The Haunting of Eagle Creek Middle School (Samantha Wolf Mysteries Book 5)

by Tara Ellis

  Sam’s learned a lot this past year about communicating better with her mom and dad, but she doesn’t feel like they have crossed into territory yet where they’re doing anything wrong. It could very well be that there isn’t anything, or anyone in the basement and it’s all been a big coincidence. Once they’re sure, then they’ll actually have something to tell an adult.

  Fortunately, what seems to be a typical scenario develops and all the other kids have reasons why they have to leave before it’s time to pick up. Various jars of poster board paint are strewn around the gym floor, with corresponding paper plates and paint-filled paintbrushes. The cardboard panels are still drying, and while it all looks amazing, there’s a lot of work to do before they’re done for the evening.

  “Goodness!” Lisa Covington exclaims, glancing at her watch. “It’s nearly six and we’re nowhere close to being done. It’s a good thing we ordered the pizza, but I don’t know how much longer I can stay. The horses need tending before it gets dark.”

  “I can stay and lock up again,” John offers.

  Sam feels a wave of relief as Lisa happily agrees, and gives him the keys. She can see a certain amount of guilt on John’s face, though, and hopes he doesn’t feel badly. It’s exactly how he would have reacted, even if they didn’t have an ulterior motive.

  By seven, the kids have the mess picked up, and the boards are dry enough to stack. They work in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as to what they might find under the school.

  Once they make their way down the shadowy stairs, they go out of their way to talk loudly to each other. Sam’s laughter echoes back at her when she overreacts to a stupid joke that Hunter tells. John opens the supply closet door a little too hard, so that it slams back against the wall, reverberating loudly. Cassy squeals as Hunter chases her with a still damp paintbrush, and Ally yells at him to stop.

  Perfect.

  Sam bounces on the balls of her feet, impatient to be done. Glancing up and down the hallway, she hands another panel in to John and then breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes it’s the last one. Time for the next phase!

  “Come one!” she shouts. “It’s getting really late. Mom is going to be wondering where we are, and I’ve still got homework to do!”

  “So do I,” Cassy answers from the top of the stairs. “I seriously need to study for a math test, too, or I’m afraid I might fail it.”

  They all make a show of talking and stomping up the stairs, but then sneak quietly back down and into the supply closet. Ally is eventually the last one at the top. Once alone, she slams the door, waits a few minutes, and creeps very slowly back to her friends. Cassy’s idea that Ally was the smallest, and therefore the less likely to make any noise, was a good one.

  The next ten minutes feel like forever, as they huddle in the pitch-darkness of the supply closet. Unfortunately, Sam was the first in, and she’s smashed up against the back wall, Hunters elbow pushing painfully into her shoulder blade.

  Sam is beginning to wonder if poster board paint fumes can make you sick, especially when mixed with smelly teen boys, when John finally eases the door open. Dim lights that are always on in the subterranean hallway seep inside, casting them all into shadows.

  “It looks clear,” John whispers before pushing the door all the way open.

  Doing their best to step lightly, the five kids file out into what now feels like a forbidden place. Somehow, having the door at the top of stairs closed makes every dark corner and unknown noise more sinister.

  Motioning soundlessly, Sam waves Hunter, Cassy, and Ally to begin their assigned search, while she and John go the opposite direction, towards the boiler room. They figure it will increase their odds of corralling the ‘ghost’ if they split up. The outermost hallway makes one big loop, so they’ll eventually meet up again at some point if they don’t stop.

  After going no more than fifty feet, John suddenly freezes in front of Sam, causing her to run into his back. Too scared to even rub at the bump on her forehead, she instead grabs onto his nearest arm.

  “What is it?” she gasps, trying to see the far end of the hall.

  “Shhh.” Holding a hand up to further emphasize his demand for silence, John tips his head to the side, obviously listening.

  There!

  Sam hears it, too. The same odd shuffling sound from last week! They turn and stare at each other, wide-eyed.

  Continuing to move stealthily forward, they inch their way down the corridor, the noises getting louder and more defined. Reaching the next bend it becomes clear that whoever it is, they’re definitely in the boiler room.

  Sam doesn’t even realize that she’s still got an iron grip on John’s arm, until she has to pry her fingers free to pull out her cell phone. Tapping out a message to Ally, she instructs them to continue until they reach the boiler room, on the opposite side of the large room. That way, whoever it is will have to go past one of the groups in order to leave. There’s an outside door, but it’s on the far side of the building, accessible only by this main hall.

  Sam and John flatten themselves against the wall near the entrance to the room, listening to the sounds that are now more distinct. Her heartrate slowing slightly as she admits to herself that it’s clearly a person moving about and not a ghost, Sam almost wishes that she was wrong.

  Directly across from them, Hunter peeks his head out and nods to indicate that they are all in position. Sam feels John go rigid as he takes a deep breath and steels himself for a possible confrontation. Fumbling with her phone, she dials 91, and hovers with her finger over the last single digit, just in case.

  “Hello!” John’s voice booms, and the effect is immediate. The noises stop, and a sudden heaviness fills the space, like a pent up breath waiting to explode. “We know that someone is down here. You need to identify yourself, or else we’ll call the police!”

  An odd sort of wheezing sound answers him and Sam sees a wave of fear cross her brothers face as he stars back at them in horror. She figures he’s imaging a burned, disfigured ghost making the sounds, and suppresses a shudder.

  “I mean it! You’re trespassing, and we’ll call the cops!” John’s voice has lost some of its conviction, however, and he motions to her to finish dialing.

  Hesitating, Sam is about to do as ordered when she notices a familiar scent, and then there’s a banging sound, followed by a cry of pain from an older man.

  “Mr. Potts?” she cries out impulsively. Stepping around John before he has a chance to stop her, Sam stumbles forward into the room. “Please don’t be afraid! My name is Samantha Wolf. I’m friends with your wife, Grace!”

  Standing only ten feet away from her is a thin, pale man with a shock of grey hair. His face is so gaunt that she barely recognizes him from his picture. He’s fallen over a toolbox left out on the floor, and is looking up at her with watery blue eyes.

  “Please don’t call the police,” he begs, his voice weak and hoarse.

  Without another thought, Sam rushes forward to help the ghost of Eagle Creek Middle School.

  10

  PHANTOM SECRETS

  “Do you need us to call an ambulance?”

  Sam looks back at Ally, glad that her friend asked the question. She’s helped the ailing Mr. Potts up into a sitting position, but he looks horrible. Beads of sweat line his pale forehead, even though the room is cool enough for sweatshirts, and his breathing is ragged.

  Shaking his head, the older man mumbles something indistinguishable. But when Ally takes her phone out to make the call, he suddenly straightens up.

  “No!”

  Although weak, the word is clear, and Ally hesitates.

  “Mr. Potts,” John tries, dragging a chair over to him. “I really think you should get to a hospital, sir.” Mr. Potts begrudgingly allows John to help him onto the chair.

  Sam rocks back on her heels and gazes up at the man that was supposed to have been dead for the past six years. She can’t help but feel horrible. It was because they
gave the man such a scare, that he fell. Granted, it looks like he was already sick, but it couldn’t have helped.

  “No,” Mr. Potts repeats, more clearly this time. “Please. I don’t need an ambulance. Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath, and I’ll be fine.”

  Sam looks to John, who gives a little nod. Relief washes over her, and she desperately wants to believe that he really will be okay. John’s been through advanced first aid training while in the Scouts program, and she trusts his judgement. Standing, she turns to Cassy. “Can you go find him a drink of water?” she asks.

  “I’ll go with you,” Hunter volunteers, and the two of them rush from the room on the mission, glad to have something to do.

  “Here,” Ally says softly. Pulling her jacket off, she wads it up and places it behind his lower back to provide some cushion against the cold metal chair. Moving next to Sam, she pushes some of her unruly red hair out of her face and looks nervously at her. It’s clear that Ally is feeling just as guilty. Widening her eyes in a ‘what now’ gesture at Sam, she then takes a deep breath and slowly releases it before asking the question they’re afraid of knowing the answer to. “Did you hurt anything when you fell?”

  “You mean other than my pride?”

  It takes a moment for the joke to break through the tension in the room, but when it does, they all laugh thankfully at the change in the atmosphere.

  “We’re sorry if we startled you,” Sam offers. “But we weren’t certain who was down here, and we had to make sure.”

  Waving a hand at her, Mr. Potts leans back in the seat. “No apologies needed, young lady. In fact, I’m the only one here that owes anyone an explanation.” His voice is gaining strength, and some color has returned to his cheeks. “I knew that eventually, someone would catch on. I just didn’t imagine it would be a twelve year old girl!”

  Before Sam has a chance to decide whether or not to be offended, Hunter and Cassy come running back into the boiler room, each holding a bottle of water left over from the pizza dinner upstairs.

  “Here!” Cassy says, a bit winded. She approaches without hesitation and then smiles when Mr. Potts takes the water, thanking her politely.

  Looking back over her shoulder, Sam notices how Hunter is choosing to linger at the far end of the room. She suspects that the years of ghost stories are battling with the real-life version in front of him, and he isn’t fully convinced yet that the man isn’t an apparition.

  Mr. Potts guzzles the water, and it immediately helps to further improve his color. After clearing his throat, he wipes the remaining sweat from his forehead before looking intently at John.

  “I understand if you still feel it necessary to notify the authorities,” he states evenly. “I am, after all, trespassing.”

  John crosses his arms in response, and flashes a warm smile. “Sir, you’ve been coming here since you were a boy. There’s a picture of your dad over there on the wall, and your wife still sits on the auxiliary for the school. I think it would be a stretch to say that you’re doing anything wrong.”

  “You mean, aside from felony fraud?”

  “What do you mean?” Cassy questions. “It’s illegal to fake your own death?”

  “No.” Mr. Potts rises to his feet, still a little shaky. “It actually isn’t illegal. However, a case could be made against us for the business dealings afterwards, including my life insurance payout.” Shaking his head, he is obviously upset by the admission, but his previously slouched shoulders are now square as if a weight has been lifted. “I’d rather not discuss it any further if you don’t mind,” he continues. “Not without Grace present. If you aren’t going to call the police, do you think I could trouble you for a ride back up to the house? I’m afraid I’m still a little too weak to make the hike.”

  Sam watches silently as John and Ally each take one of his arms, and they slowly work their way back towards the gym. As she passes Hunter, he steps in behind her and Cassy. While there are at least three different jokes about his irrational fear itching to come out, she holds back. Things are still a little too weird to be making light of it, and Sam hopes that Grace has some answers that make sense.

  ***

  “Benjamin Thaddeus Potts, now we have children involved? How could we have let this go so far? We have no choice now but to turn ourselves in!”

  Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Grace only calls her husband by his full name when she’s upset. Because she is definitely upset.

  The driveway that Mr. Potts directed them to take around the back of the house delivered them to the mudroom, and they’re now gathered in the large kitchen. When Grace saw them, her face clouded and Sam was certain she would order them to leave. However, she’s more defeated and apologetic than angry, though her frustration with the situation is clear.

  “Now, Grace, you haven’t given me a chance to even explain. I was in the boiler room. I had no intention of running into your friends. In fact, I think that they may have set me up.”

  Grace immediately looks at Sam, and she begins to squirm. “He’s right, she admits. “I saw his things by the back door the first time we were here, and then couldn’t help but notice the pairs of dishes in the sink.”

  “And the cologne,” Cassy adds.

  “Cologne?” Mr. Potts looks questioningly at Sam, an eyebrow raised.

  “Umm, yeah. It’s the same brand my dad wears. I noticed it here in the hall, and then down in the basement at the school. I don’t believe in coincidences,” she adds, when it doesn’t sound like a good enough explanation.

  To Sam’s surprise, the older man begins to laugh. Slapping at his thigh, he looks at his wife and then spreads his arms wide. “After all this time, Grace, did you ever think my cologne would be what did us in?”

  Sam flinches at this, and looks desperately between them. “But we won’t tell anyone!” she promises, without thinking it through. “I’m sure you must have a really good reason for doing it.”

  “Sam.” Walking over to her, Grace puts an arm across her shoulders. “I appreciate your faith in us, and we actually do have a good reason, but it still wouldn’t justify asking you kids to keep this kind of a secret. It would be very wrong, and I simply won’t do it.”

  Sam’s trying to think of a response when there’s a loud knock at the front door. Visibly tensing, Grace looks fearfully at her husband, and Sam hates to think how she’s imaging the police on the front step, there to arrest them. There has to be something they can do!

  “It’s just Sam’s brother, Hunter,” Cassy assures Grace. “He had to take the trail here, to make enough room in the car for Mr. Potts. I’ll go let him in!”

  While it’s obvious that Mrs. Potts is relieved by the news, she’s further distraught that yet another teen is being dragged into things.

  “Before anything is decided,” Sam rushes to say, holding the older woman’s arm to keep her from moving toward the phone on the nearby counter. “Do you think you can at least tell us what happened? We aren’t due home yet, and I would really like to know the whole story.”

  Hesitating slightly, Grace looks around at the curious faces and then sighs in defeat. “Okay, I suppose we do owe you the truth. Let’s go to the sitting room though, so Benny can warm up in front of the fire. He hasn’t been well.”

  They follow the couple into the other room, and Hunter’s mood improves when he discovers a plate of cookies on the coffee table. The girls take up their spot on the lounge, with John and Hunter opposite them. Sam thinks how nice it is to see Mr. Potts sitting next to wife, and wishes again that things were different.

  “Mr. Potts, how have you stayed hidden all these years?” John takes a bite from a cookie, and then sits back in anticipation of his answer.

  “Please, call me Ben. After six years, it’s nice to hear my name.” Taking a long breath, Ben closes his eyes for moment, trying to decide where to start. Looking up at the clock over the mantel, he then leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

  �
��It’s getting late, so I’ll give you the condensed version. My business was my life. Our life,” he adds, looking at Grace, who gives a tired smile in return. “We put all we had into it, but it wasn’t enough. I made some poor investment choices and we found ourselves in trouble.

  “We thought we were lucky to have a friend like Gregory Kingsman. He was a local man with strong business ties and knew how to turn things around financially. When I confided in him, he offered to take over the accounting from Grace, who was more than happy to give it up. That was our first mistake.

  “The following year, after months of allowing him to manage the finances, he announced that the company was too far gone to rescue. At the time, I was developing my new wood product and was close to going for a patent to legally claim it as my own. When I showed it to him, he became very excited and encouraged me to submit it to a large corporation for backing. He convinced me that it would be a mistake not to go wide with it. With proper funding, he said it could be just what we needed to not only save the company, but much, much more.

  “So I gave him the documents. The bulk of my work for nearly two years. It was less than a month later that he delivered the devastating news. Not only were they uninterested, but they claimed my research was flawed and that the product wasn’t producible. I was devastated. That was our last chance. The company was going bankrupt and our friends that invested in our charities and other programs for decades were going to be financially ruined as well.

  “By this time, Gregory had entered the political arena. He was campaigning hard for his first government seat. A month before we would be forced to file bankruptcy, I became suspicious of some of his dealings. It didn’t take much digging to figure out that he’d been lying to me. He wasn’t helping us at all, but stealing from us!