I shined the light down the hole. There was the ladder I’d climbed up. I backed down it carefully, holding the flashlight in my left hand. When I reached the bottom, I examined the floor. It was hard-packed dirt. I shined the light around and saw that the passage veered off to the left — toward our house.
I began to walk. The passage sloped down slightly. I was moving through a tunnel of earth with a few support beams here and there. The only light was from my flashlight.
I edged forward for a good distance. I was moving slowly, and every thing seemed sort of unreal. At long last, the passage began to slope upward.
I shivered. This was so exciting. If I were just a little older, I could be Nancy Drew. Wait until Claudia heard about this!
“Hey!” I exclaimed aloud. Ahead, my flashlight was shining on a dirt wall. After all this, had I come to a dead end?
No, the passage made a sharp right turn.
I rounded the corner — and drew in my breath.
I found myself facing a crude wooden staircase. My heart began to pound faster. I climbed the staircase slowly. Where was I? Somewhere inside our house? I felt like the mice in The Tailor of Gloucester, darting from house to house in their secret passageways.
At the top of the staircase the passage, which was now very narrow, and all wooden (I was sure, somehow, that I was between the walls of our house) took another turn, and then, a few feet beyond, really did come to a dead end. I began feeling the walls around me, and suddenly something made a loud clicking noise and the whole wall to my right swung away from me.
I gasped.
I was looking into my own bedroom!
I stepped inside. The wall that had swung open was the one with the fancy molding that had sounded hollow the other day. The end of the passage was between my room and Mom’s.
I was startled but immediately decided I wanted to explore the passage again more carefully. So I left the secret door to my room open (just in case), and stepped back into the passage. This time I kept the flashlight trained on the floor.
I blew up little flurries of dust bunnies as I made my way back to the staircase, crept carefully down the steps (who knew how sturdy they were?), and was soon back in the dirt tunnel.
And that was where I found it — the metal button. It looked positively ancient. I’d never seen one like it. It was sort of squashed in the middle, but I could tell that a design like a shield had been stamped on it.
A few feet farther along I found something else I’d missed. A large tarnished buckle. It was too big for a belt buckle, and not quite the right shape. A shoe buckle? People hadn’t worn buckles that size on their shoes since … the eighteen hundreds?
I felt a chill begin at the nape of my neck and creep down my back.
A key was the last thing I found. It certainly looked old — very long and narrow with a large ring to hold it by. How many years had the key been in the passage?
How many years had all the things been in the passage? More important why were they there? Maybe they were all that was left of someone who had died in the passage — or worse, someone who had been locked up there to die. Maybe the poor prisoner had been trying to escape using the key. But he hadn’t made it and had died a lonely, bitter death.
I knew it. I just knew it: Our house was haunted. It was haunted by the ghost of the secret passage. No one was going to believe it, but it was true. I remembered the rapping noises I had heard the night of the storm. Now I knew what had really made them.
Saturday
Thank you very much, Dawn. Because of you, we’ve all got ghosts on the brain. Even I do. How else can you explain what happened when I was baby-sitting for Karen, Andrew, and David Michael last night?
Well, it was a kind of wild night — we had another storm — but usually Karen’s stories about Morbidda Destiny and old Ben Brewer don’t really frighten me. What with the weather, though, and the gigantic house, and especially your tales about “things unseen,” I guess the last straw was one of Karen’s stories. So thanks a lot — for the most embarrassing moment of my life!
The nice weather didn’t last very long. By Friday it was gloomy again, and that night, the skies let loose with a storm that my grandfather would have described as a “ripsnorter.” I didn’t know it then, but while Jeff and I were having a ghostly adventure in our old house, Kristy was having an adventure of her own in her new house.
Earlier that evening, she’d been left in charge of David Michael, and Karen and Andrew, who were visiting for the weekend. Her two older brothers were at a party, and her mom and stepfather had gone to the theater in Stamford.
When everyone had left, the sky had simply been dark and threatening. An hour later, rain was falling, the wind was howling, thunder was crashing, and lightning was flashing.
Inside, Kristy was trying to interest the kids in a game of Chutes and Ladders, but it wasn’t easy. Every time a clap of thunder sounded, David Michael shrieked, Andrew leaped into Kristy’s lap, Louie the collie jumped (and skidded on the game board), and Karen looked disgusted and called everybody nitwits.
After that had happened three times, Kristy suggested, “Let’s read a book instead of playing Chutes and Ladders. What should we read?”
“The Little Engine That Could,” said Andrew.
“Fantastic Mr. Fox,” said David Michael.
“Ramona and Her Father,” said Karen.
Kristy rolled her eyes. “How about —”
“How ’bout if I tell a story?” Karen interrupted.
Kristy paused. Karen’s stories are notorious. She never means to frighten anyone or to cause any trouble, but she always manages to.
“Do you know any nice, happy stories?” asked Kristy hopefully.
Karen thought for a moment. “Nope,” she said.
“I want to hear a scary story,” said David Michael bravely.
“You do?” asked Kristy incredulously, as thunder crashed and her brother jumped a foot in the air.
“Um … yes,” replied David Michael.
“Me, too,” said Andrew, not to be undone.
Kristy thought that all of this was a bad idea.
“Oh, we can tell scary stories any old time,” she said. “Let’s tell jokes instead. Knock, knock.”
David Michael, Karen, and Andrew glanced at each other.
“I said, knock, knock,” Kristy repeated.
David Michael heaved a great sigh. “Who’s there?”
“Banana,” said Kristy.
“Banana who?” asked David Michael.
“Knock, knock.”
“Huh? Wait, you were supposed to tell the joke part then.”
“Trust me,” said Kristy. “This one’s a little different.”
“Oh, all right. Who’s there?” asked David Michael.
“Banana.”
“Banana who?”
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Banana.”
“Banana who?”
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” demanded David Michael.
“Orange.”
“Orange who?”
“Orange you glad I didn’t say ‘banana’?” Kristy burst into giggles.
The three kids looked mystified.
“So,” said Karen, “this is the tale of what made old Ben Brewer so weird.”
Andrew and David Michael sat up straighter.
Kristy made a face and began to put the Chutes and Ladders game away. When she finished, she left the kids in the playroom, went downstairs, and straightened up the kitchen. She found a package of graham crackers in one of the cabinets, placed it on a tray with four glasses and a carton of milk, and took the tray upstairs to the playroom.
There she found Karen in the middle of her story.
“Ben Brewer had been sitting in his rocking chair by the fireplace in his bedroom for six hours. Just sitting. Outside, there was a big storm going on.”
“Like this storm?” as
ked Andrew, wide-eyed.
“Yup,” replied Karen. “And now …”(she lowered her voice dramatically) “… it was almost midnight.”
“Oh, no!” yelped David Michael.
Karen nodded solemnly. “And you know what that means,” she whispered.
Kristy joined the children on the floor. David Michael was leaning against an armchair. Andrew was sitting in the lap of a humungous stuffed panda bear. And Karen, in the center of the room, was also the center of attention. As storyteller, she’d put on a witch’s hat and a sparkly black mask, and was waving a wand around.
“It means,” Karen continued, “that —”
KA-BLAM!
An enormous clap of thunder sounded. Everybody jumped — even Kristy.
“It means,” Karen tried again, “that the headless ghost was going to come to Ben Brewer … and turn him into a crazy man.”
“Ew,” said Kristy.
“Ben Brewer was doing every thing he could think of to keep the ghost away. He had locked the door and the windows, and he wasn’t going to leave the room. Not for anything. Not if he had to go to the bathroom. He’d even put garlic all around the room.”
“I thought garlic was to keep vampires away,” said Kristy.
“Ben wasn’t taking any chances,” David Michael informed her.
“So imagine this,” said Karen. “It’s almost midnight, and Ben is locked up in that room. It’s all quiet —”
“Except for the storm,” said Andrew.
“And the fire crackling,” added David Michael.
“And just think,” said Karen. “This was happening right here in our house … in that room on the third floor.” (Ben Brewer is Andrew and Karen’s great-grandfather.)
“The room we never go in,” whispered Andrew.
At that moment, Boo-Boo, the Brewers’ fat cat, waddled in.
Karen pointed to him. “Boo-Boo knows about that room, Kristy. He knows it’s haunted.”
“The whole third floor is,” said David Michael. He shuddered. “Boo-Boo doesn’t go up to the third floor — ever.”
Boo-Boo plopped down next to Karen. He sat on the floor with his tail twitching.
“Relax, Boo-Boo,” said Kristy.
“He can’t,” Karen said. “Do you know where we’re sitting? We’re right under Ben Brewer’s room.”
“Aughh!” cried David Michael.
“Karen,” said Kristy, “the last time you told ghost stories, you said Boo-Boo won’t go on the third floor because it’s under the attic and the attic is haunted.”
Karen paused. “Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s true. But Ben’s room is haunted, too. So anyway,” she went on. “It was almost midnight. Just eleven more seconds.” She paused. “Eleven … ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four … three … two …”
(Kristy noticed that she and the boys were all leaning anxiously toward Karen.)
“One,” said Karen.
“What happened then?” whimpered Andrew. He sounded near tears. Kristy pulled him into her lap.
“Ben thought there was no way to get in the room. But he was wrong. The ghost came down the chimney.”
Everyone turned slightly and eyed the fireplace in the playroom.
“The ghost began to speak,” Karen went on. “‘Oooh,’ it wailed. ‘I’ve come for you, Ben Brewer.’”
At that, Boo-Boo leaped straight into the air, darted through the door, and slid out into the hall, claws flying. Louie awoke, startled, heard Boo-Boo in the hall, and took off after him.
“It’s Ben Brewer!” screamed Karen. “It’s his crazy ghost! He was haunted — and now he’s haunting us!”
“Karen, calm down,” said Kristy, whose teeth were chattering. “There is no ghost here.”
“Yes, there is! That’s why Boo-Boo and Louie are scared! Animals can tell when ghosts are around!”
Andrew burst into tears. “I don’t want a ghost here!” he sobbed.
“There’s no ghost,” said Kristy. She stood up. “Anyway, it’s bedtime.”
“I want to sleep with you tonight!” wailed Andrew.
“Me, too!” cried Karen.
“Me, too!” cried David Michael.
Kristy admitted (but only to herself and later to the rest of us baby-sitters) that she was glad they wanted to sleep with her. And since she has this mammoth new bed in her room at Watson’s, she figured they’d all fit. She hadn’t counted on Boo-Boo and Louie joining them, but they did.
Kristy woke up the next morning when she heard whispering and snickering at her door. She blinked her eyes and struggled to sit up. Outside, the sun was shining. Next to her, Karen was sprawled on her back, her mouth open, and one arm slung across Andrew, who was sucking his thumb. On her other side, David Michael was snoring lightly. Louie and Boo-Boo were scrunched up at the end of the bed.
“Look at that!” whispered a voice.
Sam and Charlie were peering into Kristy’s room, trying to control their laughter.
“Hey, Kristy, what were you guys doing last night?” exclaimed Sam. “You weren’t by any chance afraid of the storm, were you?”
“No,” replied Kristy. “Not exactly.” She crawled over her brother and slid off the bed.
“You were, too,” said Sam. “What a bunch of chickens.”
“We were not,” Kristy repeated more fiercely. “We were just …”
“Just what?” asked Charlie.
“Trust me,” said Kristy. “It’s a long story.”
Okay, so Kristy had a bad night. Maybe it was because of my ghost stories, maybe not. But she wasn’t the only one having trouble during the storm. Jeff and I had a little trouble of our own … an adventure. And we weren’t any braver about it than Kristy was with her adventure.
I did a strange thing after I found the secret passage. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I’d been so excited — thinking I was like Nancy Drew and all — and then I was so scared when I realized the passageway had a ghost, that by the time I had climbed back into the barn and closed the trapdoor, I was totally confused. So I didn’t call any of my friends to tell them the news, and I didn’t show the passage to Jeff or my mom. I kept the secret to myself.
But on the night of the second big storm — the night Kristy was baby-sitting for Andrew, Karen, and David Michael — I was sitting for Jeff, and the haunted passage was weighing on my mind.
My mother left at seven o’clock that evening to go out on a date with this man named Mr. Gwynne, which put me in a bad mood. I don’t mind if Mom dates, as long as she dates Mary Anne’s father. Mary Anne and I want to be step-sisters. But Mom had been going out with several different men. One of them was the son of friends of my grandparents, two were from her office, and a couple more were men she’d met at some party. I didn’t like any of them, and I didn’t want any of them for a stepfather. (I only wanted Mr. Spier, because of Mary Anne.) Jeff didn’t like any of the new men, either.
Tonight, Mom was going out with the son of my grandparents’ friends. They were going to have dinner in a restaurant, then go to Granny and Pop-Pop’s for dessert. I didn’t like the sound of that — much too serious.
So I wasn’t in a very good mood as my mom was rushing out the door. Usually I check her over to make sure nothing is mismatched or out of place. But that evening, I sulked in the living room and didn’t look at her. If I’d looked at her and seen something wrong, I’d have to have told her. I couldn’t let her go out wearing one hoop earring and one pearl earring, or just one false eyelash or something. But I figured that what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me — or her (much).
“I’m leaving, kids!” Mom called from the front door.
“Bye,” I said. I was sitting in an armchair, facing away from her. I didn’t turn around.
“If it rains, close the windows.”
“’Kay.”
“Dawn? Everything all right, honey?”
“Yup.”
Mom hesitated. I couldn’t see her, but I
could feel that she was hesitating.
Jeff came crashing down the stairs, taking about three steps at a time.
“Bye, Mom,” he said.
“Bye, honey. I just told Dawn — close the windows if it rains. Oh, and there’s a casserole in the fridge. Remember, Dawn’s in charge.”
“Good-bye, Mom,” I said pointedly.
Mom took the hint and left, and then I felt really bad.
Jeff didn’t notice. “Let’s eat,” he said.
“All right.” Maybe it would take my mind off Mom and the ghost.
Jeff and I heated up the casserole and made a salad. We ate our supper in front of the TV, watching a rerun of All in the Family.
“I hate this show,” I commented.
“Me, too,” Jeff replied.
“Why are we watching it?”
“I don’t know. Because it’s —”
CRASH!
Thunder. Then rain poured down without warning.
“Windows!” I cried. We abandoned our meal and ran around, closing windows.
Then we tried to eat again, but we had no sooner settled down in front of the TV than the electricity went off. Since it was almost dark outside, it was pitch black inside.
“Yipes!” cried Jeff.
“I wonder if it’s off everywhere or just in our neighborhood,” I said. Or maybe, I thought, it’s just us. I shivered.
We stood at the front door and looked up and down our street. No lights anywhere, so the power was off in the neighborhood, at least.
Maybe my mother would have to come home. Maybe the rest of her date would be off, along with the electricity. The thought cheered me.
“We better turn off the TV set so it won’t come blaring on when the power’s restored,” I said. “And let’s try to rinse off our dishes. Otherwise, they’ll be impossible to clean later.”
Jeff groped around and found a flashlight. We cleaned up the kitchen as best we could. Then we wandered through the house.
“Well, this is boring,” said Jeff.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“What can you do in the dark?”
I thought for a moment. I hadn’t returned Ghosts and Spooks, Chills and Thrills to the library yet. I had two more stories to go. And there were a few I wanted to reread. I thought of the ghost in our secret passage and began to feel scared — not the awful kind of scared I’d felt several times earlier in the week — but deliciously scared.
The Ghost at Dawn's House Page 4