The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

by Campbell, Julie

  “Is that who you thought was chasing you?” Honey gasped. “Oh, Trix! I’m sorry I scared you.” She waved a hand in the direction of Lisgard House. “He’s back there somewhere. I’ve never seen anyone look as surprised as he did when you took off like that.”

  Trixie still struggled to catch her breath. “Where—where’s my bike?” she panted.

  Honey’s face was rueful. “I’m afraid it’s still where you left it,” she answered. “I was so busy getting out of there myself that I didn’t stop for anything.”

  It took Trixie a few more moments before she was ready to continue on the journey home with Honey. “I expect he’ll sell it,” she said gloomily. “He’s already sold just about everything else.”

  “You mean Zeke?” Honey asked thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know, Trix. Somehow I don’t think he’d be interested in an old bike. But I wonder what’s going to happen now? Will Mr. Gregory call the police?”

  With Honey content to pedal her bike at Trixie’s side, they turned into the Wheelers’ driveway.

  “I hope Zeke Collins gets everything that’s coming to him,” Trixie muttered, watching Honey store her bike back in its proper place in the spacious garage.

  “I hope so, too,” Honey said. “And, oh, Trix, don’t you feel glad? Once Mr. Hunter explains everything to Fay tonight, the case will be closed at last.”

  Trixie didn’t answer. As she followed her friend into Manor House, she had a sudden feeling that maybe Fay wasn’t going to be as easy to convince as Honey thought she was.

  An hour later, Trixie had managed to throw off her feelings of gloom and doom as she sat with Fay and the rest of the Bob-Whites in the Wheelers’ large and formal dining room.

  Her eyes twinkled as she looked across the gleaming table at Honey and Mart, who had been arguing the merits of the school’s Thanksgiving play.

  “With my brains and Brian and Jim’s colossal talents,” Mart was saying, “the entire affair will, without a doubt, establish us as thespians forever-more. In fact—” he paused and tried to look modest—“we are momentarily expecting a call from Tinsel Town—that’s Hollywood, Trix—begging us to depart for that noble city forthwith.”

  “But, honestly,” Honey protested, “don’t you think the story of Miles Standish and Priscilla has been done to death? Why, I remember we were doing that same old thing in kindergarten!”

  “Ah, but never like this,” Mart declared.

  “I’ll bet!” Trixie couldn’t resist adding. She laughed when she caught sight of Mart’s indignant face.

  Mart was obviously still trying to think of a crushing reply when Brian leaned forward and asked, “How come you haven’t told us anything about what you girls have been up to this afternoon? Did you get your clothes okay, Fay?”

  “Yes, I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Jim said. “What happened, Trix?”

  Trixie bit her lip and hesitated. She almost wished that Fay weren’t present to hear about the exciting conclusions she’d reached. Would Fay believe that the frightening things that had been happening to her these past weeks had been caused by one greedy man?

  I’ll have to make it sound very convincing, Trixie thought as she began her story.

  The Bob-Whites listened in silence as Trixie told them everything that had happened from the time they’d arrived at Lisgard House that afternoon until she and Honey left it that evening.

  She finished and glanced apprehensively at

  Fay, who was sitting quiet and still, her hands in her lap.

  Suddenly Fay pushed back her chair and stood up. “I don’t believe it!” she cried. “It couldn’t have happened that way at all!”

  Startled, Dan raised his dark head and stared at her. “Hey, hold on!” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear Trixie’s theory. It’s possible she’s right, you know. She often is.”

  Fay shook her head. “But not this time! No! Not this time. I just know it!”

  She sounded so vehement that Trixie frowned. All at once, all her old suspicions about this new friend of theirs came flooding back. Was Fay playing some strange game of her own? If so, what could it be?

  It wasn’t until they had pushed back their chairs and were leaving the room that Mart made his incredible suggestion. He put his hand on Trixie’s arm and whispered in her ear, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Trix? Has it occurred to you that maybe Zeke Collins isn’t the thief at all?” Trixie gasped. “Then who could it be?”

  “Haven’t you guessed?” Mart said quietly. “It’s the Franklins, of course!”

  Return to Lisgard House ● 17

  TRIXIE’S THOUGHTS were still in a whirl as she followed her friends slowly into Honey’s living room.

  She glanced up at the ornate clock that sat in the middle of the Wheelers’ mantelpiece. Eight-thirty! In another few minutes, it would be time to leave for Lisgard House. Already the boys were insisting that they were going to accompany the girls.

  “There’s no way you’re going to leave us behind,” Mart announced firmly, even though no one was arguing with him. “If Zeke is the dirty-deed-doer—and I did say if— he could try to camouflage himself as an antique hat rack or something and try to kidnap the lot of you.”

  “What’s that about Zeke?” Miss Trask’s brisk voice asked as she hurried into the room. “What’s that old rascal been up to now? By the way, Trixie, he was just here.”

  Trixie leaped to her feet, startled. “Here?” she gasped. “He was here?”

  Miss Trask frowned at the note of panic in her voice. “He brought your bike back, though how he knew you were here and not at home is more than I can imagine.”

  But I know, Trixie thought. He must have followed us, after all.

  Trixie swallowed hard. “Has he gone?” she asked and discovered she was trembling. She had a horrible suspicion that Zeke was lurking out there in the dark somewhere. He was waiting to pounce on her as soon as she set foot outside the front door. She noticed that Miss Trask was staring at her thoughtfully.

  “Oh, yes, he’s gone,” Miss Trask said, “but I can see that you’re upset about something. The condition seems to be catching. Zeke Collins was upset about something, too. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. If you ask me, I think he’s beginning to believe his own stories. I told him so.”

  “And what did he say?” Mart asked.

  Miss Trask smiled. “To be honest, I didn’t let him say anything, Mart. I simply gave him a piece of my mind. I could see for myself how much his ridiculous ghost stories had frightened Fay. I told him in no uncertain terms that he had no business going around scaring honest people out of their wits. Him and his silly tombstone! Witches and ghosts! Great heavens! I’ve never heard such nonsense.”

  Trixie’s mind seemed suddenly to have snapped to attention. “What do you mean, silly tombstone?” she asked. “What is so silly about a tombstone?”

  “Nothing at all, if it’s a genuine one,” Miss Trask answered promptly. “But if it’s Sarah Sligo’s tombstone we’re talking about—and we are—then that’s another matter. I know for a fact that Zeke Collins made it himself.”

  Trixie gasped. “Then that isn’t the witch’s grave—where the headstone is, I mean?”

  “Of course not,” Miss Trask said briskly. “No one ever found out where Sarah Sligo was buried.” Brian stirred. “And did she die on Thanksgiving night?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s common knowledge. But no one can be sure when she was born, or where she was born, for in those days it was unusual for any kind of record to be kept.” Miss Trask turned to leave.

  “Jim tells me you’re going out, Honey. As you youngsters will be all together, I won’t worry about you. Don’t be late, however.”

  There was silence after the door had closed quietly behind her. Then everyone began talking at once.

  “So Trixie was right!” Dan exclaimed.

  “It was Zeke who was spreading all those rumors about the witch!” Di added.

 
Brian climbed to his feet. “Good for you, Trixie!” he said warmly.

  “It really looks as if Ms. Sherlock Belden has struck again!” Mart put in.

  Then everyone laughed as Jim gave Trixie the thumb’s-up sign from across the room. The Bob-Whites guessed that even if Trixie’s theories turned out to be incorrect, Jim would still believe that everything she did was right.

  Trixie could feel her face getting red. She was about to Smile back at him, when all at once she noticed something else.

  The large portrait of Honey’s mother hung over the fireplace. Blond and frail, Mrs. Wheeler was smiling at Trixie, too.

  Trixie stood looking up at her. Suddenly she remembered Lisgard House as she had last seen it. She remembered the overgrown bushes outside the living room windows where Zeke must have crouched, listening. She remembered the mansion’s interior, with its gloomy walls and stuffed animal heads. She remembered the antique furniture—all of it fake. Something had been missing— something important....

  Then suddenly, she knew everything!

  She heard Mart exclaim, “Watch out, Brian! Methinks our sibling’s gone off into a daydream!”

  Then Honey’s voice said, “Trix? Is anything wrong?”

  To Honey’s astonishment, Trixie didn’t answer right away. She raced for the door—and only then she turned to gaze at the startled faces turned toward her.

  “Oh, don’t you see?” she cried impatiently. “Everything’s wrong, and there isn’t a minute to lose! Quick, Honey! I’ve got to use your phone!”

  Five minutes later, Trixie was leaning forward in the front seat of the big station wagon, as if to urge it to go faster. With Jim at the wheel, the car sped toward Lisgard House with its load of puzzled passengers.

  “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” Mart demanded from his seat behind his sister.

  “Whatever’s going on,” Brian remarked, “we won’t get there at all if Jim doesn’t slow down.”

  “There is a speed limit along here, Jim,” Dan put in. “It would be too bad if we got a ticket.”

  “Especially with the Bob-White treasury flat broke at the moment,” Di said, laughing.

  “What I want to know,” Mart put in, “is which of our many acquaintances did Trixie call?”

  Trixie didn’t seem to be listening, and Fay sat quiet, as intent on the road as Trixie was.

  The rain had stopped as quickly as it had begun, though the very air around them was hushed, as if the storm were waiting only for the right moment to begin again.

  Trixie could hear nothing but the tires singing on the wet road and the purr of the powerful engine under the car’s long hood.

  “This is it,” Jim muttered, pulling up in front of the entrance gates. “I wonder if we should go in this way or around the back?”

  Trixie didn’t wait for Fay to answer. Already she had scrambled out of the car and flung the gates open. When the station wagon had passed through, she swung them shut and jumped back into her seat once more.

  She peered toward the dark mass that was the front of Lisgard House. She couldn’t help wondering what Mr. Gregory was going to say when he discovered he was about to receive more visitors than he’d invited.

  It was a question that was soon answered. Mr. Gregory seemed taken aback for only a moment when he saw the group of young people standing at his front door. Then he flung the door wide.

  “Come in,” he said heartily. “I’m glad to see you. I’m glad you brought your friends, Fay, my dear. The more the merrier.”

  Still talking, he led the way into the living room, where he stood, smiling at them.

  “We hope you don’t mind us all being here,” Honey said breathlessly after she’d made the introductions, “but the boys insisted on coming with us, and—” She glanced quickly around the room. “But where’s Mr. Hunter?”

  “He’s here,” Mr. Gregory answered. He walked slowly to the study door and flung it open.

  Trixie heard Fay gasp as she and her friends crowded at the room’s entrance.

  The study walls had been hung with some kind of floating black draperies. Flickering candles stood on every available surface. A table in the room’s center wore a black velvet cloth. At its head sat Mr. Hunter.

  He wore a dark cloak. His long, thin fingers held a crystal ball. His face, in the flickering candlelight, looked solemn and, Trixie thought, completely confident.

  He rose to his feet as soon as he saw the visitors.

  For one brief moment, Trixie saw that he, too, looked surprised when he saw how many there were. In the next instant, however, his face was once more a mask of polite welcome as Fay nervously introduced each Bob-White in turn.

  Then she said, her voice trembling, “What— what is all this?” She glanced around the small study, where tall shadows reached to the ceiling.

  Mr. Gregory frowned as he turned to Trixie. “I want you to know how much I appreciated your coming to me this afternoon,” he began, “and I also want you to know that I’ve had a long talk with Zeke Collins.”

  Trixie could feel her heart pounding with excitement. “Yes?” she said. “And what did he say?”

  Mr. Gregory’s face looked grim. “He confessed everything,” he said simply. “But I’m afraid it wasn’t quite what you suspected, Trixie. You see, the man’s a painter—an artist, I mean. All these years, he’s been painting what you might say is a monument to Lisgard House.”

  Mart stammered. “A monument? What kind of monument?”

  Mr. Gregory sighed. “He’s been painting pictures—beautiful pictures—on the walls of his cottage. He showed me.” He paused. “He had an idea that one day the Sleepyside Historical Society would want to preserve that cottage as a museum. It was his gift to society, you might say.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Di said bluntly.

  “He had an idea that when old Caleb died and I took over,” Mr. Gregory went on, “I was going to sell the house and the grounds—everything.”

  “And weren’t you?” Brian demanded.

  Mr. Gregory smiled ruefully. “I did have some idea of doing so at one time,” he said slowly. “But then I discovered I liked it here. In any case, Zeke had already begun his campaign of rumor and gossip about the house being haunted. And so, you see, no one would have bought it, anyway.”

  “Was he afraid that if you sold the house and grounds that he’d be out of a job?” Dan asked.

  “Not only that,” Mr. Gregory said, “but he knew that his cottage would have to be sold as well. He was certain that no one would want either him or his work.”

  “But he couldn’t have been sure of that,” Honey objected.

  “I’m only telling you how Zeke felt,” Mr. Gregory replied. “As to the business with the furniture”—he glanced quickly at Di—“he flatly denies knowing anything about it. He’s sure there’s been some kind of mistake. He’s equally sure that the house is genuinely haunted. He believes that something he has done—or someone else has done—” he didn’t look at Fay—“has called the witch from her grave, wherever that may be. Oh, yes—” he nodded his head—“Zeke has told me all about the fake headstone.”

  “And that’s why,” Mr. Hunter put in quickly, “we must lay Sarah to rest once and for all. If we don’t, there’s no telling what’s going to happen. The spirit is an evil one, you see. And so we must conduct a seance. Now.Tonight. We simply must send Sarah back to—to that other plane we call death.” He glanced at Fay. “My dear, you told me this afternoon that you’d help us.” He took her hand. “Are you still willing? With my powers, joined to yours, we must succeed.”

  Trixie held her breath and watched as Fay, as if in a dream, walked slowly to the table and sat down. “I knew this was going to happen all along,” Fay said simply, “and I’m ready.”

  “I’ll bet she’s ready,” Trixie heard Mart whisper in her ear. “Can’t you see, Trix? She’s ready to confess. I’m sorry to say this, but now we know for sure your friend’s a thief!
”

  Sarah Sligo’s Revenge ● 18

  MOMENTS LATER, the Bob-Whites were seated at the velvet-covered table, their hands joined. A lighted candelabra, set on a small table at Fay’s elbow, threw shadows across her pale face as Mr. Hunter took his place beside her. Trixie could see Mr. Gregory, on Fay’s other side, gripping her hand reassuringly.

  Fay's nervous, Trixie thought, and she has good reason to be!

  “Is everyone ready?” Mr. Hunter asked. As heads nodded, he said, “Then let’s begin.”

  Trixie was fascinated as she watched this strange man breathe deeply, as if he were doing some kind of psychic exercise. Then, all at once, he let out his breath in one long sigh, his head sank to his chest, and a long moan escaped from his lips.

  “Are you there, Sarah?” he asked in a husky voice that didn’t sound like his own.

  Unbelievably, there came the whispered answer, “I am here! And now for my revenge!” Everything seemed to happen at once. A violent wind rushed into the room. It set the candles to flickering wildly. The flimsy black draperies reached toward them. Someone’s elbow moved sharply, and in another instant, the tall candelabra crashed to the floor. The flames from those candles joined with the others. Then, while the Bob-Whites watched, too horrified to move, the curtains caught fire.

  Fay screamed and jumped to her feet as a wall of fire licked quickly to the ceiling. “It’s the witch!” she cried. “She’s here—in this room! Oh, please! Make her stop!”

  Mr. Hunter seemed to come awake with a start. “It’s too late to stop her now,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry, but Sarah’s evil spirit was too powerful for both of us, Fay. I’m afraid the witch has won! She’s set the house on fire, just as I was afraid she would. Nothing can save it now!”

  “Except the fire department,” Trixie said as, with the others, she rushed outside to the safety of the grounds.

  “We can’t call the fire department!” Mr. Gregory cried. “It’s too late! The old house is a goner!” Then he stopped as he heard what Trixie had been hearing for the last two minutes: A fire engine’s siren wailed as it came closer and closer to Lisgard House.