by Laura Ruby
They replaced 1930 and pulled out 1931, 1932, 1933. After some reading and flipping, Lily said, “Look at this. 1934.”
Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Spicer wish to announce the marriage of their daughter, Miss Katherine Spicer, to Mr. Joseph Wood of Philedelphia. The couple plans to winter in Philadelphia, and summer at the Wood family home on Perry Street in Cape May.
“Ms. Katherine Spicer and Joseph Wood! They have to be my great-grandparents!”
They removed that section of the paper out of its protective cover and snapped a picture of the marriage announcement. Then they flipped through the rest of the pages, hoping to find something else that mentioned the Spicers or the Woods or the house on Perry Street, but found nothing.
“We got dirt,” said Vaz.
“Try the next one.”
1935 was a good year.
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Wood of Philadelphia and Cape May are pleased to welcome their daughter, Ruth Ann, born in April.
They snapped another photo.
They had to look through two more volumes before they found anything else.
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Wood of Philadelphia and Cape May are pleased to welcome their son, Wesley Arthur, born in November.
“Keep digging,” said Lily. “There’s got to be something about Max next.”
They found that notice in 1943.
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Wood of Philadelphia and Cape May are pleased to welcome their son, Maxmillian Joseph, born in July.
Lily and Vaz looked at each other. “Uncle Max,” Lily said. “It’s a good thing they don’t have any baby pictures.”
Vaz focused the camera on the birth announcement. “That scary, huh?”
She thought of the weird painting hidden away in the closet. The sickening smile. The glowing eyes. “That scary,” said Lily.
Vaz looked at his watch. “We don’t have much time left. Why don’t we split the volumes? It will go faster.”
They each paged through the big albums one by one. 1944, 1945, 1946. Lily made a discovery in 1951.
Cape May lost one of its most prominent citizens this weekend,” she read. “Mr. Joseph Wood died of a heart ailment late Saturday night. He was 52 years old. A public service is planned for Wednesday.
“Your family has had some pretty bad luck,” Vaz said.
“No kidding,” said Lily. Joseph. Her great-grandfather. She wondered what he was like. If his family missed him after he was gone.
“Here’s something interesting,” said Vaz. “1955. Mysterious fire in a barn.”
“I’ve got something about a mysterious fire in 1956, too. A boat burned up.”
“Weird,” said Vaz. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with anything, does it?”
Lily shrugged, finished going through 1957 and 1958. “Another fire in ‘58,” she read. “A concession stand at the beach. The police suspect that it’s arson. I wonder if they ever found the guy.”
“How do you know it was a guy?” said Vaz.
“Same way that I just knew you were going to say that.”
“Maybe it was a gang of girl arsonists.”
“They probably were in a turf war with the girl pirates.”
There were no fires in 1959, and no mention of the Woods.
“I don’t think that we’re going to find anymore here,” said Vaz, “and Burton is going to be back to tend his fungus farm in about fifteen minutes.”
“One more, okay?” said Lily. “We have time.” She flipped open the cover of 1960 and gasped. “Vaz! Look!”
A mysterious and tragic fire erupted on the third floor of 206 Perry Street late Saturday night. One person was killed.
Owned by Mrs. Joseph Wood, the house suffered moderate fire and water damage but was saved before the fire reached the second floor bedrooms where most of the family was sleeping.
The deceased has been identified as Maxmillian Wood, seventeen. Investigators believe that the young man may have started the fire as a prank, but was trapped on the third floor when the fire raged out of control. Memorial services are scheduled for Monday. The funeral follow on Tuesday.
“Uncle Max was killed in the house,” said Lily.
“Didn’t you think of that before?” asked Vaz. “Don’t ghosts usually haunt the spots where they died?”
“I don’t know what ghosts do! Not real ghosts, anyway.” She hadn’t known Uncle Max, but he was a member of her family, and it was a horrible way to die. As if there were a good way.
“What’s up there?”
“Where?”
“In your attic?”
“I tried to get up there once, but the door was stuck. You know,” she said, “when I was looking through the keyhole I thought I smelled smoke.”
“We’ll break into the attic next,” said Vaz. He snapped a picture of the article and tried to close the book. “Come on, Lily, put the book back. We have to go now.”
“Wait,” she said. She flipped through the rest of the pages.
“Hurry, Lily. He’ll be here any minute. We have to go.”
“There’s more.”
Investigators now believe that Maxmillian Wood, killed in a fire in his mother’s summer home on Perry Street, may have been responsible for the rash of mysterious fires that have plagued Cape May since 1955. The family vehemently denies these charges. “My son did not set those fires,” said Mrs. Joseph Wood. “And we intend to prosecute those who seek to smear my son’s name.”
Vaz pulled the book out of her hands and hauled her to her feet.
“What are you doing, I want to keep—”
“He’s back,” he whispered in her ear as he dragged her from the room. “Burton’s back.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lily could hear the key turning in the front door lock as they slid down the hallway, sneakers squealing, through the dining room, back toward the door to the basement. Burton swore, muttering to himself in the front entranceway as Lily eased the door closed behind her, wincing as the latch made a little tinny click. She thought she could actually see her heart beating through her sweatshirt.
They sneaked down the stairs, stepping lightly so as not to make the rickety old things creak and moan. At the bottom of the short staircase, they stopped to listen. Footsteps thudded directly above, ceased, then thudded again, seeming to move farther away. Lily could feel Vaz’s lips against her ear when he whispered, “If he goes in the library, he’ll see the books on the floor.”
Lily nodded, and they crept toward the open basement window. They stared at it. It hadn’t seemed so high coming through the other way. Lily moved some squishy newspapers out of the way, picked up some books, and started stacking them under the window as quickly and quietly as she could. Vaz did the same. There was a hoarse shout from above, and the sound of feet pounding through the house. Lily jumped on top of the books, grabbed the windowsill, wriggling frantically as Vaz pushed at her feet. Vaz jumped up on the books and pulled himself out in one smooth motion. As his sneakers cleared the open window they heard the basement door open with a bang, and Burton’s voice yelling, “Who’s there? I know someone’s there! I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it!”
Vaz and Lily burst from the bushes and ran through the yard to the red cedar fence that separated Burton’s property from Lily’s uncle’s. They dropped to their knees and crawled behind a thick row of evergreen hedges that grew alongside the fence, scratching their hands and their faces in the process. They both heard the basement window creak in protest as Bailey Burton slammed it shut.
“The fence doesn’t go all the way around,” whispered Lily. “It stops at the back. We just have to get to the end and we can sneak into Uncle Wes’s yard.” They got on their bellies and wormed their way toward the back of the property until they reached the end of the cedar fence, just making it into Uncle Wes’s yard when they heard something thrashing the bushes on Burton’s side. The air fled Lily’s lungs when a knowing voice wafted through the cedar planks.
“I know
you’re out here,” Bailey Burton whispered. “Sneaking through the bushes like dirty little animals.”
Lily and Vaz didn’t dare move. They waited until the thrashing and the threats subsided — a long time — and they heard Burton walking back toward his house. And then they waited a while longer, just to be sure, until their hands were so cold and stiff that they could barely unclench their fists.
“That was close,” whispered Vaz.
“I know.”
“He had some nerve calling us dirty.”
“I know,” said Lily.
“You know what else?”
“What?”
“It’s really freaking cold out here.”
“You’re the idea man,” said Lily. “Do you think it’s safe to stand up and walk to the back door?”
So they waited even longer, until the sky looked angry and dark and burned around the edges. “Okay,” said Lily. “Can you stand up?”
“I think so.”
They stood and staggered to the back door, propping themselves up against the house as Lily tried to maneuver the key into the lock, tried to turn it with her rigid hands. She almost cried in relief when the back door finally swung open and they fell into the kitchen. She closed and locked the door behind them and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Do you think he actually would have shot us?” she said, after they had been sitting for a while and she could feel the muscles in her face begin to thaw.
“We don’t even know if he had a gun,” said Vaz. “I didn’t even see him, did you?”
“No. Do you think he knows it was us?”
Vaz squirmed uncomfortably. “Yeah. Who else would it be?”
“A burglar?”
“A burglar that didn’t steal anything?” Vaz unzipped his coat. “We were just at his house asking to see some old documents and he tells us get lost, no deal, right? Then he comes home one day and finds the same documents we asked about all over the floor. What do you think he’s going to think?”
“Do you think he’ll call the police or something?”
“I don’t know.”
Lily tugged on her lip with her teeth. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
He shrugged and pulled his camera out of his pocket. “I got myself into this.”
Lily asked the question she had been dying to ask. “Why did you get yourself into this?”
“Maybe I like an adventure.”
“An adventure?”
“Maybe you do this kind of stuff every other week, but I don’t. I’ve lived in the same place my whole life. Cape May has flower shows, not nightclubs. The biggest thing that ever happened to me is the worst thing that ever happened to me.” He looked out the window. “I usually read about this kind of stuff, I don’t get to live it.”
“Oh,” she said, amazed that he could think her life was like this all the time.
He reached out and pulled a twig from her hair. “And anyway, maybe I like you. You’re pretty funny when you want to be.”
Lily stared stupidly at the twig in his hand and tried to think of something cool and funny to say, something that would make him touch her hair again. Then Lily had to bite her lip harder to keep from laughing at herself. She had just broken into some guy’s house; discovered her uncle’s house was haunted by a boy arsonist who had burned to death in the attic; been chased by giant larva with a gun; and here she was, thinking about guys.
Vaz was watching her, and she dropped her eyes to her hands. They were dirty and raw and scratched, so she got up to wash them in the sink. “Since we’re officially criminals,” she said, “why don’t we break into the attic? See if anything’s there.” She scrubbed at her skin, even though the soap stung. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“I wouldn’t want you to call me a girly man or anything.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “That would be a compliment.”
They took off their jackets and Vaz washed his hands, and then they searched the kitchen for things they could use to pick the attic lock — a couple of forks, a plastic toothpick, and an expired bank card that Lily’s mother had left on the counter.
As they climbed the main staircase, the phone rang. They looked at each other.
“Bailey?” said Vaz.
“Could be one of those cranks who never says anything,” Lily said.
“Won’t know unless you answer it.”
Lily walked back down the stairs and picked up the receiver with both hands. “Hello?”
“Lily?” The voice sounded as if it hadn’t been used in a century.
Lily’s stomach lurched. “This is Lily.”
“Yes. Well. This is your uncle. Wesley. Your Uncle Wesley. Wesley Wood.”
“Oh,” Lily said. Vaz mouthed who is it? but Lily waved him off. “How are you?”
Cough. “Fine, thank you. And you?”
“Fine.” Lily waited.
“And your mother? How is she?”
Lily switched from one foot to the other. “Fine.”
“The two of you are getting along? You’re comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“No problems that I need to be aware of?”
“Um…no.”
“Well, then. Very good to hear.”
Silence.
“Are you finding everything you need?”
“Yeah,” said Lily. “I think so.”
“Are you sure? The house is quite large, though I expect someone your age would have explored every inch of it by now.”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
Another silence. Lily thought she could hear the grinding of teeth.
“Have I interrupted something?”
“I have a friend over. We’re doing homework.”
“I won’t keep you then. Would you please tell your mother I called?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Very good. Good-bye, then.”
“Bye.”
Lily hung up the phone and walked back up the stairs.
“That was my uncle Wesley.”
“Really? What did he say? Why didn’t you ask him anything about the house?”
“He didn’t say anything, really. And I didn’t want to just babble about ghosts and things. I don’t want him to think I’m a total freak.”
They reached the stairs to the attic. Vaz pointed to the faint coating of dust on the floor, now stamped with footprints. “Who’s been up here before?”
“Me,” said Lily.
“Oh. And whose prints are those?”
She saw a smudged set of prints going up the middle of the stairs and coming back down again. But then there was another, clearer set of prints on the left side of the staircase, close to the wall. This set went up, but didn’t come back down.
“I think the ghost…guy…whoever is still up there,” said Vaz.
“Unless they came back down the middle, like I did,” said Lily.
Vaz pressed his lips together, but Lily knew what he was thinking. What she was thinking. That crazy Uncle Max was in the attic. Waiting for them.
Lily grabbed the card from Vaz’s hand. “Might as well get this over with.” She marched up the stairs, deliberately stepping on the prints on the left side. She put her hand on the porcelain knob, expecting it to stick, but almost fell back into Vaz when the knob turned easily in her palm.
She glanced at Vaz, then pushed the door open.
They stepped into the dark.
Lily shook her head. “I don’t see anything, do you?”
That’s when the door closed softly behind them.
The Phantom of the Opera
Oh, no. No way. Uh-uh. This was NOT happening.
Lola had Steffie’s whole makeover planned, and boy was it going to be mondo-cool: great smeary pink lips, big orange spots of rouge, blue eye shadow, fake lashes out to there, hairy beauty mark, the works. But she had only been able to the do the lipstick before Mr. Scary Soot-for-Breath stormed in and just shoved her out of the
way! What was that guy’s problem? Why would a bit of lipstick get his knickers in a bunch? Why couldn’t he just get a life already?
Er…so to speak.
Had Steffie dumped him or something? Had she set his arms on fire? And what kind of loco death dance was that anyway? Did he think it was scary? Ha! No way! Lola gnawed at a fingernail. Nope, not scary at all. It was all so desperate and creepy and overdone, so Phantom of the Opera, it just made her sick to watch.
And now this. The fine guy had been over a bunch of times now, but he and Steffie had never gotten, you know, cozy or anything — the guy obviously felt sorry for the poor little geek. But today, they decide to go upstairs. Alone. Together. And that flamey creep just stands by and watches it happen! And then he closes the door on them!
Lola stomped up the attic stairs after them. She didn’t know what kinds of plans Fireball had for Steffie, or what Steffie had done to him in another lifetime, but all Lola knew was that he just better butt out or he could end up decked out in a pink prom gown. Forever. She just wanted to teach Steffie a lesson, that’s all, and he would just have to wait his turn.
He didn’t own the afterlife.
Chapter Fifteen
The door couldn’t make up its mind. It opened, then closed, then opened, then slammed shut. They could hear a sharp click as the tumblers in the lock turned.
“What is that,” Lily whispered, barely able to speak. Like those dreams where you open your mouth and nothing comes out, she had no breath.
“Don’t panic,” said Vaz. “I think there’s a light.” He pulled a cord, and a single lightbulb cast a feeble yellow pall over the large room.