Claudia and the Lighthouse Ghost

by Ann M. Martin

  I was sick of them.

  For the party, Steve and his friends had really decked the lighthouse, and not just with boughs of holly. A stereo system blasted rock tunes. The refrigerator was full of soda and food. The big light at the top had been fixed, and it rotated slowly, red on one side, green on the other. Strings of Christmas lights wound down from the roof in a widening spiral.

  The place was packed. People were spilling out onto the lawn, dancing on the sand, walking down the dock. Steve’s invitation list must have included half the school. (It’s amazing how many friends you have when you throw a party.)

  “Ho ho ho! Have a cup of Christmas cheer!” boomed Mr. Hatt. Wearing a rumpled Santa hat, he served punch and soft drinks from a table on the ground floor. Mrs. Hatt was pouring some munchies into bowls. (Steve, as you can imagine, looked extremely embarrassed. I don’t think this was the kind of party he’d had in mind.)

  Behind Mr. and Mrs. Hatt a sign hung across the spiral staircase: GROUND FLOOR AND BASEMENT ONLY, PLEASE. (I guess Mr. Hatt didn’t want to risk any more accidents.)

  I mingled for a while, but the party wasn’t much fun. Janine was busy following Steve around, Laura and Caryn were helping their dad and mom, and I didn’t know most of the kids there.

  Besides, my friends and I were on the lookout. Every fifteen minutes we met outside the lighthouse for updates.

  “Anything suspicious?” Kristy asked at our 8:15 gathering.

  “I saw someone put a can of soda in his inside coat pocket,” Abby reported.

  “Big help,” I replied.

  Stacey sighed. “I keep thinking I see people from that photo. A lot of these guests look like the faces.”

  “No messages?” I asked. “No words in the dirt? No moaning ghosts?”

  Everyone shook her head.

  “Okay, report back in fifteen,” Kristy said.

  As my friends wandered into the crowd, Janine ran to me. She looked angry and preoccupied. “Have you seen the S Man?”

  “The S Man?” I repeated. “Is that Steve?”

  “I find the name puerile, too,” Janine replied. “Just like him.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Steve walking toward the beach, arm-in-arm with a red-haired girl. “Uh, there he is,” I said.

  As Janine stared at him, the lighthouse searchlight washed her face red, then green. My heart went out to her. Suddenly I felt guilty for all my catty comments.

  Finally, with a sad sigh, she said, “I wonder if Jerry’s home.”

  That was when I noticed the searchlight flicker.

  It was just the hint of a shadow. But it interrupted the red light that was passing across Janine’s face.

  I looked up. Something moved quickly across the lens.

  Somebody was up there.

  As Janine walked off, I darted into the lighthouse. Elbowing my way past the partygoers, I reached the spiral stairs.

  I ducked under the warning sign and ran upstairs.

  The second floor was totally empty. From below, the muffled beat of the stereo was shaking the floor. A string of Christmas lights hung across the newly repaired window, casting dim streaks of red, green, and orange against the dusty floor.

  “He’s heeeere …”

  The voice nearly made me dive downstairs. It seemed to come from just behind my left ear.

  “Hello?” I said.

  No one answered.

  A breathy singer from the CD. That’s all it was. It had to be.

  I kept climbing the spiral stairs. Above me the trapdoor opening flashed green and red from the slowly turning light.

  “Anybody up there?” I called out.

  I heard a thump. I stopped.

  A shadow moved into the square at the top of the stairs. The shadow of a tall man.

  I tried to say something, but no sound came out.

  The red light swept across the man’s face. He was blond and bearded.

  “May I help you?” he said with a big smile.

  My heart stopped when I saw the gap between his front teeth.

  “Who — what — you’re not supposed to be up here!” I stammered.

  “Oh?” He shone a flashlight in my face and I had to turn away. “Thank you for telling me. I was just … looking for something. Be right down.”

  The light flicked off. I looked up again, and he had ducked out of the circle.

  I ran downstairs. Just below the second-floor landing I screamed, “Mr. Haaaaaaaatt!”

  Some of the partygoers turned to look at me. “Can’t you read the sign?” one of them said.

  I pushed my way to the refreshment table. Laura and Caryn were there alone. “Where’s your dad?” I demanded.

  “He had to go outside,” Laura replied.

  Through the open doorway I could see a small crowd. Among them were all my BSC friends.

  I ran out. “Mr. Hatt!”

  Mary Anne was the first to see me. “Claudia, are you all right?”

  “He’s up there!” I blurted out. “On the top floor — the guy from the picture!”

  “Which guy?” Stacey asked.

  “The blond one, with the gap between his teeth!” I shot back.

  “Let’s get him!” Kristy said.

  “No, he might be dangerous!” I began pushing into the crowd. “Mr. Hatt!”

  “A private function?” Mr. Langley’s voice thundered above the sound of the party. “This is a disturbance of the peace!”

  I broke through to the center of the circle. There, Mr. Langley was standing face-to-face with Mr. Hatt, shouting. Paul stood behind his dad, arms folded.

  “Mr. Hatt, someone’s at the top of the lighthouse!” I shouted.

  “Can’t these kids read the sign —” Mr. Hatt began.

  “It’s not a kid! It’s a stranger! A guy who doesn’t belong here!”

  That did it. Mr. Hatt broke away and ran into the lighthouse. Kristy, Abby, Stacey, Mary Anne, Jessi, Mallory, and I were right behind him.

  Mr. Hatt took the steps two at a time. When he stopped at the second floor, I nearly ran into him.

  Squinting into the dimly lit room, he called out, “Anyone up here?”

  Kristy stepped around me and quickly scanned the area. “No one,” she said.

  Mr. Hatt looked upward, toward the roof. “Then he has to be there.”

  This time he stepped slowly.

  Green … black … red … black … The searchlight turned, leaving brief gaps of darkness.

  Below us, a rock ballad throbbed intensely.

  Now Mr. Hatt was standing at the top step. I peered over the lip of the trapdoor.

  “Hey, move up so we can see!” called Abby from behind me.

  “Ssssshh,” I said.

  In the brief sweeps of light, I could see nothing unusual.

  And then, in the shadow of the wall, something moved.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Hatt called out.

  He was answered by a sharp click.

  The spinning light went out. The rock ballad stopped. The Christmas lights blinked off.

  Loud groans wafted up from below.

  “He flipped the emergency circuit breaker!” Mr. Hatt said, disappearing into the darkness.

  “Be careful!” I shouted.

  Kristy practically climbed over my back. I hoisted myself onto the roof and stood up. My friends jostled by me.

  “I think I saw him!” Kristy called out.

  “Where?” Stacey shouted.

  I banged my head on the bottom of the searchlight, which had just stopped revolving. “Yeeow!”

  Click!

  The lights popped back on again. Mr. Hatt was at the switch, looking around intently.

  I scanned the floor for the gap-toothed man.

  He was nowhere.

  “Who let him go downstairs?” Kristy demanded.

  “No one.” Mallory and Mary Anne peeked shyly over the trapdoor opening. “We were here the whole time.”

  “EEEEEEEAAAAGGGHHHHH!”


  The scream was from outside, near the dock.

  We all stood up and looked over the half wall.

  I gasped.

  The blond guy was climbing down the side of the lighthouse, clinging to a string of unlit Christmas lights.

  I glanced backward and saw that the plug end of the lights had been tied securely around a brass hook in the wall.

  “Someone stop him!” Mr. Hatt cried out.

  The blond guy looked up. His eyes were wild with fear. He dug his foot into a large crack in the wall for support.

  And then the wire snapped.

  “NOOOOOO!” I cried.

  He landed with a loud splash in the water.

  We all scrambled downstairs and ran outside. The entire party was gathered at the dock now. Mr. Langley was leaning over it into the water. “Grab my hand!” he shouted.

  Panting, the young man reached for him and held on. Mr. Langley yanked him up onto the grass.

  The man was shivering violently.

  “Paul, get a blanket from the house!” Mr. Langley shouted. “And call an ambulance!”

  He and Mr. Hatt both took off their coats and put them around the young man’s shoulders.

  “You’ll be all right,” Mr. Langley said reassuringly.

  “Th-th-thanks, Mr. L-L-Langley,” the young man said.

  Mr. Langley looked him in the eye. “Do I know you?”

  “N-No.”

  I felt bad for the stranger. I didn’t want to add to his pain. But Adrian Langley hadn’t been as lucky as he. And I couldn’t let him lie to Adrian’s dad.

  “You were in the group, weren’t you?” I asked. “The group that Adrian Langley wanted to join?”

  The young man looked at me, his eyes like giant snowballs.

  “The group that left this note in the lighthouse.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the “Fred” message.

  I could see the pulse hammering in Mr. Langley’s temples. “Patrick Belknap,” he murmured.

  The young man nodded. “I didn’t have the beard then.”

  “But — why —?” Mr. Hatt stammered.

  “That n-note,” Patrick said, sniffling. “I left it. I was the leader of the G-Gargoyles. Adrian wanted to join. So we had to give him the t-t-test.”

  “What test?” Mr. Langley asked.

  Patrick’s voice was a pained whisper. “You had to g-go into the lighthouse and f-find the secret message. While you were looking, we l-l-locked the front door. Then, if y-you were too scared to obey — t-too scared to sp-spend the night — y-you were out of l-luck. You had to do it anyway.”

  Mr. Langley’s face fell. He looked about ten years older. “So that was why Adrian —”

  Patrick nodded. “All these y-y-years I’ve been trying to get in there. T-trying to find that message. I d-d-didn’t want the Hatts to find it before me.”

  “So you sent all the threats,” Kristy said.

  “And planted the smoke bomb,” I added.

  “You were the guy I saw staring at the lighthouse while we were cleaning up!” Stacey exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Patrick whispered.

  “You locked my son in,” Mr. Langley said, his voice choked and rasping, “and Alex had nothing to do with it.”

  “I … I’m so, so sorry.” Patrick broke down in tears.

  Mr. Langley looked at him a good long time. I thought for sure he’d push Patrick back into the water. Or worse.

  But he did nothing. A few moments later, when an ambulance roared up and a pair of paramedics led Patrick away, Mr. Langley just stood and watched.

  By the curb, the entire crowd was alive with excited talk. But my friends and I stayed by the dock, along with my parents, my sister, Mr. Langley, and the Hatts.

  Finally Mr. Hatt put an arm around Mr. Langley’s shoulders. “I’m sorry this had to happen,” he said.

  Mr. Langley’s eyes were moist. “I owe you, Alex. I guess we should have a nice, long talk.”

  “Why don’t you and Paul come to our new place sometime?” Mrs. Hatt spoke up.

  “New place?” my dad repeated.

  Mr. Hatt smiled. “I haven’t told you because I didn’t want to jinx it. Just this evening we reached an agreement. The house is in move-in condition.”

  “Plus, the job at the insurance company looks as if it’ll come through for me,” Mrs. Hatt added. “We’ll be up and running within a week.”

  I kept myself from jumping up and cheering.

  “Well, we’ll … uh, miss you,” my mom said.

  Just then, a voice cried out, “Hey, what happened here?”

  Janine’s face lit up. “Hi, Jerry!”

  Jerry Michaels was bounding toward us, his face twisted with concern. He put an arm around Janine and said, “I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

  Janine glanced at Steve with a tiny but triumphant smile. Then she and Jerry walked off, hand in hand.

  And you know what? Steve actually looked angry.

  Go figure.

  Mr. and Mrs. Hatt were now walking across the lawn with Mr. Langley and Paul, deep in conversation. Caryn followed them, but Steve stalked away toward his friends. The rest of us stood there, a little shell-shocked, watching the partygoers say their good-byes and leave.

  “I feel so sad for Mr. Langley,” Laura said. “All this time I thought he was sending us those letters.”

  I felt sad for him, too. But at the same time, relief was washing over me. The Hatts were innocent. Mr. Hatt had tried to save Adrian. I wasn’t in any danger at the house. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” I said, “but when I saw those cut-up magazines on your bed, I thought you might be involved in this.”

  Laura burst out laughing. “Yeah, right. Like I would threaten my own family?”

  “You never know,” Kristy piped up.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Stacey added.

  “I suspected Steve, too,” I confessed.

  “Whaaaat?” Laura said.

  “He is kind of quiet and mysterious,” I explained.

  “And we all heard he’d gotten kicked out of school in Arizona,” Abby spoke up. “Not a good sign.”

  Laura shook her head with disgust. “That was sooo stupid. Sometimes he gets in trouble for being quiet. This teacher saw a bunch of Steve’s friends stealing brand-new instruments from the band room. It was late and almost dark, and the teacher thought she spotted Steve with them. Well, he wasn’t. He was home, because he’d refused to steal. The next day, the principal called all of them including Steve to the office — and Steve didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to betray his friends. So he was kicked out of school with the rest of them. I mean, is that dumb or what?”

  Bingo. The last part of the mystery solved. I glanced at my BSC friends. We had a lot of catching up to do in the mystery notebook.

  Dad was walking our way now, looking tired. “Perhaps we should clean up.”

  “We’ll do it!” Kristy volunteered. “You guys hang out. Relax. We can use the time to have a meeting. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dad said. “I’ll be waiting to take home anyone who needs a ride.”

  As we headed toward the lighthouse, Dad and Laura went the other way, into the remaining crowd. The BSC members were finally alone.

  “Okay,” Kristy said softly, “which one of you whispered, ‘He’s outsiiiiide’ when the lights went out upstairs?”

  “Not me,” said Abby.

  “I was too busy shaking to speak,” added Stacey.

  “Mallory and I were on the stairs,” Mary Anne reminded us.

  “I heard it, too, Kristy,” exclaimed Jessi, “but I thought it was you!”

  I didn’t say a word. But as I entered the lighthouse, my knees were shaking.

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Peter Lerangis

  for his help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  About the Author

  ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on Augus
t 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

  There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.

  Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.

  Copyright © 1996 by Ann M. Martin

  Cover art by Hodges Soileau

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition, December 1996

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-79310-0