The Ghost of Popcorn Hill (3 page)

“I don't think so …” Martin began sadly. Then he stopped.

“
Ho-ho-ho!
” came a laugh out of the darkness.

For a moment both boys were too startled to speak. Then Peter began to cry.

“Martin!” he whimpered. But Martin couldn't move. All he could do was cower under the covers as the laughter came again and again.

“
Ho-ho-ho!
”

Whoever it was, was right there in the bedroom.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Loneliest Feller

“Martin, d-do something!” Peter's voice sounded muffled, as if his hands were covering his face. “M-make it go away!”

Martin took a deep breath. He stuck one foot out from under the covers and then the other. If he could just cross the room to the light switch … But before he could take a single step, a strange glow appeared in the corner. As he stared, the glow grew brighter and a tall, skinny figure began to take shape. Moonlight shone right through the mournful face, the raggedy trousers held up with red suspenders, and the tattered shirt. He looked like a ghostly scarecrow.

“Martin!” Peter wailed and started to tumble out of bed.

“Don't fuss, boy,” the ghost said in a hollow voice that was almost a moan. “No need to be afraid of old Tom Buffle.”

Martin clutched his pillow as if it were a rubber raft that would save him from drowning. “Who are you? Wh-what do you want?”

The ghost shimmered and shook. “Tom Buffle's the name,” he repeated. “Used to live in this cabin, I did. A long time ago. Right now I'm the loneliest feller you ever seed.”

Peter scooted across the floor and dived into Martin's bed. He pulled the sheet over his head. “Go away!” he begged.

Tom Buffle's face grew sadder. “I just came by for a little chat,” he moaned. “Thought we might be friends, like.”

Martin shuddered. He couldn't imagine having a friend he was able to see through.

“Wh-why do you laugh like that?” he demanded. His voice shot up.

Tom Buffle shimmered wildly. “Just tryin' to be friendly,” he groaned. “That's my way. Thought if I cheered you up, you'd let me come back every night.”

At that, Peter started to cry so loudly that Martin was afraid his parents would hear.

“You'd better go,” Martin said. “If my dad sees you, he'll be mad.”

“Can't see me or hear me,” Tom Buffle said, but he started to fade as Peter's sobs continued. “People and dogs can't hear me or see me less'n I let 'em.” The last words came from a great distance. The corner was empty.

“He's gone,” Martin whispered. “Hush up, Peter.”

“Can't,” Peter sobbed. He pushed back the sheet and looked around fearfully. “I don't want him to come back,” he sniffled. “Not
ever!
”

Martin's hands were clammy. “What am I supposed to do about it?” he asked. “Besides, I feel kind of sorry for him. He says he's lonesome. And if he wants to come to talk to us, who's going to stop him?”

Somehow, though, he knew they had to find a way. Popcorn Hill was the best place in the world, but he could never get used to having a ghost shimmering in their bedroom.

The next morning Peter was white-faced and quiet. Martin wondered if he looked that scared himself. Surely someone would notice.

But he needn't have worried. Before they were dressed, there was a crash in the kitchen. They ran out to find Rosie hiding under the table and their mother looking at unbaked cookies scattered over the floor.

“She jumped up and pulled the cookie sheet off the table!” Mrs. Tracy exclaimed. “What are we going to do about that dog?”

Rosie stuck her nose out from under the table and nibbled a piece of cookie dough.

“If you boys paid more attention to her, maybe she'd behave better,” Mrs. Tracy said crossly. “I don't understand—you wanted a dog so much, and now you hardly play with her. If we didn't need a watchdog, there'd be no reason to keep her.”

Peter made a face, and Martin knew what he was thinking.
Some watchdog!

The freckled nose came out again. Martin pushed another piece of cookie dough to where she could reach it. He sighed. Rosie was one problem and Tom Buffle was another—a big one! The only good things happening these days were the visits of the sheepdog. That sheepdog was the greatest dog a boy could ever have.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lost!

“See you in the morning, gang.” Mr. Tracy waved to the boys as the truck jolted down the hillside.

“I wish Daddy didn't have to go to work,” Peter said uneasily. “I wish he could stay home.”

“Let's look for the sheepdog,” Martin suggested. “It won't be dark for a while.”
And we won't have to think about Tom Buffle
.

They had barely sat down on their favorite rock when the big dog ambled out of the orchard. He looked up at the boys and began to run in circles at the foot of the hill.

“What's he doing?” Peter wondered.

Martin frowned. “I think he's doing what sheepdogs do when they're working,” he said. “They run in circles and round up the sheep. Only he doesn't have any sheep.”

“He could have us,” Peter said suddenly. “We could let him round us up, and maybe we'd get close enough to pet him.”

They ran down the hill, but as soon as they reached the bottom, the sheepdog darted back into the orchard. He waited for them to follow, then dashed away again.

“He doesn't want to play roundup,” Peter said.

“But he wants us to come with him,” Martin said. “And he's letting us get closer. Let's go!”

They dashed back and forth through the orchard after the dog. Sometimes the sheepdog let them come quite close before he ran away. Then, without warning, he was gone, racing into the woods beyond the orchard.

“He'll be back,” Martin said. “He really wants us to catch him.”

“What's that?” Peter stopped short at the edge of a clearing. A building loomed in the half dark.

“It's the old mill,” Martin said. “Nobody's lived there for a million years.” He grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him back into the woods. The deserted mill was frightening, and besides, Martin was suddenly aware of how late it was. “We'd better go home,” he said.

They started walking, first in one direction, then in another. Martin stumbled over a root and fell flat, dragging his little brother down beside him.

“I'm going to climb a tree and look for Popcorn Hill,” he said. “You stay right here.”

Climbing was hard, especially in the dark. “There are lots of hills,” he told Peter when he came back down. “I can't tell which one is ours. We'll just have to wait. Mom will call Dad when we don't come home, and they'll find us.”

“That'll take a long time,” Peter sniffled. “I'm scared, Martin.”

Martin was scared too, but he didn't want to say so. They curled up with their backs against a tree trunk and waited. Something swooshed overhead.

“Just a bat,” Martin said, trying to sound calm.

“Look!” Peter shrieked a few minutes later. He pointed at a pair of yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. “There's Tom Buffle!”

“No, it's not,” Martin said hoarsely. “That's something little. A skunk maybe.”

“Yuk!” Peter moved closer to Martin, but he stopped sniffling. A skunk wasn't as bad as a ghost.

A long time passed. Then they heard something Martin couldn't explain. It was a rustling sound, far off at first but getting closer fast.

“A wolf's coming to get us,” Peter wailed. “What'll we do?”

“It's not a wolf,” Martin quavered. “It's nothing.” But the next moment he gave a yelp of terror. The “nothing” was right there in the clearing, panting in his ear and jumping all over him.

CHAPTER NINE

The Ghost Again!

“It's Rosie!”

Martin couldn't see the nose full of freckles or the long red tongue that was licking his face, but he knew. Rosie had come to rescue them.

“Is it really?” Peter quivered. A feathery tail swept across his face. “Hey, it is!”

“Take us home, Rosie,” Martin ordered. He scrambled to his feet and waited anxiously. Rosie had found them, but would she know the way back? She had never been this far from the cabin before.

Rosie knew. She set off at once, stopping every few feet to make sure the boys were following. At first it was hard to keep track of her in the dark, but after a few minutes of stumbling and bumping into Peter, Martin discovered they were walking between long rows of trees in the apple orchard.

“Good dog!” Martin shouted.

“Martin! Peter!”

“It's Mom!” Martin grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him along. “Look, there's our hill.”

They raced up the path, never stopping till they reached the top of Popcorn Hill, where their mother was waiting.

“Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. She hugged them both, while Rosie danced around them. “Whatever made you wander off like that?” she scolded. “I couldn't think what to do but let Rosie out to see if she could find you.”

“We didn't notice how dark it was getting,” Martin said. He hadn't answered his mother's question, but he hoped she wouldn't ask it again. He hated to admit they'd been chasing a dog, when they had Rosie waiting for them at home.

“You should have told Mom about the sheepdog,” Peter said later, when they were in bed. “She would feel sorry for him out there all by himself. Maybe she'd tell Daddy we need two dogs.”

“I don't think so,” Martin said. “We're lucky to have one. Besides, the sheepdog ran off and left us, and Rosie brought us home. Rosie is a pretty neat dog.”

Peter sighed. “Just the same,” he said, “I wish—”

“
Ho-ho-ho!
” There was a glimmering in the corner, and a touch of red that could have been suspenders.

“No,
no!
” Peter gasped. “Go away!”

“Just came for a chat,” said the hollow voice. “Thought we could talk about things, friendly like.”

Martin gulped. He knew Tom Buffle was lonely, but he also knew Peter was getting ready to cry. “I—I'm sorry,” he stammered. “We can't talk now. We're—we're sort of tired.” It was the only excuse he could think of, and he realized it sounded made-up.

Tom Buffle sighed. “Everyone can use a friendly chat once in a while,” he moaned. “Especially me.” But his voice faded away to nothing as he spoke, and then the corner of the room was dark once more.

Martin felt terrible.

CHAPTER TEN

“It Can't Happen”

“You're both grounded for a week,” Mr. Tracy announced the next morning. “You know you gave your mother a bad scare last night.”

Martin stared in dismay. Peter's lower lip trembled. “Daddy—”

“No whining,” their father said firmly. “There's plenty of room to play up here on the hill.”