by Natale Ghent
By the time the bell rang, Itchy’s head was neatly bandaged and he was feeling well enough to hazard the walk home. But when they came out of Nurse Cane’s office, Boney and Itchy found Squeak sitting on the top rung of the janitor’s ladder outside the library, a “geek” sign pinned to his shirt. The rest of the students bustled by, enjoying their candy apples.
Itchy looked at the apples longingly as Boney helped Squeak down from the ladder.
“You have to stay out of their way,” Boney told his friend, unpinning the sign from his shirt.
Squeak shrugged. “It really wasn’t so bad. I was considering the dynamics of gravitation while I was sitting there. And I was thinking we should get a mascot for the clubhouse. What happened to your head?” he asked Itchy.
“Prisoner 95,” Itchy grumbled. “And the worst part is, he stole my candy apple money. Why do we need a mascot?”
Just as he said this, Larry Harry shouted down the hall. “Hey, Red! Have an apple on me!” he yelled, then drove a candy apple at Itchy.
Itchy ducked his bandaged head but Boney caught the apple easily with one hand. He was about to throw it back when Itchy snatched it from him.
“Thanks,” he said, unwrapping the apple.
“Lacrosse is a very dangerous game,” Squeak pointed out. “Lots of accidents can happen.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Itchy snarled, his mouth full of candy apple.
Boney agreed. “The only thing really dangerous about the game is playing against inmates like Larry and his goons. Come on. Let’s get out of here before Larry launches any more apples.”
Itchy raised his eyebrows hopefully, but Boney pulled him from the school into the yard.
The boys walked across the school grounds and along the street toward home, past the Super Quick dry cleaners owned by Mr. Martini (who gave out discount dry cleaning coupons for trick or treat that expired a week after Hallowe’en), and Top Drawer Insurance, with the expensive cars out front, past the Pets Plus shop that never seemed to have any pets for sale, and Zelda’s, the women’s clothing store with its unchanging display of faded hats and tired shoes. Itchy stopped when they reached the variety store on the corner, peering longingly through the window at the chocolate bars, his candy apple now a barren wooden stick in his hand.
“Why don’t you just buy something?” Boney said.
Itchy looked at him mournfully. “I haven’t got any money.”
“Me neither,” Boney said. “But my aunt bought more peanut butter and crackers.”
“And my dad bought some giant jars of honey,” Squeak added. “But no butter or bread.”
“What are you supposed to do with giant jars of honey?” Boney asked.
Squeak shrugged. “I don’t know. He said it was better for us than white sugar. He bought a lot of it.”
Itchy rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. Just point me in the right direction.”
BACK AT THE CLUBHOUSE, Itchy happily stuffed his face, swirling honey from a big spoon over his stack of crackers. Squeak scanned the horizon with his telescope.
“Every clubhouse has a mascot,” he said.
“I’m not wearing some stupid suit,” Itchy grunted through a mouthful of crackers.
Squeak sighed. “You don’t have to wear a suit. Not all mascots are people in costume. They can be anything: even a goldfish, or a hamster or something.”
“We don’t own a hamster,” Itchy said.
Boney listened silently to his friends’ conversation, his brow furrowed in thought as he tugged on his chin with his fingers.
“You’re gonna grow a beard if you keep that up,” Itchy said, dribbling honey on another stack of crackers.
Boney leaned back in his chair. “We should go to the mill tonight to do some investigating,” he announced.
Itchy stopped mid dribble. “Why?” He gestured at his stack of crackers. “We’re so happy here. Why do you want to spoil things?”
Squeak collapsed his telescope in his hands, considering Boney’s suggestion. “It would be a good idea to do a little sleuthing around. But I promised my dad I’d help him rewire the bathroom tonight. He found an old hand-dryer in the garbage and he wants to install it in the wall. He says it’ll save us from having to wash a bunch of towels.”
“And you can count me out,” Itchy said, standing up from the table and furiously stuffing crackers in his mouth. “It’s dinnertime.”
Boney rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go myself, then.”
Itchy shook his head. “Not safe,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, well, it needs to be done,” Boney snapped. “How are we going to know if our Apparator works if we don’t find a ghost to test it on?”
Itchy pushed the rest of the crackers in his mouth before making his way to Escape Hatch #2. “Good luck,” he said, then slid down the pole.
“You could wait until tomorrow night,” Squeak offered. “I could go with you then.” But he could tell by the look on Boney’s face that he wasn’t willing to wait. “Okay…well…have fun,” Squeak said, and disappeared down the pole.
“William!” Boney’s aunt shouted out the kitchen window. “Supper’s ready!”
CHAPTER SIX
THE GHOST OF THE OLD MILL
“What is it?” Boney asked as his aunt heaped a pile of grey glop on his plate.
“Supper Surprise.”
Boney stared at his uncle across the table. His uncle raised his bushy eyebrows sympathetically. They sighed in unison, then lifted their forks and dutifully began to eat. When Boney had managed to choke down half his supper, he lowered his fork to the table and asked to be excused. His aunt eyed his half-finished plate critically.
“It was very good,” Boney lied. “I just don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”
“It’s all that candy you eat in that clubhouse of yours,” his aunt complained as she cleared his plate from the table and slopped his leftovers back into the pot. “I’m sure your friend Squeak would love to have such a wholesome meal. His father hasn’t got a clue in the kitchen, and it’s not as if his mother is going to come traipsing back from whatever cabaret she’s running around with.”
“Mildred!” Boney’s uncle exclaimed.
“Not to worry, though,” his aunt continued. “It’ll be hot and ready for supper tomorrow. It’s supposed to be even better the second day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Boney conceded. “I was thinking of going for a short bike ride, if that’s okay.”
His aunt peered out the kitchen window. “It’s near dark.”
“I’ll stay on the sidewalk,” Boney promised.
She cocked her head to one side. “Do you hear that buzzing?” she asked.
Boney didn’t answer. Instead, he took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen and into the garage to retrieve his bike. Boney’s metallic-blue Schwinn stood at the ready. It had everything a boy like Boney could want: sparkly silver banana seat, chrome sissy-bar for transporting friends, and wide whitewall tires guaranteed to leave an impressive skid.
Boney wheeled his bike from the garage, the playing card he had clipped with a clothespin to the spokes clicking nicely. He hopped on the bike and pedalled down the driveway to the sidewalk. He waved to Squeak’s dad, who was stepping out of his old brown Oldsmo-bile, hand-dryer in tow. Boney rode toward Itchy’s, where his dad was just leaving for another show and his wife was kissing him at the door.
“Good luck, Mr. Schutz,” Boney called out as he pedalled past.
Mr. Schutz curled his lip and struck a pose, pointing at Boney.
Itchy’s dog, Snuff, streaked from beneath the porch and lunged at Boney’s ankle, tearing at his pant leg. Boney kicked as best he could, his bike swerving dangerously on the sidewalk. Then Mrs. Pulmoni’s cat appeared, running into the street, causing Snuff to abandon his attack on Boney and take up the chase. Mrs. Scheider’s schnauzers joined the fray, barking furiously through their living-room window.
Boney pedalled to the end of th
e street, then rested, allowing the bike to coast as he enjoyed the regular bump bump bump of the tires over the cracks in the sidewalk. He veered to the left. The street rolled and twisted toward the river. Except for a few lonely houses, the road was dark with trees. The sun was fading quickly. There was a chill in the air. It was late September, after all.
Boney zipped along, punching in and out of the lamplight for several blocks until the streetlights disappeared altogether. He pedalled more slowly, squinting at the slender crescent of moon floating among the stars. He remembered what Squeak had said about the full moon and the ghost of the Old Mill. A shiver ran up his spine. He wished Itchy and Squeak were with him. But it didn’t stop him from pushing on.
The whitewall tires on Boney’s Schwinn whizzed over the pavement. Soon the street became little more than a rocky path. The bike tires bounced off stones, and Boney’s sneakered feet flew from the pedals with the force. The path curved down to where the river slithered like a glittering snake at the bottom of the hill. And there, beside the river, were the ruins of the haunted mill.
Boney kicked back on the coaster brake, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Boulders from the crumbled walls gleamed like bones in the night. He listened intently, the sound of his own breathing rasping in his ears. He wondered if he should turn around and go home. He hesitated, then pushed off with one foot, and his bike wobbled forward. He would just take a peek, he told himself. He wouldn’t stay long.
At the bottom of the hill, Boney dismounted. Now that he was closer, he could see the familiar shape of the mill ruins. It formed a giant horseshoe with three walls still standing, the fourth a heap of stones on the ground. The roof was missing entirely but the old water turbine was still intact, a motionless wooden wheel against the sky.
Boney leaned his bike on the rubble pile. Peering over the stones, he could see several rusty tin cans scattered inside the walls and a pit where fires had been built over the years. An old log had been dragged beside the fire for sitting. Bits of paper littered the ground, along with a few pieces of discarded clothing here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary, Boney reassured himself. Nothing ghostly.
All at once his eyes caught something glinting near the firepit, something he hadn’t noticed right away. It twinkled invitingly, then faded, then twinkled again.
That’s weird, Boney thought, staring at the twinkling thing.
He wondered if he shouldn’t just leave, forget about the twinkling altogether, then decided it was his duty to investigate. Squeak and Itchy would have wanted him to. Well…Squeak, at least.
Climbing over the stones, Boney found himself standing within the old foundation walls of the mill. The air felt somehow colder. Boney shivered. He stepped cautiously toward the firepit. The mysterious object glimmered invitingly as he drew close. It was probably just a piece of glass, or an old length of wire, Boney told himself. Or perhaps it was a glass lens, held together with wire. As in wire glasses…left behind…by a kid…who was eaten by a ghost!
Boney gulped. Just a few feet more and he would have an answer.
As he approached the edge of the firepit, he heard a terrible sound—an awful, blood-curdling noise that seemed to rise from the stones along the wall in front of him. Boney froze, the hair bristling on the back of his neck, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The ghost of the mill had come to kill him! It moaned again, even louder and more horrifying than before. Boney opened his mouth to scream as a white form shot out from behind the stone wall, streaking toward him.
Boney spun around, his sneakers pounding the dirt as he ran. Clearing the pile of stones in a single leap, he wrenched his bike from its resting spot and jumped onto the seat, legs pumping with all their might, stones spraying from his back tire. He crested the top of the hill in seconds, convinced the ghost was screaming after him. Careening along the road, he nearly drove right into Larry Harry walking with Jones and Jones.
“Where’s the fire, Bonehead?” Larry yelled.
But Boney didn’t even slow down. He tore past Larry Harry, nearly knocking him to the ground.
“Get back here, you little creep!” Larry shouted, but Boney was already a silhouette on the horizon.
Boney streaked along the sidewalk toward home. Turning into the driveway, he practically slammed his bike into the garage as he skidded to a halt. Jumping off, he threw open the door and rolled his bike to its place along the back wall. He didn’t bother to engage the kickstand but simply dropped the bike and ran, slamming the door behind him. He rushed into the house, through the kitchen, past his aunt and uncle, who stared at him in surprise, and all the way up to his room, shutting the door with a bang. He breathlessly pulled the towel from the Tele-tube and placed the tube to his lips.
“Squeak, are you there? Over.”
Silence. Boney brushed the hair from his eyes in agitation. “Come in, Squeak, it’s urgent—over.”
More silence. Boney dropped the Tele-tube in frustration and paced around his bedroom, hands on his hips. He was just about to storm over to his friend’s house when he heard the familiar sound of Squeak’s voice floating through the tube.
“Squeak here.”
Boney rushed to the tube, speaking frantically. “I saw it!”
“Saw what?”
“The ghost!”
There was silence on the other end of the tube. “You mean…the one at the haunted mill?”
“Yes! The ghost!” Boney shouted.
“Are you sure?”
“It chased me.”
Loud rustling emanted from Squeak’s Tele-tube.
“Itchy wants to know what’s going on.”
“Tell him I saw the ghost and we need to expedite the Apparator. Tell him we have to go to school early tomorrow so we can register our entry in the Invention Convention right away.”
Boney heard murmuring through the tube, then a long pause.
“He’s freaking out,” Squeak finally reported.
“Tell him he’s not backing out of this—it’s too scientifically important! We need to field test our invention. I don’t care how scared he is!”
“What did the ghost look like?” Squeak asked. But before Boney could answer, there was a confusion of footsteps in the hall outside his bedroom door.
“William…what’s going on?” his aunt called out. “It’s past your bedtime.”
“Gotta go!” Boney hissed into the tube. “Just tell him to be up and ready early tomorrow morning—or else.”
He covered the tube with the towel then quickly changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. Reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, he got a flash of the ghost in his head and decided to sleep with the light on instead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A PLAN FOR REVENGE
The next morning, Boney left the house early to collect his friends. The second he reached Squeak’s walkway, he was hit in the head with a rolled up newspaper.
“Hey, watch it!” Boney shouted, picking up the paper and tossing it back at the paperboy, who whizzed down the street on his bike.
Boney reached to ring the bell on Squeak’s house just as the door opened.
“I finished the schematics for the Apparator,” Squeak said, stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind him. He produced a long scroll from his bag, unrolling it so Boney could see. “I’m only missing one thing—the rare earth magnets. But I’ve ordered them through the mail, so we should have them in a week or so.”
“Excellent job,” Boney said, admiring Squeak’s drawing. “We can start work on it tonight.”
Squeak carefully replaced the drawing in his bag as they walked to Itchy’s house. When they arrived, Snuff leapt from the porch, chasing after a squirrel. Boney shook his head as he rang the doorbell. “How can you think he’s cute?”
Squeak and Boney waited at the door for several minutes. Boney was about to ring the bell again when Mr. Schutz answered the door, still wearing his Elvis costume.
“More fans,” he muttered. “I go
tta get a security guard…or something.”
Mrs. Schutz appeared beside him in her purple bathrobe. She handed her husband a thick sandwich. He held the sandwich in the air for the boys to see.
“Peanut butter and banana,” he announced. “Breakfast of Kings.” He took a big bite of the sandwich then turned and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Itchy!” he yelled.
Mrs. Schutz smiled. “You’re up early this morning,” she said to Boney and Squeak. “Something special going on?”
Boney smiled politely back. “Science stuff.”
Itchy finally appeared, his hair messier than usual, a blueberry muffin in each hand. He promptly stuffed a muffin in his mouth, swallowed, then immediately devoured the second one. His mom handed him a brown lunch bag and kissed him as he walked out the door.
“Why are we up so early?” He opened his lunch bag and began eating his sandwich.
“We need to enter our submission forms for the convention,” Boney said. “And I want to talk about our plan for revenge.”
Itchy stopped mid-bite. “What do you mean, plan for revenge? I thought we were talking about the convention. You never said anything about a plan for revenge.”
“Yes, I did. I told you I was hatching something. Anyway, don’t worry about it. It’s a good plan. You’re going to like it.”
Itchy swallowed a big bite of sandwich. “Shouldn’t we stick to one crazy idea at a time?”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Yeah, but I’m getting indigestion just thinking about it.”
“Maybe you should chew your food better,” Squeak advised.
Itchy stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Guys…we forgot, there’s football practice today.”
“So what?” Boney said. “We’re not on the team.”
“Yeah…but they are.” Itchy pointed his half-eaten sandwich down the street to where Larry Harry and Jones and Jones were approaching.
“Don’t they ever sleep?” Squeak said. “Why don’t they go steal some mail and leave us alone?”