Home, Sweet Haunt

by P. J. Night

  Next came the howling. Nora loved this part. “Oooohhhh,” she moaned. “Oooohhhhh.”

  Through their experimental haunts over the past year, Nora had discovered that people were most scared when the ghosts did exactly what they expected them to do. Rattle chains. Slam doors. Move stuff around like a poltergeist might. If the ghost did something unexpected, it was easier to say it was a trick of the mind or a play of the imagination. Predictable ghosts were the terrifying kind.

  While it was dark, Nora took a flashlight from the bag and shone it on Lucas and his sheet. He seemed to glow as he stepped through a wall like an actor coming onto the stage. This was the best part. Playing a ghostly visitor, he dramatically set a Ouija board down on the floor. Lucas carefully placed the pointer in the center, in the middle of all the letters.

  Lindsay and Hallie huddled together in a corner, watching the sheet move across the room. “This is scarier than any movie,” Hallie squeaked, her voice shaky and barely audible.

  LL stared at the board with her mouth hanging open.

  Aleah held her hand. “What do we do?” she breathed.

  “I think the ghost wants to talk to us,” Caitlin said. Nora could see her swallow hard as she moved to the board.

  Caitlin lightly touched the pointer. Nora slipped behind her to guide her hand in the darkness. Lucas shone the flashlight on the board.

  “N.” Caitlin reported the first letter.

  “O.” The second one.

  “Could it be?” Aleah said with a shudder.

  “R.” There was only one more letter to go.

  “A.”

  Silence. The girls were all too scared to speak. It would be nice if they said Hello, Nora thought, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was a ghost, after all. And ghosts were scary, right? No sense in saying hi to a ghost.

  Caitlin sat still, her fingers hovering over the last letter in Nora’s name, waiting to see if there was more.

  There was. But not another letter. Not what any of them expected.

  On a silent count of three, Lucas flicked on the lights.

  Nora slipped under the floorboards and popped up from beneath, up through the Ouija board.

  “Boo!” she shouted, because that’s what ghosts said.

  The screaming went on for a long, long time.

  “Good work tonight.” Lucas gave Nora a high five as they walked home together.

  “That was fun,” Nora said. “I can’t wait for next year.”

  “Let’s add something new to the show,” Lucas said. “I’m wondering if you can pop your head out of a jack-o’-lantern.” His eyes lit up. “That would be cool.”

  “You tried that one with Mrs. Daugherty’s teapot,” Nora reminded him. “But your head was too big to be hidden.”

  “Yeah. I’ll admit, I need to work on that trick, but I’ll get it. It’s too funny to give up on it so quickly.” Lucas clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “I should be able to shrink the size of my head since I don’t really have a skull. There must be a way.”

  “We can convince Mom and Dad that it’s a biology project for school,” Nora said with a laugh. She and Lucas were walking past the park.

  That’s when she saw him.

  The soldier in the odd uniform was standing near the slide. The moonlight made his medals shine.

  As Nora and Lucas moved closer, he glanced up and waved.

  Nora waved back.

  “Who’s that?” Lucas asked as they crossed the street toward their own building.

  Nora shrugged. “I don’t know his name, but he’s sort of a celebrity, a ghostly legend.” She added, “I’m going to be famous too. I bet that someday someone will write a horror story about me.”

  The foreign man winked at Nora. And then, straightening his jacket, he wandered slowly away toward the next block.

  “I’m glad it will be dark by the time our guests arrive,” Alyssa Peterson remarked to her sister and mom as they drove down their quiet, one-lane street. “That way nobody will have to see that house.”

  “It looks creepier than usual today,” Amanda replied. “At least in the summer some of the trees hide it.”

  “I wish the town would just tear it down once and for all,” Mrs. Peterson agreed as she turned to pull into their driveway, kicking up dust in their trail. Their last-minute trip to the grocery store for a few missing party items had resulted in bags and bags of must-have snacks. She gently leaned on the horn. A second later her youngest daughter, Anne, bounded out of the house to help unload the car.

  The girls were almost finished bringing the bags inside when Alyssa motioned for her two younger sisters to huddle around her.

  “Everyone at the party tonight will probably want to hear stories about the house next door, but let’s not talk about it,” she began. “This is going to be our biggest and best New Year’s Eve party yet, and for once I’d like the party to be about us and not that thing next door. Agreed?”

  As if on cue, all three sisters turned and stared at the house. The house was something they avoided as much as possible. Its facade was in shambles—glass was cracked on some of the windows, shingles often blew off of the roof, and paint was stripped from the wooden boards that loosely held the house together—but they had heard the inside was even more decayed. None of the Petersons had actually been inside the house, but according to town gossip, floorboards were rotting away, doors were hanging on loosely by rusty hinges, and some of the electrical wiring was dangerously exposed. Judging on the condition of the lawn, it was easy to believe the rumors. An old-fashioned wheelbarrow was overturned and corroded with rust on the dead grass. And a broken light post that stood near the wheelbarrow sometimes flicked and buzzed with a surge of electricity.

  The sisters turned back and looked at one another.

  “Agreed!” Amanda and Anne said in unison.

  “It’s almost time, Amanda!” Mrs. Peterson called up the stairs to the second floor. Amanda quickly glanced at the clock on her nightstand and frowned. Her guests would start arriving any minute now, and she wasn’t close to being ready for her family’s annual New Year’s Eve party. She swiped a tiny brush across her pinky’s fingernail, adding a final coat of dark berry-red polish.

  “Be right down!” Amanda replied. She lightly blew on her fingernails—trying to dry them as quickly as possible—as she walked over to the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door for one final chance to examine her outfit before joining her sisters downstairs. The corner of her mouth tilted slightly upward as she admired her new skirt in the reflection. It was a Christmas present from her younger sister, Anne, and to her surprise, she loved the soft pink color. She twirled around and the skirt’s light, airy fabric billowed around her. Smoothing down the ruffles, she looked herself over from head to toe, from the slightly darker pink shirt to the white ballet slippers. All right, she thought, maybe I’ve gone a little too girly. She slipped out of her shoes and tugged on her favorite pair of silver-metallic high-top sneakers. As she tied the laces, she started thinking about Paul Furby, hoping that he would finally notice her this year.

  “Amanda, we need you downstairs now!” Mrs. Peterson called again.

  Amanda swung the door open and stepped into the hallway just as raindrops began pattering on the roof. She ran back into her room and peered out the window. Thick, dark clouds hung heavily over their house and stretched out above the meadows that surrounded it. She leaned closer into the window until she could see down to the covered deck below. After lots and lots of begging by the three sisters, their parents had finally agreed that this year the adults would stay upstairs while the girls would be allowed to host their own party in the basement. It would be guys and girls until midnight, and then the boys would leave, and the girls would stay for a sleepover and Mr. Peterson’s famous New Year’s Day breakfast. Strictly no adults allowed. And the sisters were hoping the mild southern Texas weather would hold throughout the night so they could mingle outside on the deck too.
But as Amanda looked up at the heavy, threatening clouds and saw the rain streaking down her window, she wondered if they were doomed. She hoped this bit of rain would pass soon.

  Slowly her gaze swept across the wildflower fields and toward the creepy old neighboring house. And as soon as she caught a glimpse of the dried grass that announced where their meadow stopped and the other house’s lawn began, her eyes instinctively darted back to her own familiar deck below. But her thoughts raced to a memory she’d rather forget.

  Months earlier, Amanda had been throwing a softball back and forth with Anne, breaking in her new catcher’s mitt. Amanda was always far more athletic than her sisters, but Anne was tall and strong and just learning how to really throw a ball. So when Amanda tossed the ball to Anne, she didn’t expect her to hurl it back so forcefully. It went straight over Amanda’s head and way past their lawn. After scouting through the meadow for the lost ball, Amanda finally found it, and she turned to tell Anne. But when she reached down to pick it up, it had disappeared again. Amanda walked a little further and still couldn’t find it. As she walked on, she saw the ball roll out of the tall weeds and into the lifeless yard of abandoned house—as if something or someone was using the ball to lure her closer to it. When Amanda finally snatched the ball up, she was right next to the house, nearer than she’d ever been. She heard whispers coming from inside. She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like they were saying “stay away.” She ran back to Anne and just told her that she was done playing catch and wanted to go back inside.

  The thought of that day still made Amanda uncomfortable. She sighed and decided it was finally time to join her sisters before her mom called her again.

  Want more creepiness?

  Then you’re in luck because P. J. Night has some more scares for you and your friends!

  Can You Make It Home?

  You accidentally stumbled into an apartment filled with ghosts. Can you make it out of the maze without running into any ghosts saying ‘Boo!’?

  YOU’RE INVITED TO . . .

  CREATE YOUR OWN SCARY STORY!

  Do you want to turn your sleepover into a creepover? Telling a spooky story is a great way to set the mood. P. J. Night has written a few sentences to get you started. Fill in the rest of the story and have fun scaring your friends.

  You can also collaborate with your friends on this story by taking turns. Have everyone at your sleepover sit in a circle. Pick one person to start. She will add a sentence or two to the story; cover what she wrote with a piece of paper, leaving only the last word or phrase visible; and then pass the story to the next girl. Once everyone has taken a turn, read the scary story you created together aloud!

  I started hearing noises in the attic a few months ago. At first I didn’t think much of them, but when things around the house started to go missing, I began to wonder if there was a ghost in the house. I knew I had to conquer my fears and do what I was most afraid of . . . I had to go up to the attic. When I opened the door, a huge gush of cold air flew down at me, but still I entered. I walked up the steps and there it was. A . . .

  THE END

  A lifelong night owl, P. J. Night often works furiously into the wee hours of the morning, writing down spooky tales and dreaming up new stories of the supernatural and otherworldly. Although P. J.’s whereabouts are unknown at this time, we suspect the author lives in a drafty, old mansion where the floorboards creak when no one is there and the flickering candlelight creates shadows that creep along the walls. We truly wish we could tell you more, but we’ve been sworn to keep P. J.’s identity a secret . . . and it’s a secret we will take to our graves!

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  YOU’RE INVITED TO A CREEPOVER is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Text by Stacia Deutsch

  ISBN 978-1-4424-7240-2

  ISBN 978-1-4424-7241-9 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number 2012951485