by Jason Hawes
His brother came to stand beside him. “You okay?” Mike asked.
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Mostly. I just hate to think of that kid all on his own. We saw some pretty freaky stuff when we were kids.”
“We did,” Mike agreed. “But we got through it.”
“I know. That’s why I have to help him. Even if the team can’t take the case. Even if I can’t make the ghosts go away. I want Bill to know he’s not alone in this. He’s got solid backup.”
The brothers fell silent. Both were thinking of their unusual childhood growing up in a haunted house.
“Well,” Mike finally said. He poked Mark in the gut with his index finger. “After that burger and fries you had for lunch, I’d say you’ve got the solid part covered.”
“You’re the one who had the chocolate shake,” Mark came right back. “Not to mention you ate most of my fries.”
The brothers grinned at each other.
“You need any backup yourself, you let me know,” Mike said.
“Thanks. I’ll do that,” Mark replied.
“Where are you going to start?” Mike asked.
“Easy,” Mark said. “I’m going to go back in time.”
“It’s got to be here,” Mark muttered several days later. He was working late at the office. Mark rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He felt as if he had been staring at the computer screen forever.
“Who are these ghosts?” he asked himself. “What are they doing in Bill’s house? There’s got to be an explanation. There’s got to be something in the past.”
He hadn’t found it so far.
Mark stopped staring at the computer and stared at Bill’s letter instead. He kept it right beside him on the desk. To remind him of why he shouldn’t give up—why he should keep on going.
I’m not just some kid who’s scared of the dark. Though I am. Kind of. Don’t tell anyone.
That’s what Bill had said. But Mark knew exactly what he meant.
Bill is more than scared, Mark thought. Bill Turner is terrified. And it won’t get any better—until I find a way to help him.
Mark’s gaze strayed to the stack of papers beside Bill’s letter. The pile was enormous. Doing the research on where the Turners lived was actually sort of fun. Mark loved going back to the historical record. He loved finding answers in the past when the present stumped everyone else.
Trouble was, both past and present were stumping him now.
It wasn’t that the ghosts kept doing the same thing over and over. Mark had seen cases like that before. Not very often, but there were quite a few in the TAPS files. There was one big difference in this case. The spirits in those hauntings had all their body parts.
Why don’t the ghosts in Bill Turner’s house have any legs? Mark wondered.
There had to be a reason. Mark was sure of it. So why couldn’t he find one?
He pawed through the papers impatiently. Some tumbled off the table and fell to the floor. Mark ignored them.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, what’s the answer?”
He pulled out a paper from the very bottom of the stack. Go back to the beginning, he thought. Mark began his search with an old map. It showed what the area where Bill Turner now lived used to look like. Once the whole area was farm country. One big farm, in fact. The original farmhouse stood in the same spot as Bill’s house.
The farmhouse, Mark thought. He shuffled through the papers again. He pulled out a second map. This one showed the floor plan of the original farmhouse.
Mark ran his finger through the rooms, as if he were trying to find his way through a maze. Through the front door and into the downstairs hall. Then up a flight of stairs to the second floor.
If Bill lived in the old farmhouse, Mark thought, his bedroom would be right at the end of the hall. Right there.
Mark’s finger froze. His heart began to pound. Wait a minute. Wait just a minute here, he thought.
He turned back to his computer. He typed in a command. A moment later, the web page for the housing development where Bill Turner lived appeared on the screen. Mark navigated through the website until he found what he wanted.
That’s it! he thought. That’s it right there!
The old farmhouse and Bill Turner’s house looked exactly alike. The new house was bigger. But the layout was the same.
Excited now, Mark printed out what the website showed. Then he checked the time. It was 9:30 PM. Still okay. Mark’s mom had this rule when the boys were growing up. No phone calls after ten o’clock. Even now that Mark was grown up, this rule still stuck.
Mark picked up the phone. His first phone call was to Jason.
“Hey, Jason. It’s Mark,” he said. “Good news on the Bill Turner case. I think I figured out what’s going on.”
“That’s great news,” Jason said. “Give me the rundown.”
Quickly, Mark explained.
“That does make sense,” Jason agreed when Mark was finished. “Really great job.”
“I want to contact Bill’s parents,” Mark said. “Now that we have a possible answer, I think the time is right.”
“I agree,” Jason said. “Go for it. Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do,” Mark said.
He hung up. Then he pulled out Bill’s letter. The Turner address and phone number were printed at the bottom of the page.
“Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Turner,” Mark said to himself as he punched in the phone number. “Please don’t freak out.”
He listened to the phone ring. “Hello?” he said when a woman’s voice answered the phone. “Is this Mrs. Turner?”
“Yes,” the voice replied. She sounded puzzled. Mark couldn’t blame her. He quickly explained.
“Mrs. Turner, my name is Mark Hammond,” he said. “We’ve never met, but your son Bill wrote to me about a week ago. I work for TAPS, The Atlantic Paranormal Society. I’ve been doing some research.
“I think I know what’s going on inside your house.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Mark said. “I know getting a call from a total stranger might seem, well, kind of strange.”
“No stranger than all the other things going on around here,” Mr. Turner said.
It was after school the next day. Mark was sitting in the Turner living room with Bill and his parents.
“But you think you figured out what’s going on?” Mrs. Turner asked.
“Yes.” Mark nodded. “First of all, the people you see aren’t really in your house at all. Not as far as they’re concerned anyway. They’re in their house.”
Mrs. Turner looked confused. “You mean, they lived in a house that was built right here?”
“Almost,” Mark said. “It was an old farmhouse that was torn down. Then the developer brought in a bunch of fill dirt. It happens all the time. So when your house got built, it was in the same place but—”
“It started out higher,” Bill guessed. He started feeling excited. He was beginning to understand. “It’s like our house is taller or something.”
“You’re right, Bill,” Mark went on. “Your house is also a little bigger than the old farmhouse. But the rooms are arranged in precisely the same way.”
“Precisely,” Bill said. “That’s your word, Dad.”
Mr. Turner put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “You’re right about that.”
“So if your new house and the old farmhouse look the same, but one is taller, what do you think that means?” Mark asked.
Bill thought it over. “It means the people do have legs. I just can’t see them. Because of what you said. The people aren’t in my house. They’re walking in the exact same places they used to walk, but in the old farmhouse. Where all the floors were lower. That’s why we can’t see their legs.”
“That’s what I think too,” Mark said. He looked at Bill Turner’s parents. “At TAPS we call this a ‘residual haunting.’ You see the ghosts, but they don’t see you. They’re in their own world, repeating the same things
over and over. Like a tape player playing itself over and over again. It’s as though they’re stuck in their very own time warp.”
“So how do we unstick them?” Mr. Turner asked.
“That’s a very good question,” Mark replied. “There’s no sure way. No one way, either. Sometimes confronting the ghosts, trying to get them to see you, works.”
“I want them to go away,” Bill said.
Mrs. Turner made a sound of distress.
“I know,” Mark said. “I don’t tell very many people this, but I understand how you feel, Bill. My brother and I grew up in a haunted house. I was afraid too. Lots of times. But I told myself I could be brave, and you know what happened?”
“What?” Bill asked.
“The more I told myself I could be brave, the braver I got. My guess is, you can do that too. You’re brave in ways you don’t even know yet, Bill.”
“Thank you for coming,” Mr. Turner said. He stood up. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”
“I hope I helped,” Mark said. He stood too. He shook Mr. Turner and Mrs. Turner’s hands. Then he shook Bill’s hand and gave him a business card.
“If you need to reach me, just call.”
“I’m brave,” Bill whispered to himself.
It sounded pretty convincing that afternoon when the sun was out. Now, in the middle of the night, when everything was dark? Maybe not so much.
Bill wasn’t about to let his own fear stop him, though. Mark Hammond said he learned to be brave. Braver than he thought he could be. Bill was determined to learn to be brave too. Brave enough to put his new plan into effect.
Project Scare the Ghost.
I can do this. I’m going to do this, he thought.
Bill was done with waiting for the legless man to come up the stairs. Done with hoping that the man wouldn’t come. Bill wanted the legless ghost to come tonight.
Because tonight, Bill was going to be brave. Braver than ever before in his life. He was going to help his family. He was going to help the man—help all the ghosts move on.
He stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes searched the darkness below. Any minute now, the man would appear in the downstairs hall.
There he is! Bill’s heart began to pound. He could feel the cold start to creep upward. It circled his ankles like fog. Slowly, slowly, the legless man began to climb the stairs.
Bill stayed right where he was. The cold was up to his knees now. Rising higher and higher. Now the cold was at his waist. Then his chest. Bill’s breath came in short, hard gasps.
The legless man was halfway up the stairs now.
Wait, Bill said to himself. Wait for it.
The man was almost to the top of the stairs.
Bill’s whole body felt strange—like a cross between a rock and Jell-O. Hard and soft. He was scared. But he also felt brave. Was he going to stand and fight—or run for his life?
Now!
Bill was brave. No two ways about it. Because he did run.
Straight down the stairs toward the legless ghost.
Straight through him!
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Bill’s body went numb with the cold. His eyesight went out of focus. He felt his legs buckle. He reached for the handrail on the stairs. His fingers closed around it.
Then he was through, on the other side of the ghost. Gasping for breath, Bill swung around.
The legless man stopped. He stood motionless two steps above Bill.
Slowly… ever so slowly… he turned around.
His eyes met Bill’s. He sees me! Bill thought. My plan is working!
The expression on the man’s face was puzzled. Like he couldn’t quite figure out where he was. In that instant, Bill felt something change. The numbness vanished. He could see clearly again. He wasn’t afraid of the legless man anymore.
Bill opened his mouth to tell the man everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t say anything after all.
Because in a split second—between one blink of Bill’s eyes and the next—the legless man was gone.
“And he hasn’t been back,” Mark told the TAPS team a few weeks later. “None of the legless spirits have returned. Bill’s plan did the trick.”
“That was a risky move,” Jason said.
Mark nodded. “It was. When I said he was braver than he thought he was, I never imagined he would tackle the ghost head-on.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well,” Grant said. “Though something tells me that kid may have a future as a member of the TAPS team.”
“Funny you should say that,” Mark replied. He pushed Bill’s letter across the meeting room table toward Grant. “He wants to know how old he has to be to apply. I think you get to answer that one!”
THE HAUNTING OF FORT MIFFLIN
The TAPS van slowed down as it entered Fort Mifflin, the site of their next case. The tires rolled over loose gravel, making a crunching sound. Lyssa looked out the window at the huge compound in front of her. Snow clung to the roofs of two long brick buildings. Lined up next to each other, the buildings looked almost like one building that stretched on and on. In front of them, Lyssa saw an uneven stone walkway that led to another set of buildings. Past that were big fields, and even farther out was a high wall that went around the entire fort.
When Jason stopped the van, she and Mark piled out. Lyssa stretched her arms to the sky. Stretching felt good. The TAPS team drove almost five hours to get to the fort, which was just outside Philadelphia. Lyssa could see Grant and Jen and Mike approaching from the other van. The TAPS team was ready to investigate.
Mike and Mark had been talking about Fort Mifflin for months. The twins had all sorts of e-mails from people who went on tours of the fort. The visitors swore they had seen figures in windows, heard voices in the hallways, screams from other rooms. So when Jason and Grant got a call to come investigate, they organized the trip right away.
Now Lyssa could almost feel the history of the place. It floated all around her. But there was also something very gloomy about Fort Mifflin. The buildings seemed solid but worn down. Red brick showed underneath chipping paint. The peeling paint made them seem like spooky ruins.
A tall man appeared in the doorway of a building nearby and approached the group.
“Hi. You must be from TAPS. I’m Victor, the caretaker of Fort Mifflin.”
Jason introduced the team, and everyone shook hands. Then Grant said, “Why don’t we start with you telling us a little about the place?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to. My wife, Sarah, usually leads tours here. But she couldn’t make it today. So I’ll be your tour guide.”
Lyssa and the others followed him toward the closest building.
“There’s been a lot of history here. This fort was important in both the American Revolution and the Civil War. Before the Revolution, Benjamin Franklin headed a committee to make sure a fort was built that would protect Philadelphia. Fort Mifflin was built in 1771. Only six years later, the soldiers here held off the British Army so that General Washington could get his soldiers to Valley Forge.”
“You mean George Washington, right?” Jen asked.
Victor nodded. “The fighting here lasted five weeks. It was the heaviest attack of the war. Hundreds of men were wounded. And 150 men lost their lives. They died right where you’re standing.”
Lyssa looked around her and shivered. She could almost see the heroic American soldiers being cut down by the British Army.
“Well, at least we won the war,” Mike said with a grin.
“But not this battle,” Victor told him. “The British ended up taking the fort. But if the soldiers here hadn’t held them off so long, the Revolution might have ended very differently. They call this place ‘The Fort That Saved America.’ And that’s only the beginning.
“After all that fighting, the fort was damaged so badly, it had to be built all over again.”
Victor turned swiftly and marched forward, like a soldier himself. Lyssa
moved quickly to keep pace with him. She breathed in the crisp winter air. There was an electric smell, like on days right before it starts to snow. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Victor stopped in front of the archway of a building. The entrance of the arch was blocked with iron gates.
“The dungeon is through there,” he said.
“The dungeon… that sounds so much worse than prison, but that’s what it was, right?” Mark asked.
“That’s right,” Victor said. “It’s always been called that, ever since it was built. The prisoners were kept in there. In the summer it was scorching hot. In the winter it was bitter cold. It wasn’t a good place to be.”
Lyssa looked in through the archway. The hall behind it was shadowy. She had to squint to see anything at all.
“What kind of paranormal activity has been reported in there?” she asked Victor.
“Well, it’s hard to say. I don’t like going in there at night. I get this real bad feeling, like somebody’s watching me, like they don’t want me in there.”
“Who do you think could be watching you?”
“We have records of about thirty prisoners who died in there. Many froze to death, some starved. So I’m not sure exactly who it might be. But whoever it is definitely is not happy.”
“Besides getting a weird feeling, have you ever seen anything strange in the dungeon?” Lyssa asked.
“I… There was one time. Out of the corner of my eye. I thought I might have seen something, like a figure of a man huddled over. But by the time I turned to face it, it was gone.”
Without another word Victor sprang ahead. As if he had to get away from the dungeon.
He led the team across a field to an old cannon next to a mound of dirt. In the middle of the mound was a crooked wooden door with a few rotting planks. Victor kneeled down in front of it. He put his fingers through a metal ring and pulled the door open. Tiny spiders scattered into the cracks of bricks as the door opened. A wobbly-looking wooden ladder plunged into the darkness below.