Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls

by Ann M. Martin

  “Maybe it was the paperboy,” I suggested.

  Jamie shook his head. “The paperboy doesn’t come up to our house. He stands in the street and throws the paper into the flower garden.”

  Pat, pat, pat.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “let’s be spies. Let’s sneak up to the fence and peek through the knothole by the gate.”

  “Okay,” Jamie whispered back.

  I took Jamie’s hand, and we tiptoed across the grass to the gate. Very cautiously, I closed one eye and put the other one up to the hole.

  A brown eye was looking back at me!

  I screamed.

  Jamie screamed.

  The person attached to the brown eye screamed.

  That last scream sounded awfully familiar. “Kristy?” I said.

  “Claudia?” The gate opened, and Kristy came in, trembling.

  “What were you doing?” I shouted.

  “Trying to find you,” she said. “Hi, Jamie.”

  “Hi-hi.”

  “I thought you were the—PC,” I said, nodding toward Jamie.

  “Sorry. Mom got home from work early today, so I’m off the hook with David Michael.” (Kristy and her older brothers each have to take care of their littlest brother, David Michael, one afternoon a week while Mrs. Thomas is at work. A baby-sitter comes on the other days.) “I knew you were baby-sitting here,” she went on. “Mom sent me over with something for Mrs. Newton, and I wanted to see how you were doing. I was sort of worried about the—PC myself.”

  “Did you turn on a light in the Newtons’ house?”

  Kristy nodded. “Mom made a casserole for the Newtons since Mrs. Newton doesn’t feel much like cooking anymore. I had to put on a light so I wouldn’t trip with it on my way to the refrigerator. Then I went back outside to look for you guys.”

  “I guess that wasn’t you on the phone then,” I said.

  Kristy’s eyes opened wide. “The phone rang?”

  “Just a couple of minutes ago, while you were walking around looking for us.”

  “Did you answer it?”

  “No, we—we missed it.”

  “I bet it was Daddy,” said Jamie.

  Kristy and I exchanged knowing looks.

  “Do you want me to stay for a while?” asked Kristy.

  “Yes!” said Jamie and I, for different reasons.

  Kristy can be a blabbermouth and a baby, but she can also be a very good friend.

  That night, Janine helped me with my homework. She is picky, picky, picky. I bet teachers wouldn’t even notice half the things she makes me correct. We were just finishing up when a great crash of thunder sounded.

  “Gosh, it’s late in the season for thunderstorms,” Janine remarked.

  “Ooh, but I love them,” I said. “They make me feel all shivery…. Janine?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Remember when we were little and we’d crawl under Mom and Dad’s bed during thunderstorms? We’d pretend we were camping—”

  “But we were really just hiding.”

  “Yeah,” I said fondly.

  “Very interesting, psychologically,” said Janine. “The fear process—”

  “Janine?”

  “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  Janine glared at me, then stalked out of the room. I knew Mimi had said I would have to work at being Janine’s friend, and she was right. It would take a lot of work. How did Janine get the “fear process” out of something as nice as autumn thunderstorms? Even so, I resolved not to give up so easily the next time we talked.

  I flicked on the radio and turned it to the local station. I listened to it while I worked on my still life. Maybe the weather report would mention something about the thunderstorm.

  I dabbed away at the gray area under the egg. It’s hard to figure out what shape shadow an egg will cast.

  The music came to an end, and I perked up my ears. “At the top of the news,” said the radio newscaster suddenly, “is a local story. The thief dubbed the Phantom Caller has been spotted in a stolen car traveling south through New Jersey. State troopers are tailing him. Details on the hour.”

  “All right!” I cried. “He’s gone!” I was so excited that I turned off the radio, snatched up the phone, and called Stacey. “Guess what! Guess what!” I cried.

  “What?” said Stacey excitedly. “Wait. Trevor called you, right? Oh, I knew he would. I knew it! Oh, Claud, did he ask—”

  “Stacey, Stacey,” I said. “That’s not it.” I felt like a deflated balloon. “He didn’t call. It’s something else.” Unfortunately, the something else wasn’t as exciting as Trevor. “Oh,” said Stacey.

  “The Phantom Caller’s gone. I just heard it on the radio.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Heading south through New Jersey. Away from us. The police are after him.” “Oh, I hope they catch him.” “Well, even if they don’t, he’s out of our hair. We can forget about the Phantom Caller for good.”

  A little while later, I hung up the phone. Then I called Kristy to tell her the news, and then I called Mary Anne.

  Boy, were we relieved.

  The next evening, I had a sitting job for two little girls, Nina and Eleanor Marshall. On school nights, I’m allowed to baby-sit until nine-thirty. The deal with my homework is that it must get done in the afternoon. I worked on it with my mother.

  At seven-thirty that night, I was in the Marshalls’ kitchen, pouring a glass of milk for Nina, who’s three. (Eleanor, who’s just a year old, was already in bed.) The radio was playing in the background. Nina was watching TV in the den.

  Then, just like the night before, a song ended, and the announcer began the evening news with a piece about the Phantom Caller.

  Oh, good! I thought. They’ve captured him.

  But I was wrong. Very wrong.

  “The man thought to be the Phantom Caller,” said the newscaster, “has been captured—and is not the Phantom Caller. The Phantom Caller is still at large.”

  Still at large! What a horrible way to phrase that. It sounded as if he might be anywhere … maybe in the Marshalls’ backyard … or peering through the kitchen window.

  I turned off the radio.

  Then I dared to look around to see whether the Phantom Caller was at the window. All I could see were the kitchen lights reflected in the glass.

  I put the carton of milk in the refrigerator and picked up the glass. “Nina!” I called. “Here’s your milk.”

  She scurried into the kitchen just as the phone rang. “I want to talk,” she said.

  I was trembling, but I tried not to let Nina know. “Only if it’s your Mom,” I told her. I picked her up and lifted the receiver, dreading the voice I might hear, hoping it really was Mrs. Marshall just calling to check on things.

  “Hello?” I said lightly (for Mrs. Marshall’s benefit).

  Silence.

  “Hello? … Hello?”

  More silence. Then a click as the caller hung up. Oh, my gosh. The Phantom Caller was in Stoneybrook. I just knew it.

  I wondered if I should call Stacey and give her our coded message. What was I supposed to ask about? Barrettes? Ribbons.

  “Claudia?”

  I jumped a mile as Nina asked, “Who is it?”

  “Wrong number,” I said. I hung up the phone, put her down, and handed her the milk. “Well, let’s go watch TV,” I suggested.

  “I can’t anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my show is over. I have to go to bed.” Nina was getting a milk mustache.

  “So soon?”

  “That’s my bedtime. After my show.”

  I knew what her bedtime was, but maybe just once she could stay up a little longer. “How about a special treat?” I said excitedly. “You can stay up until eight o’clock.”

  “But Mommy and Daddy don’t let me. That’s the rule.”

  What was I doing anyway, trying to convince a three-year-old to keep me company? “Okay, th
en. Upstairs we go.”

  Nina handed me her empty glass. I put it in the sink and we climbed the stairs. I turned on every light I could possibly find. I wondered what kind of jewelry Mrs. Marshall had.

  After Nina was in bed, I tiptoed to Eleanor’s room to check on her. I stood in the doorway and let the light from the hall shine into her bedroom. I stared at her crib.

  It looked empty!

  Oh, my gosh! Maybe the Phantom Caller was in the Marshalls’ house somewhere and he’d taken Eleanor! I dashed over to her crib. There she was, all bunched into a corner. I straightened her out and covered her up again.

  Eleanor sighed in her sleep.

  I sighed, too.

  I turned off the upstairs lights and went back down to the den. I turned the TV on. Then I turned it off. If the TV was on, the Phantom Caller could sneak up on me too easily. I sat in the silence and flipped through a magazine.

  Crick, crick, crick.

  What was that?

  Just the Marshalls’ cat settling down on a pile of newspapers.

  Plink, plink.

  What was that?

  Water dripping in the sink.

  All the little noises were driving me crazy. I put the TV back on. I tried to watch it, but my gaze kept traveling to the dark windows that faced the backyard. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I shut the curtains.

  Then I decided to call Stacey.

  “Claudia!” Stacey exclaimed when she got on the phone. “Have you been listening to the news?”

  “Yes!” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I was just going to call you because I know you’re baby-sitting. I don’t know what to think!”

  “Oh, it’s so spooky here. Every little noise makes me jump. And you know what? The phone rang a while ago, and the caller didn’t say a word. He just hung up.”

  “Oooh. But you’re … you’re not asking about your hair ribbon,” Stacey said cautiously.

  “No,” I replied. “Not yet.”

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “I do, but I don’t want the Marshalls to come home and find you here with me. I don’t want them to think I can’t handle a simple job by myself.”

  “Well, do you want to stay on the phone a while?”

  “Yes. That would be great.”

  “So what’s going on with Trevor?” asked Stacey.

  “Oh, the usual.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah. I wonder if he even knows about the Halloween Hop. Poets are sometimes off in their own worlds. Maybe he hasn’t heard the announcements in school.”

  “Oh, I bet he has,” said Stacey. “How could anyone miss them?” She put her hand over the receiver to disguise her voice and did a pretty good imitation of Mr. Taylor talking on the intercom. “As you know, children, Halloween falls on October thirty-first this year.”

  I giggled. “Mr. Taylor is so dumb. He thinks we—” I broke off.

  “Claudia?” asked Stacey.

  “Shhh.” I held the phone away from my ear and listened intently. I definitely heard footsteps in the garage. “Stacey, Stacey,” I said urgently. “Have you found my b—I mean, did you see my—Have you found my … my …”

  “Your red ribbon?” whispered Stacey.

  “Yes!” I gasped.

  “Yes, I did. I mean, no, I found—I …”

  “Did you find my blue—Oh, no, Stacey, someone’s at the garage door. I can hear the knob rattling!”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Claudia?” called a deep voice.

  It was all I could do not to shriek. “He called my name!” I yelped to Stacey.

  “Claudia,” said the voice again, “we’ve misplaced the house keys. Can you let us in, please?”

  I let my breath out in one long, shaking sigh. “It’s the Marshalls, Stace,” I whispered. “Gotta go. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  I ran to the back door, unlocked it, and flung it open. I have never, ever in my whole life been so glad to see anybody.

  “Hi, Claudia,” said Mrs. Marshall.

  Mr. Marshall was standing behind her, patting his pockets and muttering, “I can’t figure out where those darned keys went.”

  I held the door open for them. “Sorry for the confusion,” Mrs. Marshall went on. “The house keys may be at Mr. Marshall’s office. Here, dear, use mine,” said Mrs. Marshall to her husband. She took a ring of keys from a peg in the back hall and handed it to him. Then she turned to me. “How were the girls tonight?”

  “Oh, just fine,” I said. “Nina went to bed as soon as her show was over.”

  “Good. No problems, then?”

  “None at all.” I was still shaking.

  Mrs. Marshall began rummaging through her purse for money.

  A few minutes later, as Mr. Marshall was opening the door to walk me home, the phone rang. I heard Mrs. Marshall pick it up and say hello. Then I heard her hang up, saying, “That’s strange.”

  I shivered. It was strange, all right.

  Thursday, October 23

  This evening I baby-sat at Watson’s. It’s hard to believe Watson will become my stepfather next year. Oh, well.

  As I promised the rest of the club members last Saturday, I’ve been bringing our club record book to school every day so each of us can check the appointments and see where the others will be baby-sitting. After tonight, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. See, Karen, Watson’s five-year-old daughter, was so nervous about the woman next door who she thinks is a witch that she was making me nervous. Then, just when I was about the most scared I’ve ever been, the phone started ringing … and ringing … and ringing….

  Poor Kristy. I’m glad she and Watson, her mother’s boyfriend, finally get along better. But I guess it is a little frightening to sit at his house. I’ve never done it, but Mary Anne has. She was spooked, too. And that was a while ago, before we knew anything about the Phantom Caller. For starters, Watson’s house is huge, practically a mansion, and the house next door, which is also huge, is gloomy and rambling, with turrets and towers and dark windows everywhere. If that weren’t bad enough, little Karen is convinced that Mrs. Porter, who lives there, is a witch named Morbidda Destiny, who has put two spells on Boo-Boo, Watson’s fat cat. On the night Kristy was baby-sitting, Karen had a new twist on her fears about Mrs. Porter.

  Kristy arrived at Watson’s at seven. She can’t baby-sit very late on weeknights, but Watson was only going to Parents’ Night at Karen’s private school, so he was going to be home early. Usually, his kids, Karen and Andrew, don’t stay with him during the week, but since his ex-wife had broken her ankle, Watson was taking them more often than usual.

  “Hi, Kristy!” Karen cried when Mrs. Thomas dropped Kristy off at Watson’s.

  “Hi!” added Andrew happily. Andrew is three.

  Andrew and Karen like Kristy so much that not long ago, Kristy promised them she’d be their main baby-sitter at Watson’s until she becomes their stepsister.

  Watson walked into the front hall. “Well, Kristy,” he said warmly, “I’m so glad you could come.” (Kristy knew that Watson was really just glad she wasn’t such a pill about him and her mother anymore.) “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble tonight.”

  Kristy smiled at Watson as Boo-Boo wandered into the hall. “I know one way to avoid trouble,” she said. “We’ll keep Boo-Boo inside.” She turned to Karen and grinned at her, but Karen just stared back solemnly. Uh-oh, thought Kristy. Something’s wrong.

  “All right,” said Watson, “the emergency numbers are in the usual place, and the phone number of Karen’s school plus her classroom number are taped to the phone, just in case.” Kristy nodded. “Seven-thirty is bedtime for Andrew,” Watson went on, “and eight o’clock for Karen. By the way, there’s peppermint-stick ice cream in the freezer and … I don’t believe Andrew and Karen have had dessert yet.”

  “Yay! Ice cream!” cried Andrew, jumping up and down. Karen continued to look sol
emn.

  Kristy began to feel suspicious—and a little nervous.

  Watson shrugged into his coat. “Good-bye, pumpkin,” he said, kissing the top of Karen’s head. “Good-bye, Andy.”

  He left quickly, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be home before nine, Kristy. Thanks again.”

  Kristy glanced warily at Andrew and Karen. This was the moment when even the most baby-sat-for children sometimes burst into tears. Jamie Newton, for instance, absolutely hated for his parents to leave him just before bedtime. But Andrew was already on his way into the kitchen after the ice cream. Karen, apparently, had other things on her mind.

  “What’s the matter?” Kristy finally asked her, taking her hand. She really didn’t want to know, yet it was her job to know.

  “Morbidda Destiny,” whispered Karen.

  “What about her?” Kristy whispered back, a little shivery tickle running up her spine. She remembered how strange Mary Anne said Boo-Boo had acted the day she was baby-sitting, when Mrs. Porter had chased him out of her garden with a rake.

  “Kristy? Ice cream?” called Andrew from the kitchen.

  “Just a sec, Andrew.”

  “More spells,” whispered Karen urgently.

  “Really?” asked Kristy, trying to sound unconcerned. “Boo-Boo looks all right.”

  “Not Boo-Boo. Me,” said Karen. She closed her eyes dramatically.

  “You!” exclaimed Kristy. “What’s she done to you?”

  “Given me freckles.”

  “Karen,” said Kristy, hiding a smile, “you already had freckles. You’ve had freckles since you were two years old. I’ve seen pictures.”

  “She’s given me more.”

  “Sometimes they spread.”

  Karen shook her head.

  “Kristy!” called Andrew, sounding impatient.

  “Coming! Karen, I really don’t think you need to worry. Let’s go have some ice cream with Andrew, okay?”

  “Okay … but I’m warning you. If she squints her eyes and holds one hand in the air, she’s putting a spell on you.”

  “I’ll be on the alert,” Kristy said.

  They walked into the kitchen—and found pink ice cream dripping all over the table and onto the floor. Three bowls and three spoons were sitting stickily in the middle of the mess.