The Ghost's Grave (15 page)

There was a quick knock on the door. Then it opened a crack, and a woman's voice called, “Ethel? It's me. I've come for the cake.” Without waiting for a response, a woman in a gray pantsuit pushed the door open and stepped inside. A big red hat gave her a cheery look.

“Hello,” I said, trying to sound normal. “I'm Josh, Ethel's nephew. She had to leave for a minute. She'll be right back.”

The woman frowned. “Ethel doesn't usually drive after dark,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes.” I forced a smile. “Everything's fine.”

She gave me an odd look, as if she weren't convinced. “Where did she go?”

I blurted the first thing that entered my mind. “A
friend in Carbon City fell and needed some—some pain medicine. Aunt Ethel took her a bottle of Tylenol.” I held my breath, hoping the woman wouldn't ask more questions.

“I wonder why she didn't call me,” the woman said. “Well, I'm running late as it is. I should have been here hours ago. I tried to call earlier, but nobody answered so I took a chance and came. I saw your lights and knew you were still up. I'm Muriel Morris, by the way, Ethel's friend from Diamond Hill. I ordered a cake for my daughter's birthday. It's tomorrow, but I need to get the cake tonight.”

I almost told her the cake wasn't finished, but when I thought about the blank space on the cake and the tube of frosting, I had an idea.

“I can get the cake for you,” I said. “It's in the kitchen, all ready to go.”

“Oh, thank you, Josh. I'll write out the check while you get it.” Muriel sat on the couch, opened her purse, and took out a checkbook. “Whose car is out there?” she asked.

Pretending not to hear her, I hurried to the kitchen. I picked up the tube of frosting and squeezed hard on the bottom. A line of yellow frosting squirted out.

In the middle of the cake, where it was supposed
to say
Happy Birthday
, I made giant frosting letters:
HELP
. Then I put the cake in the box, shut the box, and carried it into the living room.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the man watching me from behind the couch.

“Aunt Ethel always asks her customers to look at the cake before they take it,” I said, “to be sure it's OK.”

I started to open the box.

“Oh, I'm sure it's fine,” the woman said. “I've been getting cakes from Ethel for years and years. My daughter always wants one on her birthday. Carrot cake.”

“I'll be in trouble with Aunt Ethel if I don't show it to you,” I said. “Please take a quick look to be sure it's what you ordered.”

Keeping my back to the couch, I opened the top of the cake box and thrust the box toward her.

Muriel Morris glanced at the cake. “Oh,” she said as she looked more closely.

Don't give me away, I pleaded silently. Please, please don't say anything about the message on the cake.

M
rs. Morris looked at me, then back at the cake.

I closed the box. “I hope it's right,” I said. “I know it's important for the cake to say exactly what you want.”

“It looks perfect,” she said. “Here's the check for your aunt.” She gave me the check, and I gave her the cake box. “Tell Ethel I'll call her,” Muriel said.

Did she emphasize the words
I'll call
or did I imagine that?

She carried the cake to her car and drove off.

As soon as I heard the car leave, the man came out from behind the couch.

“I notice the knees of your pants are all dirty,” he said. “Looks as if you've been kneeling in the dirt, digging.”

“I did some gardening for my aunt.”

“Yes, you did,” he said. “You planted flowers at the cemetery. Where's my box?”

“I told you, I don't know anything about a box.”

“I do not have time to play games. I'm going to count to ten. Either you give me the box before I reach ten, or else.”

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. I knew exactly what
or else
meant.

He stepped closer. The overhead light glinted off the barrel of the gun. I couldn't give him the box of money. No matter what he said, it didn't belong to him.

But I couldn't let him shoot me, either.

“One,” the man said.

“Willie!” I shouted. “Help me!” I didn't know if the ghost would hear me or if he could do anything to help me; I yelled for help because I didn't know what else to do.

“Quiet!” the man said. “There's no one to hear you. Stop trying to trick me.”

“Willie, please!” I yelled. “Hurry!”

Over the man's shoulder, I saw a coal miner's hat. Willie materialized inside the house.

“Drop the gun!” Willie said.

The man did not react.

“He can't hear you,” I said.

The man looked behind him, then turned back toward me. I knew he couldn't see the ghost. “Two,” he said.

“Willie, he's going to kill me!”

“I told you to quit trying to fool me. There's nobody here.”

“Willie's here. My friend.”

“Imaginary friend. Three.”

Willie put both hands on the telephone and shoved. The phone clattered from its stand to the floor.

The man jumped. “Who did that?” he demanded, looking all around the room.

“My friend,” I said. “He's a ghost.”

“Ghost!”

“This house is haunted. The ghost's name is Willie, and he wants you to leave.”

“I don't believe in ghosts. That's nonsense. Four.”

“You'd better do what Willie says. He's a mean, vindictive ghost, and he doesn't like weapons. The last time someone brought a gun in here, Willie disconnected the brakes on the man's car, and they failed as he drove down the hill. If you don't go right now, he'll do the same to you—or worse.” I surprised
myself with that story. In my desperation, the words rolled effortlessly out of my mouth like a bike going downhill.

The man glanced around the room. I couldn't see his expression because of the mask, but I knew I was making him uneasy.

“Five.”

Willie floated across the room to Aunt Ethel's plate rail and pushed a blue-and-white plate off. It crashed to the floor, scattering pieces of pottery across the room.

The hand holding the gun began to shake.

“The ghost is my friend,” I said. “If you hurt me, you'll be haunted for the rest of your life. Willie will follow you and cause trouble. You'll live in fear forever!”

Dark blotches of perspiration appeared on the man's shirt under his arms.

“You can't scare me. Six!” His voice got louder, but it lacked the conviction he'd had earlier. My comments about the ghost were scaring him, no matter how much he denied it.

Keep it up, Willie. Throw something else on the floor. If we can stall long enough, the police might come
. I didn't know for sure that Muriel Morris had understood my message, but I thought she had.
Otherwise, she would have said the writing on the cake was wrong.

I hoped she had driven to the nearest telephone in Carbon City, called the police, and asked them to go to Ethel Hodge's house immediately. If she had done so, help should be on the way. I had to keep the man from getting his hands on the money until the police arrived—and I had to keep him from shooting me.

“The ghost says you're supposed to go right now,” I said. “Forget the box. I don't have it anyway. The ghost says to leave and don't come back.”

The man's head turned; his eyes swept all around the room as if he wondered what would fall to the floor next. He even looked up at the ceiling fan.

“This is your last chance,” the man said. “I won't shoot if you give me my box. The choice is yours.” His voice quavered now, but he still said, “Seven!”

I knew Willie had him frightened, but I couldn't take a chance that he would kill me. I had no way to know when the police would arrive or even IF they would arrive. In a rural area like this, the police probably cover a lot of territory. Even if they responded quickly to Mrs. Morris's call, they could be miles away.

Willie tried to push another plate from the plate rail, but it didn't move. I remembered him saying he
couldn't carry the spade because he had little strength. It must have required a huge effort for him to push the telephone and the first plate to the floor; now he couldn't move anything else.

“Eight!”

Willie disappeared through the front door. Why would he leave me now? Even if he couldn't move any more objects, I needed him for moral support. I wanted to shout, “No, Willie! Don't go!” but I couldn't, because I didn't want the man to know Willie had left.

“Nine.”

I couldn't let the man get to ten. No amount of money was worth giving up my life for.

I walked slowly to the kitchen, with the man following me.

Hurry! I pleaded, sending my thoughts to the police. Please, please, hurry.

I stopped in front of the clothes washer, listening for any sound of a vehicle approaching Aunt Ethel's house. I heard only the rapid, nervous breathing of the man who held the gun.

“I'll do it,” he said. “I'll pull the trigger when I say ten, and when your aunt gets home, I'll pull it again.”

I opened the washer and removed the metal box.

As soon as he saw it, he lunged toward me and ripped the box out of my hands. “I knew you had it, you lying little thief. It's my money, for my retirement, and you tried to steal it.”

I wanted to shout, “You're the thief! You're the one who stole this money!” but I knew it wasn't smart to make him any angrier than he already was so I said nothing.

“You broke open my locked box. For all I know, you took some of my money.”

“It's all there,” I said. “You can see for yourself; the box is full. Count it if you don't believe me.” I hoped he would; that would take some time, and the police might still get here before he got away.

He opened the lid, looked inside, then shut the box again.

He looked at me for a long moment. “I'm sorry to do this,” he said, “but you're the only one who knows about the money.” He kept the gun pointed at my chest. “I've waited two years for this day. I can't leave a witness who can identify me and spoil all my plans.”

My throat tightened. He was going to shoot me even though he had the money. What a rotten liar!

I tried to stay calm. “I can't identify you,” I said. “I have no clue who you are. You've had a mask on
the whole time, and I don't live around here so I don't recognize your voice. I'm visiting my aunt. I don't know anybody in this area.”

He hesitated, as if thinking over what I'd said. “Why take a chance by leaving a live witness?” he asked. He spoke quietly now, as if he were asking himself, not me.

“If you shoot me,” I said, “you won't get away with it. Willie will lead the police to you.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “There is no ghost.”

“No? Who do you think broke the plate and moved the phone? You can't see him, but my aunt can, and so can her friend. Willie will follow you and tell them where you are, and the police will find you. You'll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

I could tell the talk of a ghost made him nervous. While I tried to think how else I could convince him not to kill me, Florence screamed from the porch. It was the loudest, most shrill scream he'd ever made. Even though I knew it was him, I still jumped and got goose bumps on my arms.

Had Willie shown himself to Florence? Is that why he was screeching? He usually only screamed when he spread his train before meals, but Aunt Ethel had told me peacocks also display their feathers and
cry out when enemies are near. Maybe Florence regarded Willie as an enemy. Maybe that's why Willie had left me with the man; he'd gone to search for the peacock. Had he been keeping his word about letting the peacock see him, or was he purposely trying to scare Florence into screeching?

The man in the ski mask jumped, too, when Florence screamed. Then he pointed the gun toward the front door. “What was that? Who's out there?”

“It's the last person who didn't do what the ghost told him to do,” I said. “Now he's gone mad. He roams through the woods, screaming with fear. That will happen to you if you take the box of money when Willie told you not to. Even worse will happen if you shoot me.”

The man trembled now, and I could see fear in his eyes, but he didn't give the box back to me. I wished Florence had cried out before I took the box out of the washer.

The man ran out of the kitchen, then through the living room toward the front door. Holding the gun in front of him, he pushed open the door and peered out.

Florence screamed again. I was certain the cry could be heard clear down in Carbon City. He was perched on the porch railing as usual.

“It's only a big bird,” the man said. “Shoo! Get out of here!”

Florence stayed on the porch rail.

The man opened the door farther and raised his hand, pointing the gun at the peacock.

“No!” I cried. “Don't shoot him!” Aunt Ethel wouldn't be able to bear it if this man killed Florence. I leaped toward him, hitting his arm just as he pulled the trigger.

BAM!

I'd deflected the man's arm enough so the bullet hit one of the porch posts but missed the peacock. Florence flapped away to roost in the chestnut tree.

My racing heart throbbed in my ears. I was certain the man would turn on me next. I had saved Florence, but at what cost?

Instead of shooting me, the man ran to his car, got in, and started the engine.

I closed the door and locked it in case he changed his mind and came back.

I tried to read the license plate number through the window, but the car was beyond the light from the porch. It was so dark I couldn't even tell what color car the man drove.