BY KARLA SAKAS SHROPSHIRE
©2018 Viacom International Inc. All Rights Reserved. Nickelodeon, Nick Jr., The Loud House and all related titles, logos and characters are trademarks of Viacom International Inc.
Based on the TV series The Loud House™
eISBN 978-1-68107-704-8
I stared at the clock, willing it to strike three. Thirty more seconds … twenty-nine … Is it just me, or do all classroom clocks seem to slow down at the end of the day? I glanced over at my best friend, Clyde. His eyes were glued to the clock, too, while his pen trailed off his worksheet and onto his desk. I was about to point this out when the clock finally struck three and the school bell rang.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat.
“Thank you for volunteering to clean out the gerbil cage, Lincoln! Love that enthusiasm,” I heard Mrs. Johnson say. Wait, what? I glanced over to see my teacher standing by the class pet, Chompy. “Looks as if he went through two full water bottles today,” she added.
Whoops. Guess I hadn’t exactly been paying attention—but could you blame me? My mind was elsewhere, on my favorite TV show, the Academy of Really Good Ghost Hunters!—or as we ghost-hunting cadets called it, ARGGH! A brand-new episode was starting in thirty minutes, and Cadets Lincoln and Clyde weren’t going to miss a single second.
Clyde raised his hand. “I’ll help him!” he said, before turning to me and whispering, “But why do you want to clean Chompy’s cage? Shouldn’t we get to my house so we can watch ARGGH!?”
I face-palmed. “Sorry, Clyde. My excitement got the better of me.”
Cleaning the cage turned out to be a two-person job after all. I switched the cedar shavings while Clyde distracted Chompy with food so he wouldn’t sink his little gerbil fangs into our fingers.
“Maybe using baby carrots wasn’t the best idea,” Clyde said, fifteen minutes later, as he watched me wrap a bandage around my hand. “Chompy must have mistaken your thumb for a carrot.” I looked over at the gerbil, who smirked back from his now-clean cage.
“Sure he did. But never mind that—we have a show to catch. Let’s go!” I said, grabbing my backpack and helmet. We darted out the front doors, hopped on our bikes and raced to Clyde’s house. We always watch ARGGH! at Clyde’s, not just because his dads make the best snacks, but also because he doesn’t have to share a TV with ten sisters. Unlike me.
I’m Lincoln Loud, and yes, that’s right. I have ten sisters—five older, five younger—which means it’s almost impossible to get the TV to myself at home. Not just the TV, actually, but nearly everything: the last slice of pizza, the good spot on the couch, the few remaining drops of hot water before the shower turns icy—you get the idea. That’s life in a big family for you. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. As chaotic as our household can get, my sisters are ten awesome and unique people I’m lucky to call family. Most days, anyway.
Clyde and I made it to his house with seconds to spare. His dads greeted us at the door with a big bowl of kettle corn and a plate of buffalo chicken sliders—I told you the snacks were good—and proceeded with their usual rapid-fire questions about Clyde’s day.
“Hi, Clyde, how was school? Did you have any trouble opening your new lunch bag?” his dad Harold said.
“Did your sinuses act up? Did you strain any muscles in gym?” asked his other dad, Howard.
Maybe you’ve heard of helicopter parents? Clyde’s dads are more like a SWAT team fast-roping out of the chopper at the merest hint of danger.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to fill you guys in later. There’s a new episode of ARGGH! on,” Clyde told them.
“Oh, of course,” Harold said, handing us the snacks, then stepping aside. As much as his dads like to worry, they understand how important ARGGH! is to Clyde and me.
“Careful with the kettle corn,” Howard called after us. “I checked for unpopped kernels, but there could still be one lurking in there. Don’t want to crack a tooth!”
Clyde and I dashed into the living room and turned on the TV just as the opening credits for ARGGH! began to play. The show’s logo flashed on the screen, then dissolved into shaky black-and-white footage of an old abandoned ice rink. Dim fluorescent lights flickered over rusty bleachers and a burned-out scoreboard. Distant drips echoed off the mildew-streaked walls. Everything was dingy and run-down except the ice, which was perfectly smooth and seemed to emit an eerie glow. Hunter Spector, the host of ARGGH!, stepped out of the shadows.
“Welcome back, ARGGH! cadets!” he said. “Tonight we’re at an abandoned hockey rink in Ottawa, Canada, rumored to be haunted by the spirit of Ignacio, the angry ice keeper.”
A blurry black-and-white photograph of Ignacio flashed on the screen. He did look angry.
Hunter went on. “Ignacio couldn’t bear to see his perfect ice destroyed day in, day out. Every scratch from a hockey skate sliced right through his heart. People told him to change careers, to get into cake decorating or cement pouring instead. But Ignacio refused. And one day, in the middle of a particularly rough hockey match, he snapped.”
Gritty reenactment footage flashed onto the screen. Clyde and I exchanged grins—we loved the reenactments! We watched as a crazy-eyed man in a knit cap drove one of those giant ice resurfacing machines straight into a pack of beefy hockey players, sending them flying.
Hunter continued gravely. “When they tried to take away the keys to his Zamboni, Ignacio just kept driving—straight out of the arena and into the night, never to be seen again. After that, no one ever played another hockey game on this ice. Something—or someone—has been keeping the players away.”
He took out his EMF (electromagnetic field) detector and held it up to the camera. The needle hovered in the red zone. Hunter grinned.
“Looks like Ignacio’s in the building. What say we … break the ice?” he quipped, before pulling a hockey mask down over his face and skating onto the rink.
Immediately, the lights went out in the arena, leaving only the eerie glow of the ice. Clyde and I leaned closer to the TV, not wanting to miss a thing. Hunter skated across the rink, doing figure eights and reversals, the blades of his skates cutting through the ice. Suddenly, on the other side of the arena, a Zamboni roared to life. Clyde and I gasped as the hulking machine made its way toward Hunter, picking up speed.
“I think someone’s headed for a meltdown,” Hunter deadpanned, ripping open a bag of road salt and spraying it across the rink. The ice melted on contact, forming a giant pool in the middle of the arena. Unable to stop, the Zamboni drove straight into it, wheels whirring hopelessly as it tried to escape.
“And now to let him cool off!” Hunter shouted, throwing the switch on the arena’s freezing unit. Within seconds, the ice had refrozen—with the Zamboni lodged firmly in it. The hulking machine gave one last feeble whirr before the engine died and the lights went out.
Whoa. Clyde and I sat back in the sofa. One week later flashed on-screen. The ice rink was back in business, with a hockey game in full swing. The players skated deftly around the Zamboni, which sat silently in the middle of the rink. Ignacio’s angry spirit had clearly abandoned it. I turned to Clyde, whose mouth was hanging open in awe.
“Okay, I know we usually have a formal vote, but this definitely belongs on our list of all-time favorite episodes,” I said.
“Definitely,” Clyde agreed. On TV, Hunter looked directly into the camera.
“Before I sign off tonight, I have a special announcement for my ARGGH! cadets,” he said. Clyde and I shot to attention.
“You guys watch me hunt ghosts every week; now I want to see you in action! Send in your videos of paranormal activity, to be featured in our new Cadet Spotlight at the end of every show!”
; Clyde and I looked at each other, psyched. This was our chance to prove ourselves as ARGGH! cadets and show our fearless leader, Hunter Spector, that we’d absorbed everything he’d taught us. The only problem was, we’d never captured a ghost on video before. In fact, I wasn’t even sure where to start looking for one.
Back on-screen, Hunter Spector continued. “Remember, cadets, paranormal activity can be found lurking anywhere—hockey rinks, theme parks, gas stations—even in your own homes!”
Of course! I beamed at Clyde, who frowned, looking around his impeccably decorated living room.
“Sorry, Lincoln, but I don’t think there are any ghosts here. My dads just renovated, and we probably would have found them when they pulled out all that old shag carpeting.”
I shook my head. “Actually, I was thinking about my house. It’s really old. And creaky. And it hasn’t been renovated in years—apart from the time Lori and Leni tried to turn my bedroom into a walk-in closet. There’s bound to be a ghost creeping around somewhere!”
Clyde shot up, sending the bowl of kettle corn flying. “What are we waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go!”
Just then, Clyde’s dads came running into the room.
“Are you boys okay? I thought I heard kernels flying! Oh, Harold, I knew we should have stuck to pudding!”
Clyde and I suited up in our official ARGGH! cadet gear: ARGGH! jumpsuits, ARGGH! EMF detectors, ARGGH! walkie-talkies, and ARGGH! night-vision goggles. The goggles don’t technically work—that’d be asking a lot for $19.95—but they complete the look. Then we charged the battery on our video camera, hopped on our bikes, and set off for my house.
The sun was starting to set, casting eerie shadows across our neighborhood. The evening air was chilly, and we could see our breath as we pedaled.
“Is it just me, or is this the perfect night for ghost hunting?” Clyde asked.
“You read my mind, Cadet Clyde!” I called back, grinning. “Should we review our ghost-hunting protocol?”
Years of watching Hunter Spector at work had taught us a thing or two about spotting signs of paranormal activity. First and foremost, we’d have our trusty EMF detectors on hand, ready to read any unusually high concentrations of electromagnetic energy—the telltale mark of ghostly entities. But we’d also be on the lookout for sudden changes in temperature, disturbances in electrical devices, hot and cold air currents, unusual behavior in animals, levitating objects, unexplained sounds, and—if we were really lucky—the holy grail of ghost hunting: floating orbs.
We pulled into my driveway at the same time that my mom and dad came out the front door. I caught a whiff of fancy perfume and aftershave.
“Hey, Mom and Dad! Date night?” I said as Clyde and I jumped off our bikes. My mom smiled.
“That’s right. Your dad and I are headed to couples’ karaoke night at Jean Juan’s French-Mex Buffet,” she said. My dad checked his watch just as their taxi pulled up.
“Hi, boys. I’d love to stay and chat, but if we don’t put our names on the list early, another couple might take all the good songs,” he said anxiously, getting in the back of the cab.
“Is it cool if Clyde hangs out for a little while?” I asked as my mom got in the taxi, too.
“Of course! Just remember, Lori’s in charge,” she said. Then the car took off. Behind me, Clyde started stammering.
“L-L-Lori?”
I turned. Clyde practically had hearts in his eyes. He’s got a huge crush on my oldest sister. He can’t even be in the same room with her without passing out. I tried to get his attention.
“Clyde? Clyde?” Nothing. I sighed and hit the call button on my ARGGH! walkie-talkie. Clyde’s walkie went off, jolting him back to reality.
“Sorry, Lincoln. I was just thinking about how beautiful Lori’s eyelashes are,” he said, before quickly adding, “So where do you think we should start our search?”
I glanced at the house. Through the living-room window, I could see Lori pacing back and forth, waving her phone around in search of better cell reception. Okay, definitely not there. Before Clyde could spot her, I steered him over to the side of the house.
“Why don’t we start with the basement? Then we can work our way up, doing a sweep of each floor,” I suggested.
Clyde nodded. “That sounds just like what Hunter would say,” he said. “Remember the time he tracked the spirit of the furious furnace tender?”
How could I forget? It’s on our list of all-time favorite ARGGH! episodes. Though to be fair, it’s one of fifty.
Clyde and I stopped in front of the storm doors to the basement.
“You ready to do this, Cadet Clyde?” I asked.
“You know it, Cadet Lincoln,” Clyde said, grinning. He held up the video camera and pressed record. We pulled down our night-vision goggles. Then, remembering that the goggles don’t actually work, we pulled them back up and stepped down into the darkness.
Clyde and I slowly descended the stairs into the shadowy basement. The pipes dripped in the brisk air, and a shiver ran down my spine. It was like walking straight into an episode of ARGGH! I turned and whispered to Clyde.
“Okay, let’s listen for any disturbances, even the slightest sound—”
CLANG! CLANG! Two loud blasts rang out through the basement. Caught off guard, I tripped over the bottom step. Clyde bumped into me, and we both tumbled to the floor.
“Gah! The video camera!” Clyde yelped as it flew through the air. A hand reached out to grab it just in time.
“Boom! Reflexes!” a familiar voice shouted. I looked up to see my sister Lynn, the thirteen-year-old sports fanatic, grinning down at us in the dim light. She was wearing workout gear and clutching our video camera in one hand. She easily pulled Clyde to his feet, then handed him back the camera.
“Now if you guys don’t mind, I’ll return to my workout. I just crushed a protein shake and I’m ready to hit some new personal bests,” she said, jerking a thumb toward a weight machine.
I stepped forward. “Actually, Lynn, we were hoping to do some paranormal investigating down here. Any chance you could clear out for a few?” I asked in my politest voice, adding, “Ghosts don’t really come out when weights are clanging around.”
Lynn frowned and mimicked the sound of a sports buzzer. “EHHH! No way. I was just getting into the zone,” she said, returning to the weight machine and pulling down on a bar, lifting a heavy stack of weights. Clyde watched, impressed.
“Wow, Lynn, I didn’t know you were that strong,” he said.
“It’s just a warm-up,” she huffed. “You guys want to do a push-up challenge when I’m done with this set?” Lynn never passed up an opportunity to work out—or to compete.
“Uh, maybe next time,” I said, before turning to Clyde. “Come on, buddy. There’s no use expecting ghosts to show up with all this racket. Let’s try upstairs in the kitchen.”
Clyde lit up. “Good idea! Remember that episode where Hunter tracked down the spirit of the angry sous chef?”
Of course I did! Another one of our top-fifty classics. Hunter had found the ghost lurking inside an old walk-in refrigerator and drove it out with an eggbeater. Simple but genius.
As Clyde and I climbed the stairs to my kitchen, I wondered if there was a ghost in our refrigerator. With so many layers of ancient leftovers, it’s been years since anyone’s seen the back of it.
“The other day, I was looking for milk and I found a piece of my old birthday cake—from when I turned six!” I told Clyde. “Who knows what else might be in there.”
We pushed open the door to the kitchen, only to find my baby sister, Lily, parked in front of the refrigerator. She was concentrating very hard on arranging the alphabet magnets into nonsense words. Adorable, but we really needed to get in there.
“Don’t worry, I’ll just scoot her out of the way,” I assured Clyde. I heard someone clear her throat and looked over to see my sister Lisa, the four-year-old genius, sitting at the kitchen table. She was in her u
sual lab coat and safety goggles, surrounded by chemicals and stirring a beaker of sticky green goo.
“I would advise against attempting to relocate our youngest sibling. She is in a rather cantankerous mood today,” Lisa said flatly, without looking up from her work. “I attempted to enlist her assistance in a harmless test of my new super-strength adhesive and was rewarded with a bite on the forearm.” She held up her arm to show us. Clyde and I winced.
Lily might have only one tooth, but she wields it like a mighty sword. Between that and her penchant for going to the bathroom wherever she likes, Lily and Chompy have a lot in common. At least I knew better than to try to distract her with baby carrots. I turned to Lisa.
“Well, unlike you, I’m not trying to trick her into being my test subject,” I replied. “I’m just trying to check the fridge for paranormal activity.”
“There could be the spirit of an angry sous chef in there!” Clyde added, excited.
Lisa blinked at us. “As a woman of science, I refuse to dignify those statements with a response.” Ignoring her, I crouched down and smiled at Lily, who was babbling to herself as she banged two magnets together.
“Hey, Lilster. Think we could just scoot you over this way for a sec?” I asked, starting to pick her up.
Lily’s eyes scrunched up. Oh no. I knew what was coming, but it was too late. She wriggled out of my grasp and threw herself against the fridge, bursting into an angry wail. Behind us, Lisa sighed to herself.
“Sorrysorrysorrysorry, Lily! Our mistake!” I said quickly, backing away from the fridge. She blew an angry raspberry at Clyde and me, then sniffled and returned to playing with her magnets. Within seconds, she was happily babbling to herself again. Well, at least there was no lasting damage.
“Come on, Clyde, let’s go. Any ghosts that might have been in there were probably scared off by Lily’s incredibly loud wail.” Lisa scoffed. I ignored her and turned to Clyde, who suggested we try the dining room next.
Who Ghost There? Page 1