Phantom of the Haunted Church

by Bill Myers

  Phantom of the Haunted Church Copyright © 1998, 2015 · Bill Myers

  Cover illustration © Matthew Cole - Fotolia.com

  Cover design by Angela Hunt

  Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.

  Published by Amaris Media International

  ISBN: 0692394052

  ISBN-13: 978-0692394052

  To Mom:

  For putting up with me ... and teaching me good stuff along the way.

  “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of

  greed; a mans life does not consist in the

  abundance of his possessions.”

  LUKE 12:15, NIV

  1

  the case begins

  THURSDAY, 16:15PST

  “If you ask me,” Melissa Hunter said, “the whole idea of auctioning off this church is stupid.” She stared up at the tall steeple looming over their heads. “I know it’s kinda spooky and everything, but it’s been a part of our town forever.”

  She glanced over to the steps of the old, deserted building. A crowd had gathered around, waiting for the mayor to finish another one of his boring speeches so the auction could begin.

  Sean, her older brother, nodded. “That’s why Dad wants us to cover the story for the station. He figures it will interest some of the local listeners.”

  Melissa turned to him. At the moment, he was helping Herbie, the radio station’s engineer, plug in a bunch of cables and electronic thingamabobs into the backs of amplifiers and even more confusing thingamajiggers.

  As Herbie worked, the accident-prone engineer was talking to their dad over the cellular phone. “Okay, Mr. Hunter, the remote is all set up. We’re ready to go on the air . . . What’s that? Oh . . .” He gave a nervous chuckle. “You might have a point. I’ll look into that.”

  “Problem?” Sean asked.

  Herbie shrugged as he hung up the phone. “Your dad thinks we might need a microphone.”

  Sean and Melissa exchanged looks. Herbie was a nice enough guy but clueless when it came to doing anything right.

  “Any idea where you packed it?” Melissa asked.

  “No, I, uh . . .’’ Herbie bent down and started rummaging through the piles of wires and cables. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

  As Herbie continued his search and rescue for the microphone, Sean turned back to his sister. “Okay, Misty, I’ll go on the air first. I’ll introduce the setting, and then if you have anything to add—”

  “Wait a minute. Why do you get to go on first?”

  “Because I’m the oldest. Besides, I’m wearing my killer shirt.”

  Of course, he was referring to the brightly colored Hawaiian shirt,

  . . . the one he’d borrowed from Misty’s closet a month ago,

  . . . the one he’d kept forgetting to return,

  . . . the one he now figured belonged to him.

  “Sean,” Melissa sighed, “that’s not your shirt, and besides. . .”

  “Besides what?” he demanded as he straightened his collar and fixed his hair for the twentieth time.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. What her brother lacked in intelligence, he more than made up for in vanity. “It’s radio, Sean. No one can see what you look like on radio.”

  Suddenly he stopped. “Oh yeah . . .”

  “Hello, you two.”

  Melissa and Sean turned to see Spalding Nathaniel Hathaway III approach.

  Neither brother nor sister particularly cared for Spalding. Not because he was rich (although he was the only one they knew who wore designer shoelaces), or because he was spoiled (he was also the only one they knew who had a special butler just to tie those shoelaces). They disliked the kid because he could out snob even the snobbiest of snobs.

  Spalding arrived, straightening his bow tie. “Of course, you two will be interviewing my father.” It was supposed to be a question, but as usual, it came out more as a command. (With his money, Spalding hadn’t much experience at asking for anything.)

  “Why do we want to interview your dad?” Sean asked.

  “Because Father will soon be the owner of this spooky old edifice.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Melissa said.

  “Because, my dear brainless child, no one has the kind of money Father has.”

  As usual, Melissa felt her dislike for Spalding rising (right now it was somewhere around wanting to punch his lights out). But also as usual, she forced herself to stay pleasant. “Why does he want this old church, anyway?” she asked. “Because of its historical value?”

  “Hardly. . .” Spalding gave a condescending chuckle (which was the only type of chuckle he knew how to give). “Father will be tearing it down so he can proceed to build a parking lot for his new bank.”

  “Tear it down?” Melissa couldn’t stop her voice from rising in concern.

  “Certainly.”

  “But . . . but . . . but . . .”

  While Melissa was busy doing her motorboat imitation, Sean stepped in. “If he tears down this church, we’ll never know its mystery.”

  “Mystery?”

  “You know . . . about it being haunted and all.”

  “Certainly you don’t believe such rumors,” Spalding scorned.

  “Well, something’s going on there,” Sean insisted. “Everyone knows about those weird wailing sounds coming from inside.”

  “Father says they are simply—”

  “And what about those folks who say they’ve seen strange flickerings up in the belfry?”

  “It is simply the reflection from some unknown—”

  “And what about the buried treasure?” Sean asked

  Suddenly Spalding stopped. “Treasure? Did you say treasure?”

  Melissa turned to her brother. This was the first she’d heard of any treasure.

  “Well, sure . . .” Sean stalled. “Didn’t you know that?

  Shoot, everybody knows that.” He turned to his sister. “Isn’t that right, Misty?”

  Melissa simply stared at him. It was obvious she had never heard of such a thing. It was equally as obvious that Sean hadn’t, either. His imagination was definitely going into some big-time overtime.

  TRANSLATION:

  “Big Brother Was Telling Another Whopper.”

  But Spalding didn’t notice. The kid was too focused on the word “treasure” to notice anything. Probably because treasure sounded a lot like riches . . . which sounded a lot like money . . . which seemed to be about the only thing Spalding ever thought of.

  “How’d you know about the treasure?” Spalding asked.

  Now it was Sean’s turn to be surprised. “Well, I, er . . . there really is such a thing?” he asked.

  Spalding lowered his voice. “No one is supposed to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “About the pirate’s treasure hidden inside the walls.”

  Sean’s eyes widened. “Pirates? You mean pirates actually hid their treasure inside th—”

  “LOOK OUT!” Herbie shouted. All three spun around to see Slobs, the Hunters’ wonder dog, heading straight for them.
/>
  K-BAM!

  Well, she had been heading straight for them. Now she was tromping over the top of them, howling and drooling along the way. (Being a bloodhound, Slobs had this thing about howling and drooling—she liked to . . . a lot.)

  Not far behind, Herbie was racing toward them, shouting, “Come on, Slobs, give it back! Come on, now!”

  “Herbie,” Melissa cried as she struggled to her feet. “What are you—”

  K-BAM!

  Now it was Herbie running over them. “Come on, Slobs, bring it here . . . Come on, girl!”

  When Melissa rose (a little more cautiously this time), she turned around and saw Slobs heading straight for the crowd . . . with Herbie right behind. The reason for the little chase was obvious. Between Slobs’ teeth was a silvery metal object with a long black cord trailing behind it. A silvery metal object that most life forms would mistake for a microphone . . . unless of course they were a certain dog that had mistaken it for a toy bone.

  People screamed and leaped out of the way as Slobs and Herbie raced through them (or in the case of the slower leapers, on top of them). Unfortunately, Mrs. Potts, the Hunters’ neighbor (and perpetual victim), was one of the slower leapers.

  “AUGHHHHH!”

  K-BAM!

  And once again she was practicing her famous crash-and-burn routine.

  Slobs continued running through the crowd, barking and baying, enjoying her little game, as Herbie continued chasing after her and shouting, “Come on, girl, come on!”

  Unfortunately, the little game got a little more complicated when Slobs thought it would be great fun to race up the hill where they’d parked the station’s van.

  “Slobs!”

  Once there, she leaped into its open door, dashed across the front seat, and jumped out the other side.

  Unfortunately, the microphone didn’t.

  Somehow loops in the cable had wrapped around the emergency brake and gear shift. Even that wouldn’t have been so bad if Herbie hadn’t hopped inside the van to try to help. (As we’ve already mentioned, ole Herb won’t be winning any gold medals in coordination.) Once inside, he tried his best to untangle the cable but only managed to release the emergency brake and shove the gear shift out of Park.

  The van started forward.

  “Herbie,” Sean yelled, “you’re moving! The van’s rolling!”

  No problem. All Herbie had to do was reset the brake and move the gear back into Park. And he would have, except he was too busy getting himself tangled up in the cable . . . first one leg, then the other, then both arms, until he had completely hog-tied himself, unable to move a muscle.

  Meanwhile the van continued down the hill, faster and faster, straight for the crowd that was reassembling to listen to the mayor. Well, they had been reassembling.

  “Look out!” Melissa shouted. “Look out!”

  The crowd looked up. The van rushed toward them with the tied-up Herbie staring helplessly out of the windshield.

  Once again they scattered, leaping aside as the van bounced past.

  Well, almost everyone leaped. It seems poor Mrs. Potts, who had finally managed to get back to her feet, was smack dab in the van’s path. She looked over her shoulder, saw the oncoming van, and did what she did best—screamed her head off and ran for her life.

  But no matter which way she ran, the van seemed to follow. First to the left. . . then to the right. . . then to the left. . . then to the—well, you get the idea. By now everyone else had stopped and was staring at the performance in stunned astonishment. Until—

  “Mrs. Potts!” Sean yelled. “The fire hydrant! Look out for the fire—”

  Somehow Mrs. Potts managed to sidestep it.

  Herbie and the van did not.

  K-RASH!

  WHOOOOOSHHHH. . .

  pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

  Now everything came to a stop. Well, everything but the water that was now whooshing twenty feet into the air and pitter ing-pattering all over the crowd, the mayor, Mrs. Potts, and the van.

  Fortunately, the collision had loosened Herbie’s hands just enough. He reached out to the dashboard, hit the windshield wipers, and numbly watched as the blades sloshed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

  That about ended the radio coverage of the auction. Come to think of it, it didn’t do much for the auction, either. Everyone decided to postpone it until tomorrow afternoon.

  But it didn’t end the mystery of the church. As water continued raining down, soaking Melissa to the skin, she glanced over at her brother. He was already looking back up at the building, and she already knew what he was thinking. After all, it was one thing to listen to rumors about mysterious wailings and flickering lights. They’d heard those rumors all of their lives. And like every kid with half a brain, they’d gone out of their way to avoid passing the church and its cemetery when it was late at night.

  But if there really was a hidden pirate’s treasure in there . . .

  As Melissa watched her brother think, she had a sinking suspicion in the pit of her stomach—that another case was about to begin for the Bloodhounds, Inc. Detective Agency.

  2

  a little visit

  THURSDAY, 20:17 PST

  It was later that evening when Sean, Melissa, and Slobs dropped by Doc and Jeremiah’s. As usual, Doc was working on another one of her crazy inventions. This time it was a pair of Virtual Reality X-Ray Goggles.

  “Just slip them on,” little Jeremiah called from inside his computer screen. “I guarantee you’ll be able to see through solid objects in the blink of a heartbeat.”

  Melissa had to smile. Jeremiah was one of Doc’s earlier inventions. As a computer-generated character, he had the ability to roam around any computer and pop up on any TV or monitor. That was the good news. Unfortunately, there was some bad. When he’d first been created, he’d zoomed through a phone line, popped into a Chinese fortune cookie factory computer, and overloaded his circuits with too many proverbs and sayings. Ever since then his memory chips had been slightly fried.

  “You mean, ‘In the blink of an eye,’ “ Melissa corrected.

  Jeremiah nodded. “You hit the nail right on the thumb.”

  Melissa shook her head in amusement.

  “Hey,” Sean said as he picked up the X-ray goggles and prepared to slip them on. “Wouldn’t these be cool to use at the church?”

  “Sean,” Melissa sighed, “you’re not going to start in on that again.”

  “I’m telling you,” Sean said, “it’s the perfect case for Bloodhounds, Inc. Just imagine what we could do with all that treasure . . . ”

  “You mean the treasure that you made up,” Melissa corrected.

  Sean wasn’t fazed. “I might’ve made it up, but Spalding didn’t. You saw the way his face lit up—you heard what he said about a treasure being hidden inside the walls.”

  Melissa bit her lip. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

  “There’s something inside that church,” Sean continued. “You and I both know it. Something very valuable. And if we can find it before his dad tears the place down—”

  “I don’t want to even go near that church,” Melissa interrupted. “It gives me the creeps.”

  “Come on, you don’t really believe it’s haunted.”

  “I don’t know what it is, but I don’t intend to go inside and find out.”

  “That’s just it,” Sean insisted. “You don’t have to.” He slipped on the X-ray goggles and adjusted them. “Not with these babies. We’ll just stand outside the church, put these on, and—” He turned toward Melissa and suddenly stopped. “Whoa, Misty, nice underwear.”

  “Sean!” Melissa jumped behind one of the counters. “Stop that!”

  Sean laughed.

  “He’s just pulling your nose,” Jeremiah giggled from a nearby screen. “The goggles aren’t turned on yet. Besides, they’re designed to see through walls not clothing.”

  Melissa nodded but
decided to stay behind the counter just in case.

  Sean looked over to Doc and signed to her that he was ready. Doc was born deaf, and both Sean and Melissa had been learning to communicate with her through sign language. By the looks of things, Slobs had also picked up a few words because as soon as the dog saw Sean signaling to Doc, she let out a howl and ran to hide under one of the lab counters. The poor animal had obviously seen one too many of Doc’s experiments.

  Meanwhile, Doc reached over to the small control pack attached to the goggles.

  “Here we go,” Jeremiah cried. “Let’s keep our eyes crossed.”

  Before Melissa could correct him, Doc fired up the goggles.

  There was the usual loud, electronic hum (with a few sparks and flashes thrown in for good measure) until the goggles were finally up and running.

  “Are you seeing anything?” Jeremiah asked.

  Sean shook his head. “No, not a—WOAHHHH!”

  “What is it?” Melissa cried. “What do you see?”

  “There’s a giant semi-truck bearing down on us!”

  “There’s no semi-truck,” Melissa argued.

  “Maybe not here,” little Jeremiah’s voice crackled, “but there are plenty over on Interstate 5.”

  “But the freeway is a mile away,” Melissa said.

  “I don’t care where it is,” Sean shouted, “but that baby’s coming right for us. Look out! Look out?”

  Melissa quickly signed to Doc to turn down the power. Unfortunately, her signing abilities were still a little rough. Instead of asking Doc to turn down the power, she’d asked her to turn it up . . . either that or to order a Big Mac with an extra side of fries.

  Doc nodded and cranked up the goggles’ power (which of course meant an even louder hum with even more sparks and special effects).

  “AUGHHHH . . .” Sean yelled.

  “Now what do you see?” Melissa cried.

  “It’s the Space Shuttle—and it’s coming right at me?”