Ghosts Beneath Our Feet

by Betty Ren Wright

  “Not such a mess,” Joan finished for her. “I know what you’re thinking. In the old days the Newquay mining company owned the whole town, and they took care of things. There were lots of little towns like Newquay around—mining locations, they called ’em. But after the accident, the company said the ore was almost gone anyway, and it would cost a ton of money to open up the mine again. It wasn’t worth it. So they sold the houses cheap to the people who lived in ’em and just pulled out. My dad was only fifteen then, but he had to go to work in the lumberyard to help support his family. And since then it’s mostly the old people who stick around here.” She pointed across the fields at the conical red hills Katie had noticed yesterday. “Those are slag heaps left from the mine—waste stuff. The shaft house is just beyond them—you can see the tip of the tower from here.”

  Katie took a deep breath of the green-smelling air and began to feel better. She could see the calendar-picture Newquay as clearly as if she’d been there. It was as pretty as the Newquay she’d imagined on the bus.

  “I like it up here in the meadow,” she said. “If I lived here, I think I’d come here every day.”

  “If you lived here, you’d want to move away,” Joan said. “Same as I’m going to, when I get out of school.” Her voice softened as she looked down at the town. “Sure, I’ll miss home, and I won’t go to some big, dirty city, you can bet. I’ll find a nice small town that has jobs and lots of people my own age.”

  Far below them, a motorcycle growled.

  “Here they come,” Joan said. “I guess you’ll want to go back.”

  “I’d better,” Katie agreed, but now she was sorry to cut their walk short. She promised herself she’d come back to the meadow soon.

  When they reached the road, the motorcycle was just turning up the hill. It bucked and snorted from one side of the road to the other, leaving behind a zigzagging trail of dust until it stopped in front of Skip Poldeen’s house. The boys jumped off, and Skip opened a saddlebag and took out a piece of cloth. He stood, arms folded and watching critically, while Jay began to wipe away the layer of dust that coated the black surface.

  “Look at that, now.” Joan’s voice was heavy with scorn. “Skip’s making him pay for the ride.”

  “Jay probably thinks it was worth it.”

  “I guess.” Joan slowed her steps when they were opposite the boys. “If you’re giving rides, I’ll go next, Mr. Poldeen,” she said. “But I won’t be your slave afterward.”

  “You get near this machine and you’ll be sorry.” Skip Poldeen’s voice was thin, and Katie realized that he wasn’t much older than Jay. He looked from one girl to the other, and his lip curled. “What a pair!” he jeered. “A carrot-top and a tub of lard.”

  Joan took a step forward. “You take that back!”

  Skip laughed unpleasantly. “Tomorrow at ten,” he said to Jay, who had dropped the dust cloth and stood listening, his face bright red. “Be here if you want to go along. Don’t make any difference to me.”

  Katie started up the hill, not wanting any of them to see the tears in her eyes. She wasn’t a tub of lard, but she hated Skip Poldeen for saying the words. How could Jay stand to be around such a mean, cruel person?

  “Hey, Katie.” Joan was coming after her. “Want to go to the shaft house tomorrow? Gram says it’s haunted.”

  “I don’t know.” Katie struggled to keep her voice steady. “I might have to help my mother.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to that Skip.” Joan’s steps slowed. “He likes to hurt people’s feelings.”

  “He didn’t hurt mine,” Katie lied. “Who cares what some hick says, anyway?”

  The steps behind her stopped, and Katie trudged on alone. There. She’d done it. And she didn’t care. She’d had enough of Newquay to last her for the whole summer.

  She decided she’d spend the rest of the summer reading the books in Uncle Frank’s library—every last one of them. And in September she’d go back to her friends in Milwaukee and never think about this town again.

  At the top of the hill the wind was waiting to lift her hair and cool her cheeks. She walked more slowly toward the woods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Wait a minute, will you?” Jay was calling. She didn’t turn her head as he caught up to her.

  “You should see that guy handle a cycle on the open road,” he said. “He’s terrific!”

  “He’s disgusting. I hate him.”

  Jay laughed uncomfortably. “Don’t be so thin-skinned,” he said. “Can’t you take a little teasing?”

  “I don’t have to take anything from that jerk,” Katie retorted. “He’s not going to push me around.”

  “He doesn’t push me around either. I offered to wipe off the bike.”

  “Wait’ll Mom hears you went for a ride without wearing a helmet.”

  Jay’s fingers dug into her arm, and they stopped to face each other on the shadowy path. “Listen,” he said, and there was a desperate note in his voice, “if you blab to your mother, I’ve had it with you and her and this town. The works! I can maybe have some fun with Skip—he’s not half bad, whatever you think. You just keep still and mind your own business.”

  Katie shook off his hand and stalked on. Threats, she thought. Insults and threats. “I don’t care what you do,” she said in her coldest voice. “If you want to break your neck, go right ahead.”

  It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours ago she’d thought this was the summer when they’d finally learn to be a loving, caring family.

  Chapter Seven

  Skip Poldeen streaked toward Katie on his motorcycle. The handlebars, pronged like a deer’s antlers, loomed menacingly, and the engine’s roar was the sound of a wild animal. Sobbing, Katie scooped up a rock and threw it straight at Skip’s grinning face. But as the rock left her hand, the face over the handlebars changed, and it was Jay who thundered toward her. Katie screamed and threw herself to one side as the cycle passed in a rush of wind. She lay still, unable to move even though she could hear the tires squeal and knew he was turning around to come back. The ground began to tremble, and a groan welled up from the earth.…

  With a gasp Katie sat up in bed. Where was she? What was happening? She fell back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. “It was just a dumb dream,” she said out loud, but her palms were wet. She could still feel that terrifying tremor beneath her and hear the motorcycle’s roar. Another neat thing about this summer, she thought bitterly. Nightmares! She couldn’t remember ever having a nightmare at home.

  The sounds of a country morning were all around her. Birds chirped and whistled and piped, insects hummed, and there was a chirring sound that was probably a squirrel or a chipmunk.

  From behind Jay’s closed door came the wail of his favorite Beatles tape. Katie walked down the hall to the bathroom, watching the girl in the mirror move toward her. Was the mirror-girl a little thinner today? Katie felt thinner, no matter what Skip Poldeen said. She always felt sort of thin and wispy when she was depressed.

  Downstairs, she found her mother fixing a tray for Uncle Frank, who was still in bed in his little room behind the parlor.

  “Is he okay?” Katie asked anxiously.

  Mrs. Blaine sliced toast in neat triangles. “Better, I think,” she said, “though he doesn’t say much. I’m sure he’s relieved to have company here. He thought he’d improve as soon as he got home from the hospital, but living alone was just too much for him. He’s a man with a lot of sad memories.”

  Katie poured cereal into a bowl and reached for the milk. “What’re you going to clean today?” she asked. “I can help if you want me to.”

  Mrs. Blaine raised an eyebrow. “No cleaning today, thank you. As soon as the store delivers what I ordered yesterday afternoon, I’m going to start baking. Bread, cake, maybe a pie, lots of cookies. Uncle Frank has gotten out of the habit of eating much, and I want to see what I can do to tempt his appetite. I won’t need any help, but it’s nic
e of you to offer. Why don’t you spend some time with your new friend? Or you and Jay can do something together. Is he still in bed?”

  “His door’s closed.” The telephone rang, and Katie hurried to answer it. She didn’t want to talk about Joan, or about Jay either.

  “Hi. This is Trelawny, your hick friend on the hill.”

  Katie gulped, trying to decide whether the voice sounded angry.

  “You know, the carrot-top.”

  Katie leaned against the wall. “This is—this is the tub of lard,” she said, her voice cracking over the painful words. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday—”

  “Do you want to go to the shaft house?” Joan demanded, brushing aside the apology. “Or we can hike out to Tuesday Lake, if you’d rather.”

  “The shaft house,” Katie said. “If you’re sure it’s really and truly haunted.”

  “It is. Really and truly. You can ask Gram. I’ll meet you at the top of the hill.”

  Katie dashed back to the kitchen. All of a sudden she felt like dancing.

  “Maybe I can use some help after all,” her mother said slyly. “You look a lot more energetic than you did before that phone call.”

  “I am energetic,” Katie said. “Joan and I are going exploring.”

  “Will Jay go with you?”

  Some of the good feeling slid away. “I don’t think he’ll want to. He’ll have things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  Katie finished her cereal and carried the bowl to the sink. “I don’t know. He made a friend yesterday, too.”

  “Somebody nice?”

  “I don’t know!” Katie exploded. “I hardly met him.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so touchy about it. Just go along and have fun. I’m not being nosy, you know. I want this to be a good summer for all of us.”

  “I know.” Katie gave her mother a hug and went outside, before the questions could start again.

  The sky was overcast, and the breeze carried a promise of rain. Katie hesitated at the bottom step of the porch, and then, after a quick look over her shoulder to be sure her mother wasn’t looking, she knelt and pressed her ear to the ground.

  Silence. Not a shiver. Not a sound. Could she have imagined the tremor that first night? Jay’s taunts and Joan’s disbelief were more real to her now than Gram Trelawny’s knackers. Maybe I’m like Gram, she thought as she brushed off her jeans and started around the house. Maybe I just imagine things because I need a little excitement.

  Up close, the slag-heap hills were drab and dusty, their red slopes rutted by rain and dotted with weeds. Beyond them was the shaft house, and a cluster of low buildings surrounded it.

  “It’s like a monster tombstone,” Katie said softly. “No wonder Gram says it’s haunted.”

  Joan cocked her head. “It is a tombstone,” she said. “A tombstone for all those men that died in the accident. I think there were sixteen of them. Two levels of the mine were flooded after the explosion—that’s why no one even tried to get the bodies out.” Joan led the way around a heap of rusty metal. “Come on. We should get inside the shaft house before it rains.”

  Thunderheads were piling up above the trees that bordered the mine property. It was perfect weather for ghost-watching. As the first drops of rain splatted on the red gravel, Joan started to run. At the back of the shaft house, she pointed at the nearest of several high windows.

  “That’s the one. Help me pull that crate over against the wall.”

  The rain beat down harder, and lightning carved angry streaks across the sky. Their faces streaming with water and their hair soaked, the girls pushed the big crate under the window, and Joan scrambled onto it. The window tilted when she pressed the lower pane, and she lifted her chin to the ledge.

  “Okay—now push me!”

  Katie pushed, and Joan swung upward through the opening. A moment later she leaned out of the window. “Now hoist yourself up,” she commanded. “I’ll grab your shirt and pull.” In no time they were both inside and climbing down off another crate that had been left just below the window.

  “My brother Tom—he’s the one in the Navy—taught me how to get in,” Joan panted. “This place is supposed to be sealed up tight, but nobody can stop Tom.” Her voice sounded hollow, as if they were at the bottom of a well.

  Katie looked around nervously. The room had a high ceiling and was full of shadows. Along the sidewalls were a jumble of boxes and rusted tools. An ore car stood on narrow tracks in the center of the room, facing huge iron gates at the far end. Katie followed Joan toward the gates and stared in awe at the cables and chains dangling behind the bars.

  “That’s the shaft,” Joan said. “Can you think what it was like to go down in the cage every morning—that’s what they called the elevator thing—and not see the sun all day long? Ugh!”

  Katie stepped closer to the gates. A chill breath came up from the darkness. She imagined some great beast crouched below, just out of sight.

  “The rain’s letting up,” Joan said. “Good thing—otherwise we wouldn’t be able to hear the ghosts.”

  Katie held her breath, wondering what she’d do if the machinery in the tower above them began to work and the cage rose into view. Faint, probably, or melt into a grease spot on the floor.

  “Listen,” Joan whispered. “Can you hear ’em?”

  A low wail came from the mouth of the shaft. In spite of herself, Katie leaped back.

  “Knackers!” Joan whispered. “Here they come!” She looked at Katie, wide-eyed. “The knackers are coming to get us!”

  “That’s wind in the shaft,” Katie said uncertainly. “You know it is.” Goose bumps popped up on her arms.

  Joan made a sudden dash toward the crate beneath the window. “Let’s get out of here before the cage comes up,” she cried. “Those knackers could grab us and throw us down that shaft, and no one would ever know what happened.” She hopped up onto the crate and lifted herself to the window ledge. “I’ll go out first and catch you on the other side,” she said. In a flash she’d swung her long legs over the side, and Katie was alone in the shaft house.

  She scrambled onto the crate and reached for the sill. Even though she knew Joan was teasing, the shaft house was a very eerie place. She wanted to get out, fast.

  Later, she couldn’t even remember why she’d stopped to look over her shoulder. The wailing in the shaft had ended, but had she heard something else? A small sound, perhaps, almost like a sob, where there should be no sound at all? Whatever the reason, she turned and saw a movement in the shadows at one side of the shaft. As she stared, a white face framed in long blond hair became visible, and a pale hand lifted in the gloom. The figure moved forward with a strange hobbling motion, and the hand reached out.

  Katie screamed. With one leap she was halfway through the window and dangling upside down on the other side.

  “Wait!” Joan shouted and grabbed her shoulders. But Katie couldn’t wait. Wiggling like a fish, she dropped over the sill, and both girls crashed to the ground.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re making that up!” The two girls faced each other from opposite sides of the crate. Joan wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving a rusty smudge. “You know I was just kidding about the knackers. Now you’re trying to get even. You think you can say anything and I’ll believe it. Well, I don’t!”

  Katie’s shoulder ached where she’d landed on it, and her knee was bleeding. She closed her eyes for a second and saw again the girl moving toward her with that strange bobbing gait.

  “I’m not lying,” she said. “I saw a girl’s face with lots of blond hair, and a hand. Look for yourself.”

  Joan climbed up on the crate and reached for the sill. “Okay, I will,” she snapped. “But I know you’re making it up.”

  Moments later she was back on the ground. “There isn’t anybody in there. The place is empty—the way it was when we went in.”

  “But she was there a couple of minutes
ago. I saw her! Over in the corner close to the shaft.”

  Joan shrugged. Silently, the girls tugged the crate back to where they’d found it and started around the side of the shaft house. Thunder rumbled behind them, and the sky, which had seemed lighter for a while, darkened again. The mine buildings looked a thousand years old in the raw glare of lightning.

  “We’d better hurry,” Joan murmured. She brushed back her wet hair and started off.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Katie said. “I hate it when people say I just imagine things.”

  “And I hate it when someone thinks I’m a hick who’ll believe anything,” Joan retorted. “You say you saw someone. I say you didn’t. Let it go.”

  “I heard noises underground the first night we were in Newquay,” Katie insisted. “I didn’t make that up either.”

  They reached the meadow and waded through the grass, wind rising at their backs. At the top of Newquay hill Joan stopped. “I wasn’t calling you a liar, Katie,” she said. “It’s just that … you want to believe in ghosts, right?”

  “If I see them, I believe in them,” Katie said. “And I don’t think you’re a hick, for Pete’s sake. You aren’t the only person who thinks I imagine things. My brother said I was flaky when I told him about the noise underground.”

  “Oh, him!” Joan’s big laugh rang out, breaking the tension. “Funny thing, me agreein’ with him!” She began to run down the hill in great, galloping leaps. “So let’s forget the whole thing,” she called. “See you later, okay?”

  “Okay.” Katie turned toward the woods.

  The rain began, and she threw back her head to catch the cool drops. Walking in summer rain had always been one of her favorite things to do. But then the drops turned to stinging needles, and thunder burst directly overhead. She began to run, racing light-footed through the woods, which seemed alive and full of movement as the storm closed in.

  Katie called a hello to her mother in the kitchen and slipped upstairs to wash and change her clothes before lunch. She didn’t want to answer questions about where she’d been and what she’d been doing.