Ghost

by Illustratus

  It was then that a thought began to form in Grace’s head. A new thought. A bold thought. A liberating thought . . .

  Perhaps there was no ghost.

  The sounds Grace heard were strange, but—then again—it wasn’t unusual for a house to creak in winter, especially an older house like this one. Perhaps Grace never heard the creaking before because it was impossible to hear anything over the obnoxious sound of Molly grinding her teeth in her sleep.

  The cold breath she’d felt on her toes was probably nothing more than a draft coming from her window. Perhaps it was just slightly ajar and needed to be closed. That would also explain the dull whistle she’d heard.

  And as for the clawing, Grace guessed that it was a mouse trapped in the insulation behind the plaster. Mice were known to burrow inside walls to make their nests. A scurrying mouse was the only logical explanation for what she thought were fingernails dragging against the wall.

  Furthermore, Grace had never seen the ghost. Not once. Granted, she’d never opened her eyes, but . . . wasn’t it possible that by not opening her eyes, her imagination had gotten the best of her?

  Grace felt foolish. This was all absurd. There was no ghost. She’d imagined the whole thing. Of course she had. How childish of her. She was a ten-year-old girl who—in just a few months—would be attending middle school. Grace was practically a teenager; she had no time to play these silly games. Besides, it was so miserable beneath these blankets, clammy and suffocating.

  Enough was enough.

  Grace tossed back the comforters, taking a deep breath and feeling the fresh air on her face. The tension melted away. Grace shook her head, wondering why she’d put herself through all that stress for nothing.

  Grace rubbed her eyes and finally opened them. Slowly, the room came into focus, until at last she could clearly see a milky, shifting shape floating over her bed.

  The apparition smiled.

  “You should have kept your eyes closed.”

  Written by Jesse Reffsin

  Illustrated by Jeff Turley

  The Library

  Meg Harvin had never been to the library; not many people went these days. But her teacher had given the class the assignment to check out a book—an actual book, he had stressed. Paper, not zeros and ones. So here Meg was, at the front desk, waiting for help from the librarian.

  She had heard about the old woman—everyone had. The children of the town did their best to stay clear of her, as they often did with people they found a bit . . . off.

  The woman had been in charge of the town library for as long as anyone could remember. That was saying a lot, considering the building was almost as old as the town itself. Of course, nobody would suggest that she had been its librarian the entire time. But no one could imagine the library without the old woman, who was most often seen walking among the dusty shelves, tending the books. Meg had heard that she cared for them as if they were her own children.

  “Let me guess, Mr. Morrissey’s class?” The librarian shuffled out from behind a stack, giving Meg a start.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m looking for—”

  “A book.” The woman winked. “I know, been a whole rash of you, just lookin’ for books. Follow me.”

  She turned and pushed deeper into the library’s recesses. Meg gave a glance around the old building. It wasn’t the most inviting place. Large and cavernous, it easily let in the drafty winter air from outside. The chill seemed undaunted by the fire that crackled in the large stone hearth. The space had been used for barracks during the Revolutionary War. It seemed to have kept the foreboding of a place intended to house those not long for this world.

  “You coming?”

  Meg looked up to find the woman staring at her from the steps that led to the library’s lower level. Before Meg could answer, the librarian descended into the building’s depths, her heels clicking on the worn stairs. Meg wondered why they couldn’t just stick with the books on the main level. She sighed as she hurried to follow the woman down.

  The bottom level of the library was somehow even draftier than above, which Meg found puzzling since they were now underground. Green-shaded lamps lit the winding stacks of books, but Meg couldn’t help feeling that the space would have been more at home in the flicker of dying candlelight.

  “I call this the tomb,” the librarian cut into her thoughts.

  Meg looked up, nervously. “You do?”

  The librarian grinned and shook her head. “No. I call it nonfiction.”

  Meg smiled; the woman had picked up on her unease. Meg guessed it was kind of silly to be put off by a building. “Sorry, my first time here. I wasn’t expecting it to be so . . .”

  “Old?”

  Meg nodded, apologetically. The librarian smiled. “You’re a good one. I can tell. Lots of Morrissey’s kids come through here, and they’re not so nice. They don’t respect things that are old.”

  She turned to continue on through the shelves. Meg noticed, curiously, that the woman had a habit of reaching out to pat the books as she passed. It seemed she was very deliberate about the ones she touched—only those that protruded from the shelf, that were for some reason pushed forward. From the way they stuck out past the other books, it almost looked as if they were trying to escape.

  “Some of the children that show up act as though I’m burdening them. As if being around books takes a toll. Do you believe that, sweetie?”

  Meg was still thinking about the woman’s odd habit of singling out books as she walked by. The whispers she’d heard seemed true—the way the old woman patted those books, it was as if she was comforting a child.

  Meg looked up to find the woman staring at her, waiting for a response.

  “Sorry?” Meg hazarded, not realizing she had been asked a question.

  “Are you one of those children that doesn’t like to spend time around books?” The librarian began cracking her knuckles, ominously, as she waited for a response.

  Meg stared for a moment; the menace in the woman’s voice was not lost upon her. Truthfully, she didn’t especially care for books. But, under the woman’s intense stare, she began to notice an eerie silence hanging in the room—the kind you get when a room full of people are holding their breath. The hush was only punctuated by the periodic cracks from the woman’s knuckles. Meg had a feeling there was just one answer that would be appropriate here.

  “I love books,” she lied.

  The librarian eyed her a beat, then broke into an approving nod. “Like I said, you’re one of the good ones.” She continued on to another set of shelves.

  Out of eyesight, Meg turned her attention to the books the woman had touched in passing. Meg pulled one off the shelf. The first thing that caught her attention was the leather that bound it. It was unlike any she had ever felt. Meg supposed it was from an animal not typically used for that purpose—sheepskin? She also noticed that the title of the book was nowhere to be found, just a name, presumably the author, carved into the skin—Thomas Hawkins.

  Meg opened the book to find an engraved illustration inside. A heavy-lidded boy stared up at her, sorrowful and motionless on the page.

  “Ah. Thomas.” Meg looked up at the sound of the librarian’s voice. She was standing beside her, staring at the illustration. After taking a moment to eye the thin black lines that comprised the boy, the woman smiled and pulled the book from Meg’s hand.

  “You know what I’ve found? When children spend enough time around books, even the worst ones seem to come around. In the end.” With that, she closed the cover on the illustrated boy, whose eyes seemed still to stare out at Meg as the pages shut over him. The librarian put him back on the shelf.

  “Now follow me. That particular book isn’t for you.” The woman pushed on as Meg gave a backward glance toward the shelf she was leaving behind. She noticed that all the books the librarian had touched were bound in that same, odd leather.

  As she turned to follow the woman, she couldn’t help thinking back to the bo
y’s pleading eyes as he was shut into darkness, trapped between the pages of the book.

  “Here you go, dear.” The librarian had stopped at another shelf. “Architecture. Figured you might be interested to learn a little more about old buildings, like this one?”

  Meg nodded. She was now firmly of the opinion that she didn’t want to contradict the woman, even though a book about old architecture sounded frightfully boring.

  The woman smiled in satisfaction. She clapped her hands together. “I knew it!” She handed a book over to Meg and led the way back toward the stairs, still unconsciously grazing her hands against the spines of the books that jutted past their neighbors. Meg couldn’t shake the feeling, even stronger now, that the books were straining to free themselves from the shelves that held them.

  Meg looked the books over as she followed the woman. Each read the same—no title, just a name cut deep into the odd leather. Book after book, name after name.

  Finally, her curiosity got the best of her and she pulled another one of the heavy tomes down. She opened the book to find an illustration of a wisp of a girl. The girl had dark shadows under her eyes, and she almost appeared to be wailing as she stared out from her page. Meg stared back for a moment, before closing the cover and putting the girl back on the shelf with just a tinge of fright.

  She walked farther and pulled another book down. A second girl peered out; tears had traced streaks down her face. In another book, Meg could only see the back of a boy—he faced away, as if made to stare at a wall in punishment. Another book held a boy curled into a terrified ball in the corner of the page. Each book she opened contained another child in despair.

  Finally she came to the last book on the shelf. She stopped, in surprise. It bore her own name—Meg Harvin. As she eyed the book, apprehensively, the librarian’s voice floated back in from the stairs.

  “Meg, you are telling me the truth, yes? You truly do love books?”

  Meg looked up, taken aback that the woman knew her name. She forced out a weak response.

  “Of course.”

  The woman nodded, solemnly.

  “Then there’s no need for you to open that book. Come upstairs. We’ll get you checked out.”

  The woman disappeared, her heels clicking once more on the old stone steps. Meg turned to take a last look at the book that bore her name. She shivered in the chill air that gusted through the stacks. Finally, she turned and followed the librarian, leaving the book unopened.

  Behind her, there was the faintest rustle of pages, and then silence.

  Written by Jesse Reffsin

  Illustrated by Chris Sasaki

  The Boy in the Basement

  “Welcome home!”

  Ellie Stenson stared in shock as her dad yelled over the car engine. She stayed in the passenger seat, watching him turn off the car and walk up the stoop of their new house. She turned to their Great Dane, Kellogg. “He can’t be serious. Can he?”

  She couldn’t understand how her dad could want to live in such a place. Setting aside that they were practically in the middle of nowhere, this house was a wreck. Actually, it was downright scary. The structure loomed overhead, almost villainously. Ivy cut across its façade like a deep scar.

  “Ellie, come on! Don’t you wanna see?” He ducked inside the foyer. Ellie sighed and trudged up the steps, Kellogg sniffing skeptically at the air. Maybe it was nice on the inside?

  Nope, not even close. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Layers of dust and cobwebs covered every surface, and the stench of mildew filled the rooms. Ellie turned away so her dad wouldn’t catch her disappointment.

  That’s when she saw it—the door off the kitchen. Somehow, it looked even older than the rest of the house. Its aged and grooved wood made it seem as though the house had been built around it. There was also a latch. It was padlocked shut.

  “Oh, come on!” her dad called out, disappointed. “They said they’d take the lock off before they left.” He had come up behind her as she was staring at the door. Ellie had to admit, from the look of it, she was happy it was locked.

  “What is it?” she asked, doing her best to conceal her unease.

  “Basement,” he replied offhandedly as he turned to go back outside.

  “Where are you going?”

  He looked at her with a mischievous smile. “My tools are in the car. Gonna have to break that lock off.”

  When he came back, a hammer hung loosely from his hand. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and set it on the table, then Ellie watched as he lined the hammer up with the padlock. Her apprehension built as he brought it back, ready to crack the lock in two. WHACK!

  The lock crumbled and fell from the latch. It must have been nearly as old as the door itself. Her dad pulled the heavy wood back, exposing . . .

  A wall. The opening had been bricked over. The basement was permanently blocked off.

  “Are you kidding me?” Ellie’s dad exclaimed in frustration.

  Ellie gave the bricks a worried glance. The old door, the lock, the walled-up entrance—why were they there? To keep people from going down? Or was it the other way around?

  That night, Ellie’s new mattress was laid out on the creaky floorboards of her room. Her dad said they’d be able to put her bed frame together the next day. For now her room was just essentials. It didn’t really feel like she lived there.

  Ellie’s dreams brought no rest from the new surroundings. In her sleep, she drifted back to the kitchen, slowly crossing the old wooden floor, drawn to the mysterious door. She turned the creaky handle to find the brick was now gone. In its place was a set of stairs twisting their way into the pitch-black basement below.

  As she stared, a gust of rancid air floated out of the darkness. It was followed by a ragged voice:

  “NO KIDS ALLOWED UPSTAIRS.”

  Ellie gasped as she woke with a start, her heart pounding. She tried to control her breathing and shake off the bad dream. She was relieved when she looked up to find Kellogg walking into her room. He must have heard her restless sleep. His presence calmed her, and they both slept through the rest of the night.

  The next day Ellie found herself in front of the basement door. Of course she knew it had just been a dream. But still, she had to check. She cautiously opened the old wooden door. Behind it she found bricks. Nothing more. She felt stupid for even looking. What did she expect to find?

  “I called the previous owners this morning.” Ellie turned to find her dad walking into the kitchen. “Said it’d been like that since before they bought the place. Used to be someone’s room, but for some reason it was bricked up.”

  Ellie turned back to the wall in horror. “Someone lived down there?”

  “I guess.” Her dad shrugged, walking up from behind. “Just bugs me we can’t get into our own basement.”

  Ellie’s eyes widened. She turned to her dad. “Dad, you’re not gonna take it down, are you?!” she asked, pleadingly. She hadn’t realized it until then, but a sick sense of dread had been building in her the more she thought about the basement.

  Her dad, seeing the terror on his daughter’s face, knelt down, kindly. “El, don’t worry. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” He gave the bricks a hard SLAP. “Old house like this has settled by now. It’s load bearing. We take this away, the roof’s liable to come down on us.”

  Ellie gave a nod, relieved. She was surer than ever that she never wanted to find out what was down there.

  That night, Ellie slept with Kellogg in her bed once again. Her room was starting to come together. Her dad had built her bed frame and had even brought in a nightstand and dresser for her. But no matter how cozy they made the room, she didn’t feel comfortable there.

  Still, with her dog by her side, she was eventually able to drift off to sleep. Though her dreams brought her right back to the basement door. This time, as she got closer, she began to hear an insistent scratching from the other side. Something was down there, and it wanted out.
>
  Even knowing it was just a dream, this was too much for her. She turned to go before . . . WHOOSH! The door flew open of its own accord.

  Once more, the bricks were gone. The darkness beyond them was solid. Ellie backed away, frightened. Even though she felt a strange pull toward the door, she knew not to go past it. It seemed it had no power to make her cross the basement’s threshold.

  As she backed away, she caught sight of something that deepened her fear. She hoped it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but something appeared to be moving in the darkness below.

  “Hello?” she called out cautiously. “Who’s down there?”

  The only response was muffled steps as someone began to climb the old stairs. Whatever was down there, it was coming up. She tried to shuffle away, but her frantic movement only caused her to trip.

  As she lay on the creaky floor, she waited in horror for what she might see at the top of the stairs. But whatever it was, it never showed itself, stopping midway up the steps. The only thing that came through the doorway was the sound of the voice, again carried by the dank, dead air.

  “NO KIDS ALLOWED UPSTAIRS.”

  Once again, she woke with a fright, the voice echoing fearfully in her head. She shuddered to think of what it could mean, turning to her dog for comfort. Except he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Kellogg!” She searched all over her room, thinking that maybe he had just hopped down to the floor. It wasn’t until she had thoroughly searched that she began to hear the faint barking. He was downstairs.

  Following his barks down to the kitchen, she found that she could hear them, faintly . . . coming from the other side of the basement door. “Not possible,” she said to herself. But still, she had to make sure. She reached out and opened the door, fearful of what she’d find.