The Case of the Halloween Ghost

by John R. Erickson

  I pushed myself up. “I’ve got three things to say to you, Buzzard. Number One, nobody but a brick could listen to you very long without falling asleep.”

  “That’s one, Dog, and you’re already in trouble.”

  “Number Two, your taste in music comes real close to your taste in food. That was the worst song I ever heard, and if you just had enough time, you could put music completely out of business.”

  All at once, Junior’s eyes lit up like headlights, and a big grin spread across his beak. “G-g-gosh, that’s a t-t-t-terrible thing to s-s-say, hee-hee, hee-hee.”

  The old man’s head snapped around to Junior. “If it’s such a terrible thang to say, son, then how come it is that you have such a big smart-mouth grin on your face, you git that grin off your beak this very, and as for you, Dog, that’s two and you’re in even deeper trouble now.”

  “Number Three, you birds are trespassing on this ranch, making noise and creating a public nuisance, and it’s my job to find out what you’re doing here. It’s strictly routine, of course, unless I uncover something suspicious.”

  Wallace puffed himself up. “We’re here because we got lost, is why we’re here, and we’ll stay here until we figger out where we are, and you’ve got nuthin’ to say about it.”

  “Y-y-yeah, w-w-we got l-lost ’cause w-we s-s-saw something s-s-scary, scary.”

  “Hold it, halt, stop right there, freeze!” I pushed myself up to the full alert position. “You say you saw something scary on this ranch?”

  “Y-y-yeah, it was a g-g-g-ghost.”

  “Yes we did, we truly did,” said Wallace. “It was the ghost of an old man, and he come right out of that cake house yonder, and he throwed such a terrible scare into us, we got off course and crashed into these trees here, is what happened.”

  I paced back and forth in front of them, studying their faces and sifting clues. “Okay, there’s only one problem with your testimony. I don’t believe a word of it, because I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Well, you just believe anything you want to, Dog, ’cause what we seen was a ghost.”

  “Y-y-yeah, and this is H-h-halloween n-n-n-night too!”

  “Halloween means nothing to me. We’ve got no time for such foolishness.”

  “H-h-halloween’s the n-n-night when all the g-g-g-g-g-g, uh spooks c-c-come out.”

  “Yes, and we seen one this very night with our own eyes, is how it happened that we got lost.”

  “I see. Would you care to hear my analysis of your testimony?”

  Old man Wallace narrowed his eyes and stuck his beak up in my face. “Pooch, after all the tacky and hateful thangs you said about my sanging, you have lost all credibility, and no, we wouldn’t care to hear anything you have to say.”

  “Well, that’s tough. You’ll hear my analysis, whether you like it or not.”

  Wallace pulled his neck back into his shoulders and covered his ears with his wings. “I ain’t going to listen, and Junior, don’t you listen either, we’ve got our rights, we don’t so have to listen to no smart-aleck ranch dog.”

  “In the first place,” I said, “I don’t buy your story about seeing a ghost. What you saw was swamp gas.”

  “Who’s got gas?”

  “N-n-no, h-he said s-s-swamp gas, P-pa.”

  “Well, if he’s got gas, tell him to quit eatin’ so much, it ain’t our fault if he makes a pig of himself.”

  “In the second place, we don’t believe in Halloween on this ranch, so as far as you’re concerned, Halloween night has been called off.”

  “He hauled off what? What’s he talkin’ about, son?”

  “H-h-he said H-h-halloween’s b-been c-c-c-c-cancelled.”

  “What does he mean penciled? I can’t understand what he’s talking about.”

  Junior pried one of Wallace’s wings away from his ear and yelled, “C-c-c-c-c-c-cancelled!”

  “Son, you just spit in my ear!”

  I went on with my analysis. “In the third place, you’re trespassing on my ranch, and I think it’s time you moved along and found another place to loaf.”

  “Another piece of rope? Who’s got a piece of rope? What’s he talkin’ about, Junior?”

  “H-h-h-he s-s-s-said we have to l-l-leave.”

  Wallace dropped his wings and glared up at me. “Oh he did, did he? Well, that’s fine with me, I didn’t like these dadgum trees in the first place, you just tell us which way is north and we’ll be more than happy to go find better company, which won’t be hard to do.”

  “Fine,” I said, “and that will make us all happy. From this point on the ranch, north is directly across from south, to the right of east and to the left of west. Now move along before I have to go to sterner measures.”

  “Never mind north and south, Dog, which way is out?”

  “Follow me.”

  I made my way through the trees and led them out into the clear. It was at that point that I noticed Drover had vanished—deliberately disobeyed my orders and gone to the porch. Well, I would settle with him later.

  I pointed up to the stars. “There’s the sky, Buzzard, and here’s the ground. If you intend to fly, point yourself up. If you’re walking, stay on the ground. I can’t make it any simpler than that. If you get lost again, ask a ghost for directions.”

  “W-w-we r-r-really did s-s-see a g-g-g-ghost, D-doggie.”

  “Of course you did, and I saw a flying codfish yesterday afternoon.”

  “You’ll be sorry, Dog, making fun of a couple of poor old buzzards who are down on their luck. Come on, son, let’s git out of here before that ghost comes back and makes this dog pay for his evil deeds.”

  Wallace spread his wings and made a run into the wind. He got airborne, but took a couple of shingles off the roof of the chicken house.

  Junior gave me a grin. “W-w-well, good-bye, D-d-d-doggie. P-pa don’t s-s-sing so g-g-good does he?”

  I placed a paw on his shoulder. “You’ve got a lot to overcome, Junior. All I can tell you is . . . good luck.”

  And with that, Junior went running and flapping down the road, until at last he disappeared into the night sky.

  Well, I had cleared up that little matter and was on my way to the cake house to check it out, when all of a sudden I heard someone running in my direction.

  Expecting an attack by coyotes or monsters, I whirled around and let out a blood-chilling growl.

  Chapter Nine: The Case of the Mysterious Tricker Trees

  It turned out to be Mister Hide-on-the-Porch. I should have known.

  “Hank, oh my gosh, come quick, help, murder, mayday, mayday!” Since the little mutt seemed to be almost beside himself, I decided to postpone bringing charges against him for cowardly and chicken-hearted behavior.

  “All right, Drover, take it from the beginning and give me a full report. Try to control yourself and give me the facts.”

  “Well, I’ll try, but I sure am scared.”

  “I can see that, but unless you can prove that you saw something scary, you’re in trouble for leaving an investigation without permission.”

  “Yeah, but I DID see something scary! It scared me clean out of my wits.”

  “That proves nothing, Drover, because you have very few wits out of which to be scared.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll listen to your report. From the beginning, and hurry up. We have a night patrol to make.”

  Drover rolled his eyes. “Well, I was lying in front of the house . . .”

  “Yes, on the porch, where you were told not to go.”

  “And a car pulled up in front of the yard gate, and the motor was running.”

  “Hold it right there. The yard gate doesn’t have a motor, so it follows that the yard gate’s motor couldn’t possibly have been running. Already I�
�ve found a flaw in your story.”

  “No, I meant the car’s motor was running.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose . . . if you saw a car, Drover, and if the motor’s car was running, as you claimed, then where did this alleged car go between the time you made your observation and the present moment?”

  “It’s right over there.”

  I turned my head and squinted into the darkness. There, parked in front of the yard gate, was a . . . well, a car. With its motor running, you might say.

  “Hmm, yes, that checks out.”

  The car was black, see, and the night was also black, so it wasn’t as obvious . . .

  “All right, we have the car and the motor running. So far so good. Go on with your story.”

  “Well, I went over to the car . . .”

  “Did you mark the tires?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “You should ALWAYS mark the tires of an unidentified vehicle, Drover. It’s one of our most important jobs.”

  “I know, but I didn’t have time, ’cause just then I saw . . .”

  “Hold it right there. You saw something?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

  “I would, but you keep butting in.”

  “Butting in? Is that what you call it? Is that the thanks I get for trying to guide your testimony in the right direction? But never mind my feelings, never mind all the many things I’ve done to help you. Go ahead and finish your story.”

  “I don’t remember where I was.”

  “You had said something about a car.”

  “A car. A car? A car.”

  “That’s correct, a car. The motor was running.”

  “Motor. Motor? Motor.”

  “Yes. The car had a motor and the motor was running.”

  “Are you sure I saw that?”

  “Of course you saw it, and there it is over by the yard gate with the motor running.”

  “I thought you said gates don’t have motors.”

  I went to sterner measures, showed him some fangs and gave him a growl. That got his attention.

  “Okay, I think I’ve got it now. The car’s gate was running over by the motor and I went to check it out, and that’s when they got out.”

  I studied him in the moonlight. “Someone got out of the car? Did you give them a good barking?”

  “No, I didn’t have time. They were talking, Hank, real loud.”

  “Talking, huh? It’s starting to come together, Drover. I’m beginning to see a pattern here. Can you remember what they said?”

  “Well, let’s see. Something about trees.”

  “Trees? What kind of trees?”

  “I don’t remem . . . oh yeah. They yelled something about Tricker Trees. Then they went up to the porch and knocked on the door. Slim answered the door and they yelled, “Tricker Tree!” And everybody laughed and they went inside.”

  “Tricker Trees? Hmm. That seems odd. Why would someone come to the ranch at this time of night, leave the motor running in a car, go up to the porch, and talk about Tricker Trees?”

  “I don’t know. I never heard of a Tricker Tree before.”

  I ran my eyes across the darkness and tried to put this thing together. Something was missing.

  “All right, Drover. Listen carefully and search your memory for every detail. You mentioned voices but you’ve said nothing about persons, places, or forms that might have produced these voices. Who were these people?”

  “Oh my gosh, that was the scary part!”

  I noted that he had begun to shiver. “Maybe you’d better tell me about it. I think we’re getting to the heart of the core.”

  “Okay, I’ll try, but I’m getting scareder and scareder. There were four of them, Hank.”

  “Yes? Four of them, go on.”

  “You won’t believe it when I tell you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Go on.”

  “Well, all right. Oh Hank, there were four of them up there on the porch, yelling and screaming and shrieking about those Tricker Trees!”

  “Yes, yes? Keep going. Who were they, Drover?”

  “I can’t say it!”

  “Say it, spit it out!”

  “You won’t believe it!”

  “Of course I will!”

  “Two skeletons, one ghost, one witch, and a pirate!”

  I glared at him. “I don’t believe that, Drover.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t, I never should have told you the truth!”

  “Do you know why I don’t believe it? In the first place, I don’t believe in ghosts. In the second place, we don’t have skeletons or witches on this ranch. In the third place, no pirate could survive in this country because our annual rainfall wouldn’t support a pirate. They require large amounts of water.”

  “I don’t care, I saw ’em with my own eyes.”

  “Let me finish. In the fourth place, you said you saw four figures on the porch. Two skeletons plus one ghost plus one pirate plus one witch equals five, Drover, not four.”

  “Maybe I miscounted.”

  “Maybe you miscounted or,” suddenly I whirled around and faced him, “or maybe you’re making all this up, Drover, creating a centrifuge to distract me from your insubordination.”

  “I don’t even know what a centrifuge is. How could I create one?”

  “Very easily. Let me explain. Do you know the meaning of life?”

  “Well . . . not really. I’m still working on it.”

  “There you are. The fact that you don’t know the meaning of life doesn’t mean you’re not living. Hence, by the same logic, the fact that you don’t know the meaning of centrifuge doesn’t mean you couldn’t create one. Am I making myself clear?”

  “I guess, but I still don’t know what a centrifuge is.”

  “A centrifuge is a plot, a conspiracy, used by devious characters to cover up their devious behavior. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book, Drover, and you should have known better than to try it on me.”

  “I sure get into a mess when I try to tell the truth.”

  “Exactly. You made up the whole thing, and now that I’ve exposed your little fraud, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I’m all confused.”

  “At last the truth comes out! You’re all confused, Drover. What doesn’t exist can’t be seen, and I’ve already proven beyond a doubt that these so-called goblins couldn’t possibly exist.”

  “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

  “Not yet, Drover, not until we crack this case, for you see, we still have the mysterious black car with its motor running and we still haven’t learned the identities of the Strangers in the Night.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “Now let’s get this case wrapped up. I will penetrate the yard and set up a forward position near the front steps.”

  “And I’ll go to the machine shed and wait.”

  “I’m afraid not, Drover. The machine shed is two miles away at the other place.”

  “Oh drat.”

  “No, you’ll serve as my backup and witness. We’ll wait until they come out of the house. At that point you will see that they’re only people, possibly the neighbors, and that will put a stop to these silly stories. Are you ready?”

  “Hank, this leg of mine sure is giving me fits. Maybe . . .”

  “Never mind the leg. We’ve got a job to do. Come on, son, over the fence and into the yard!”

  And with that we leaped over the fence and set up our positions and waited for the trespassers to come out of the house.

  Chapter Ten: Caution: Hazardous and Scary Material!

  I sat down on the sidewalk, approximately ten feet in front of the porch, just beyond the halo
of the porch light.

  Behind me, I could hear the motor of the mysterious black car running. There was something about the car that bothered me. In fact, there was something about the entire case that bothered me.

  On the surface, it appeared that The Case of the Mysterious Tricker Trees was moving along very well. I had suspects, a motive, and Drover’s screwball conspiracy. But still . . .

  Maybe there was something in the night air that made me uneasy. It was very dark, and off to the north I heard the moan of coyotes. Or maybe it was that business about the Tricker Trees that bothered me.

  That was the one piece of the puzzle that hadn’t fallen into place. Why would strangers come to the ranch at that hour and ask for trees? And if they wanted trees, why had they gone into the house?

  I had been in Slim’s house that very day and I knew for a fact that he didn’t keep trees in there. Mold, yes. Spiders, yes. Mice, yes. But no trees.

  Off to my right I heard Drover’s front paws scratching on the fence. The runt still hadn’t made it into the yard.

  “Hurry up and get over here. There’s no reason why it should take you five minutes to climb over a fence.”

  “Well, I just can’t seem to make it, Hank. I guess my legs aren’t as strong as yours. Would it be all right if I stayed out here?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be all right, but if that’s the best you can do, it’s the best you can do. You’re the one who has to live with yourself.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t know where else to go.”

  Drover’s yapping distracted me from my primary job, watching the front door. In other words, for a moment or two I lost concentration.

  I didn’t hear the front door open. I didn’t hear footsteps on the porch. I didn’t know that I was about to be attacked until I turned around and saw . . .

  I hesitate to describe what I saw. I mean, it was so horrible, so frightening, so blood-chilling that if I told the whole story, it might have a bad effect on the kids.

  You know me. I worry about the kids. I don’t mind giving ’em a little thrill now and then, but hey, when it comes to the real heavy-duty scary stuff . . . I don’t know, it bothers me.