The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street

by Lindsay Currie

  A tiny metal ring lies in the bottom of the music box, along with another paper. It’s folded up, so I doubt it’s a drawing. I slide the ring onto my pinky finger, then unfold the paper. It’s a death certificate.

  For Inez.

  35

  MY MIND IS A JUMBLE of confused thoughts. A death certificate for Inez. That’s what it looks like, but is it possible?

  Andrew’s hand trembles as he reaches for the paper. I squint to make sure I’m seeing the words correctly. “Inez Briggs? What? How?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but this can’t be a coincidence. It’s a death certificate for a little girl named Inez Briggs who died on August 1, 1880. That’s the same day that Inez Clarke died. In Chicago, too! It’s got to be the same girl, right?”

  “And that last name . . . Briggs. As in Amos Briggs,” I sputter out.

  Nina’s mouth is hanging open and I can see every centimeter of her perfectly straight teeth. “Let me see that.”

  We stay silent for a few moments while she examines the certificate. It’s grainy and yellowed, but the writing is clear as day. Inez Briggs. Graceland Cemetery.

  “Diphtheria. This says she died of diphtheria. I don’t know much about it, but I know a lot of people who lived back when Inez was alive contracted it. It was some kind of bacterial infection . . . something that affected the throat.” Nina looks at Andrew and me. “If this certificate is for the same girl, wouldn’t the cause of death say ‘lightning strike’?” she asks.

  Andrew scoots over so he can rest his back against the wall. “No, not if that isn’t true. Maybe that’s just part of the legend. Maybe there’s more to Inez Clarke—I mean, Inez Briggs—than people know.”

  “You mean like maybe she lived in my house?” The second I ask it, I realize how scary my question really is. It’s obvious that my house is haunted, but I never considered that it could be haunted because the person who died used to live here. Did she sleep in my room? Eat in our kitchen? Use our bathrooms?

  Eww. Never mind.

  I freeze as another thought pops into my head. A darker one. Maybe the ghost didn’t just live in my house; maybe she died here, too. I drag my hands down my face, nauseated at the idea. “Mom and Dad got a deal on this house. They said so themselves.”

  “I like cherry pie,” Andrew volunteers.

  “What?” Nina asks. “What does cherry pie have to do with anything?”

  “Oh, sorry. Tessa just said something totally random, so I thought that’s what we were doing.” Andrew ducks as I lob a ball of wadded-up packing tape in his direction.

  “It’s not random, Andrew! It’s true. They bragged about what a steal this house is. Do you think—” I pause, horrified by what I’m about to say. “Do you think it’s because Inez died here? In this house?”

  “Ack!” Andrew jumps to his feet and looks around. “Gross, Tess!”

  “I’m not trying to be gross! I’m being serious. It’s possible!”

  Nina runs a finger over the faded letters on the paper. “Relax, guys. According to this, she didn’t even live here, so she probably didn’t die here, either. This lists Inez Briggs’s address as on Center Street. You live on Shady Street.”

  “She’s right,” Andrew says. “I’ve never heard of Center Street. It probably isn’t even in this neighborhood.”

  The drawings from behind the brick pop into my head. “If that’s true, how would she have known about the oval window in the spare bedroom?”

  Crickets.

  “And what about the I. B. on the back of them? That totally makes sense if her name was Inez Briggs.”

  More crickets. Awesome. They’re just as confused as me.

  “And if she didn’t live here, why is my house haunted to begin with? Why the heck would the painting keep changing and the face show up in the mirror and stupid Reno start crying?”

  “Reno?” Andrew and Nina ask simultaneously. They look at each other and shrug.

  “Remember? The demonic doll I told you about?”

  Andrew’s face changes suddenly. Instead of looking confused and tired, he looks excited. “Wait! You said it isn’t a normal doll, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s a ventriloquist dummy. My dad bought it at a yard sale.” I shiver, thinking about Reno’s creepy black eyes and cold wooden face.

  Andrew snaps his head back toward Nina. “Google that. Google ventriloquist dummies and see if you can come up with how long they’ve been around.”

  “Why?” I ask, but he waves me off.

  “Bingo!” Nina whisper-yells, tilting her phone toward us. I lean to look over her shoulder.

  It’s a collection of ventriloquist dummies over the years. I don’t see one that looks exactly like Reno, but several of them are close. “Ventriloquist dummies have been around for hundreds of years. Some of these were from the eighteen hundreds—back when vaudeville was just getting big.”

  “Back when Inez was alive,” I whisper.

  “Exactly. Maybe she chose to use the doll to try to communicate with you because it was familiar to her! Think of all the technology and stuff they didn’t have back when she was alive—I bet any one of our houses would be confusing to a two-hundred-plus-year-old ghost!” Nina says.

  “This is crazy!” Andrew says. There’s a spark in his eyes now. It’s bright, and even though we’re discussing ghosts, I feel better. Happy.

  “Do you think that could be the explanation, Tessa?” Nina asks. Her tone is hopeful.

  I nod and hand her phone back to her. “According to this site, vaudeville-style entertainment started getting big in the early eighteen eighties—right before Inez was born. I originally thought she was using Reno to scare me because I hate him, but maybe it’s because she was excited to see something familiar.”

  A pang of sadness hits me. Sadness for Inez. If the death certificate is hers, that means her grave site is wrong. Every story about her is wrong. She wasn’t just an advertisement for a local sculptor—she was a real girl. Her last name wasn’t Clarke. And she doesn’t escape her glass box during storms because she died after being hit by lightning. Her death had nothing to do with lightning!

  I run my fingers over the wrinkled edges of the death certificate. As crazy as it sounds, I’m beginning to feel less afraid of Inez. I mean, if she wanted to hurt me, she would have done it by now, right?

  Andrew rakes a hand through the front of his hair. He leaves it standing on end. “I’m still confused.”

  “That makes two of us,” I mumble. “If Inez never lived in this house, then we’re back to my first theory on why she chose me to haunt.”

  “Which was . . .” Nina prompts.

  “Because she liked art. I guess it’s still possible, especially since I found those drawings hidden in the wall.”

  Andrew folds the death certificate up and hands it to Nina. She tucks it deep in her research notebook. “But why would her death certificate have been in this basement at all if she never lived here?”

  Nina taps her chin with a pen. “We don’t know that the certificate is real. Not yet.”

  “It looks real.” I wrinkle up my nose. The stink of musty paper still fills the room. “Smells real, too.”

  Andrew peeks through the small storage closet’s door, then presses it tightly closed with the toe of his shoe. Nina blinks at it, then sighs. “I gotta go.”

  “What?” I jump in front of the door. “No. Don’t go yet. You guys just got here and now I’m creeped out!”

  “I’m sorry, Tess but we’ll never figure this out if I don’t do some more research. There are too many things that don’t make sense.” Nina grimaces and holds her notebook up.

  I stare at it, amused by the fact that it’s silver and glittery. Shouldn’t it have a skull and crossbones on it or something? I mean, it looks more like a Christmas ornament than a notebook for ghost research.

  A hand on my shoulder startles me. I look up into Andrew’s worried eyes. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.�
��

  “Sure?”

  I shrug. Even though I’d rather have them stay, I’m actually not that scared about being here alone with Inez. “I can’t be positive, because, you know . . . ghosts. But I think so.”

  He smiles and makes his way to the door. “Good, because I’m not supposed to be out on my bike alone. I have to leave when Nina does or my mom will freak if she finds out.”

  I laugh. “So you’re not free-range, then, huh?”

  Andrew tips his head back and lets out a loud hoot. “No. I’m half free-range and half ‘you’re grounded.’ Remember?”

  I do remember. Andrew told me that back when he was just a blond-haired boy in a park, covered in dirt. Back when the only help I had in surviving my new neighborhood was a beaten-up old compass, and when I believed the only nice thing in this entire city was North Pond. I chuckle at the thought of how a ratty soccer ball landing at my feet changed everything.

  I was so wrong, and for once, I couldn’t be happier.

  36

  THIS PILLOW IS ROCK-HARD, I think, rolling over. The temple on the right side of my head is sore and I can’t seem to get comfortable. A sound startles me, something like a cross between a car backfiring and a bottle rocket. I snap upright and pry my tired eyes open.

  “Well, so glad you decided to join us, Miss Woodward.” Mrs. Medina is glaring at me. There’s a book on the floor at her feet, probably the item that interrupted my slumber.

  “Sorry,” I squeak out. My mouth is dry and there’s a small puddle of drool on my desk. I quickly toss a notepad over it and tell myself I’ll deal with that later.

  Andrew is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I do my best to straighten my back and stay awake for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard; I barely slept last night. Again.

  Three distinct times, I heard knocking on my door. The first time I was half asleep and thought it was Jonah, so I got up and checked. Hallway empty. Lights out. No one to be seen.

  The second time, I knew it was Inez. I could tell from the way my skin got all prickly and the hairs on the back of my neck did their thing. There wasn’t any crying or door rattling, but she was there. I could feel her.

  The worst part about the whole thing wasn’t being afraid; it was being confused. In the beginning, I was convinced Inez wanted to terrify me . . . or worse, hurt me. But with each day that passes, I feel less afraid and more worried. Like the ghost I’ve been afraid of for so long is trying to tell me something I don’t understand. Is Inez trapped in my house, scared and lonely? Desperate? I crawled back into bed having no idea and feeling more helpless than ever.

  “And those are factorials!” my teacher exclaims loudly, and sets her dry-erase marker back on the desk. “Any questions?”

  Um, yeah. I have a ton. Why was Inez Clarke’s death certificate labeled Inez Briggs? Or is that some bizarre coincidence? It’s still bothering me, and I haven’t had a chance to research any more since Nina and Andrew left my house. I realize after the first few hands shoot up that my teacher was talking about math questions. Nope. Don’t have any of those.

  “All right, then. Class dismissed. Have a wonderful night, everyone.”

  Andrew is up and out of his chair before anyone else. He crosses to my desk and hovers over me. “Florida, you almost got yourself tossed out of here.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I yawn out. “She didn’t say anything about that.”

  His face grows serious. “Yeah, well, be careful. Sleeping through class doesn’t usually earn you a star student award, if you know what I mean.”

  I rub my hands over my face. I can’t believe I fell asleep right in the middle of class like that. It’s embarrassing! It’s also not me. “I know. I’m just so tired.”

  “We’re supposed to meet Nina and Cass on the front steps. Want me to go tell them you need to go home and take a nap instead?”

  “In my house of horrors?” I chuckle grimly. “No thanks. I can stay awake, swear.”

  I’m already walking away when my brain finally kicks in. I skid to a stop. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did you just say we’re meeting Nina and Cass?”

  Andrew frowns. “Ahhh, I thought I could slide that past you.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.” He eyes me for a second, then sighs loudly. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Trust me, you don’t,” I mumble. I haven’t slept well since I got to Chicago, my ghost mystery is still unsolved, and now this. “If you knew what I’m thinking, you would have ducked by now.”

  “Wow. Harsh. You really do need more sleep,” he says with a laugh. “Look, Cass is the one who asked to hang out today. It wasn’t me or Nina or Richie begging her this time. I think that’s a good sign. Maybe it means whatever was bothering her is gone.”

  That can’t be true, because I’m still here, I think. My insides wilt at the thought of spending time with Cassidy. Even digging more bricks out of my disturbing old wall back home sounds more fun.

  “Just give it a chance. Please?”

  I can’t believe I’m agreeing to it, but I do. Andrew has done a lot for me since I moved here and I owe him this. If Cassidy is a jerk again, I’m done trying. For good.

  When we step outside, Nina is already sitting on the base of the steps. Large blue headphones cover her ears, and her nose is tucked into an e-reader of some kind. Cassidy and Richie are a few feet away, talking.

  I stare at the two of them, trying to decide what’s different today. I don’t think it’s Richie’s hair. That looks just as shaggy as the day I met him. My eyes travel to Cassidy. Even though her dark locks are partly hidden by a hood, I can still see their cropped edges and the blue streak. I’ve just started studying their clothes when I figure it out: Cassidy is smiling.

  Richie looks up and notices me. His lips curve up into an instant grin. “Hey! Woodward! Congrats!”

  “Um . . . thanks?” Unless he’s congratulating me on being even more confused than I was a minute ago, I’m lost. “On what, though?”

  He lifts his phone to reveal a calendar app. “On surviving your first week here!”

  Oh my gosh. He’s right! I started school here in Chicago exactly a week ago. Since then I’ve made new friends, inherited a ghost, lost my compass, found a music box, and decided deep-dish pizza is ah-mazing.

  “We should totally celebrate,” Richie crows. “Cupcakes or ice cream?”

  I sneak a glance at Andrew. He lifts his shoulders in a whatever you want gesture. I sigh. “I can’t go. Thanks, though. I have to figure out this—” I stop talking, remembering Cassidy is there. I can’t discuss the ghost in front of her. “This thing before I can go pig out.”

  “The thing,” Richie repeats, his forehead wrinkling up.

  “She means the ghost stuff.” Cassidy jams her hands down into her jeans pockets and studies me. “And seriously, Richie, are you always thinking about food?”

  Andrew hoots. “As if you don’t know the answer to that already, Cass.”

  “He stopped in the cafeteria on the way here, you know. Claimed he needs to keep his blood sugar up,” she adds.

  “Don’t judge!” Richie playfully elbows Cassidy. She laughs.

  I open my mouth to chime in, but nothing comes out. Something weird is happening. Cassidy is here, talking and laughing like things are normal. She hasn’t rolled her eyes, or stalked off, or given me even one you’re a mosquito look. I could not be more surprised if I found a unicorn in my locker. I look to Andrew for an explanation, but he just shrugs.

  “Richie filled me in a little,” Cassidy explains. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Filled you in on the stuff going on in my house?” I ask nervously. I’m not mad at Richie, exactly. He and Cassidy are obviously pretty tight. But something about her knowing this stuff makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because I still don’t trust her.

  “Yeah,” she answers, fidgeting with her backpack straps. “But mostly about the glass box.” />
  For a split second, my mind is blank. Glass box? Then I remember what she’s talking about. Inez’s grave!

  “Richie explained what happened. It sounds like there was a thunderstorm that brought cold air in off the lake—like a cold front or something.”

  I nod. I remember how quickly the temperature dropped, my skin breaking out in goose bumps all over again. “Yeah, it got super-cold all of a sudden.”

  “I could see my breath when we left,” Andrew adds with a shudder. “It was freaky.”

  “It wasn’t a ghost,” Richie states.

  “Really?” Suddenly I’m very interested in what Cassidy has to say. “Because it felt like a ghost. And the grounds keepers at the cemetery have reported the same thing happening to them for years. The statue disappearing, I mean.”

  Cassidy nods. Her eyes are twinkling with excitement. “I’m sure it has happened for years, but it’s not a ghost. It’s science.”

  37

  SCIENCE. I CONSIDER THIS, REMEMBERING that Andrew told me Cassidy and Richie are in a science club together. Could she be right? Could the explanation for the vanishing statue be scientific?

  Cassidy pulls a folder from her backpack and opens it up. Then she hands me a sheet of paper. Condensation. The entire paper is about the process of condensation.

  “I printed that out this morning just in case you didn’t believe me. A glass box like the one Richie described would be filled with air, since it isn’t vacuum-sealed. If the air inside the box was warm, but then the temperature dropped and colder air met the outside of the glass, you could end up with a bunch of condensation.”

  “And what looked like a missing statue,” Richie adds.

  My jaw drops. I learned about condensation in like, third grade or something. How did it not occur to me . . . or Nina . . . or Andrew that the explanation was something so simple?

  Remembering exactly how the glass box looked, I start to feel silly. Now that I really think about it, the box didn’t really look empty at all. It looked white.