It's All Downhill from Here

by P. J. Night

  Mr. Kim managed to start a fire in the fireplace. The whole family gathered around and read, played board games, or napped for the remainder of the afternoon.

  Dinner that night was very different from the cold Chinese food of the night before. Mrs. Kim made spaghetti and a vat of homemade sauce and a big salad. The fire blazed, and everyone dug into their dinners.

  As delicious as the dinner was and as cozy as the house felt, Maggie couldn’t help but feel scared. What’s going to happen tonight? she wondered.

  “Maybe I can go skiing tomorrow?” Simon asked during a lull in dinner conversation.

  “We’ll see,” Mrs. Kim said. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings weather-wise.”

  Maggie twirled a mass of spaghetti around her fork and shoveled it into her mouth. She was hungrier than she’d realized.

  Then, looking up from her plate, Maggie saw a face peering around the corner from the hallway, staring into the dining room, looking right at her.

  “Ahhhhh!” she shrieked in terror.

  Chapter 5

  Maggie jumped up from the table, knocking her chair over backward. She pointed toward the hallway. Everyone in the dining room turned. This time, they all saw the face—the face of an old woman with careworn eyes sunk into deeply etched skin.

  The woman stepped into the dining room.

  “Excuse me,” she said, looking as startled to see the Kims as they were to see her. “I didn’t know that anyone was in the house.”

  “Who—who are you?” sputtered Mr. Kim.

  “I am Karina Walcott,” the old woman replied. Her heavy winter coat was covered in snow. “I have been the caretaker here at the Wharton Mansion for many years. I moved here from back east twenty years ago and worked for Mr. Wharton during that entire time, until he died that is. This is the first time I have been inside the house for a year.”

  “Why are you here now?” Mr. Kim asked.

  “When Mr. Wharton died, there was a dispute over the will and this house among two of his distant cousins,” Ms. Walcott explained. “I was rushed from the house before I had a chance to gather up the last of my possessions. The cousins changed the locks and refused to give me permission to enter until their dispute was settled.

  “When this finally happened, only a few days ago, they agreed to give me a key so I could get my belongings and take them back to my apartment in Denver. So, that’s why I’m here. And now, may I ask who you are?”

  Mrs. Kim stepped forward. “We are the Kims. I’m Jeannie. This is my husband, Paul; our son, Simon; our daughter, Maggie; and Maggie’s friend, Sophie. We’re interested in buying the house.”

  “How do you do?” Ms. Walcott asked, nodding toward the group and smiling. Her eyes brightened slightly, her face softened. “I must say they didn’t waste any time showing the house to potential buyers. I understand that the house was put on the market only a day or two ago.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Kim said. “We were very lucky to be here the day this place became available.”

  “We love it,” Mrs. Kim said enthusiastically. “It’s got so much character.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Maggie whispered to Sophie, who elbowed her friend to keep quiet. She stared at Ms. Walcott. “You said that you haven’t been inside the house for a year?”

  “That’s right,” Ms. Walcott replied.

  “Do you mean until this very second or since last night, maybe?” Maggie persisted.

  “What do you mean?” Ms. Walcott said defensively. “I just walked through the door a moment ago for the first time in a year. I did not expect to see anyone else here.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t in the house last night?” Maggie asked, looking Ms. Walcott directly in the eye. “Perhaps lighting a candle or two?”

  “Absolutely not,” Ms. Walcott said indignantly. She was clearly a woman who was not used to having her word questioned by a child. “I believe I made myself perfectly clear.”

  “Yeah, well, someone has been in this house!” Maggie exclaimed. “I know it! I’ve seen the evidence.”

  “That’s impossible,” Ms. Walcott shot back. “There are only two keys, and we have both. All the other doors and windows are still locked, I presume?”

  Mr. Kim nodded his head.

  Maggie grew quiet, wondering whether she believed Ms. Walcott. It would explain a lot if she had been here last night. An awkward silence descended over the room.

  “I’m sorry to be so rude,” Ms. Walcott said suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. It’s just that I wanted to get back here as soon as I could. This place means a great deal to me.”

  “It’s totally cool,” Simon spoke up. “Although I haven’t been able to check out the skiing yet.”

  Ms. Walcott’s face grew visibly grim. “Skiing?” she asked.

  “That mountain’s gonna make for some killer runs,” Simon added.

  “Young man, no one skis here,” Ms. Walcott said. There was a sternness to her voice that had not been there before. “Not for many years, at any rate.”

  “Well, people will ski here now,” Simon shot back defiantly. “We’re buying this mansion and turning it into a ski resort.”

  Ms. Walcott’s dark eyes narrowed, and her expression turned even graver, as if someone had just given her the worst news she had ever heard.

  “Is something wrong, Ms. Walcott?” Mrs. Kim asked.

  Ms. Walcott gazed into the distance, her thoughts clearly not in this moment. Then she spoke in a soft, even voice.

  “This house was built in 1910 by Ernest Wharton, the patriarch of a successful banking family. They lived in a mansion in Denver, but Mr. Wharton wanted a country getaway. And he loved to ski. The family spent winters here. This mansion not only served to house Mr. Wharton’s family, it allowed for their large extended family to come and go as they pleased. And it was also their private skiing grounds.

  “But for the past forty years, the only person who lived here was the youngest Wharton son, the last member of the once large family, Jonas Wharton.”

  “Jonas?” Maggie said. “He was Old Man Wharton? Then who’s Samuel Wharton?”

  “Samuel?” Ms. Walcott asked. “I don’t know. As far as I know, there was no Samuel in the Wharton family. And Jonas never spoke of a Samuel.”

  Maggie considered mentioning the portrait of Samuel Wharton she had seen in the secret passageway, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed now was to try and open the passageway only to have the knob not turn yet again.

  “Jonas did come to be known as Old Man Wharton,” Ms. Walcott continued. “He died about a year ago at age one hundred and two. I don’t think he ever believed he would actually die. While he was alive, Mr. Wharton became more and more reclusive, and by the end of his life I was the only person who ever saw him. And while I worked here, I barely ever went into town.”

  “Interesting,” Mr. Kim said. “Nice to know some of the history of this house.”

  “There is one more thing,” Ms. Walcott continued. “Mr. Wharton’s final wish was that his house never get turned into a ski lodge, and that no one ever go skiing here under any circumstances. I know he wrote it into his will, but his cousins must be ignoring it.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Simon mumbled under his breath.

  “Do you know why, Ms. Walcott?” Mrs. Kim asked.

  “I don’t know many of the details. I asked Jonas why once, and he got very angry. He refused to answer me and disappeared for a few days. What I do know is that there was some deeply tragic incident that led to Jonas closing down the slopes and vowing that no one would ever ski here again.”

  “This is the first time we’re hearing about such a request,” Mr. Kim explained. “Our understanding from the realtor is that the family is eager to sell, and they don’t really care what becomes of the place.”

  “No, no! Ms. Walcott is right!” Maggie cried. “I told you we shouldn’t buy this house. Old
Man Wharton said so.”

  “Zip it, Maggie,” Mrs. Kim warned.

  “I’m just trying to stop us from making a horrible mistake!”

  “Your daughter speaks wisely,” Ms. Walcott said. “It would be best to honor Mr. Wharton’s final wish.”

  “Yeah? And what’s he gonna do if we don’t?” Simon asked. “Come back from the dead and get us, like some ski-hating zombie?”

  “Simon, don’t be rude,” Mrs. Kim snapped.

  “Do not underestimate Jonas,” Ms. Walcott said. “He was a very powerful and determined man.”

  “Not anymore,” Simon muttered under his breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  “If any dead person can stop the living, I am certain that it is Jonas Wharton.”

  “That’s who I saw!” Maggie exclaimed. “The night we arrived. In the window. It must have been Jonas Wharton watching us arrive.”

  “Maggie, that’s enough!” Mr. Kim shouted. “We love this place. The house is perfect, the grounds are beautiful, and the mountain is ideal for skiing. No disrespect intended to you, Ms. Walcott, or to the memory of Mr. Wharton, but tomorrow my wife and I are going to talk to the bank about getting a loan to buy the place.”

  Mr. Kim continued, “The old Wharton Mansion will become the new Piney Hill Ski Resort.”

  A loud boom rocked the house, shaking the chandelier above the dining room table. Maggie felt her balance shift. She almost fell.

  Then every light in the house went out!

  Chapter 6

  “Where are those candles?” Mr. Kim shouted.

  “Right here in this bag,” his wife replied. “Just a moment.”

  Mrs. Kim fished a handful of candles out of a bag of emergency supplies she had packed, not knowing exactly what they would find when they arrived at the mansion. Once the candles were lit, Maggie looked around.

  “Hey, where did Ms. Walcott go?” she asked.

  “Maybe she had a date with Old Man Wharton’s ghost,” Simon quipped.

  “Ms. Walcott? Are you all right?” Mrs. Kim called, but received no reply.

  “I think turning out the lights is a bad joke, or a cheap scare tactic to try and frighten us so we don’t buy this house,” Mr. Kim said, the annoyance clear in his voice. “I’m sorry, Ms. Walcott, if you can hear me, but it’s not going to work.”

  At that moment, everyone heard the front door slam shut.

  Maggie raced to the front door. She wanted to talk with Ms. Walcott, to find out about Jonas Wharton, to confirm what she now believed—that Old Man Wharton’s ghost was haunting this house.

  Reaching the door, Maggie flung it open, only to see Ms. Walcott’s footprints in the snow leading away from the door. The snow was coming down so heavily, the footprints were already being filled in. She heard a car door slam, then watched as Ms. Walcott sped down the driveway and away from the house.

  “She’s gone,” Maggie reported.

  “She left her things,” Mrs. Kim said to no one in particular.

  “Did anyone else think she was a bit odd?” Mr. Kim asked.

  “Totally weird,” Simon said.

  “You’re only saying that because she told you she didn’t want you to go skiing,” Maggie said.

  “No, I’m saying that because she was talking about a dead guy haunting this house and trying to scare us away.”

  “Well, it would explain a lot,” Maggie said, convinced now that they were dealing with a ghost. “The old man’s face in the window, the lit candle that suddenly disappeared, the—”

  “Are you still going on about that?” Mr. Kim said.

  “Something is definitely going on here,” Maggie defended herself. “And then there was the secret passageway.”

  “Wait, what?” her father asked.

  Maggie forgot that she hadn’t yet told them about that. “Last night, when everyone was asleep, I went back to the library. I found a secret passageway. It led to a strange room with all these pictures.”

  “What were you doing wandering around the house in the middle of the night anyway?” asked Simon.

  “I had a bad dream,” Maggie admitted. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “What kind of bad dream, honey?” Mrs. Kim asked.

  “I dreamed I heard a voice and got out of bed to see who it was,” Maggie began. “I saw the same old man I saw in the window—”

  “Imagined you saw,” Simon interrupted.

  Maggie continued, “I followed him outside. He disappeared, and I got locked out during a big snowstorm. I woke up and went to explore.”

  “And it never occurred to you that you might have still been dreaming?” Simon asked.

  “Just stop, Simon!” Maggie shouted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I believe that there is a ghost in this house. I do! You may think I’m crazy, but that’s what I think. Besides, all you care about is your stupid skiing! Nothing else—”

  “Maggie!” Mrs. Kim interrupted.

  “Simon does have a good point, Mags,” Mr. Kim said quietly. “Since you dreamed about seeing Old Man Wharton and getting locked out and all that, isn’t it possible that you dreamed all this other stuff too?”

  “No!” Maggie yelled. “I was not dreaming, or imagining, or whatever excuse you want to make. I know what I’ve been seeing. I’ve been seeing the ghost of Jonas Wharton. He never left this house, even after he died.”

  “Lower your voice, young lady,” Mrs. Kim said. “We are going to the bank tomorrow. And if we get the loan, we are buying this place. And we will all live here. End of discussion!”

  “Fine!” Maggie shouted back. “Then I’m going to bed!”

  She got up and stormed away from the table, heading to her room.

  “I’ll go see if I can calm her down,” Sophie said, excusing herself.

  “Good luck with that,” Simon mumbled.

  “Thank you, Sophie,” said Mrs. Kim.

  A short while later, Maggie and Sophie were in their beds. A heavy silence hung in the room. Every so often Maggie let out a sigh of exasperation. Sophie bided her time, waiting for the right moment, hoping she could find just the thing to say to help her friend.

  “It’s a drag when no one believes you, Mags,” Sophie said, finally breaking the silence. “I know. I’ve been there.”

  “Do you believe me?” Maggie asked softly.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Sophie admitted.

  “Do you really think I can’t tell the difference between having a dream and being awake?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard.”

  “Sophie, I know what I saw. My parents think I’m making this up because I don’t want to live here.”

  “Well, you don’t want to live here, right?”

  “Yes, but why would I make up some crazy ghost story that no one would believe—”

  “That no one does believe,” Sophie corrected her friend.

  “‘That no one does believe?’ Do you think I’m that lame?”

  “No, of course not,” said Sophie. “Let’s do some more investigating tomorrow, okay?”

  Having tried her best to help her friend, Sophie dozed off. Maggie, on the other hand, was wide awake, staring up at the pattern on the canopy. She had just about convinced herself that she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in this snowy wilderness, and nothing she could say or do would stop that from happening, when she heard something. Something strange, yet vaguely familiar.

  A barely audible whisper. A raspy male voice.

  No, no, not again! she thought.

  The weak voice grew slightly louder.

  Maggie started chanting in her head. It’s just the wind . . . it’s just the wind . . . it’s just the—

  “Leave this place!” the raspy voice said, still weakly, but now loud enough for Maggie to make out the words.

  “Leave this place!”

  This time Maggie felt warm breath on her ear. She turned quickly, expecting to see someone, but no one was there.

>   That is not the wind!

  Maggie threw her covers off and sat on the edge of her bed. She glanced over and saw Sophie peacefully snoring away. I am not going on another wild ghost chase through this creepy old house only to have no one believe what I saw or heard.

  The voice came again, only this time it sounded as if it were coming from just outside the bedroom window.

  Maggie stood up and threw on her slippers. She already regretted getting up as she walked toward the window.

  Peering out, she saw only blowing, drifting snow.

  “Leave this place,” Maggie heard again. It sounded simultaneously like a whisper and like someone calling up to her from the ground below the window.

  I can’t go out there alone, Maggie thought. Besides, I need Sophie to back up my story.

  “Sophie, wake up,” she said softly.

  Sophie didn’t move.

  “Sophie!” Maggie called a little louder.

  Still nothing.

  “Soph!” she cried, shaking the bed.

  “Uhhhhh,” Sophie moaned, rolling over. “What?”

  “I hear a voice outside. I think it’s Old Man Wharton. I’m going out to look, but I need you to come with me.”

  Sophie pulled the covers up over her head. “You’re crazy if you’re going out late at night in the freezing cold and snow. Have fun, but leave me alone. I’m asleep, see?”

  She proceeded to fake an extremely loud snore.

  “Leave this place!” the voice sounded from outside once again.

  Maggie hurried back to the window. This time when she peered down, she saw letters being scratched in the snow. An L, then an E. There was no writer that Maggie could see.

  “No!” she cried, realizing what the ghost was trying to spell.

  This time she was not going to take no for an answer.

  “Soph!” she yelled, pulling the covers off Sophie, grabbing her hand, and dragging her from her bed.

  “You’re crazy, Mags,” Sophie moaned, stumbling to the window. “And I am not going to—”

  Sophie stopped in midsentence. Her jaw fell open, and she pointed down at the snow. Together, Maggie and Sophie watched the last letter being written. Another E.