Kerry’s staring bug-eyed, her brand-new inhaler glued to her lips. As usual, Joey’s as calm as a sleeping puppy.
“Why are you scared?” he asks me. “It’s so little, and Kerry said they can’t hurt us.”
The ghost raises an arm, signaling for us to come closer. None of us moves, and it glides silently toward us.
“Oh, cool . . .” Joey says.
Kerry steps aside.
But the little ghost doesn’t seem to care about either one of them. It’s coming toward me. My trembling hands clutch the camera in a death grip. With my heart ready to explode, I shuffle back toward the stairs, pulling my brother with me.
“Let me go,” Joey insists as he peels my fingers from his arm. “It wants you, not me.”
Not exactly the protective brother I was hoping for. Luckily, the ghost doesn’t come any closer. It stares at me, and even though its eyes are no more than dark craters I get the feeling it’s disappointed.
“Wha-what do we do now?” I ask Kerry, unable to tear my eyes from the tiny black-and-white screen in front of me.
“Just keep filming . . . please.”
So, even though my stomach feels like I swallowed a bucket of snakes, that’s what I do. And that’s fine if the ghost would just stay put, but no. My breath catches as it starts to move. To my relief, this time it heads toward one of the four doors that surround us.
“Where’s it going?” Joey asks.
I take deep breaths, hoping to slow my heart down. The spirit stops at the door and turns. Again it looks right at me, and again, the ants are marching up my arms, but this time in rows of tens and twenties.
“I think it wants Theresa to follow it,” Kerry says.
“Me? H-how do you know?”
The little ghost raises a blurry arm, signaling.
“That,” says Joey.
Holy crabs! It does want me to follow it. I lick my lips. “Kerry . . . ?”
When it sees I’m staying put, the ghost shoulders seem to slump, and it turns toward the door. I watch, open mouthed, as the thing appears to soak into the closed door and disappear.
“The EMF meter still has three lights lit,” Joey says. “I think it’s still on the other side . . . waiting for you.”
“You should open that door,” Kerry whispers.
Even though I’d rather eat a bowl of worms, she’s right. That ghost wants me to see what’s back there. But what could it be? And why me? I haven’t been in this house since I was a baby. And never up here.
With a sigh, I creep across the space between me and the door. It makes sense that we open it. But I’m in no hurry.
Kerry grips her inhaler, so excited she’s practically vibrating. “Do you want me to?”
“No, I can do it.” Slowly, I step closer. Barely breathing, I lay my hand on the doorknob. Kerry gives me a “be careful” nod. That’s when I get the feeling someone is right behind us. Another ghost? Before I can turn around, the chandelier blazes on. Blinded, I shriek. Kerry too.
“What the heck are you kids doing up here?”
Hearing my dad’s voice surprises me, and I scream again as he jerks me away from the door. Two big hands grab my thrashing arms and pin them to my sides.
“Calm down!” Dad shouts.
Kerry and Joey squint and blink, their mouths hanging open. With his dark hair sticking out in all directions and dressed only in a tee-shirt and gym shorts, Dad looks almost as scared as they do.
“What happened?” he asks me, all buggy-eyed.
I throw my arms around him. “We saw a ghost.”
“A ghost, huh?” He moves away from the door. Still hugging, I stumble along with him. “Where?”
Joey points at the empty floor, then at the door.
Dad raises my chin with his finger. “Have you been in there?”
I shake my head, and his expression changes from scared to relieved, and he returns my hug, his big arms pressing my head to his chest.
What’s with him?
He turns to Joey. “So, nobody went in there?”
“Theresa was going to,” Joey answers, “but—”
“But I scared you,” Dad finishes, looking a little guilty.
“Not me.” Joey points. “Those two were the scared ones.”
The wrinkles on Dad’s forehead smooth as he watches Joey step to the wall and rub his hand across the fuzzy red wallpaper. Then he notices all the gadgets we’re toting.
“What’s all this stuff? Kerry, is it yours?”
“Mostly. All except for this one.” She holds up the thermal camera. “It’s my uncle’s.”
Dad turns back to me and frowns. “How did you guys get in here?”
He drills me with his eyes, and my gaze drops. “I found the key in Grandpa’s workshop the other day.”
“And you kept it a secret. Didn’t I tell you not to come up here? I told you it was dangerous.”
“But it’s not,” Kerry blurts.
With the look Dad gives her, she probably wishes she could suck the words back into her mouth.
“Yeah, well . . . I’ve never actually been up here, so . . .” Dad turns away from us, and Kerry’s gaze ping pongs between me and him.
Dad turns to me, with one hand out, palm up. “Give me the key.”
I dig it out of my pocket, and he takes it.
“Even though this place doesn’t look dangerous, it is,” he says, pointing at the door we’d watched the little ghost pass through just minutes ago. “And that room especially. I uh . . . remember your grandfather warning me about it.”
“But the ghost,” Kerry sputters. “It wanted us to go in there.”
“What?” Dad scowls at Kerry. “That’s impossible.”
Joey and I nod.
“It was really little,” Joey said. He holds his hand out, palm down. “Some little kid must have died here back before Grandpa and Grandma Ramos bought the house.”
Dad’s jaw drops. “Y-you saw . . . no, you couldn’t have.”
“I think Mom might be involved,” I blurt out. “I had this dream the other night, and she—”
“Okay,” Dad says, chest heaving. “Stop it right there.”
He squeezes his eye shut, and the three of us watch as he draws in several deep breaths, calming himself. He finally opens his eyes, and a stiff smile creeps across his lips.
“You kids really need to get your imaginations under control. Come on, we’re leaving.” He starts herding us all back down the stairs.
“But I recorded it.” I turn back, hold up my camera. I even try to stop, but he’s not having it. Strong hands turn me around. They press on my back as we head back downstairs.
“You didn’t see any ghosts,” Dad tells us. “You kids were all pumped up with adrenaline. You just imagined you saw one.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in his voice. “Go to bed, girls, and leave Joey out of it from now on.”
Once we’re all out in the main hallway, I spin around, trying to hand him the camera. “Sorry, Dad, but you’re wrong. We really did see a ghost. I recorded it on this camera, and Kerry got it on hers too. Don’t you want to see?”
Dad swings the door to the third floor shut and locks it. “Right now I want you all to go to bed. We’ll deal with this in the morning. And no more noise, okay? I mean it.”
Eventually, Kerry and I do go to bed, but not until after we see what we’ve recorded.
CHAPTER 25
THE NEXT MORNING, Joey, Kerry, and I are sitting around the kitchen table eating pancakes as Dad surprises us by marching in the back door. We didn’t even know he had gone out. Without saying a word, he drops a small brown paper bag on the counter and heads down to the basement.
“What’s Dad doing?” Joey asks.
“I don’t know.” I wave him toward the stairs. “Go look.”
Since Dad has taken care of all the problems in the basement, it’s safe now, and Joey takes the steps two at a time. While he’s gone, I take a peek in the bag.
�
��It’s a combination lock and one of those things you screw onto the wall to hook them through.”
“You mean a hasp?” Kerry asks.
“I guess.” I hold up the hinged hunk of metal.
After a couple of minutes, Joey trots back up the stairs. “Dad’s in Grandpa’s workshop looking for a drill. He says he’s going to lock up the third floor so nobody can ever get in there again.”
I pick up my empty plate. “That’s okay. Last night we got two good recordings. If those don’t win the Ghosters contest, nothing will.”
ONCE WE’VE TAKEN care of the breakfast dishes, Kerry and I head up to my room. Dad’s pretty good with tools, so the new lock is already in place when we get there.
“Crikey,” Kerry says as we peer down the hall at the shiny silver-and-black lock. “Your dad must really be peeved.”
“You got that right,” I mutter.
I pad across my bedroom, grab my laptop, and plop down in the big chaise longue in the corner. After a few clicks, the Ghosters website fills my screen. The contest info takes up half of the main page.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Kerry asks. “Your dad never gave you permission to enter the contest.”
How can I explain that I’m doing this for Dad’s own good, as well as my own? I smile up at her. “He never said I couldn’t.”
“You’re starting to sound like me.” Kerry pulls the infrared camera out of her backpack and pops out the memory chip.
“I bet they’ve gotten a thousand submissions,”I say, scrolling down.
“Doesn’t matter. Ours have to be the best.” She hovers alongside me as one at a time, our little treasures are successfully uploaded to the Ghosters website.
The word NEXT appears in a little box on the screen.
I click on it, and there’s all our info, including the names of both our files. Satisfied I’ve inputted everything correctly, I smile up at Kerry and move the mouse over the word SUBMIT.
What the heck? In a flash, my grin morphs into a big fat scowl. Right abovethe big yellow SUBMIT buttonthere’s a little square and these words beside it: By clicking this box you acknowledge that you are over eighteen years of age.
“Blast,” Kerry says. “Looks like we’re out.”
“No we aren’t.” I move the cursor over the yellow button.
“We’re not eighteen, Theresa.”
“So?” Since Kerry’s looming over me like a six-foot-two vulture, I turn things around by hopping up on the chaise longue and look down on her for a change. “They don’t know we’re not eighteen. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? They don’t pick us as finalists?”
“No, the worst thing would be that they do pick us as finalists. My parents don’t mind my ghost chasing, but yours . . .” She throws up her arms. “It’s bad enough that we’re entering the contest without your dad’s permission, but what do you think he’ll do if those Ghosters vans pull up in your driveway and Tyson O’Seanesey gets out looking for a grown-up Theresa and Kerry?”
I shrug. “You look pretty grown up to me.”
She takes a step back, giggling at the sight of me. “Come down here. I’ve got an idea how we can even this height thing out.”
We lie on the bed, our heads side by side. Hands clasped over our chests, we stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars I glued to the ceiling.
I speak first. “The way I see it, even if the Ghosters do show up, what’s my dad going to do? Chase them away with a shotgun? He might yell at me, but he never goes off on strangers. Anyway, he needs money, and that’s an awful lot of cash to slam a door on.”
“But what about the Ghosters? They’ll—”
“They’ll be mad when they find out we lied, but I doubt if they’ll come all this way just to turn around and go home. We just have to pray that Tyson O’Seanesey can talk Dad into letting them in.”
“But what if your dad doesn’t allow the Ghosters inside?”
A few feet away on my pillow, Frankie the bear watches and listens. I drag him over and tuck him under my arm. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’m tired of seeing him this way, Kerry. He can’t write . . . He—he can’t support us. And he’s always grumpy. Winning this contest could change all of that.” I’m also hoping the win will make Dad like me more, but that’s something I’m not ready to share yet.
“Well, you know what I want.”
“Then I’m doing it.” I get up and click the SUBMIT button. Even though I’ve just added another lie to my growing list, it feels right.
CHAPTER 26
TO MY SURPRISE, two weeks pass and we still haven’t heard from the Ghosters people. Kerry stays positive. She thinks we haven’t heard from them yet because they’ve received more submissions than they expected. I’m not so sure. As Dad always says, there’s always somebody out there who can beat you.
With no ghost activity since the night Dad caught us up on the third floor, and no news from the contest, I try to put the whole thing out of my mind. But Kerry’s still a ghost nut, and every Wednesday afternoon we sprawl out on the living room sofa to watch Ghosters, followed by Paranormal Pets.
“Why do we even watch this stupid pet show?” I ask her.
“I think it’s fun.”
“It’s about the ghosts of dead dogs and cats coming back to haunt their masters. They don’t even have images, just noises and smells.”
“You forget last week’s episode. Remember when that old woman had her hand licked? That would totally freak me out.”
I giggle. “True, but human ghosts are better.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They don’t smell like dog poop.”
That one earns me a pillow to the face. My return throw misses Kerry completely, grazing the lamp on the end table behind her. Terrified, I watch it wobble. But before Grandma’s lamp crashes onto the floor, Kerry grabs it just as a loud buzz makes the phone rattle halfway across the coffee table. I spring up as if electrocuted. “What if it’s Ghosters calling?”
Kerry steadies the lamp and gives me a shove. “So, answer it and find out, silly.”
I push the button and hold the receiver to my ear, face scrunching from the stress.
“Hello?” The word comes out a squeak.
“Hello, my name is Debbie Langston. I’m secretary to Mr. Tyson O’Seanesey, executive producer of Ghosters. May I please speak to either Theresa Martinez or Kerry Sullivan?”
My mouth opens in a silent scream, and I bunny hop across the room.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Debbie Langston asks.
Kerry bops me on the back of the head. “Say something, you twit.”
The smack yanks me back to reality. “Th-this is Theresa Martinez.”
“Theresa, your recordings have been selected as one of the three finalists in the Ghosters Halloween Contest, and Mr. O’Seanesey would like to schedule a date for the team to explore the location of your manifestation. Would that be all right?”
“Sure,” I tell her, then grin at Kerry. “I’d love for the Ghosters team to explore my house.”
“Great. Your online submission form says the location of the manifestation is the same as your mailing address. Is that correct?”
Like an idiot, I nod.
“Speak,” Kerry pleads.
I nod harder. “Yes, yes, that’s right. We recorded it upstairs.”
“That’s wonderful. Mr. O’Seanesey and the team are very excited to experience your apparition first hand.” She pauses. “Um . . . Theresa, your submission also states that you’re over eighteen years of age. Is that correct?”
Lying on the Internet was so much easier. As Kerry would say, blast.
“Theresa . . . ? Are you still there?”
“Yes, hold on.” I put my hand over the phone. Kerry’s looking at me like I’m the biggest dork she’s ever seen. I glare at her. “She wants to know if I’m really over eighteen,” I whisper.
“Tell her yes.”
I clear
my throat then speak in the most grown-up voice I can manage. “I’m sorry . . . the uh . . . dog had a little accident. You were saying?”
“I asked if you were over eighteen.” Debbie Langston chuckles. “You, uh, sound a little young, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Oooooh, don’t you worry . . . I’m legal.” I cringe at just how phony I sound, but plow ahead anyway. “You’d be amazed at how often I get that. No, I’m far from being eighteen.”
Even though my heart is pounding a mile a minute, Debbie must be convinced, because she gives me a good laugh for that. Within a few minutes we’ve arranged for the Ghosters to show up at ten p.m. Saturday night. All the while, Kerry is looking at me with a mixture of half-respect and half-shock.
“That was amazing,” she says, once Debbie and I say our goodbyes.
I imagine a cartoon with a big snowball tumbling down mountain. The ball takes out everything in its path: squirrels . . . rabbits—even trees. Everything sticks, and the ball grows and grows.
“What’s the matter?” Kerry asks. “I should think you’d be happy.”
“I’m not sure. I mean, yeah, I’m glad we were selected, but the lying. It was fun while I was doing it, but now . . .” My shoulders sag. “I feel greasy, like I need a shower, but on the inside.”
“Forget all that that. We’ve been selected. We’re going to be on television.” To my surprise, she takes my hands and jumps up and down. “And when we win, we’ll be famous and rich, rich, rich.”
“Woohoo!” I shout.
Kerry pulls me out into the middle of the room and we do a few spins and hops, shouting and laughing. Like all the other unpleasant things in my life, I try to sweep the little scam I played on Debbie Langston aside. This time I hide it under something good, the chance to hand my father a check for $100,000.
Dad’s at the store, but Joey’s upstairs, and the noise brings him out of his room. We hear him on the stairs, and we quit all the hopping and drop back onto the sofa like puppets that just had their strings cut. I click the TV back on and switch to Animal Planet.
“What were you two doing?” Joey asks, already eyeballing the TV screen.
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