The husbands laughed and talked too loud, already beginning to doubt they'd really seen a ghost.
"The image on that videotape," Mr. Bennett said. "It was probably the strobe lights. They caused a glare in the camera lens or something."
"Trick photography," Mr. Frothingham declared. "Double exposures. Easy to fake."
Mr. Jennings was the only husband to disagree. "No, it was the real thing," he insisted, gulping down a glass of something that made him cough. "I'm glad I saw it, but I don't care to see another."
Just then, every light came on, almost blinding us with their brilliance. The refrigerator began humming, and the dishwasher started—even though it hadn't been running before the power failure. Radios and TVs all over the inn came on, blasting noise at top volume. Mr. Brewster stood at the top of the basement steps looking gloomier than usual. "I went to the fuse box," he said, "but before I so much as touched it, the power come back."
"How odd," Grandmother said.
"Nothing odd about it, ma'am." Mr. Brewster shook his head. "They been stirred up good and proper now."
Without another word, he trudged out of the kitchen, accompanied by a giggle that earned me a dirty look from Grandmother. I shook my head in protest, but she'd already turned her attention to Mrs. Brewster.
"What on earth was he talking about?" Grandmother asked.
"You'll find out soon enough." Squaring her shoulders, Mrs. Brewster strode out the door behind her husband.
Clearly bewildered, Grandmother looked at the guests. "Has everyone gone crazy?"
Chester patted her shoulder. "It's the ghosts," he said. "I told you, the girl's a catalyst."
Grandmother shrugged Chester's hand off. "I want you and your equipment out of here tomorrow morning. We've had nothing but trouble since you and that woman showed up."
Taking Corey and me by our arms, Grandmother ushered us out of the kitchen. In the doorway, she paused. "Will someone please turn off the radios and the television? Or at least turn them down?"
Snapping off her own television and radio, Grandmother frowned at me. "I expect you to apologize to Mrs. Frothingham tomorrow. You were very rude."
"But, Grandmother, I didn't—"
Silencing me with a look, she said, "If you continue to lie to me, I shall be forced to call your parents." She opened her bedroom door. "I need a good night's sleep. Please don't disturb me." With that, she walked into her room and shut the door.
I followed my sister into her room and sat beside her on the bed. "She hates us," Corey said. "We'll have to go to summer school now."
I shook my head. "She's just upset. And you can't blame her. This has been a really weird night. Especially for someone who doesn't believe in ghosts."
Corey sighed. "I wish we knew what Mr. Brewster thinks we stirred up."
Before I could come up with an answer, the light went off and the bed began to shake. Back and forth, up and down, jolting us like a carnival ride, harder and faster. We tried to hold on to the headboard, but in seconds we were thrown to the floor with a loud, bone-jarring thud. Too stunned to move, we cowered together while invisible fingers pinched us and pulled our hair and tweaked our clothes.
"Stop it," Corey yelled at me. "You're hurting me, stop it!"
"You stop it," I shouted, pushing her away.
At that, the room's dark corners rang with laughter. The empty bed bounced as if a gang of kids were jumping on it. The radio blared from one end of the dial to the other, and the bedside lamp flashed on and off. The closet door opened and slammed shut, opened and slammed shut, over and over again. Things thudded and thumped all around us. A book hit me in the head. A picture fell, and the glass in the frame broke.
"Who are you?" I cried in a voice so high and shaky I hardly recognized it as mine. "What do you want?"
An outburst of laughter answered me. Somebody yelled a string of cuss words.
"I told you to go to sleep!" Grandmother stepped into the room and gasped, her face pale with shock. "What on earth have you done? Have you gone crazy?"
The closet door lay on the floor, the wood splintered from the hinges. Corey's clothes were scattered everywhere, some no more than ripped rags. Bureau drawers hung open, spilling their contents. Pages torn from books lay in drifts on the floor. Feathers from pillows still floated in the air. My sister covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
Grandmother stared at us as if we were monsters. "Why did you do this? What kind of children are you?"
"Bad children," a kid's voice whispered. "Lovely bad children!"
"What did you say?" Grandmother asked me.
"Nothing," I whispered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shadows in the corner move, shifting the darkness from one place to another.
"It wasn't us," Corey sobbed. "We didn't do anything."
"Of course it wasn't the children." Chester peered over Grandmother's shoulder, grinning with apparent delight at the state of our room.
Grandmother whirled to face Chester, eager to take out her anger on him. "What are you doing here? This is my apartment, not part of the inn. Please leave at once!"
"Let him speak, Mrs. Donovan." Miss Duvall floated into the room on her tiny little feet, wearing her usual layers of filmy clothes. "Chester is the only one who can get to the bottom of this."
Her words caused an outburst of giggles from the corner. The same kid's voice whispered, "Fat bottom, fat bottom, fatty, fatty, fat bottom!" The giggles grew louder. Somebody said a rude word, which provoked even louder giggling.
Grandmother looked at Corey and me, alarmed for the first time. "Stop it," she ordered. "Or I'm sending you home tomorrow."
"Don't blame Travis and Corey," Chester said. "Can't you see they're just as scared as you are?"
"Ouch!" Miss Duvall began slapping at her rear end as if she were being pinched. "Stop it, stop it right now, you imps of Satan!"
The shadows raced around the walls, laughing and taunting her with insults relating to the size of her rear end.
Ignoring Miss Duvall, Grandmother looked at Chester as if she wished she could send him to the principal's office. "I am not scared!" she said, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.
"Old granny scaredy cat!" An invisible hand tugged at grandmother's sweater. "Nyah, nyah, nyah!"
Grandmother whirled around to stare at Corey, still crying on her bed, and me, sitting beside her. It was obvious we couldn't have been responsible for the tug on her sweater.
"Who did that?" she yelled. "What sort of tricks are you playing?"
For an answer she got a series of rude noises and a loud outburst of giggles, along with more cuss words. While this was going on, Chester was aiming his camera at the corner where most of the noise came from. "Wow! Oh, wow!"
"Amazing manifestation," Miss Duvall whispered into her microphone. "Laughter, voices, poltergeist activity. My hair is standing up ... the air is electrifying!"
Suddenly, a cold wind shot into the room. The curtains blew out straight from the windows, and the clothing and torn pages rose from the floor and spun around like tiny tornadoes. A low moan, almost a sob, rose from the corner. The shadows twisted and turned, now long, now short, and raced around the walls as if they were being chased.
Then the lights went out, and a harsh voice cried, "Enough! Back to where you belong. You will be punished for this!"
The moaning changed to high-pitched squeaks and yelps. Invisible hands pushed me out of their way, invisible feet stepped on mine, elbows poked my sides. The moonlight streaming through the window dimmed as shadowy shapes fled into the night, followed by something bigger and darker and far more terrifying.
After a sudden silence, the lights came on again. Torn clothing and shredded paper fell back to the floor. The curtains drooped. Whatever had been among us was gone.
Chester and Miss Duvall huddled together, elated by the activities they'd witnessed, but Grandmother sank down on the bed beside Corey and closed her eyes. My sister conti
nued to sob.
I went to the window. The grove was a patch of inky shadows on the moonlit grass. "Who are you?" I whispered. "What do you want? Why are you here?"
Nothing answered. Nothing stirred. A blanket of darkness lay over the earth, hiding everything. Shivering, I crept closer to Grandmother.
8
Miss Duvall was the first to break the unnatural silence. "Surely, Mrs. Donovan," she said in a theatrically low voice, "you can no longer harbor even the slightest doubt that the inn is haunted."
Grandmother raised her head and stared at the psychic. "Frankly," she said, "I don't know what to think."
"How else would you explain what we have all witnessed in this room?" Miss Duvall asked.
Grandmother rose to her feet, a little unsteadily, but with her dignity intact. "If you and Mr. Coakley are somehow responsible for this, I will bring a lawsuit against you."
Miss Duvall drew herself up as tall as possible and gave Grandmother a look of utter dismay. "I assure you that neither Chester nor I—"
Grandmother swept past as if the woman was of no more importance than a toadstool. "Please go back to your rooms," she said, "and do not enter my quarters again. By checkout time tomorrow, I expect you both to be gone."
"But—" Chester began.
"Nothing you can do or say will change my mind," Grandmother said. "I want you both out of here."
Turning to Corey and me, she added, "As for you two, please go to bed at once. We'll talk about this in the morning. I am exhausted."
Still protesting, Chester and Miss Duvall followed Grandmother out of the room. "Don't you understand what this means to paranormal research?" Chester said.
Grandmother shut the door, and we didn't hear her answer.
"Please don't leave me here by myself, Travis," Corey begged. "I'm scared to death they'll come back."
She tossed me a blanket and an extra pillow, and I tried to make myself comfortable on the floor. I didn't want to be alone any more than my sister did.
"I kind of wish Grandmother would send us home," Corey said. "I don't like it here anymore."
"Even camp doesn't seem so bad now," I said. "Swimming in a freezing lake at seven A.M., eating lumpy oatmeal and mystery meat and mushy lima beans, hiking ten miles uphill."
"Making potholders and clay animals, singing those dumb camp songs, striking out in softball...." Corey's voice slowed and thickened and finally trailed off in a sleepy mumble.
I turned this way and that, but whether I lay on my side or my back or my stomach, I couldn't relax. Every sound frightened me—a rustle in the leaves, a sigh of wind, the tap, tap of a branch against the window, a creak in the hall outside the door.
At any moment I expected to hear giggles and feel the pinch of invisible fingers. Worse yet, what if the thing from the grove came howling through the window again?
Early in the morning, I left Corey sleeping and hobbled back to my room, as stiff as an old man from sleeping on the floor.
Pages from books littered the floor, my favorite sweatshirt was now sleeveless, my T-shirts were torn in half, shreds of my socks hung from the ceiling light. My chair lay on its back on top of my desk, which was now on my bed. The mirror over the bureau was cracked, and the bureau's drawers were on the lawn, their contents scattered on the grass.
"Wow, what a mess." Chester stood outside my window, staring into my room.
Before I knew what he was doing, he'd climbed over the sill. "Mind if I take some pictures? This should be documented."
"Help yourself," I said. "Maybe you'd like to clean it up when you're done."
Chester laughed as if I were joking and began shooting. "The socks are a nice touch," he said, aiming his camera at the ceiling light.
Corey appeared in my doorway and glared at Chester. "Why are you still here?"
"We've got until noon to check out." Chester moved to my bed and photographed the desk and the chair from several angles "This is amazing stuff! Poltergeist activity, laughter, pinching, cussing, cold spots—I'll be the envy of every paranormalist in the world!"
"What are you doing in here?"
Grandmother took Chester by surprise. Clasping his camera to his chest, he backed away. "The children invited me in," he lied. "They—"
"Well, I'm disinviting you," Grandmother said. "Get out of my grandson's room!"
"Yes, ma'am. I was just leaving anyway." Chester left the way he'd come in.
Grandmother looked around. "Please explain what's going on," she said in a weary voice. "If you can, that is."
"You were in Corey's room last night," I said. "You saw what we saw, you heard what we heard. I wish we could explain it, but..." I shrugged, unable to think of anything else to say.
Grandmother removed the chair from the desk, set it on the floor, and, with a sigh, sat on it. Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath. "That's right. I saw, and I heard. As a result, I lay awake for hours trying to think of an explanation. And failed. Utterly."
Rising to her feet, Grandmother said, "I suggest we have breakfast. After that, please clean up your room. When everything is back to normal, I'd like to pretend last night did not happen."
Turning my back on the wreckage, I followed Grandmother to the dining room. She could chase off the psychics, she could make me clean up my room, she could pretend last night hadn't happened—she could even send Corey and me back to New York—but the ghosts were here, and they weren't leaving.
Not until they got what they wanted ... whatever that was.
9
After breakfast, most of the guests checked out in support of Chester and Miss Duvall. At least that's what they claimed. I had a feeling some of them had had their fill of ghosts and didn't want to spend another night at Fox Hill.
Grandmother watched them leave. "So much for ghosts bringing business to the inn," she said.
A few minutes later, the Kowalskis joined us on the porch.
"What on earth was going on last night?" Mrs. Kowalski asked. "Our TV and radio came on, as well as the lights."
"We heard a lot of commotion, too," Mr. Kowalski added. "People shouting and running up and down the steps. We came here for peace and quiet, not wild parties."
Grandmother sighed. "I apologize for the disturbance. It won't happen again. The guests who were responsible are leaving today"
"It was that strange man with the hearse, wasn't it?" Mrs. Kowalski asked.
"And his bizarre lady friend." Her husband shook his head. "Crazy as loons, the pair of them. Going on and on about ghosts. What a load of hooey."
Mrs. Kowalski ran a hand through her short gray hair. "Those two should get some exercise and clear their minds. Yoga would help. So would an organic diet."
Rackets in hand, the Kowalskis headed for the tennis court, and Grandmother turned to Corey and me. "Time to get some exercise yourselves," she said. "Go clean your rooms."
It took us all morning to sort through the wreckage. It was clear we'd need new clothes. New books, too—the pages of our summer reading books were scattered everywhere. Corey's favorite teddy bear had been torn limb from limb and his stuffing strewn on the floor.
I left Corey weeping over the bear and went outside to retrieve my bureau drawers. While I was gathering what was left of my underwear, I saw Mr. Brewster watching me.
"Don't expect no pity from me." He spat in the grass and started to walk away.
"Wait." I hurried over and stepped in front of him. "Please tell me about the ghosts."
"Get out of my way, boy." He tried to step around me, but I blocked him, as though we were playing basketball.
"Mr. Brewster, I have to know what they want, so I can make them go away."
For the first time I heard him laugh—a sort of growl combined with a cough. "They been here afore you, and they'll be here after you."
"But what are they? Who are they?"
The man sighed and wiped his forehead with an old handkerchief. "It woulda been best if them Cornells had never see
n this house. Never bought it. Never fixed it up." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. "Some places ought to go to ruin. Let the bricks fall and the grass grow over them. Let it all be forgot and the dead stay dead."
With that, he stepped around me and headed toward the inn.
I stood where I was, cold despite the sun's heat, and watched him walk away. Then I gathered up the bureau drawers and their ruined contents and carried them back to my room.
Just before noon, the service bell rang. Grandmother rose from her chair with a sigh, laid her book aside, and headed for the office. Corey and I followed her inside. Surrounded by their luggage and gear, Chester and Miss Duvall were waiting to settle their bill.
Ignoring the couple's greeting, Grandmother sat down at the computer and looked up their account. As the bill was printing, she frowned. "I would appreciate your saying nothing about last night's events," she said.
"Oh, I can't agree to that, ma'am," Chester said. "I've already e-mailed my associates with the details. And spoken to my editor at Chronicles of the Dead."
"This sort of story simply cannot be swept under the rug," Miss Duvall added. "The public has a right to know."
"If you mention the name of this inn in a book or a magazine article or anywhere else," Grandmother said, "you will hear from my lawyer."
"But that's censorship," Chester put in. "You can't—"
"I can—and I will." Grandmother handed him the bill. "That will be three hundred and seventy-seven dollars and five cents, including tax."
Chester slapped his credit card down on the counter, and Grandmother ran it through the machine. "Thank you," she said and handed the card back.
"But think of the free publicity," Miss Duvall said.
"I am," Grandmother said.
With a shrug, Miss Duvall swept out of the inn behind Chester. We watched the ghost hunter get into his hearse and drive away, with the psychic close behind in her VW.
"I feel better already," Grandmother said.
At lunchtime, the nearly empty dining room was so quiet I could hear bees buzzing in the flower boxes at the windows. The Kowalskis had ordered a box lunch and were off hiking in the hills, toting binoculars, bird books, cameras, and plenty of sunscreen.
All the Lovely Bad Ones Page 6