BSC09 The Ghost At Dawn's House (7 page)

"Definitely," agreed Mom.

"Well, that'll keep people out," I said, "but what about the ghost?"

"Dawn," Mom began warningly.

"There is one," I said. "The ghost of the secret passage." I explained how I knew that the passage was haunted.

My mother and the Trip-Man began to look incredibly impatient. They didn't even let me tell them about the ice-cream cone and the

meaning of the nickel. Mom waved me to a stop.

A few minutes later, the Trip-Man left. Mom walked him out to his car.

Jeff reluctantly went to bed.

I looked around my room. No way was I going to sleep in there. I gathered up a blanket, a pillow, and Thrills and Chills. Before I took everything down to the living room, though, I opened the molded wall a crack and tossed the Indian-head nickel back to the ghost in the passageway.

Mom went upstairs to her bedroom. I thought she was crazy. After all, the secret passage ran between our rooms. Mom was as close to the ghost as I was.

I was just settling down on the couch when I saw Mom's purse on the floor in the dining room. She is so scatterbrained. I really should take it upstairs to her, I thought, heaving myself off the couch. But when I picked up the purse, I saw that it had been sitting on something, a tattered old book called A History of Stoney-brooke. It must have come from Granny. She never sends any of us home empty handed. Sometimes she gives us food, but mostly little treasures and keepsakes. Mom says it's Granny's way of making sure she gives the things

she loves best to the people she loves best before she dies. (As if she's going to die any time soon. She's only about sixty or sixty-three or something.)

The book I was holding was so old it was falling apart. The title was written in gold, but the gold had mostly rubbed off. The binding was peeling away, and two of the corners of the cover had cracked off. Gingerly, I opened the book to the first page. A History of Stoney-brooke, it said again. By Enos CotterBng. Copyright MDCCCLXXII. I dredged up an old arithmetic lesson (where was Stacey's math brain when I needed it?), and decided the book had been published in 1872. Over a hundred years ago! Stoneybrooke . . . was that our town — Stoneybrook? When had the "e" been dropped? A line of teeny-tiny print said that the book had been published by Tynedale Press, right here in town.

I forgot all about Mom's purse and wandered back to the couch, turning pages as I went. The table of contents looked pretty boring — taxation, imports and exports, trade, growth of town, property laws. But the very last chapter sounded interesting. It was called, simply, Legends.

I turned carefully to the back of the book.

Two pages fell out, and I replaced them guiltily, even though I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.

"Like most New England towns," the chapter began, "Stoneybrooke is replete with Indian myths and legends. But one local legend, not to be discounted lightly, is the unsolved mystery of Mister Jared Mullray." That did it. I was hooked. I started reading in earnest.

It seemed that long before Enos Cotterling had written his history, around the year 1810, a family in Stoneybrooke, the Mullrays, had fallen into financial trouble. They were deeply in debt to a banker named Mathias Bradford and couldn't pay their bills. The only things they owned that were worth much at all were their home, "a clapboard structure out past the Smythe property," and their small farm, Wood Acres. In order to pay off their debts, the Mullrays were forced to sell both, including their furniture and many of their belongings.

Old Man Mullray wanted to move up to Peacham, a tiny, young town in Vermont, and he convipced his wife, his daughter, his son-in-law, and their three children to move with him. There, he said, they could start over. But he could not convince his younger son, thirty-year-old Jared, to go with them. Jared, the author wrote, had never been "quite right in

the head." He loved Wood Acres — a little too much.

Early on a Monday morning, the Mullrays packed a few personal belongings onto a cart, saddled up one of their horses, and prepared to leave. Mathias Bradford, who was going to sell off the farm, arrived with some men from the bank just as the Mullrays were tossing their last bag onto the cart.

" Jared!" shouted Old Man Mullray.

"I ain't leaving!" was the reply everyone heard. But Mr. Bradford was to say later that it didn't sound as if his voice was coining from the house or the barn — sort of somewhere in between, although no one could see him anywhere.

(A clap of thunder sounded, and I shivered, pulling my blanket more tightly around me.)

Old Man Mullray glanced at this wife, who shrugged sadly. Then he flicked the reins, and the horse plodded down the lane. The Mullrays left Wood Acres behind forever.

Now, Mathias Bradford and four other men (one of whom was the head of the town council) had watched the Mullrays drive off without Jared. And they had heard his disembodied voice say that he wasn't leaving. But although the house and barn were searched thoroughly as every last stick of furniture and every last

harness were sold off, no one ever saw Jared again. He simply disappeared.

A few people said he had packed up and moved to Alaska, but Mr. Bradford didn't believe that. He had heard Jared and was convinced he'd never leave. The only question was — where was he? Soon another rumor began to circulate about Jared, and the people of Stoneybrooke were more inclined to believe this one. They thought that Jared, who couldn't bear to leave Wood Acres, was still there . . . somewhere. They thought he must know about some secret hiding place, and that he stayed there by day and scavenged for food at night.

Decades passed. By the time Enos Cotterling was writing his history, he presumed that Jared was dead. In fact, the story about Jared had become a ghost story. Jared, people said, had died in his secret hiding place, but his spirit remained. Wood Acres (which had been swallowed up by another, larger, farm and was no longer called Wood Acres) was haunted by Jared, who was always on the prowl not only for food, but for trinkets and things that he could sell in order to try to pay back Mr. Bradford.

I put the book down thoughtfully. Wood Acres, a ghost, a secret hiding pi... A secret hiding place! Suddenly my arms broke out in

crawly gooseflesh. I shivered so hard my teeth chattered.

It fit! Everything fit! Enos Cotterling hadn't described where Wood Acres was, but it must be my house and my barn! The house was old enough, it had once been part of a farm, and there certainly was a good hiding place on the property ... a place you could yell from and sound as if you were between the house and the barn, yet not be seen.

There really was a ghost in our secret passage, and that ghost was crazy Jared Mullray!

Chapter 10.

It was eight o'clock when Claudia reached the Newtons'. Her job that night really should have been one of the easiest in baby-sitting history. Lucy was already in her crib and sound asleep. Jamie had already eaten dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Newton were only going to be gone for two hours. All Claudia had to do was put Jamie to bed — and the evening was hers.

That's how the evening should have gone. There was just one problem: Jamie didn't want to go to bed. I mean, he really didn't want to go to bed.

When Claudia rang the Newtons' doorbell that night, Jamie answered it. Right away, Claudia could tell he was wound up.

"Hi-hi! Hi-hi! Hi-hi!" he greeted her.

"Hi-hi, Jamie," said Claud.

Jamie was jumping up and down, up and down, like a yo-yo in blue jeans. "I learned a new song!" he exclaimed. "Listen to this: I'm in love with a big blue frog. A big blue frog loves me. It's not as bad as it may seem. He wears glasses and he's six foot three. Oh — "

Jamie's song was interrupted by his father. Mr. Newton rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry I taught him that," he said. "He's been singing it all day. And there are several more verses."

Claudia laughed. "I think it's funny," she said.

"Only the first seventy-five times," replied Mr. Newton, but he was smiling.

Mrs. Newton came down the stairs as Claudia stepped inside. "Hi, honey," she said. "Well, the baby's asleep, and Jamie has eaten. I don't think he needs a bath tonight — "

"Yea!" interrupted Jamie.

"So just put his p.j.'s on him. He's had a long day and should go to bed — " (she glanced at Jamie, who was listening intently) " — s-o-o-n," she spelled out.

"No fair spelling, Mommy!" Jamie protested.

"Okay," Claudia said to Mrs. Newton. Then she added, "Don't worry, Jamie. We'll have fun tonight before you go to bed."

"Goody."

The Newtons left then, and Jamie began hopping up and down again.

"Okay, Jamie. Time to put your p.j.'s on," said Claudia.

"Already?" he whined.

"Yup. It's almost bedtime. Come on upstairs."

"Just let me show you this one thing first. . . . Okay?"

"Okay," Claudia relented. "Just one thing."

"It's down in the playroom." Jamie took Claudia by the hand and led her down a flight of stairs to the Newtons' rec room. He stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

"What is it?" asked Claudia.

"It's, um ..." Jamie put his finger in his mouth. "It's this!" He darted over to a beat-up dump truck. "Look at it," he said.

"Your old truck?" asked Claudia, puzzled.

Jamie paused. "Oh, no. That wasn't it. I meant..." He picked up a little wooden cow that was lying next to the truck. "I meant my cow."

"Jamie," said Claudia, growing suspicious.

"No, I meant my — my Beary Bear," he said, snatching up a stuffed animal.

"That was three things, Jame-o," Claudia pointed out gentlyf "Time to go upstairs now."

"Can I wear my Paddington Bear pyjamas, Claudy?" asked Jamie.

"Sure," replied Claudia, glad he was actually thinking about bed.

- "Good," said Jamie, "'Cause they're in the wash."

"Then I'm afraid you can't wear them." Claudia led Jamie back upstairs.

"But you just said I could."

"I didn't know they were in the wash when

I said that. You can't wear them if they're dirty."

"Let's wash them," suggested Jamie.

"Sorry. That'll take too much time. We'd have to dry them, too."

"How long would it take?"

"Too long."

"How many minutes?"

"Twelve hundred and forty-nine," replied Claudia.

"Wow," said Jamie.

Claudia and Jamie tiptoed past Lucy's room and into Jamie's. Claudia pointed to his bed. "Look," she said. "Mommy laid out your farm pyjamas."

Jamie made a face. "I don't want to wear them. They're for babies. They have baby stuff all over them."

Claudia looked at them. They were sort of babyish. "Let's choose a different pair then." She opened his bureau and brought out two more pairs. "Which ones?" she asked. (She was careful not to say, "Do you want to wear either of these?" Jamie might have said "No.")

Jamie pointed to one pair.

"Great," said Claud. "Okay, off with your shirt." She waited for Jamie to raise his arms so she could slip his shirt off.

"I'll do it myself," said Jamie. "You leave."

"Leave!" exclaimed Claudia. Jamie was too young to be getting modest. "How about if I turn my back?"

Jamie considered the offer. "Okay/' he said at last. "But don't peek."

Claudia sat cross-legged on Jamie's bed, facing the wall. The room grew very quiet. Claudia studied the pattern of the wallpaper. "Jamie?" she asked after a minute or two had gone by.

No answer.

"Is it all right if I turn around to see how you're doing?"

Silence.

Very slowly, Claudia swiveled around.

Jamie was gone.

"Jamie!" Claudia cried as loudly as she dared. (She didn't want to wake Lucy.)

Claudia ran through the hallway, pausing to peek into the bathroom. No Jamie. She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. No Jamie. She ran down the last flight of steps and into the playroom.

"Hi-hi!" said Jamie brightly, but he looked a bit sheepish. He was riding a toy car and was still fully dressed.

"James Anderson Newton. You were sup-

posed to put your p.j.'s on," said Claudia. "I'm beginning to lose my patience. Now go back to your room, please. And this time I'm not going to turn my back."

Jamie scowled, but he did as Claudia said. When he was finally in his pyjamas, Claudia tucked him in bed.

"Oops," he said. "I forgot to brush my teeth. And I ate cookies after dinner. Cookies have sugar, and sugar makes calories in your teeth."

Claudia had to smile. "Cavities," she told him. "All right. Into the bathroom."

Jamie scampered down the hall. (Claudia had the sense to follow him.) Standing at the sink, he squeezed about a yard of toothpaste onto his brush and worked it around in his mouth, creating a great amount of foam. He rinsed and spat six times. Claudia waited patiently.

When he was done, he dashed down the hall and leaped into his bed.

"How about a story?" asked Claudia.

"Oops," said Jamie. "I forgot to go to the bathroom." He ran down the hall again, and returned a few minutes later.

"Now," said Claudia. "How about a story?"

"Oops," said Jamie. "I forgot to get a drink of water."

'Til get it," said Claudia. "You stay right here. Don't move a muscle."

Claudia filled a paper cup with water and brought it to Jamie. He was sitting in exactly the same position as he'd been in when she'd left the room. She handed the cup to him.

Jamie didn't reach for it.

"Here you go," said Claudia.

"An I oove?" asked Jamie, barely moving his lips.

"What?"

"An I oove?"

"Can you move?"

"Yeh."

"Of course you can move."

"But you said 'don't move a muscle.' "

Claudia sighed. "I just meant don't go anywhere. And you didn't. Here. Drink your water."

Jamie took the cup and drank.

"All right," said Claudia. She pulled a book off his shelf. "Let's read Harold and the Purple Crayon."

Claudia read the story to Jamie. When she was finished he said, "Now can we read Make Way for Ducklings?"