The Ghost of Gruesome High

by Larry Parr

  Mr. Greenwald kept looking right at me, but I could tell by the puzzled frown on his face that he wasn’t sure what it was he saw. I think he was just the tinniest bit afraid of me! Of course, I don’t think he knew it was me. I don’t think he knew what was hiding in the bushes.

  He took one slow, careful step in my direction. My mouth was as dry as the Sahara. My throat felt like it was stuck together with sand and paste. My heart started beating a million miles an hour and I was beginning to feel light-headed, as if I wasn’t even here any more, as if someone else was hiding in the bushes and I was floating above them, looking down and watching in a detached sort of way.

  No! I pulled my mind back into my body! Mr. Greenwald was coming toward me, step by step, and I had to do something and I had to do it fast. He was only about fifteen or twenty feet away now, still moving toward me slowly and carefully, obviously not sure what he was seeing. Suddenly he stopped and looked right at me. I didn’t think he could see my face, hidden behind the branches in the dark and all, but he knew someone was hiding behind the bush. “O.K., come on out,” he said. “I know you’re there.”

  My mind went completely blank for a moment. I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating altogether. I suddenly saw red spots floating in front of my eyes and I felt dizzy, like I was going to pass out or something.

  “I said you can come out now,” Mr. Greenwald repeated, this time with an angry, hard edge to his voice.

  I wasn’t sure I could stand. I was breathing again, panting actually, very fast and shallow. My throat was on fire and my tongue seemed stuck to the back of my mouth. The red dots were moving faster and faster before my eyes. I felt very lightheaded, more lightheaded than I think I’ve ever felt before. I wanted to move. I wanted to stand. I wanted to run away as fast as I possibly could, but I couldn’t move at all. I tried, but nothing was working.

  Mr. Greenwald got an angry look on his face. He balled his hands into fists and took one step closer to me. “Stand up!” he ordered. “Come out here or I’m coming in there to get you. What’s it gonna be?”

  Just before my mind went into total over-load, just before I think I was going to pass out from fear and tension, just as Mr. Greenwald was starting to take one final step toward me—just at that precise moment there was a sound from the other side of the quad.

  It was a familiar sound, but for a moment I couldn’t quite place it. It sounded like someone dragging something very heavy across gritty concrete. Of course! That’s what it was!

  It was the sound the ghost had made the other night when we first saw it!

  I’ve never seen anyone look more surprised than Mr. Greenwald did at that moment. And suddenly my brain starting working again. If the ghost was across the quad, then Mr. Greenwald couldn’t be the ghost! For an instant I almost started to breath again—but if Mr. Greenwald wasn’t the ghost, then what was he doing here?

  Mr. Greenwald looked once more in my direction. Then he looked in the direction of the weird grating sound. The sound was getting softer, as if it was moving away from us. He looked back at me, then seemed to make a decision and moved away from me, toward the awful grating sound.

  He probably hadn’t gone more than twenty feet before I suddenly stood up, turned, knocked over the trash can with a terribly loud clang—and the next thing I knew I was running! Running, running, running!

  I don’t remember thinking that I was going to run, or planning to run. But boy was I running! If the track coach could have seen me, I bet he would have signed me up on the spot!

  I flew down the hill! Somewhere near the bottom I slowed for just a moment and looked back up the hill. There, standing at the top of the dark hill, silhouetted against the slightly lighter color of the sky, was the figure of a man, Mr. Greenwald, I assumed, watching me as I ran.

  I didn’t care. My reasoning mind was shut off, locked away somewhere and I hadn’t the foggiest notion where the key was. All I wanted to do was put as much ground between me and Mr. Greenwald as humanly possible, as fast as humanly possible!

  I turned away from the figure at the top of Gruesome Hill and I ran. I can’t remember making a conscious decision about where I was running, but within just a few minutes I was outside my bedroom window, prying the window open. I climbed inside, closed and locked the window, checked my door to see that it was locked, then I got under my covers without bothering to take off my clothes, and lay there, shivering in the dark.

  Chapter 9

  A close call

  I don’t remember if I slept any that night or not. I might have, finally, around five in the morning. But even if I did manage to nod off for an hour or so, it hadn’t been a very restful sleep.

  Earlier, as I lay in bed, shivering with fright under my covers, every one of my senses had been alert, alive, tingling! I could hear the tinniest sound, I could see better in the dark (when I got brave enough to peek out from under my covers) than I had ever seen before in my life! I was scared out of my wits, but I had never felt more alive!

  I had gone to the top of Gruesome Hill alone at midnight, faced the Ghost of Gruesome High all by myself, came within a few seconds of being caught, and had gotten away free and clear! Man, what a feeling! What a rush! Me! Patricia Hoyle. I did that, all by myself, with no help from anyone!

  I felt like a winner. I felt invincible! I felt as if I could do anything!

  But now, several hours later, with the sun peeking in through my window and my alarm clock buzzing at me, I found I could barely open my eyes. My mind felt all fogged-in, filled with soft, gray gunk. My head felt heavy, and my thoughts were slow and soggy. I felt as if I had a head full of sand. I could barely focus a thought. Nothing was clear.

  And I was tired. Boy, was I tired. I’d stayed up all night before—lots of times— but I had never felt this tired afterwards. Maybe it had something to do with all the adrenaline that had been pumped into my system last night.

  Whatever it was, I could barely keep my eyes open as I showered, dressed, and stumbled down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Morning, darling,” my Mom said, all bright and chipper. She was standing at the counter, a box of corn flakes in her hand. She rattled the box in my direction and arched her brows in a questioning way.

  “Uh, yeah, thanks,” I said.

  “Rough night?” she asked, as she poured flakes into a bowl.

  “Ummmm,” I answered. As far as I was concerned, that said it all.

  Mom gave me a strange look, then crossed to the refrigerator to get the milk. “I suppose it is pretty tiring staying out until after midnight and then sneaking back into your room like that.”

  She said it casually, as if she were just making conversation with the check-out girl at the supermarket, but I knew I was busted. I let out a sigh and just sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  She set the bowl in front of me, then suddenly knelt down so her face was even with mine. She looked me in the eyes and said very sincerely: “I’d rather we knew when you were leaving and where you were going. Really bad things can happen to kids, you know. Your father and I love you and we want you to be safe.” She hugged me quickly, then stood, crossed to the door and added breezily. “I’m late for work. See you tonight, dear.” She blew me a quick kiss and was gone. A few seconds later I heard the front door close, then heard her car start up and back down the driveway.

  Wow! That was strange. I guess it wouldn’t have seemed quite so strange if I hadn’t had the night I had and if my head didn’t feel so slow and heavy. I didn’t usually drink coffee—I just don’t like the taste—but suddenly a cup of coffee seemed like exactly what I needed to get my brain up and working. I poured myself a cup, then sat there at the table sort of playing with my now-soggy corn flakes.

  I was trying to think. I was trying to make sense out of everything that had happened. Not just last night—which I tried to push to the back of my mind for the moment—but everything. Our first sighing of the ghost, Mr. Greenwald making fun of me i
n class (Mr. Greenwald! No, I’d think about him in a minute), Mr. Bell, the Aluminum Man, my “fight” with Jason (I’ll never understand boys!), and then last night.

  Maybe the caffeine from the coffee was beginning to kick in, but suddenly I sat up and realized: “I have Mr. Greenwald first period this morning!” What was I going to do? Maybe I’ll just skip school today, I thought. But then I thought, what if he didn’t get a good look at me last night? What if he doesn’t know it was me hiding in the bush. If I don’t come to class it’ll look suspicious. Then he’ll know it was me for sure!

  But what if he already knows? What if he’s waiting for me with—what? What exactly could he do to me in class, with all those witnesses?

  But what if— Oh, my mind was getting foggy again! My head was so heavy all I wanted to do was lay it on the table and go to sleep. My brain felt like a ton of wet, soggy newspapers.

  I couldn’t reason things out myself. Not the way I felt. I had to talk to someone. But who? Jennifer wasn’t likely to really understand. She wasn’t there last night and, as much as I like Jennifer as a friend, she isn’t the best when it comes to advice not related to make-up, clothes, or hair.

  Jason? No, I was still mad at Jason for being mad at me. Wesley and Alan were friends, but not the kind of friends I talk with about deep, important stuff. With a frown I realized that was the end of my list of close friends. Hmmm. Not much of a list . . . .

  I glanced at the clock. It was twelve minutes after seven! My first class (with Mr. Greenwald!) started in eighteen minutes!

  I downed one last gulp of warm coffee, took one spoonful of soggy cereal, grabbed my books and flew out the door.

  A brisk walk in the cool, morning air, trudging up Grissom Hill, and my mind was beginning to feel a lot more like itself. The only problem was, myself and my mind would both be facing Mr. Greenwald in less than four minutes—and neither one of us had the slightest idea what to do or say!

  * * *

  I had decided that the best way to play things was for me to act as if nothing had happened whatsoever. If he knew it was me hiding in the bush last night, then it was up to him to say something to me. And if he didn’t know it was me? Well, I wasn’t about to be the one to tell him. Not yet anyway. I liked the idea of having something on a teacher, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what I had on him.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I was certain he wouldn’t want people knowing that he scampered around the campus late at night dressed like a cat burglar. No, Mr. Greenwald had more to hide than I did. I’d just play it cool and let him sweat it out!

  It was a brilliant plan. There was only one flaw in it. The moment I made eye contact with Mr. Greenwald I felt my eyes dart to the floor and I could feel my cheeks becoming hot and candy-apple red! I guess I needed a little more practice in this cloak and dagger stuff. I felt like a complete moron!

  I glanced up and Mr. Greenwald looked at me with those intelligent eyes that appeared able to see through anything, and nodded just once. He leaned toward me and said casually: “Miss Hoyle, if you don’t mind, I think we need to speak. After school. Here.”

  That was all he said, then he turned to the class and said: “Let’s settle, people!” just like he said every morning. He made no eye contact with me the rest of the period and nothing more was said.

  Chapter 10

  Not my lucky day!

  To be truthful, I didn’t remember much of the rest of that morning. My classes just seemed to float by in a haze. I vaguely recall the other kids laughing once when my Home Ec teacher woke me after I’d nodded off in my pie crust.

  The only thing that kept me going was the thought that I would be able to talk with Jason and Jennifer and Alan and Wesley at lunch. Naturally I wanted everyone with me when I met with Mr. Greenwald after school. Strength in numbers, and all that.

  I waited at our usual lunch table under one of the elms, out near the football field. The five of us had been getting together for lunch at this table for almost a year now. But as I waited I became more and more uneasy.

  Two things were going on. First, Jason and the others were late. I can’t remember a time when at least one other person wasn’t here by now. But the other thing that made me uneasy was the fact that it felt like someone was watching me.

  You know that feeling. It’s hard to explain, but the hairs on the back of your neck just feel funny and you just know that someone’s watching you. Well, my whole body felt like that! I’d never felt someone watching me more intensely in my whole life!

  In the best of times I’d find it creepy that someone was watching me. But these were far from the best of times. Who would be watching me? And why? My tired, overly-active imagination started to run wild. Maybe it was the ghost. Maybe it was Mr. Greenwald. Maybe it was— No! I shook my head to drive this crazy string of thoughts clear out of my mind! What was I doing? What was I thinking? All this wild speculation was stupid. What I had to do was find out who was watching me. Then, maybe, I could figure out why.

  I didn’t want to scare off whoever it was before I found them out, so I sat down and took a bite of the apple I’d gotten out of one of the snack machines that dot the campus. As I slowly chewed the too-ripe apple I turned and looked around as if looking for my friends. Even though this table was slightly off the beaten path, as they say, there were still a number of kids walking nearby, but none of them seemed to be paying any special attention to me. And the creepy feeling at the back of my neck was getting stronger.

  I opened the carton of milk I’d also gotten at the machine and stood as I took a swallow, allowing my eyes to search everyone on the “school” side of the table. I couldn’t spot anyone acting suspicious or looking at me. I even looked at the windows in the classrooms, but I saw no faces peering out at me from them, either.

  Suddenly the feeling that I was being watched got even stronger! But it wasn’t coming from the direction of the school. It was coming from the playing field! I turned around quickly, and there, near the heavy sand bags and other training stuff the football players used, was someone. I couldn’t really see who it was—though I did feel a quick tingle of almost-recognition electrify my spine—but whoever it was was staring directly at me. As soon as my watcher realized he/she was busted, he/she took off, sprinting behind the boy’s gym so fast I couldn’t tell who it was. But I quickly decided on one thing: it had been a guy, a big guy.

  This was too much! I walked the thirty yards or so to the spot where the watcher had been but I found nothing useful, no little clue like they find on TV murder mysteries. There were lots of footprints, but they were trampled all over each other and I couldn’t tell one from the other.

  I must have spent five or six minutes looking all around. I even looked behind the boy’s gym, but of course whoever it was was long gone. I finally decided there was nothing I could learn here and I glanced back up at the lunch table. Jennifer was standing at the table, looking away from me, searching the school side of the campus. She was probably looking for me, wondering where I was. She was bouncing around from one foot to the other, nervously. I’d known her long enough to know that that meant she was anxious and in a hurry. She looked at her watch, then craned her neck to look around the school again.

  I raised my arm and waved as I yelled, “Jennifer!” But just as I called, the bell rang, ending lunch and Jennifer evidently didn’t hear me! She dashed off even as I yelled her name a second time.

  Damn! I don’t usually swear, but today just wasn’t working out. I really needed to talk to Jennifer and Jason and the other guys. I needed to tell them what had happened last night, and I really needed them to be with me when I talked with Mr. Greenwald after school.

  But not to worry, I told myself. Jennifer and I had Spanish class together last period. I could talk to her then. And I was sure I could find Jason and the others after school. After all, we seemed to find each other after school every other day! Why not today?

  But today just wasn’t my day. Je
nnifer wasn’t in last period Spanish class. I had no idea where she was. For a moment I started to get worried that her disappearance, and the fact that the others hadn’t shown up for lunch, were all connected to the ghost in some mysterious way. Were we all being kidnapped, one by one, to keep us from talking?

  “Keep us from talking?” I said to myself. “Talking about what, and to who? I must be going nuts!” I think my mind was just working in this crazy way because I was so tired. I shook my head and smiled at myself. Boy, was I starting to get crazy about all this, or what?

  It seemed like forever before the final bell rang. I hurried out of the class and toward the school parking lot, where I figured Wesley’s bug would be. If I could grab Wesley, then I could get him to help me find the others.

  When I got to the parking lot, there was Wesley’s car and there were Jason and Wesley and Alan, all piling in. As I hurried over, Jason spotted me. For a moment it looked as if he was still mad from last night, but then he smiled and waved—but continued getting into the car.

  I was out of breath by the time I got to the little red bug, dodging half a dozen other cars being hurriedly driven out of the parking lot by teenagers eager to be anywhere other than school. Finally I made it. “Jason,” I said, “get out. I need to talk to you. Mr. Greenwald.”

  Wesley had already started the engine and had put the car in reverse. He leaned part way across Jason so he could yell at me through the passenger window. “No time!” he yelled. “We gotta get to the art supply store for my history project. Get in!”

  “I can’t!” I yelled over the roar of his engine. “I have to . . . .”

  But Wesley wasn’t listening. Jason looked up at me and smiled and threw me a quick kiss. He always does that when he’s going somewhere with the guys and he thinks I’m going to be mad at him for not being with me. As if throwing me a kiss made any difference! Boys!