“What? To never go swimming? Or are you talking about the third floor again? Don’t even go there, Kerry.” Since Frankie the Stuffed Panda is sitting back home on my bed, I hug my backpack. “Maybe I should just be happy I got to see her again. The dream really was nice . . . at least the first part.”
“In the dream, your mom gave you a key. Did it look like the one we found down in the basement?”
Maybe it did, but the last thing I need is Kerry knowing. I shrug.
“That’s the second key a ghost has given you.” A smile touches her lips. “You’ve got to admit that’s a bizarre coincidence.”
“Are you using my dream as an excuse to ignore my father’s orders? Why would my mom want me to go up there anyway? From what Dad says, the third floor’s been locked up tight for like fifty years. I doubt if Mom ever went up there herself.”
“That might be true, but as a ghost, she may know something that she didn’t know when she was alive. Have you ever had a dream anywhere near as odd as this one?”
“No, and I’venever ever dreamed about my mom before.” My shoulders sag. “I’m confused. If you’re right, my mom wants me to do something that my dad doesn’t want me to do.”
“I noticed that too, and—”
The annoyingly shrill buzz of the school bell cuts through the air.
She jumps up. “Oh, well, time for class. And don’t worry. We’ll sort things out.”
“Oh, sure. As long as sorting things out means using that key.” I stand, banging my shoulder into her on purpose.
She wobbles a few sideways steps and smiles. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure I’m there with you.”
CHAPTER 17
AFTER DINNER, I go up to my room to work on my science report, but the dream keeps creeping back into my thoughts. Science is fun when there’s an experiment to do, unlike this assignment.
Tonight, I have to read a twenty-page story about Sir Isaac Newton. Ugh. I’d rather read about the guy who invented Fig Newtons. Sure, Sir Isaac discovered gravity and all, but the man’s been dead for hundreds of years.
Ready for a break, I get up from my desk and raise my arms to stretch as I tour the room. In the dream, my paperbacks were floating in the water. I half expect them to be all swollen and water-warped, but there they are, lined up on their shelf, as skinny straight as they should be. Frankie, the bear is in his place too, snuggled up on the bed beside my three-foot-tall giraffe, Gerald. I saunter over to the dresser and flip open the green-stained glass box my mom made me less than a year ago. Inside are a dozen randomly shaped bits of pink-and-orange stained glass, the pieces for the light catcher Mom and I will never finish. On top of it all sits the key I pocketed down in the basement. It stares up at me, all quiet and innocent. I pick it up and trace the notched edge with my finger. It’s heavy for something so small. I close my fist over it. Should I tell Dad I have it? Why? I don’t even know what the thing opens.
The big green numbers on my clock radio tell me it’s 7:45. At eight, Dad will come up to say good night to Joey. That’s more than enough time to see if the key works.
As I’m thinking, my feet carry me to the bedroom door. I throw it open. There’s a light switch just outside, but I don’t need to flick it. The night light Joey told Kerry about is plugged into a wall socket a few feet down the hall. Not enough light to read by, but plenty to get me to the bathroom without killing myself. At the far end of the hall, the back stairs are totally dark. But I can still make out the door to the third floor a few feet to the right of them. It stands out in the gloom, teasing me. I open my fist and look at the key. Like tiny teeth marks, red notches mark my skin. And I was worried about Kerry pushing me into it.
Across the way, Joey’s video games blare on behind his closed door. To my left is the main staircase. There’s no sign of my dad, but I tiptoe over anyway and have a peek. Satisfied that he isn’t coming, I shuffle back in the opposite direction.
All I want is to find out if I’ve got the right key. After that, I’ll definitely go back and finish reading that stupid story. I draw in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. So, if I’m not doing anything wrong, why am I acting so sneaky?
Once I pass Grandma Carmen’s room, I make a slight left and stand in the shadows at the top of the servants’ stairs, listening. If Dad’s in the kitchen, I’ll hear him. From what I can tell, he’s still watching TV.
“Stop fooling around and do it,” I mutter under my breath.
The door leading to the third floor is just to the right of the stairs. Again, I feel a flash of sadness when I stand in front of it. Weird, since the thing’s no different from all the others doors on this floor. As it did before, the feeling disappears as quickly as it came, and I slide the key into the lock. It doesn’t turn. I chuckle. What a joke. After all that drama, it’s not even the right one. I start to pull it out, but stop. Somehow I know. It is the right key.
After a bit of jiggling, the lock gives some, but it still needs help. And what do you do with a rusty lock? Spray some WD-40 into it. I know I’ve seen a can somewhere in the house. Oh, yeah, down in the basement. Perfect.
I flick the light switch by the servants’ stairs and take the steps two at a time, blasting into the kitchen, a girl on a mission. I know just where to find the spray can. It’s on top of the butcher-block table back in grandpa’s workshop. All I have to do is run down there, grab the can, and run like heck back up the stairs. The trip shouldn’t take more than a minute or two, tops.
I slide the bolt on the basement door and try the light switch. Nothing. Why doesn’t this switch work? Dad said he replaced the stupid light bulb down there. Then I remember him mentioning something about a fuse box and not having the money to pay for an electrician. Figures.
After propping the door open with a chair, I grab one of the flashlights from the drawer. At least Dad replaced the old batteries with rechargeables. I turn toward the open door and freeze at the sight of the cave-like opening. Am I really going down there? By myself? What if the ghost is strong enough to push the chair out of the way?
I lug over another one and position it next to the first. “Try shutting that,” I mutter and click on the flashlight. With a deep breath, the kind a person might take before jumping off a sinking ship, I head down the stairs. “Relax. This’ll be easy.”
Dad set rat traps, but who knows if they’ve worked? In my hike down the stairs I imagine rats migrating across the basement floor like a herd of tiny buffalo. But I get to the bottom and the floor is empty. Good.
“I’m back,” I call out, announcing myself to my furry hidden audience. “The big bad giant is back. Run. Hide. I’ll only be down here for a few seconds anyway. Then you can get right back to eating dead raccoons, or whatever it is you guys do for fun.”
Knowing the layout of the basement gives me some confidence, and I glide around the stacks, making my way back to Grandpa’s workshop. There’s the table, and there’s the spray can. Yellow and blue, red cap. I give it a shake. Almost full, too. Everything’s going as planned.
Yeah? So, where’s the tricycle?
When we left the basement the other night, the trike was right there beside the worktable. I pan the light all across the floor. Did Dad move it? Goose bumps rise on my arms.
Who cares? I’ve got what I came for. I aim my flashlight toward the exit and gasp.
CHAPTER 18
THE TRICYCLE IS blocking the door to the workshop.
Its handlebars glisten harmlessly as the beam of my flashlight slides across them. Just an old pink tricycle with a cute little bell.
Yeah, but who moved it across the doorway? It’s blocking my way out.
Sweat beads pop out all over my skin, and I shiver.
“Listen up,” I tell the ghost, not feeling nearly as brave as I try to sound. “You really have a thing about that tricycle, don’t you? I don’t get why, but I promise I’ll try and figure it out.” I take a step forward. “Well . . . gotta go.” With long determined s
trides, I step up to the tricycle and pick it up by the handlebar.
Brrrrr-ching.
If the tricycle magically turned into a rattlesnake, I would not have dropped it any faster. I don’t even see the thing hit the ground because the flashlight goes out as I open my hand.
Everything goes black. No workroom. No tricycle. Just the sound of my own shaky breathing. Totally freaked, I throw myself forward, a terrible move since the trike is right there in front of me. I stumble over it, and to avoid a face plant, drop the spray can as well as the useless flashlight.
Trike or no trike, I’m not leaving without that can. I scramble, claw the dirt floor. Of course, I find the flashlight first.
After breaking two fingernails, I finally locate the can, and like a blind toddler, crawl toward where I think the door is, one cautious hand stretched out in front of me. My fingers touch the trike’s front wheel and I pull back like I’m burnt. That darned tricycle is still blocking my path, flipped on its side like some wounded animal. I stand and kick the thing away. My hands finally grip the door frame, and I breathe a little easier. From there I can make out a hint of light from upstairs. Instinct tells me to run, but I force myself to shuffle toward it, arms waving in front of me so I don’t crash into something. After what seems like forever, I can see the stairs well enough and I sprint up them, half blind with tears.
Back in the kitchen, the time on Grandma’s teapot-shaped clock blows me away. Less than five minutes have gone by. Still plenty of time before Dad heads upstairs. For now he’s still in the living room watching his baseball.I hear the announcers going on about some rookie third baseman the Giants just signed.
Slow down, I tell myself. First, you have to put the chairs back. Once I do, I look myself over. My pants are dirty, but at least they haven’t ripped. Since I really don’t want to explain why I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen with dirty knees and hands, I toss the flashlight in the drawer and race up the back stairs, WD-40 in hand.
Crazy ghost. Why did it trip me up like that? All I want to do is open that stupid door. I frown up at the hallway ceiling. Geez, Mom, I love you and all, but why couldn’t you be more specific about what you want me to look at?
I reach the top of the stairs and stop in my tracks. What if that ghost was Grandma Carmen? Is she on Dad’s side, protecting me from harm? Well, I don’t care. After all I’ve been through, that door is going to open.
I peer down the main hallway. With no sign of Dad or Joey, I walk the few steps to the mysterious door. The key is still in the lock. Dumb move. What if Joey saw it?
I pull the key out, squirt the hole a couple times, and then jam the key back in. After a few jiggles, the lock swivels a half turn and clicks. It works. Adrenaline floods through me. I set the can down and peek inside. Nothing. It’s too dark.
Okay, I’ve got the right key. This should be where I head back to my room for some more Isaac Newton. So why is my hand still holding the knob? If I go in there I’ll be breaking all kinds of promises. To Dad, to Kerry, and even myself. And why risk it when Dad will be up any minute?
I imagine my father’s voice: Curiosity killed the cat, Theresa.
Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back.
With shaking hands, I shove the key deep into my pocket. The door lets loose a loud creak when I push it open.
There’s a small landing about four feet square. I shuffle inside, leaving the door open for light. On the other side of the landing is a steep staircase, blocked by what seems like the life’s work of a hundred spiders.
I sigh. Great, more spiders.
But what’s at the top of the stairs? The light from the hallway only reaches the bottom couple of steps. I remember seeing a light switch outside the door. But there’s no time for that now. Dad will be on his way up soon. Before I can turn to leave, the shaft of light narrows then disappears altogether. I swing around just as the door clicks shut behind me.
CHAPTER 19
FOR THE SECOND time tonight, I see nothing but black. I feel for the knob, but just like before, it won’t budge. Fear presses me to the door. “Come on, you stupid door, open.”
Again, I jerk the knob from side to side, but the lock refuses to cooperate. Of course the spray can is on the other side.
Knowing Dad will kill me if he finds me here, I do my best to rattle the door off its hinges. Holy crabs! Something could be creeping down those stairs right now. I peer over my shoulder into the darkness. If even one of those steps creaks . . .
I jerk the knob for the hundredth time, and to my relief, the parts that were stuck fall into place, and the door snicks open.
Thank God. I sure don’t want to explain to Dad why I’m—Something slides across my bare ankle.
With a shriek, I bang my way out into the hall and grab the door, ready to slam it shut. No, don’t. I tell myself. You’ve made more than enough noise already.
Breathing hard, I close the door quietly and turn, ready to sprint back to my room. That’s when I hear footsteps coming up the main staircase. Oh, no. Dad’s early. There’s no way I can make it back to my room without him seeing me.
But the servants’ stairs are right there, a few feet to my right. I turn off the light there and scurry down them just as Dad reaches the top of the main staircase at the opposite end of the hall.
From the shadows, I squat down and peer between the banister railings as he pads down the hall toward Joey’s room. The blank look on his face tells me I’ve hidden myself in time.
He stops at Joey’s door. But he doesn’t knock. Instead, he stares down the hall at the door to the third floor. OMG, did I leave the key in the lock? I pat my pocket and breathe a little easier when I feel the lump. Okay, Dad. Knock on Joey’s door and head on inside so I can—Oh, no!
For some reason, he heads down the hall in my direction. With the lights off in the kitchen, the stairs are a black well behind me. Sick of running around in the dark, I hold my breath as my heart tries to burst its way out of my chest.
But instead of turning toward me and the stairs when he gets to the end of the hall, Dad stops to study the door to the third floor. Hands clenched, his lips are pressed in a hard line. Why? He knows the door is locked. A strangely posed statue, I crouch in the shadows, a silent witness. Too bad my left foot is going to sleep.
Oblivious to his little audience, Dad rubs his palm along the tall wooden door like he’s comforting an old friend. Then, for a few moments, he just stands there, head bowed. When his lips start to move, I press my forehead to the railing. Darn it, I can’t hear a thing. Pins and needles creep up my calf. I absently rub it, eyes never leaving my Dad.
Finally, he turns and heads back the way he came.
Good, now go inside Joey’s room. Numb from the knee down, I shift my weight, and the stair riser creaks beneath me.Doggonit! Like some automatic defense system, my eye flood with tears as I grab the railing and pull myself to my feet.
Dad spins around just as I to climb the last few steps. He comes at me . . . fast. Grabbing my shoulder, he yanks me toward him. “What were you doing there?”
“Nothing . . .” I blubber. “I was just coming upstairs. Honest.”
“In the dark?”
Somewhere down the hall, a door opens.
“Dad, what are you doing to Theresa?” Joey stands in the middle of the hallway dressed in nothing but his underwear and a tee-shirt.
“We’re just talking, Joey, it’s . . . it’s okay . . .” Dad lets go, but his eyes still hold me. “You weren’t watching me?”
“No, I-I just got here. Why? Is something wrong?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t worry about it.” He turns back to Joey, a big fake grin is pasted across his face. “Just a little misunderstanding, Jojo. No big deal.”
A little misunderstanding? I rub the spot where his hand gripped my arm. Since he doesn’t seem to want to kill me anymore, I sidestep past him, more than ready to get back to my room.
“Theresa . . . ?” Dad rakes h
is fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry I acted so crazy. You just surprised me is all.”
“That’s okay. I should have said something.”
“What were you doing down there, anyway?”
All of a sudden the rug is really interesting. “I, uh . . . I was in the kitchen . . . looking for a snack.”
He looks at my empty hands.
I shrug. “Nothing looked good.” Wow. That lie sure came easy. Guilt nibbles at my brain. I stuff my hands into my pockets and study the carpet some more.
“I’m going to bed,” Joey announces. His room is across from mine, and we follow him back.
Dad looks at me sideways, obviously still suspicious. “Maybe you should go to bed too.”
At that moment, I’m relieved to do just that.
CHAPTER 20
AT LUNCHTIME THE next day, Kerry and I make our way to our usual table at the far end of the school’s courtyard. She listens, a lopsided grin on her face, as I tell her about last night’s adventures.
“Crikey, every day it’s something. I warned you not to go looking for ghosts without me.”
“I wasn’t looking for ghosts. I was looking for the WD-40 can so I could get the lock open.”
She slides onto the bench. “I bet you’ll think twice before you go down into the basement by yourself again.”
“You got that right.” I drop into my spot across from Kerry and start to unwrap my taco.
“Do you have any idea why the ghost wanted to block you from leaving your grandfather’s workshop?” she asks.
“None.”
“There could be more than one ghost, you know.”
Never thought of that. “That’s true,” I mumble through a mouthful of taco. “One that wants me to see the third floor . . .”
“And another one trying to stop you. I mean, why else block your way with the tricycle?”
For a while we eat in silence. Around us kids eat their lunches too, most likely chatting about normal things like boyfriends or what they watched on TV last night.
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