Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade (6 page)

Finally, as we walked down the hall toward our lockers (it was nearly time for homeroom), I thought of something. "Do you think it might have been the Mischief Knights?" I asked Todd.

He shook his head slowly. "I almost wish it had been them," he said. "That would make this easier to understand. But if they did it, they sure didn't want anyone to know. They didn't leave a note, or their initials, or anything."

I remembered what Rick had said about the torn-up streamers, that it wasn't the Mischief

Knights' style. I'd thought he was right about that, and the same thing applied here. Ripping up posters isn't mischief; it’s vandalism, plain and simple. And writing on them is vandalism also, especially if you're trying to scare people.

And people would have been scared, if they'd seen the poster, or heard about what it said. But Todd and I agreed to keep it as quiet as we could. That's why I had waited until the BSC meeting to tell my friends about it, and to show them the poster, which I'd stuck into my backpack after we'd rolled it up.

Claudia was already at work on some new posters — that’s what she was doing with the purple marker — while we talked about what had happened and tried to guess who had done it.

Claudia had a suspect in mind. "Little Ms. Mason," she said angrily. "Face it, she never liked my posters to begin with. I wouldn't put it past Cokie to take advantage of the fact that all those pranks have been happening at school. She knew she could do some vandalism and blame it on the Mischief Knights."

"I don't know," Kristy said, tapping her pencil against her teem. "I think the Mischief Knights really might have done it. Maybe that other stuff they did was just for starters."

"You mean they were leading up to bigger things?" asked Abby, from her perch on

Claud's art books. She was playing with one of the Twizzlers Claud had passed around. She had pulled the strands apart, and now she was braiding them back together.

"Right," said Kristy. "Just when everybody was starting to enjoy their fun and games — wham!"

"What about Grace?" Jessi asked. She was talking into the floor as she did one of her painful-looking ballet stretches. "Is she still a suspect, Stace?"

"Well, I don't know," I said. "It really seems unlikely. She's just too sweet, even if she is Cokie's best friend. I can't imagine her tearing into those posters."

"But somebody did it," Mal said. "And whoever it is probably looks just as sweet as Grace. But underneath, he — or she — is different."

"Oohh, creepy," said Abby, grinning. 'I'll never look at my classmates the same way again. I'll always be wondering about that nasty 'underneath' part."

"You don't have to look far, with Cokie," Claudia muttered.

"What about the streamers and the light bulbs, though?" I asked. "Why would Cokie have ruined them?"

Claudia gave me a Look. "Come on, Stacey," she said. "Think about it."

I knew the answer almost before she finished speaking. "Because she hated the color scheme," I said slowly. Claudia nodded triumphantly.

"But is that really a reason for doing such a terrible thing?" Mary Anne asked suddenly. We all turned to look at her, and she blushed. She had been quiet during our meeting so far. "I've been thinking," she continued. "Maybe we're limiting ourselves by only looking for suspects at SMS."

"Where else should we look?" Kristy asked.

"Well, we could look in the community," Mary Anne said in a small voice. Then she sat up straight, and her voice became stronger. "We could look at Mr. Wetzler."

I gasped. "Mr. Wetzler! Sure! He's a definite suspect. Good thinking, Mary Anne."

Our meeting broke up soon after that, even though we hadn't come up with any answers. But less than twenty-four hours later, we were back in Claudia's room for an emergency meeting and we were talking about suspects again. Why? Because there had been another act of vandalism at the school. Somebody went wild with the red spray paint again, only this time it wasn't on a poster. It was on the walls of the gym. Here's what it said:

$10

That's all. $10. In figures about eight feet high. Nobody had a due what it meant. Especially Mr. Kingbridge, who made a special announcement to plead for an end to the vandalism, and to tell us that he might cancel the dance if it didn't stop. That’s why Kristy called the meeting.

"Okay," she'd said as soon as we had gathered in Claudia's room after school. "We have a genuine mystery on our hands. And the BSC never leaves a mystery unsolved, right?" She looked around expectantly.

"Right!" we replied.

"Right," Kristy echoed. "Let's do it. We don't want this dance to be canceled, do we?"

"No way," said Claud, pulling out a notebook. "Let's start. I'll make a list of suspects."

After that, we returned to the same discussion we'd had the day before. Only I wasn't contributing to it. I was remembering the "tragedy" Mr. Wetzler had mentioned in one of his wacky letters to the editor. And I was thinking about something Mr. Kingbridge had said when he first announced the dance. He'd mentioned something about "erasing those unpleasant memories of the past." What tragedy? What memories? Somebody seemed determined to make sure the dance never took

place — but what if it wasn't someone who went to SMS now? What if it was someone else, someone who remembered something awful about the last Halloween masquerade, twenty-eight years ago?

Chapter 8.

As soon as our emergency meeting ended, Claudia dashed over to the Arnolds' for a sitting job. She arrived at two minutes to five: two minutes early. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold were driving to Stamford for dinner with Mr. Arnold's boss, so Claud would sit for the eight-year-old Arnold twins, Carolyn and Marilyn, from five until around nine. That meant Claudia would be giving the girls dinner, which was fine with Claudia, since she hadn't had a chance to grab a bite. Mrs. Arnold always leaves plenty of good food and urges her sitters to eat as much as they like.

Claudia smiled to herself as she walked to the Arnolds' door. A life-sized skeleton (with glowing eyes) dangled from the porch ceiling, and four carved jack-o'-lanterns with toothy, jagged smiles decorated the porch stairs, A string of orange pumpkin lights outlined the front door, and there were white ghost and black cat cutouts on all the windows. The Arnolds love to decorate their house for holidays. You should see it at Christmastime.

Mrs. Arnold answered the door when Claudia rang the bell. She looked elegant in her black velvet skirt and white satin blouse.

"Love the jewelry," Claudia said.

"Thanks," Mrs. Arnold replied, smiling as she touched one of her dangly orange ear-

rings, which was in the shape of a tiny pumpkin. She also wore a necklace with a pumpkin pendant, and a bracelet with dangling pumpkins. Mrs. Arnold tends to go a little overboard in the accessories department.

Mr. Arnold appeared behind her. "Ready?" he asked as he shrugged into his coat.

Five minutes later, they left and Claudia was headed for the Arnolds' basement rec room. "Carolyn?" she called down the stairs. "Marilyn? Your mom said you were down here. What’s up?" There was no answer. "Guys?" Claudia called. Still no answer. Claudia started down the stairs, and soon she spotted the twins. They were hunched over their low art table, working hard on something. It was clear that they were so absorbed in their project that they hadn't even heard her call. "Hi, Carolyn," Claud said. "Hi, Marilyn. What are you guys doing?"

"We're busy!" Carolyn said. "We have to fix this thing," Marilyn explained.

"Fix what thing?" Claudia asked, trying to peek at what they were working on.

The twins exchanged serious glances, and Claudia was struck all over again by with how much they look alike. When we first met the

twins, we had trouble telling them apart. We had to remember that Marilyn was the one with the tiny mole beneath her right eye, and that Carolyn had a similar mole under her left eye. Back then, Mrs. Arnold was dressing the girls alike, and they shared a room. Over time, though, they've begun to express their separate personalities. Now they have their own rooms, and each room is decorated differently. They have different hair styles (Carolyn's is much trendier), different ways of dressing (Marilyn wears simpler clothes), and totally different interests. (For example, Marilyn is a dedicated piano student, while Carolyn, who is tone-deaf, is fascinated with science.) As you can imagine, we no longer have any trouble telling them apart.

The twins are very dose, though. Sometimes, when they want to exclude other kids (or sitters), they communicate in a made-up language no one else understands. And they often communicate without speaking at all. That’s what they were doing down in the basement that afternoon, as Claudia waited to find out what they were up to. They looked into each other's eyes for just a few seconds, then they nodded and Marilyn said, "Come see!"

Claudia moved forward to take a look. She saw a board with wires and flashing lights. Attached to it was a funnel, and attached to

that was a flashlight. "Cool!" she said. "What is it?"

"A ghost-finder," Marilyn said.

"Marilyn," said Carolyn sternly. "It’s not a 'ghost-finder,’ It’s an ectoplasmic turbulence detector."

Claudia nodded. Suddenly it was all clear. The Arnold twins had been watching Ghost-busters, too.

"She invented it," Marilyn said proudly, pointing to her sister.

"I had to," Carolyn explained. "It was an emergency."

"What do you mean?" asked .Claudia.

"We have a ghost," Carolyn answered.

"In this house," Marilyn added. "We started hearing it last week, and we've heard it every day since then."

"Uh-huh," Claudia said with a smile. She knows the twins have very active imaginations. "Is the ghost by any chance friends with Gozzie Kunka?" Gozzie Kunka used to be Marilyn's imaginary friend. "Or is it something that arrived here through your time machine?" she asked, turning to Carolyn.

"Gozzie Kunka isn't an actual person," said Marilyn impatiently.

"And the time machine was just for fun," said Carolyn. "This ghost isn't imaginary or pretend. It’s real. And as soon as we can take

a reading on it and find out what type of apparition it is, we can figure out how to catch it."

Claudia was interested. "You say you've heard this ghost?"

"Definitely," said Carolyn.

"It makes horrible sounds, like something trying to claw its way out of a coffin," said Marilyn.

"Have you told your parents about the noises?" asked Claudia.

The twins nodded. "I told Mom last night," said Marilyn. "She said I couldn't watch Ghost-busters anymore."

"And I told Dad at breakfast this morning," Carolyn said. "He said it was all probably a dream. But it isn't. I know it isn't. The noises are real, and so is die ghost, and we're going to do something about it." She looked defiant.

"Well, okay," said Claudia. 'Tine with me." She could tell the girls were serious, and, as she told us later, there didn't seem to be any point in trying to talk them out of busting their ghost. "Where do we start?"

"In my room," said Marilyn promptly. "I heard the sound in there this morning,"

"The detector is ready," said Carolyn, checking a few wires. "Let’s go!"

The three of them headed upstairs. Marilyn led them into her room, which is very yellow:

the bedspread, the carpet, and the wallpaper are all the same sunny shade. It seemed, according to Claudia, an unlikely setting for "ec-toplasmic activity."

But Carolyn set to work, walking around the perimeter of the room with her detector. She looked deadly serious as she aimed the flashlight-funnel attachment this way and that and monitored the flashing lights. Marilyn, meanwhile, followed her sister, pressing her ear to the wall every few steps in order to listen for the ghostly noises.

Claudia sat on the bed, watching them and thinking about how cute they looked. Ghost-buster fever was spreading: first the Pikes (she had read Abby's and Mal's notebook entry) and now the Arnolds. But it seemed harmless, and the kids were having a lot of fun with it, so why not play along?

Suddenly, just as she'd passed the closet door, Carolyn stopped in her tracks. Marilyn nearly bumped into her, but she stopped, too. Claudia noticed the girls' eyes had widened. "What is it?" she asked.

"The ghost," whispered Carolyn. "I hear it."

"So do I," said Marilyn.

Claudia smiled. "Do you have a reading on your detector?" she asked. She joined the girls, and as she drew closer she noticed that

Carolyn had let the detector fall to her side, and that Marilyn's face was much paler than it had been only a few moments before. Suddenly, she realized that the girls were serious. She pressed her ear against the wall and listened. Then her eyes widened, too. "Oh, my lord!" she gasped. "I hear it!" She listened carefully, and heard a scratching and clawing sound. Visions of long, clawlike fingernails flashed into Claudia's mind. For a second, she felt panic rising within her. Then she remembered that she was the baby-sitter, and that she was responsible for the girls. It wouldn't do to lose her head. She took a deep breath. "It must be just some branches brushing against the house," she told the twins.