Ghosters Page 7

  I roll my eyes. “Aw, who remembers stuff from when they’re a baby?”

  “I don’t know.” He looks at Kerry’s phone. “But can I help again? I’m done with my homework, and last night was fun.”

  Joey’s after-school routines are practically carved in stone, so I’m surprised he’s volunteering to hang out with us.

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Kerry’s got new ghost-chasing equipment, so we could probably use some more hands.”

  Kerry passes Joey her phone and grabs hold of the cut glass doorknob. “Off we go.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WITH THE DOOR closed behind us, it’s like we’ve left one world and entered another. I click on my flashlight. Even though it’s the middle of the afternoon, thick curtains block all the light, giving the room a muffled feeling.

  The room is large, L-shaped. Like the rest of the house, all of the old furniture is still in place. Beside the door is a narrow table crammed with framed pictures, and I pass my light over them. Some are of strangers. Most are of Mom, but there are a few of me as a baby. With no one to stop them, spiders have taken over, tying each frame to its neighbor.

  “I bet this was your gran’s bedroom,” Kerry whispers, glancing at the pictures as she enters.

  “Looks like it.” Again, no pictures of Joey. What was the deal between Mom and Grandma? Luckily, Joey’s trailing Kerry, so he doesn’t notice. I follow them to the far side of the room where they’re checking out the big canopy bed. An old-fashioned spread the color of strawberry ice cream stretches across it.

  “Want to climb on it?” Kerry asks. “Ghosters do it all the time. It might be just the thing to bring out your gran.”

  “No way,” I blurt out. “Dad said she died in this house, probably in that bed.”

  Kerry shrugs. “Right, just a thought.”

  There are two night stands, one on each side of the bed with matching lamps. On the left, a rosary made of purple beads is draped across a foot-tall statue of the Virgin Mary. Spiders have stretched their webs from the walls to the statue and down to rectangular box in front of it. I drag my finger through the dust, snapping the web. Glossy, brown wood shines back.

  I glance up at Kerry. “Want to see inside?”

  She nods.

  Using the same dusty finger, I raise the lid. Through the silence, a tinkling melody explodes out at me. I pull back, and the box snaps shut, cutting off the noise. Kerry’s nervous laugh tells me she’s as jumpy as I am.

  As usual, Joey stands by, silently filming.

  Again, I push the box open. This time I’m ready for the music. It tinkles away as I rummage through the contents. Earrings . . . pendants . . . bracelets. Real gold, I think.

  Kerry picks up a big cocktail ring. “Look at this stuff. It’s like a mini pirate chest.”

  I frown. “Yeah, and Mom had to know they were here, too. I wonder why she didn’t take them after Grandma Carmen died.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want them,” Joey suggests.

  I think of the box filled with my own mom’s rings and bracelets, stowed on a shelf in my closet for when I get older. It’s only been six months, and I can’t count how many times I’ve dragged that box out just to look at them. To bring back memories.

  The music slows to a crawl, and I shut the box.

  “Is it getting colder in here?” Kerry asks.

  “There’s a thermometer on the side of the EMF meter,” Joey says in his typical matter-of-fact tone.

  “There is?” Kerry pulls the gadget from her pocket and rotates it beneath the beam of her flashlight. “Crikey, you’re right. Sixty-two degrees. That’s a bit cool, but it’s probably because the windows are all covered up by those thick curtains. Anyway, there’s still no action on the EMF.”

  We move around the bed. Beside the other lamp is a small cut glass perfume bottle. I give the little puffer a squeeze, and a familiar smell fills the air.

  Joey’s voice cuts through the darkness behind me. “Crikey, that’s what we smelled a couple days ago.”

  Crikey? I shake my head. Not the only British expression he’s picked up lately.

  Kerry gasps and gives me a shove. “What? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  I shrug. “Didn’t think it mattered. Joey and I were looking around, and when I opened one of the doors—I guess this one—we smelled it. Dad said it was probably left over from the real estate lady—your aunt. Supposedly, she came by and checked the place the day before we moved in. Weird that she would actually wear the same perfume as—”

  “Theresa, sometimes certain smells are associated with spirit manifestation.”

  “When you say spirit, do you mean our grandma?” Joey asks.

  Kerry nods.

  Hold on. This is getting creepy. “Are you saying that when I opened that door the other day, Grandma Carmen’s ghost was actually in here?”

  “Could be, and with any luck, she may show up again.”

  Out in the light of day that would sound exciting, but not here in the dark. A sudden chill tickles the base of my spine and I hug myself.

  Kerry checks the EMF meter, then holds it up for us to see.

  One light. It could just be bad wiring, but what if Grandma Carmen really is here? The word “lurking” pops into my head even though it’s probably not the type of word I should use when referring to dead grandmas. I shine my light all around. Every shadow seems sinister. I make my way through the room, half expecting to spot Grandma Carmen herself, standing patiently in some corner, waving and grinning.

  Well, look who’s finally decided to visit her old grandma now

  that she’s been dead these seven years. Oh, do stay a while, Theresa.

  We’ll bake cookies together.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop freaking yourself out.I take a deep breath and blow it out. That’s it, relax. Even if Grandma Carmen does show up, she’s just your grandma . . . right? Do what the Ghosters do. Keep exploring.

  I move my flashlight across the bed to what looks like a dressing table. Suddenly she’s there. My grandma. Staring at me, eyes wide. Her mouth opens and a scream bursts from me. From her.

  “Theresa!” Kerry shouts. “Calm down. It’s just your own reflection.”

  “Sorry.” I swallow hard and giggle at my shaking hands. Stupid mirror.

  “Crikey,” Joey repeats.

  I get myself together and we continue exploring the shadowy sights. My light falls on a wide, wooden cabinet, even taller than Kerry. “Whoa, this is huge. It’s like the one in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” I reach for the handle.

  “Not so fast. Look.” Kerry passes me the EMF meter. Three green lights stand out in the darkness.

  Great. Again with the crazy lights.“You think there’s a ghost in there?”

  “We need to open it up and see.”

  “We? Who’s we?” I hug Joey to me, but he wriggles away, filming all the while.

  “Go ahead.” I shove her forward. “Open it. You’re the big ghost chaser.”

  She clips the EVP recorder onto her belt and sets her flashlight on the braided rug at our feet, freeing up her hands. “You didn’t look like such a big coward back at the school library.”

  “There weren’t any ghosts back in the school library.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants and aim my flashlight at the cabinet, feet set, like a baseball player, ready to run at the sign of any action.

  Grandma can’t be in there. Why hide in a closet when she’s got this big room—this whole house, for that matter?

  I look at the EMF meter and gasp. “All five lights are lit, and the temperature has dropped to fifty-four.” I hold up my arm. “Look, all the little hairs are standing up. I feel weird.”

  “Me too,” Kerry whispers. “Like I’m sweaty and cold at the same time.”

  “So am I,” Joey says, lowering the phone. “And I don’t care for it.”

  I wave the beam around the room, and all three of us watch as it cuts through the darkness. “Any
body think there’s a ghost in here?”

  “You sound like you want to leave,” Kerry whispers.

  I crowd in against her. “Maybe.”

  “Hello? Is somebody there?” Kerry calls out.

  Nothing moves.

  I rub my arms, but the little hairs pop back up. This is even weirder than last night in the basement.

  “Do you want me to open the wardrobe?” Kerry whispers.

  “Geez, I don’t know. I mean, you don’t even know what—”

  THUMP THUMP

  As one, we spin around to face the cabinet, Joey pressed between me and Kerry. Since it’s still closed, I stare, not sure what to do next.

  Joey works his way free from our group hug and goes back to filming. “Open it,” he tells Kerry, as if discussing a birthday present. “It would be interesting to find out what made that sound.”

  Kerry frowns at the huge wardrobe, then touches the tip of her finger to one of the handles.

  Nothing happens.

  She wraps her hand around it.

  Nothing happens.

  “Ma-maybe you shouldn’t . . .” My hands tremble. “The EMF meter . . . The knocking . . .”

  Kerry adjusts her feet. “Shine that flashlight over here, and get ready with the camera, Joey. I’m through mucking about.”

  I aim my flashlight at the wardrobe, ready to run. Even though I’m all goosepimply, a trickle of sweat drips down the side of my face.

  “Go ahead,” I whisper as the image of every movie ghoul I’ve ever seen flashes through my mind. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, “one . . . two . . . three.”

  CHAPTER 12

  KERRY FLINGS THE doors wide.

  What I don’t expect is a shoebox. It falls out at our feet, spilling old photographs all over the floor.

  “What the heck?” I blink, mouth open wide. “That’s it?”

  To my disappointment, or maybe my relief, the wardrobe is filled with the normal stuff you would expect to find in an old woman’s closet, sweaters, blouses, and down at the bottom, a dozen neatly stacked shoeboxes. But the EMF meter still shows five lights. And now they aren’t just glowing. They’re flashing.

  “It pushed that box out at us.” Kerry wheezes. She grabs the EMF meter from me and checks the thermometer again. “Crikey. Forty-six degrees.” Her words come out in tiny white clouds. “I’m going to try and communicate with it.”

  The air feels strange, not just colder, but as if the molecules are being crowded up against me. By the look on Kerry’s face, I can tell she feels it. Even Joey steps a little closer to me.

  Holy crabs! It’s really happening.

  After taking a quick squirt from her inhaler, Kerry throws back her shoulders and calls out into the darkness, “Hello? My name is Kerry.”

  Nothing happens.

  “These are my friends, Theresa and Joey.” She steps forward, away from the wardrobe. “Whoever you are, would you please make a sound? Knock, like you did before.”

  We wait. The room stays quiet, but I have the feeling that someone is watching me.

  Kerry elbows me. “Maybe you should say something. It is your house.”

  “Think so? You’re the one with the mismatched eyes.” I lean toward the dresser. “Hello? Please . . . say or do something . . .”

  Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimes. I flinch like somebody pulled my hair.

  “Did a ghost make the clock chime?” Joey asks.

  Kerry checks her watch and sighs. “No. It’s supposed to ring at this hour. But hold on, I’ve got an idea.” She turns back to the open wardrobe. “Maybe we can get the ghost to work one of the flashlights. They do it all the time on Ghosters.”

  Still feeling watched, I glance over my shoulder, then shine the light into the wardrobe. The shoeboxes cast black shadows on the back wall.

  I tear my eyes away and look at Kerry. “What do you want me to do?”

  Above the shoeboxes, the clothes area is divided into two sections: hanging things on the left, drawers and shelves on the right. Kerry pats a stack of folded sweaters on the top shelf.

  “Set your flashlight here. Once we’re out of the way, I’ll ask the ghost to click it off.” She turns to Joey. “And you record everything. For all we know, it could be standing in front of us and we can’t even see it.”

  Why does she always say stuff like that? My hands tremble as I reach up to position the flashlight. I turn to leave, but Joey shoos me back with his free hand.

  “Point it the other way, Theresa. The light’s hitting the camera.”

  I nod and turn to rotate the flashlight.

  Kerry mumbles something so I glance over my shoulder. “What’d you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  But I heard something. I grab my flashlight and lurch back, aiming the beam down toward the shoeboxes. That’s when I see it. Back behind the boxes. A small pale face. And is that a hand? A tiny white hand? Fear shoots through me like a garden hose filling with water. But before I can really focus, my flashlight goes out. I shriek.

  “What?” Kerry shouts. “What did you see?”

  Again, Joey’s sandwiched between us, and we stumble back from the dresser. We bump up against the bed and I pull them to the floor.

  “Down there . . .” I stab my finger at the wardrobe. “I saw . . . I saw something. There . . . a hand.”

  Kerry shines her flashlight across the room. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And eyes. I saw a freaking ghost, Kerry.” I jab my shaking finger at the shoeboxes, ten feet away. “It was at the bottom. In the back. A hand came out. It was small . . . and white . . . and it was trying to grab my leg.”

  Kerry takes her flashlight and crawls over to collect the EMF meter she’d dropped at the foot of the wardrobe. She holds it up for us to see. “It’s dead now. If there was a ghost, your screams must have scared it away.”

  “Good.” I hug Joey to me, but he squirms away and joins Kerry at the dresser. While they’re busy checking behind the shoeboxes, I lean back against the bed, mind spinning.That ghost couldn’t have been Grandma Carmen . . . could it?A disturbing thought pops into my head. What if it followed me over to the bed? I stare at the bottom of the bedspread, half expecting a tiny white hand to reach out from beneath it. Oh, heck no.

  Sick of the dark and everything in it, I scramble to my feet and flip the light switch by the door. Just like that, my world of lurking monsters transforms into an old woman’s bedroom.

  Kerry gathers up the last of the photos then squints over at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Who cares about old pictures?” I throw open the door. “Come on. We need to see what Joey recorded.”

  CHAPTER 13

  WE HEAD FOR my room. Kerry calls home for permission to stay a little longer, and the three of us sit on my bed clustered around the tiny screen on the cell phone. Since the video doesn’t show any ghosts, Joey goes back to his own room. But Kerry’s determined to find something useful in the recording, and she makes me watch it two more times before she gives up.

  “There’s absolutely nothing of any value on that video,” Kerry says, tossing the phone across the bed. It lands on the old pictures we’ve spread out between us.

  It figures. I lie on my side, head propped on my hand. “Okay, so how about that new audio thingy of yours? Did that record anything?”

  “It’s possible, but I can’t tell you right now. The ghost must have sucked the battery dry. I’ll charge it tonight. We can listen to whatever’s on there during lunch period tomorrow.”

  For a while, neither of us speaks, satisfied with flipping through the pictures. Then Kerry sets down the handful she’s been shuffling through and looks at me, her face thoughtful. “Is Joey autistic?”

  I blink. Nobody’s ever asked me that, at least not without tiptoeing around the subject first. “Well, yes and no.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I take a deep breath and do
my best to repeat what I’ve been told. “It’s not like you’re autistic or you’re not. It’s a spectrum. That means you can have a little, or you can have a lot.”

  “I’m guessing Joey is closer to a little than a lot.”

  “Right. What he’s got is called Asperger’s Syndrome.”

  “I knew a boy back in England who had that.” Her head tips to the side. “Can they cure it?”

  “It’s not a disease. It’s a . . .” It takes me a while to remember the word. “A condition. He . . . we just need to work around it.”

  Joey. No matter what coping skills his teachers give him, he’ll always be just a little bit odd. Oh, well. I guess everybody is a little odd in one way or another.

  “Your dad seems to really care about him—” She backtracks. “—Not that he doesn’t care about you . . .”

  “Yeah, I know.” I try to play it down. “It’s the Asperger’s. Joey needs a lot of attention; you know?” More than me, anyway.

  She nods. From the look on her face I can tell she’s not buying it, so I change the subject. “If we’re going to do more ghost chasing, we have to figure out what to do about the batteries.”

  Kerry brightens. “You’re right. I was just thinking about that and something else too. You probably shouldn’t tell your dad about what happened in your grandma’s room today.”

  I sit up. “What the heck, Kerry? I see a real ghost, and you want me to lie about it?”

  “Not lie, just don’t volunteer information. I mean, what are you going to say? ‘Hey, Dad, the funniest thing happened today. We were looking in Grandma Carmen’s wardrobe when some phantom creature tried to grab my leg. Oh, don’t worry. I got away. All in a day’s work for us ghost chasers.’”

  “I see your point. If I told him that, he’d wrap me up and put me in a mental hospital.” I flop back on the bed, bored with looking at pictures of people I’ve never met, but Kerry keeps flipping through them. “I don’t get you. Those are my relatives. Why are you so interested?”

  “Maybe there’s a clue. The ghost shoved the box out at us, remember?”

  Yeah, but maybe what’s in it didn’t really matter. Maybe it just wanted to scare us.