One thing for sure. I was not going to the attic.
I had to get to Sally.
I rushed at the door. If it still wouldn’t open, I’d smash it down.
But as I grabbed for the knob, the door swung open on its own. It caught me on the shoulder and knocked me back inside the room, flat to the floor.
The hall outside the door was pitch-dark, like the rest of the house. Dark and deathly quiet.
I pushed myself up cautiously. What now? There was no sign of the dead witch-thing.
Then I heard it.
Out in the hall. Small squeaky sounds, coming closer.
It sounded like Sally, pulling a toy. Only there were no footsteps. Just the squeee-uup, squeee-uup of small wheels.
“Go back to bed, Sally,” I called out. Hoping it was my little sister.
There was no answer.
The house seemed to snatch up the sound of my voice and bounce it from wall to wall. It felt like the house was laughing at me.
The squeak of the little wheels got louder as whatever-it-was rolled along the hallway coming closer, heading for me.
I scrambled to my feet. Maybe it would go on past my room. All I wanted was to get to Sally’s room, make sure my little sister was all right.
The trundling noise stopped. It was right outside my door. My heart sank.
My eyes popped as a small red wagon turned and glided through the open door into my room.
The wagon was empty. And no one was pulling it.
All of a sudden, my muscles turned to soup and all the strength went out of my body. I flopped onto the floor like one of Sally’s rag dolls. I couldn’t move.
The little red wagon rolled toward me and bumped gently against my knees. All I could do was stare at it helplessly.
Suddenly I felt invisible fingers grip my shoulders and reach under my knees. The ghostly hands were gentle but I shuddered at their cold touch. I hated not being able to at least fight back.
The invisible hands lifted me up and laid me down in the wagon.
The wagon began to move.
27
The wagon rolled on its squeaky wheels out of my room and down the hall.
I was frozen in place. I couldn’t even turn my head to see if anyone—Sally? the witch-thing?—was following. But I heard no footsteps.
“If you’ll just let me up,” I whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll come where you want. I promise.”
But the ghosts weren’t listening.
Between feeling silly and angry and scared out of my wits, I couldn’t think what to do. I was as helpless as a baby.
As the wagon approached, the door to the attic stairs opened, spilling darkness over me. The stairway was inky black. The hairs on the back of my paralyzed neck prickled.
Something was waiting for us up there. Something so terrible I couldn’t even think about it.
Mentally I braced myself for a bumpy ride, but the wagon floated up the stairway.
A faint yellow light beckoned from above.
My heart felt like it was being squeezed between powerful hands. I wanted to scream but my throat stayed closed.
The red wagon glided to a stop at the top of the stairs.
This wasn’t the smashed-up attic I’d left this morning. It was a tiny windowless room with a small bed and a battered toy box and a rocking chair. Bobby’s old room.
There was light, but it was a cold light. Light from long ago.
Creeeak-creak.
The rocking chair. There was someone in it.
Suddenly I could move. Blood flowed into my muscles and I jumped out of the wagon.
The rocking chair slowly swiveled toward me. Would it be Sally? Brought here as a warning? Or Bobby himself? Or—I shuddered—the witch?
I gasped in shock. It wasn’t any of them.
It was nothing. Just a stuffed teddy bear. And an old ratty one at that.
What was this all about? Was the ghost scaring me just for the fun of it?
The chair began to rock again. And as it rocked it moved across the floor toward me. The mangy teddy bear was staring at me with its beady little eyes.
Eyes that looked almost alive.
Time to get out of here. The thing gave me the serious creeps! I backed away. Feeling behind me for the doorway.
The attic door slammed shut, barely missing my fingers.
I whirled around and began tugging on the doorknob, though I already knew it was hopeless, trying to fight the house.
My shoulder blades tensed an instant before I heard the voice behind me, as if something in me expected it.
“I am the secret.”
It was a gruff, lispy voice, like a little kid trying to make his voice go deep.
Slowly I turned around.
The teddy bear was talking to me. And its button eyes were glowing.
“I am the secret,” it said again, as if trying to convince me. “Please save me.”
I almost felt sorry for it, it was so mangy-looking and pathetic. It reminded me a little of Sally’s stuffed bunny, Winky.
Except Winky never talked or made doors shut in your face.
“Let me out of here,” I demanded forcefully.
The bear slipped down until it was lying on the seat. It slid across the seat on its back and flopped over the edge. It waggled its feet and jumped to the floor. I stared in horrified fascination.
One raggedy, mended ear fell forward over an eye as it looked at me. “You can help,” it said. Its mouth didn’t move.
It took a shaky step toward me and fell over onto its face. “Save me,” it said into the floor.
As the bear struggled upright, I scooted along the wall and crouched in a corner, pulling the rocking chair around like a barrier in front of me.
The teddy bear hesitated, then got itself turned in my direction. Reaching out its arms, it marched toward me like a miniature zombie. “Save me. Please save me.”
Its soft, furry paw touched me.
I shuddered as the teddy bear climbed onto my knee. Then instead of climbing higher, it slipped away.
Surprised, I opened my eyes.
The teddy bear was heading for the toy box. The lid opened and the worn-out old bear climbed up inside, pulling the lid down after it.
But what about the secret? What was I supposed to do now?
I heard the click of a lock.
The attic door swung open and light streamed into the little room from the stairway. It was morning already!
Forget about the teddy bear and its stupid secret—all I wanted to do was get out of there. I was almost out the door when a small creaking noise stopped me.
I looked over my shoulder. The lid of the toy box stood open.
The smart thing would be to keep going, down the stairs.
Instead I walked over and looked into the toy box. Empty. I swallowed a pang of surprise and disappointment. I hadn’t learned anything new. How could I save me and Sally—and Bobby—if I couldn’t figure out the mystery?
Had all this been to get me out of the way? To keep me away from Sally?
But as I dashed for the door the toy box lid slammed down twice. Like it was trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I went back and peered inside.
There was something there!
28
More newspaper.
I was excited but disappointed too. All the newspaper stories I’d found had been confusing, full of things I knew couldn’t be true.
The old newspapers had told me who Bobby was and when he died but they all said he died falling from the cherry tree and I knew that couldn’t be true. I’d heard Bobby falling from the top of the stairs, many times.
Well, I didn’t want to read anything up here. Sticking the yellowed paper under my arm, I hurried down the attic stairs.
Morning sunlight streamed through the hallway. From downstairs came the sounds and smells of breakfast. I heard Sally giggling as Mom playfully teased her.
Suddenly I was hungry enoug
h to eat a horse. Something about fighting ghosts gave me a huge appetite.
But before I could go down to breakfast I had to put the old newspapers away. I hurried into my bedroom, started to whip open the closet door—and stared in disbelief.
The hatchet.
It was buried deep in the closet door. Right in the spot where I’d thrown it through the haunted mirror.
Good thing Mom hadn’t been in here to see that!
I sat down on my bed to calm my racing heart and figured I might as well look through the bits of newspaper from the toy box.
Good thing I did. Because in the old papers was a clue. And the clue gave me an idea that changed everything.
“Jason, slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.”
I looked up from my second plate of strawberry waffles. “I’m just hungry.”
“Fine,” said Mom. “But what’s the hurry?”
I opened my mouth to tell her, and then thought better of it. She’d heard enough ghost stuff.
After breakfast I called up Steve and Lucy.
“Get your butts over here,” I whispered into the phone. “I think I’ve solved the haunting.”
My two buds hurried right over. Steve was grinning from ear to ear as he bounced up the porch steps. But Lucy looked more serious. “What happened?” she asked. “What did you find out?”
“Follow me,” I said, leading them upstairs to my bedroom.
Once we were inside I shut the door and showed them the latest batch of old newspapers.
“Listen to this,” I said, and read from the article that had caught my attention.
The search for the Wood family’s missing ruby veered in a new direction yesterday as police questioned the bewildered nanny, Alice Everett, about its disappearance. A thorough search was made of the house. However, no progress was made, police admitted last night.
Miss Everett was too distraught to make any comment. The grief-stricken young woman was the only one present when the Woods’ only child, Robert, was killed in a fall from a cherry tree.
Mrs. Wood, mother of the dead boy, said she was very upset that the nanny was a suspect in the matter of the missing ruby.
Mr. and Mrs. Wood are leaving the home where so many happy memories have become painful. Mrs. Wood said Miss Everett would be staying on as caretaker of the house.
“Wow!” said Lucy, wide-eyed. “The witch is the nanny!”
I nodded. “That’s what I suspected, but this proves it. But why would the nanny kill Bobby?”
“Maybe Bobby knew what happened to the ruby and she didn’t want him to tell,” Steve suggested.
Lucy clapped her hands together. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “It’s finally starting to make sense.”
“Could be,” I said. “The witch-thing is the ghost of the nanny, Alice Everett. She lived in this house for years after Bobby died. And when she died, she became a ghost, too.”
Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I wonder if the old lady knew Bobby was haunting the house before she died.”
“Maybe Bobby hid the ruby,” said Lucy excitedly. “That’s why the old lady was so mean and never went anywhere.”
“Or she just hid the ruby herself out of meanness,” said Steve.
I nodded at them solemnly. “I think the ruby is still in the house,” I said. “And you guys are going to help me find it!”
29
“You know where we have to look first, don’t you?” said Lucy, chewing anxiously on the end of her ponytail.
“Not the cellar!” Steve protested.
I nodded—Lucy was right. “That’s where the witch hangs out,” I said. “There must be a good reason.”
“The nanny-ghost-witch doesn’t want us to find the ruby,” said Lucy. “That’s why it’s so scary down there.”
Steve picked up my baseball bat and hefted it. “This time will be different,” he vowed. “If that old beast comes after me, I’ll swing for the bleachers. Pow!”
He took a cut with the bat that made the air whistle.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Mom had sent Sally off to some play group so we only had to lie low until my parents had shut themselves in their office.
“Everybody be as quiet as possible,” I whispered as we gathered in the kitchen.
We roped ourselves together like mountain climbers, just like the last time we made an expedition into the cellar.
“It may look silly,” said Lucy, double-knotting the rope at her waist, “but it sure worked.”
Lucy and Steve both had baseball bats as weapons. A sudden inspiration made me take the fire extinguisher from the kitchen wall.
“Here goes nothing,” I whispered, opening the basement door.
We all clicked on our flashlights and the beams sprang into the darkness.
I started down, the extinguisher held out in front of me like a machine gun. Let the old witch come for me! I’d blast her into smithereens.
The basement was as silent as a tomb.
“We’ll have to look in every box, every toe of every shoe,” I said, dumping a boxful of old boots onto the floor. “If that stolen ruby is here, we’ll find it.”
“That’s right,” said Lucy, a little more loudly than necessary. “And we’ll just stay right here until we do find it.”
“What if it’s not here?” Steve said, alarmed, but Lucy and I didn’t answer.
Lucy was sure we’d find the ruby. And I was sure the witch-nanny couldn’t bear for us to be messing in her things.
We searched in silence for a few minutes, our ears tensed for any sound.
“Hey, Jason, get a load of this,” teased Steve, pulling a battered straw hat from a box. “Just your size. You’ll have to wear it on our next expedition.”
I looked up and a movement behind Steve caught my eye.
But before I could get a better look there was a flash of light, a loud POP! and the sharp tinkle of shattering glass.
We were plunged into blackness.
30
“The lightbulb exploded,” said Lucy in a tense whisper. She blended into the shadows.
The image of Steve’s grin stayed behind my eyes like a photographic negative.
In a panic we shone our flashlights in every direction.
Cackling laughter sprang up and taunted us from every direction. Surrounded by the awful noise we huddled together, afraid to move.
HEEEEE-HEEEE-HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
“Get out!” screamed the witch-ghost. “Get out or die!”
“There!” screamed Steve.
Lucy and I pointed our flashlights. I caught a flash of black material slipping into the darkness, then lost it.
Our light beams were shaking. My knees, too. I was ready to give up. I swept my flashlight around, looking for the stairs.
Then something soft hit my face! I couldn’t see! I was blinded.
The smell of death was filling my head and choking off my air.
My breath stopped. Dead air flowed down my throat and froze my lungs.
“Ahhhh!” screamed Steve. “She got me!”
I shook my head wildly but the clingy stuff stuck to my face.
Then something grabbed my shoulder. In a panic I flailed my arms and jerked away.
There were grunts of pain and rustling noises everywhere.
“Jason! Stop!” shouted Lucy. “Stay still.”
I felt the soft, moldy stuff sliding across my face and then Lucy pulled it free. I gulped in air.
“It’s throwing things at us,” cried Lucy, holding up the dusty black scarf she’d pulled off my face.
“She hit me with a shoe,” shouted Steve. He was swinging away with his bat but not hitting anything. “The heel got me right in the eye!”
“Wait, Steve,” I said, grabbing his arm.
His chest heaved.
Anger raged in me like a fire. “Save your strength,” I said through clenched teeth. “We’re going to get her.”
I hefted the fire
extinguisher. “You two sweep the walls. And when you catch her in the light, keep her there!”
Lucy and Steve nodded grimly.
We advanced along the walls and shone our lights into every corner.
“Come and get us, witch!” taunted Steve.
“We know you killed poor little Bobby!” Lucy added.
“We’re not afraid of you!” I joined in.
But the witch-thing stayed out of sight.
“Maybe if we go back to work,” I whispered. “Like we’re not afraid of anything.”
“Yeah,” said Steve, heaving a deep shaky breath. “That’ll bring her out.”
We opened some more boxes. Lucy kept biting her lip and looking over her shoulder.
I knew exactly how she felt. I was strung so tight I felt like another loud noise would snap me in two.
Something squealed in pain. “EEEeee—”
The cry was cut off suddenly. We heard the sound of small bones crunching. Then low laughter came out of the dark.
“That was a rat,” spoke the witch in a voice that echoed off the ceiling and floor. “Next time it will be you.”
Steve swung his light up while Lucy and I stood frozen in shock.
We knew the creature wasn’t kidding. It wanted to squash us like rats.
“There,” yelled Steve. “There she is!”
31
“Over there!” cried Steve. “She disappeared behind those boxes!”
Steve lunged after the witch, dragging Lucy and me with him. He started prodding boxes with his bat, a frown of furious concentration on his face.
I kept my flashlight aimed over his shoulder, searching the darkness.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Lucy, hanging back.
“I know she’s there,” said Steve. “Unless she got on her broomstick and flew away, she’s back there somewhere.”
“Yes, but—” began Lucy.
She didn’t get a chance to finish because a large box came shooting off the top of a tall stack, aimed right for Steve’s head.
I gave him a shove but not quick enough. The box hit him and Steve went down with a painful OOOMF!
The witch cackled with triumph.
The Final Nightmare Page 6
