The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs

by Cynthia DeFelice

  Now it was Dub’s turn to stop walking. “You mean—” His eyes grew big. “Like before?”

  Allie nodded.

  “Another ghost?” Dub asked in a hushed voice.

  Allie shrugged. “I don’t know. But it seemed . . . the same.”

  “It’s so weird, Al. It’s like you attract ghosts. Like you’re some kind of—ghost magnet.”

  “That’s one way to put it, I guess,” said Allie, not sure if the idea made her feel proud or uncomfortable. She recalled how confused and frightened she had been a few weeks earlier, when the ghost of Lucy Stiles had first appeared to her, asking for help. Compared to the way she’d felt then, she was relatively calm about the possibility that another ghost was contacting her. At least now she had some experience.

  “Dub,” she said slowly, thinking as she spoke. “I had a dream last night . . . about somebody who was trapped in a fire. It was sort of like the dream I had before, about Lucy Stiles falling from the cliff in Fossil Glen.”

  “Oh boy, here we go again,” said Dub. “Let’s see . . . Lucy’s ghost came to you because she needed your help to prove she’d been murdered.”

  “Yeah. And now this ghost—”

  “If it is a ghost,” interjected Dub.

  “—makes me blurt out Mrs. Hobbs’s name.”

  Dub frowned. “So you’re thinking the ghost, if that’s what it is, wants you to discover something about Mrs. Hobbs.”

  Allie nodded.

  “Maybe old Hobbling Hobbs killed somebody!” Dub exclaimed. “It wouldn’t surprise me, actually.”

  “You know what’s weird?” said Allie thoughtfully. “Just a little while ago I was messing around, saying there must be a reason why Mrs. Hobbs is so crabby and scary. I was kind of feeling sorry for her, imagining some great tragedy in her life. Maybe there was something . . . like a murder.”

  “Did you see the way she looked over at our lunch table today?” Dub asked with a shudder. “Like she knew we were talking about her.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t,” said Allie. It wasn’t so much the things Mrs. Hobbs did that made her so scary, she reflected. It was the way she looked at you, hungrily, with her odd, beady eyes, that made you imagine all the awful things she might do.

  “Well,” Dub went on, “if this ghost wants you to find out stuff about Hobbsy, having an excuse to interview her is pretty handy.”

  Allie brightened. “True. What a lucky break.”

  “Lucky for the ghost, maybe,” Dub replied with a grin. “Not so lucky for you.”

  Four

  When Allie got home from school, she decided to take some shots at the lacrosse goal her dad had set up in the back yard. Her father would be home from work soon, after he picked up Michael at the baby-sitter’s. Mr. Nichols had played lacrosse in college, and he’d bought both Allie and Michael sticks and started teaching them the basics.

  Cradling the ball in the pocket of her stick the way her dad had shown her, she ran toward the goal and fired. Nothing happened. With disgust, she realized she’d let the stick drop too far in the back, and the ball had fallen out before she even took the shot.

  She looked around the yard, relieved no one was there to see such a dumb display, and picked up the ball. After a few misses, she made a beautiful shot right in the corner of the net.

  “And Nichols scores!” a voice boomed from the window. “The rookie from Seneca, New York, has done it again, ladies and gentlemen!”

  “Hi, Dad!” Allie called. “Come on out and play.”

  Soon she was joined by her father and Michael, who carried his own little stick, perfect for a four-year-old, and they played catch until Mrs. Nichols, too, came home from work and called them in to help with supper. Allie, her father, and Michael headed inside, laughing at Michael’s last wild shot, which had gone over to the neighbors’ yard and in the door of their doghouse.

  At that moment, Allie heard the voice. It came from inside her head, and she knew from past experience that no one else could hear it. It was a male voice, not that of a kid or an old man, but somebody in between. There was an incredibly sad tone to it, and the sound caught midway in what Allie thought must be a sob.

  “A happy family, like yours. That’s all I ever wanted. But she ruined everything.”

  Allie stopped dead in her tracks to listen, but there was nothing more. Her father and Michael were staring at her quizzically.

  “You look funny,” said Michael with a frown.

  “Are you all right, Allie-Cat?” asked her father.

  “Yeah. Yes. Really. I’m fine,” Allie hastened to reassure him. What was she supposed to say? Oh, it’s nothing, Dad. Just the voice of a ghost in my head.

  She’d been able to explain her discovery of Lucy Stiles’s murder to her parents and the police and reporters without mentioning that she’d been tipped off by Lucy’s ghost. As she’d said to Dub, who would believe the truth, except him? She just didn’t see the sense in worrying her parents over it, because worry they certainly would, even though she was perfectly fine and everything had worked out for the best.

  She’d almost written the whole story in her journal for Mr. Henry to read: he’d asked her to, and she had the feeling he’d understand. But she’d chickened out at the last minute, fearing that teachers had to report crazy stuff kids said and did to the school psychologist. Then her parents would be called in, and they’d get all worried about her overactive imagination, the way they had before, and talk about having her “see someone.”

  The thing was, she didn’t need a psychiatrist. But how could she tell her parents that, for some reason, she was a—what had Dub called her?—a ghost magnet?

  She laughed as if nothing unusual had happened and said, “Everything’s fine, you guys. Let’s go eat.”

  “Let’s eat! Let’s eat! Let’s eat!” cried Michael.

  Allie’s father touched her shoulder. “Okay, Allie-Cat. If you say so.”

  But after they’d eaten and she’d helped her mother with the dishes, Allie went into her father’s study to call Dub. “Dub, I heard a voice. It wasn’t Lucy. This was a guy, and older.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Allie told him, and Dub whistled under his breath. “She ruined everything,” he repeated. “Do you think she is Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “I don’t know,” Allie said, although it was what she thought. The idea made her afraid, and she didn’t want to get herself any more frightened of Mrs. Hobbs than she already was. “It could be anybody, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” said Dub, but he didn’t sound convinced. “You know, Al, maybe you should pick a different person to interview. Just say you changed your mind. It’s no big deal, no matter what Karen says.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that,” Allie said, even though Karen’s taunts still stung. “I want to go through with it. Dub, he sounded so sad. He came to me for a reason. I wish I could remember everything we found out about ghosts on the Internet.”

  “Hang on. I bookmarked that page. I’m sitting right here by my computer. Let’s see . . .”

  Allie could hear him clicking away as he spoke. “Here it is. ‘True ghost stories.’ You want to hear it again?”

  “Yes,” said Allie, making a mental note to remember the name of the Web site. She’d gotten in the habit of relying on Dub’s expertise on the Internet, but she meant to begin putting her own computer to better use.

  Dub began to read: “ ‘In almost every case, the ghost is an unwilling spirit who was treated unfairly in life and who can find no rest until the wrongs against him or her are redressed. Some ghosts seek revenge, others seek justice. Some appear to the person who wronged them; others choose a person, often a stranger, whom they believe can make things right again. Then, and only then, can the spirit be at peace and leave the human world behind.’ ”

  “And I’m the stranger he picked,” said Allie. She could hear her own quick, excited breathing over the phone. “I wonder why.”

  “I don’t kn
ow,” said Dub. “But just because he chose you to help him do whatever he’s got to do, it doesn’t mean you have to go along with it. I mean, you don’t have to take orders from a ghost.” He paused. “Do you?”

  “I don’t think so.” Allie thought for a minute and added, “No. Lucy didn’t make me follow the clues that she gave me. I wanted to.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I want to help this guy, too, Dub. Whoever he is. The trouble is, all we have to go on is that stuff we read. Plus our experience with Lucy.”

  “Our experience?” Dub said.

  “You know what I mean. Maybe it happened to me, but—Well, I’d never have gotten through it without you.”

  There was an embarrassed silence on the phone.

  “Okay, then,” Dub said at last. “You’re interviewing Mrs. Hobbs. Good. We’ll just take this one step at a time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Dub. Bye,” said Allie. She hung up, grateful that Dub had said we. At least she wasn’t in this alone.

  Whatever this was.

  Five

  After math, Mr. Henry said, “Okay, let’s take a minute for you all to tell me whom you’ve chosen for your interviews.”

  Joey raised his hand. “Are you going to bring Hoover in to hear our presentations?”

  Twenty-five voices chorused, “Pleeeease, Mr. Henry!”

  Hoover was Mr. Henry’s golden retriever. Mr. Henry brought her to school quite often, and all the kids loved her. She never missed a field trip. She had been along on the class trip to Fossil Glen, and had even helped Allie to solve Lucy Stiles’s murder.

  Mr. Henry was smiling. “Good idea, Joey. Miss Hoover would never forgive me if she missed your grandfather’s story of the Hindenburg disaster. If that’s what you’ve decided on.”

  “It is,” Joey assured him.

  Mr. Henry continued around the room. Pam stuck with her aunt and Dub with his inventor friend. Brad announced that he was interviewing the “black sheep of his mother’s family,” his Uncle Hal. In a sullen voice Karen said she guessed she’d have to choose her grandmother. Julie Horwitz announced that she was conducting an e-mail conversation with a man who was living in a tent in Antarctica and studying penguins. Everyone was pretty impressed by that. Or at least they were until Allie repeated her intention to interview Mrs. Hobbs.

  This time, a hush fell over the room. The silence was finally broken by Julie, who asked in a puzzled voice, “But why?”

  Allie tried to think of an answer that would make sense to her classmates. “Well, I just think—” she began, and then her voice faltered. She tried again. “We’ve all known Mrs. Hobbs since kindergarten, but we don’t really know her.”

  “I know all I need to know, thank you very much,” said Karen.

  There were a few chuckles at that, but Mr. Henry gave Karen his warning look, and the room quieted. “Go on, Allie,” he said.

  Allie continued in a small voice. “I guess I wonder about her. About her real life, outside the cafeteria, I mean.”

  Allie could feel Karen’s scornful glare from across the room, but she kept her eyes straight ahead.

  “But, Allie,” said Julie, in the same puzzled, worried voice, “aren’t you scared?”

  Yes, thought Allie. But there’s no way I’m going to admit it in front of Karen.

  Mr. Henry saved her from answering. “Why would Allie be frightened of Mrs. Hobbs?” he asked.

  There was a moment of silence, during which Allie imagined all the other kids were thinking the same thing she was. There was some stuff that every kid knew that grown-ups just didn’t get. Mr. Henry was the coolest teacher in the whole school, but even he, it appeared, was clueless about the Snapping Turtle.

  Joey tried to explain. “ ’Cause she’s creepy. I mean, all you have to do is look at her.”

  “You know better than to judge someone by her appearance, Joey. That’s something we’ve been talking about all year.”

  “I know, Mr. Henry, but—” Joey glanced around the room for help.

  Brad jumped in. “Maybe she doesn’t do it to teachers, but when she looks at a kid, it’s like she wants to eat you or suck your brains out or something.”

  Karen whispered sweetly, “If she’s looking for brains, then I guess you don’t have anything to worry about, Brad.”

  As usual, Allie noticed, Karen had made sure Mr. Henry didn’t hear her.

  “Mrs. Hobbs has been at this school longer than anybody else, and as far as I know, she hasn’t eaten even one student,” he said with a smile. “Allie, I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to interview her. Maybe you’ll stop some of these crazy rumors. Did you know that Mrs. Hobbs was recently given a promotion?”

  Allie shook her head. Promotion? To what? she wondered.

  “She’s already Head Hairnet,” said Karen.

  “She’s always been in charge of our cafeteria,” Mr. Henry corrected. “Now she’s the cafeteria manager for the entire district. Maybe you can ask her about that, Allie, to help break the ice.”

  “Whoop-dee-doo,” Karen muttered sarcastically. “I can’t wait to hear all about the Snapping Turtle’s big career move.”

  “Excuse me, Karen, what did you say?” asked Mr. Henry.

  “Nothing,” answered Karen with an innocent smile.

  Mr. Henry turned to Allie. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Hobbs about the project yet?”

  “No,” said Allie, her heart speeding up at the mere thought of it.

  Mr. Henry looked at his watch and said, “First lunch hasn’t started yet. This is probably a good time to catch her. Why don’t you run down and check?”

  Allie felt her mouth drop open. “Now?” she asked.

  Mr. Henry nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.” Then, oblivious to the effect of his suggestion on Allie, he continued around the room with his survey. “Wendy? Whom have you chosen to interview?”

  Allie, meanwhile, was feeling something very close to panic. She’d known she was going to have to speak to Mrs. Hobbs at some point, but not right then. She felt completely unprepared. She glanced at Dub, who looked back with sympathy and mouthed the words “It’ll be okay.”

  She wished she could raise her hand and ask if Dub could come along with her, but she knew how stupid that would look. Slowly, she rose from her seat and walked toward the door, her mind droning a dramatic narration: The condemned girl took what would turn out to be her final steps. Little did her teacher and classmates know they would never see her again . . .

  In the hallway she tried to shrug off her dire thoughts and plan what she was going to say. She told herself she didn’t have to actually do the interview; all she had to do was get Mrs. Hobbs to agree to it.

  She walked down the long basement corridor and past the boiler room. Following the smell of sauerkraut, she reached the cafeteria, where one of the cafeteria ladies was dumping a big pot of steaming hot dogs onto a metal serving tray.

  “Is Mrs. Hobbs here?” Allie asked.

  The woman looked up, her face damp and pink from the steam, her expression astonished. “You want to see her?” she asked doubtfully.

  Clearly, kids didn’t often arrive at the cafeteria asking to see the boss.

  Allie nodded. “Yes, please. Unless she’s too busy,” she added hopefully.

  The woman jerked her head toward the kitchen, which lay beyond the serving counter. “Back there.” She turned away to pick up another pot, mumbling something to herself. Allie didn’t quite catch it, but it sounded like “Poor kid must be new here.”

  The long fluorescent lights on the kitchen ceiling buzzed and flickered unpleasantly, washing everything in the room in a sickly greenish tinge. Allie looked about uneasily, but there was no one in sight. She was feeling relieved until a huge metal door swung open. In the sudden blast of frigid air that poured from the walk-in freezer, Mrs. Hobbs appeared.

  For a moment that seemed to last forever, Allie stood locked in the grip of Mrs. Hobbs’s penetrating gaze. Briefly Al
lie thought that Mrs. Hobbs was staring over her shoulder, at something behind her. Allie turned to look, and the carton Mrs. Hobbs was holding fell to the floor with a sudden crash.

  Allie dropped to her knees, desperate to escape those dark, narrowed eyes, and began gathering up scattered Popsicles. “I didn’t mean to startle you!” she cried. “I came because I, I mean, my class—”

  Mrs. Hobbs remained still and silent while Allie fumbled with the Popsicles and blundered through her explanation. “I’m Allie Nichols. I’m in Mr. Henry’s class, and we’re all supposed to interview somebody for Elders Day, and I wondered if it would be all right”—Allie gulped and forged ahead—“if I interviewed you.”

  She stood up, placed the box of Popsicles on the countertop, and forced herself to look directly at Mrs. Hobbs. Immediately she wished she hadn’t. The woman was even more unsettling up close than from a safe distance away.

  It wasn’t her size that made her intimidating. She was only a little taller than Allie, neither fat nor skinny. Actually, Allie thought, from the neck down she looked pretty normal. Above the neck was another story. As Mr. Henry had said, Allie knew better than to judge people by the way they looked. On the other hand, she’d never seen anyone who looked like Mrs. Hobbs.

  One red-rimmed eye drooped slightly lower than the other, and in places the skin of her face and neck had an odd, stretched, shiny look. Her thin lips twitched, but she didn’t utter a word. Her silence was even more disconcerting than her appearance.

  Was she angry because of the spilled Popsicles? Did she enjoy frightening Allie with her naked glaring eyes and refusal to speak? Or did she always look and act this way? It was impossible to tell.

  Allie had had all she could stand. She was about to flee when the woman spoke one low, guttural syllable.

  “Why?”

  In a shaking voice, Allie replied, “Excuse me?”

  “Why?”

  Allie heard the distrust and suspicion in Mrs. Hobbs’s voice. She knew that what Mrs. Hobbs was really asking was “Why me?” She knew, too, that everything depended on the next words out of her mouth. Any mention of a ghost was out of the question, of course.