the broken fan.
“It’s strange,” said her father, turning the blade over in his hands. He flicked the light switch on and off a few times, but nothing happened.
“Maybe the electric company was wrong. It wouldn’t be a first.” Casey’s dad glanced up at the fan. “Those other blades could be loose, too. I’ll have to replace the whole thing. This could have taken your eye out,” he added, tapping the blade.
Casey shuddered to think how close it had come. “I don’t want to sleep in here anymore,” she told her parents.
They both frowned. “But where else are you going to sleep?” asked her mother.
“I could … sleep in your room. With you guys,” Casey suggested. She knew it sounded babyish. But right at that moment, she didn’t care.
“Honey, it was just an accident,” her mother said, putting an arm around her. Casey knew that the answer was no.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Slater added. “Dad will get the fan fixed.”
“Everything will be fine,” Casey’s father agreed. “You’ll see.”
That night after Casey went to bed, her mother came to tuck her in. That afternoon, they had bought some battery-operated lanterns at the store, and now she set one next to Casey’s bed.
“Isn’t this the sweetest room?” Mrs. Slater sat on the edge of the bed, looking around. Casey could practically see visions of window treatments dancing before her eyes.
“The walls need to be painted, of course,” her mother said. “I was thinking a nice cornflower blue with white trim. And we’ll get you a pretty bedspread to match. Would you like that?”
“Mmm,” said Casey. She didn’t care what color they painted the walls. It wouldn’t make her feel any better. “Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Ghosts?” Mrs. Slater raised her eyebrows. “No, sweetie, not really. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know.” Casey shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just … this house. It kind of gives me the creeps.”
Her mother sighed. “This is a very old house, Casey. It’s not like our New York apartment. It’s bound to have some little quirks. Don’t let that wild imagination of yours get carried away, okay?”
“Okay,” Casey said.
“Now, stop all this spooky talk and get some sleep. We have another big day tomorrow.” Casey’s mother kissed her on the forehead. Then she switched off the lantern and left the room.
Casey lay there in the dark for a moment. Then she reached over and switched the lantern back on. Her mother was probably right. She was probably imagining things.
But it’s better to leave the light on, Casey thought. Just in case.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, after breakfast, Casey rode her bike into town with a pocketful of quarters. At the gas station, she used the pay phone to call Jillian.
“Omigosh!” Jillian squealed when she picked up. “Girl, where have you been? I’ve called your cell phone a hundred times! I thought you were dead!”
It was so good to hear Jillian’s cheerful voice. Casey tightened her grip on the phone. “I can’t get any reception out here,” she told her friend. “And we don’t have a landline yet. I’m calling you from a pay phone.”
“You sound like you’re calling from Mars,” Jillian said.
“Mars. New Hampshire. Same difference,” Casey joked. “Hold on, I think I see a Martian. Do they wear flannel shirts and drive pickup trucks?”
Jillian giggled. “I have so much to tell you,” she gushed. “Wait till you hear what happened at Makayla’s party!”
Casey leaned against the side of the gas station, as Jillian launched into her story. She carefully described what everyone had worn to the party, and who had been flirting with whom.
“Wow, it sounds fun,” Casey said enviously.
“Hold on! I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Jillian told her. “You know that guy David, the one in our math class, who —”
“Wait, wait!” Casey interrupted. A recorded voice was telling her, “Please insert one dollar to continue this call.” She dug the change out of her pocket, and tipped it into the slot. “Okay, go on.”
“… Andrew told Leela that David thought I was cute,” continued Jillian, who had never stopped talking. “So when I saw David at the party, I walked over and asked him if he wanted to do something sometime.”
The boldness of this nearly knocked the breath out of Casey. “You mean, you asked him out? Like on a date?”
“Yup,” said Jillian.
“What did he say?”
“Duh. He said yes!” Jillian told her. “What did you think? We’re going to the movies on Friday, and my mom says it’s okay, because we’re going in a group. But everybody knows it’s a real date.”
“Gosh, that’s … great.” Casey tried to swallow around the lump in her throat.
I’m happy for Jillian. I am, she told herself. But part of her felt like crying. Jillian was going to parties and out on dates — all the things they’d planned to do together this summer. Now Jillian was doing them without her.
“Anyway, what’s up with you?” Jillian said. “How’s your new house?”
“Er … it’s big.” Casey hesitated. She had been planning to tell Jillian about the freaky thing that had happened the day before. But now in the bright daylight, it seemed sort of silly. Casey remembered what Jillian had said about the ghost girl in the sewer. She’ll probably think I’m overreacting, she thought.
“Have you met any other kids?” Jillian asked her.
“No,” said Casey. “I mean — yes. One. This boy named Erik.”
“Is he cute?” Jillian asked with interest.
Casey frowned. This conversation wasn’t going how she’d imagined. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess so. But that
’s not the —”
“Please insert one dollar to continue this call,” the recorded voice broke in again. “Please insert …”
“Okay, okay.” Casey reached into her pocket, but she had used up all her change. “Jillian, I have to go,” she tried to shout over the recording. “I’ll call you soon. I miss y —”
Click. The line hung up.
Casey reluctantly placed the receiver back on the hook. She lingered near the phone a little longer, hoping that Jillian might try to call back. But the phone didn’t ring, and after a while the gas station attendant started to scowl in Casey’s direction.
Finally, with a sigh, Casey picked up her bike and pedaled home.
When she got to the house, she saw a strange truck parked in the driveway. Casey dropped her bike by the front porch and went inside.
Her parents were in the kitchen, talking to a man in a matching light blue shirt and cap. The cap read DUSSY ELECTRIC across the front.
“This is your problem,” the man was saying. He held up a bit of frayed wire. “The lines connecting to the main fuse box were all worn-out. I went ahead and replaced them, but you may want to think about getting the whole house rewired and putting in a new circuit breaker box.”
Casey’s dad made a face like he’d tasted something bitter. “How much is that going to cost?”
“It won’t be cheap,” the electrician said. “But it would be a whole lot safer.” He pushed his cap back on his head. “Anyway, at least you’ll have some power now.”
“But we had it already, right?” Casey spoke up. “It was working yesterday.”
The electrician turned to look at her. “It couldn’t have been,” he said. “The main line was worn completely through. This house hasn’t had any power for years.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Casey never found an explanation for the strange surge of electricity. After a while, she managed to push it to the back of her mind.
Time passed, and her days began to fall into a routine. Most mornings, after breakfast, Casey rode her bike into town to call Jillian from the gas station pay phone. (Her parents still hadn’t done anything about getting a landline. When Casey pressed them about it, her father just shrugged and said he was glad for the peace and quiet for a change.) More often than not, though, Jillian was too busy to talk for long. She was always heading off to a movie or some event in the park, usually with David. From the sound of it, Casey thought, Jillian was having the best summer ever — and she didn’t need Casey there to do it.
