The Pumpkin Principle

by Cynthia Blair

  “That’s right. It’s not easy for someone to get the best of us, once we put our minds to it!”

  “And I’d say it’s time for us to put our minds to it!” Susan was growing more and more excited. “Oooh, I’d love to get back at B.J.! And what better time than Halloween? Now, all we need is an idea.”

  Chris looked at her twin and grinned.

  “Sooz, remember what I was saying the other day about the mysterious effect that pumpkins have on people?”

  “Of course. The Pumpkin Principle. You said that there’s something about pumpkins that makes people want to dress up like someone other than who they really are and pretend to be that person. And now that you’ve brought it up, I think I’m beginning to understand what kind of ‘trick’ you’ve got in mind!”

  “At the meeting today, I mentioned that you were planning to go to the Halloween Dance dressed as Scarlett O’Hara and that I wanted to go as Juliet.”

  “So everyone expects us to wear those costumes. Everyone, including B.J. Wilkins!”

  Chris’s brown eyes were glowing. “Sooz, how would you feel about pulling a switch?”

  But instead of the enthusiastic reception that Chris expected to get from her twin, Susan’s face fell.

  “But Chris! I wanted to be Scarlett O’Hara so badly! It’s like a dream come true!”

  “I know.” Chris frowned. “And I wanted to be Juliet. But, after all, there’s a principle at stake here. I mean, we are trying to fool B.J.”

  “That’s true. He did try to fool us, in a way, and I’d love to turn the tables around and fool him, instead.” She still sounded uncertain, however.

  “Me, too. So, do you think it’s worth it? Giving up the chance to be Scarlett O’Hara just so we can teach B.J. a lesson?”

  Susan thought for a minute. She sat with her chin resting in her hands, and she wore an earnest expression. And then, suddenly, she broke into a huge grin.

  “There’s no question about it, Chris! As much as I’d love to be a Southern belle for the evening, I can’t resist the opportunity to play a prank! Especially on B.J.! And since we can almost bet on him pulling some strings and getting assigned either Romeo or Rhett Butler, I can’t think of a better way!”

  “That’s the old Pratt spirit!”

  “Speaking of ‘the old Pratt spirit,’ ” said Susan, suddenly serious, “don’t forget that tomorrow night’s the night you and I are going up to Crabtree Hill, hopefully to spend the night.”

  “As if I could forget! It’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since we decided to go ahead and do it. But we’d better give some thought to what we’re going to tell Mom. After all, if all goes well, we’ll be away all night. And we also have to plan what we’re going to say and what we’re going to wear....”

  The two girls had been so absorbed in talking that they didn’t even hear their mother calling them from downstairs. When Mrs. Pratt finally appeared in the doorway of Susan’s room, puzzled about the lack of response to her repeated calls, it was almost a full minute before the twins even noticed that she was standing there.

  “What are my two little urchins up to this time?” She laughed when the girls looked up and saw her. “I could be wrong, but it sounds as if you’re planning another one of the pranks you’re getting so famous for. Talking about ‘what you’re going to wear.’ Don’t tell me that, once again, it’s going to become impossible for me to tell which of my very own daughters is which!”

  The girls looked at each other, wondering just how much of their conversation their mother had overheard. But she didn’t seem to have any inkling of the escapade up on Crabtree Hill that they were getting ready for. Instead, they decided to concentrate on talking to her about the Halloween Dance.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Chris reassured her. “We may have a teensy-weensy practical joke up our sleeves, but we promise that you don’t have to worry. As soon as we’re in this house, I’ll continue to be Chris and Susan will be Susan.”

  “Wait a minute, Susan,” Susan said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease their mother. “I thought that I was Chris and you were Susan!”

  “You two!” Mrs. Pratt laughed. “All I can say is, I’m glad you didn’t turn out to be triplets!”

  “Wow,” Chris breathed. “Triplets. I never even thought of that. Now that would have been really something!”

  “Fortunately, it’s too late for that,” said Mrs. Pratt, sounding genuinely relieved. “And it’s going to be too late for dinner, as well, if you two don’t get yourselves downstairs before your father eats up all the spaghetti.”

  “Oh, yum!” Chris cried, jumping up off the bed. “I love spaghetti!” She turned back to her sister and mother, having decided not to dash out of the bedroom and down to the dinner table just yet. “Do you suppose Juliet ate a lot of spaghetti?”

  “Not if she wanted to fit into her Halloween costume,” Susan teased.

  “Oh, that’s right: Halloween is getting close, isn’t it?” Mrs. Pratt observed casually. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Have you?”

  Chris and Susan both burst out laughing.

  “You could say that, Mom,” said Chris.

  “As a matter of fact, we were both just talking about our costumes for the Halloween Dance....”

  “And we were wondering if maybe you could find the time to help us make them.”

  “Just as long as you don’t want to be bunny rabbits again,” returned Mrs. Pratt, rolling her eyes upward for effect. “I’ll never forget the year we had fuzz all over the house. Why, even at Christmastime, I was still finding little clumps of white fur in the oddest places!”

  “Oh, Mom, we were eight years old then!” Susan squealed.

  “Really? It seems like only yesterday to me!”

  “Actually,” said Chris, “our costume ideas are much more interesting than that.”

  “And I bet they’re a lot more complicated.”

  “Well, maybe just a little. You see, one of us wants to be Juliet, as in Romeo and Juliet,” Susan explained, “and the other wants to be Scarlett O’Hara.”

  “Oh, dear. That does sound complicated. But certainly manageable.” Mrs. Pratt paused. “Did you notice that I didn’t even ask which one of you wanted to be which character? See, I’m learning!”

  As the three of them went downstairs together, Mrs. Pratt suggested, “How about if, right after dinner, we all drive over to the mall and pick out some fabric. If I’m going to help you both turn into two of the most beautiful—and well-dressed—women in the history of literature, we’d better get moving right away!”

  Mrs. Pratt had never seen a spaghetti dinner eaten quite so quickly in her entire life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “That full moon sure looks eerie, doesn’t it?” Chris observed nervously.

  It was the following evening, right after dinner, and Chris and Susan were heading toward Mrs. Carpenter’s house on Crabtree Hill. They were walking briskly, pretending it was because it was cold. In reality, they were going so fast because they were both very nervous.

  Susan glanced up at the sky. It was a black, cloudless sky, without a single star. The only light came from the round, yellow moon, which did, indeed, look eerie.

  “Oh, come on. It’s just the moon. The same old moon that’s up there every night.” Now that they had embarked on their adventure, she wasn’t about to let on how scared she was. After all, she reasoned, what good would that do?

  “I guess you’re right,” Chris agreed meekly.

  “Do you think Mom believed us when we said we’d be spending the evening at Katy Johnson’s and that we’d probably be sleeping over at her house?”

  “I guess so. I mean, she let us go, didn’t she?”

  Susan was quiet for a minute. “Gee, I feel so bad about not being able to tell Mom the truth.”

  “I understand that, Sooz. But think how bad you’d feel if Mrs. Carpenter gave up her home, and we just stood by and let it happen without doing
anything to prevent it!”

  “You’ve got a point there.” Susan sighed. “Well, I guess I’d better stop worrying about this world and start thinking about the possibility that tonight, you and I might be facing someone from the other world!”

  It was as if the seriousness of what they were about to do had just hit them. They stopped in their tracks and looked at each other. Both pairs of big brown eyes were wide open.

  “Are—are you scared, Chris?”

  “Nah, I ... well, sure, Sooz. Don’t tell me you are, too. You’re always so levelheaded, so—so practical.”

  “Maybe. But ghost hunting has nothing to do with being practical!”

  The two girls continued their walk up Crabtree Hill, leaving the buildings and lights of Whittington behind. But instead of the energetic pace they had begun with, they were now proceeding much more slowly.

  “You don’t want to turn back, do you?” Chris finally said, her voice almost a whisper. “We could always tell Mom that Katy wasn’t home.”

  At that suggestion, Susan suddenly became indignant. “Christine Pratt! Where’s your sense of duty? You and I are about to do a good deed for a. very nice woman who happens to be the sister of the owner of our favorite bookstore. How can you even suggest turning back?

  “Besides,” she added, much more calmly, “Jonathan Spring was probably a very friendly fellow during his lifetime. So there’s no reason to believe he’s anything but friendly now, right?”

  Chris remained silent.

  “Right?” Susan repeated.

  Her twin gulped. “Anything you say, Sooz.”

  By that point, the girls had reached the black wrought-iron gate that marked the entrance to Crabtree Hill. Just beyond it, the huge Victorian house loomed up ahead. It was impressive, indeed: a complicated collection of towers, stained-glass windows, gingerbread trim, and turrets, with a widow’s watch perched on top.

  Once the house had been a grand lady. Now it was badly in need of another coat of yellow paint. The lawn was scraggly, sprinkled with patches of brown dirt where grass refused to grow. The front porch sagged badly.

  And off to one side, the girls knew, was the cemetery. The place where Jonathan Spring had been buried more than a hundred years before.

  B. J. Wilkins had been right. The house did look haunted.

  “Well, this is it,” said Susan, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

  The two girls went up the front walk and onto the porch. Chris glanced at her sister as if to say, “It’s still not too late to go back,” then reached up to the brass knocker and banged as hard as she could.

  From within came nothing but silence. Ghostly silence.

  “Maybe she’s moved out already....” But before the words were out of Susan’s mouth, the front door opened with a loud creak. Standing there was Mrs. Carpenter, whom the twins recognized from seeing her in town.

  “Mrs. Carpenter? I’m Susan Pratt, and this is my sister Christine. We’re friends of your brother, Mr. Peterson, and his wife, Ellie, too. We have, um, sort of a favor we’d like to ask of you.”

  “Yes, girls? What is it?”

  “We’re pledging for a sorority. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s called Sigma Delta Alpha.”

  The gray-haired woman’s face lit up. “Why, yes! As a matter of fact, when I was your age, I was president of Sigma Delta Alpha! What can I do to help you two?”

  “Well,” said Chris, looking over at her twin for support, “as part of our hazing, we’ve been told that we have to, um, spend the night in your house.” She held her breath, afraid of what Mrs. Carpenter’s response might he.

  But the older woman simply looked concerned. “My goodness! Don’t you girls know this house is haunted?”

  “Yes, ma’am. At least, that’s what we’ve heard.” Susan was matter-of-fact. “That’s the whole idea. You know when someone is pledging for a sorority, she has to do all kinds of things—sometimes even scary things. Which is why we’re supposed to spend the night here.” She noticed for the first time how terribly dark it was up here on Crabtree Hill without any streetlights or lights from other houses.

  “And if we don’t spend the sight here,” Chris piped up, “we won’t be able to join Sigma Delta Alpha.”

  “We’d be so disappointed if that happened!”

  Mrs. Carpenter thought for a few seconds. “I’m not sure about this, girls. I’m not convinced that it’s safe for anyone to stay here.”

  ‘“Oh, please!” Chris cried. “It would mean so much to us!”

  Cecilia Carpenter was taken aback by her vehemence. “Well, if you’re sure you’re not frightened, I don’t suppose it would matter too much if you both slept in the living room, where there are two comfortable couches and a fireplace. It’s the only place that’s warm enough, I’m afraid. The rest of the house gets very cold—except for my bedroom, where there’s another fireplace. I’ll be up there, on the third floor, so you won’t bother me a bit. But are you sure you’re not afraid?”

  “We’re sure!” the twins exclaimed in unison. In fact, they were so intent on convincing Mrs. Carpenter that she should let them in that they forgot to be scared.

  It wasn’t until a while later, when the three of them sat down to tea, that the girls remembered their true purpose in coming to this house. They were seated in the living room, which suited the exterior of the house perfectly: thick, red velvet drapes, an elaborate Oriental rag, and heavy, old furniture made of dark wood and upholstered in the same red velvet as the drapes.

  “Just sitting in this room gives me the creeps!” Chris whispered to Susan while Mrs. Carpenter was out in the kitchen preparing their tea.

  “Actually, this is rather a nice surprise,” Mrs. Carpenter said once she’d returned. She poured tea from a silver urn into delicate porcelain caps hand-painted with pink roses. “I don’t get much company these days. Tell me about yourselves.”

  The twins were self-conscious at first, talking to Mrs. Carpenter. But she seemed genuinely interested in finding out more about them, and, before long, they launched into hilarious tales of the little schemes they had cooked up in the past—and the predicaments they’d gotten themselves into. Mrs. Carpenter laughed along with them, and she seemed to be having a very good time.

  It was past ten when she finally said, “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you two. But it’s getting late, and I’m afraid I really must get to bed. I think you’ll be comfortable on these couches. I do feel I must warn you, however. There is definitely a ghost in this house. Especially in this room.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” said Susan. “Have you actually seen it?”

  “Well, no. But I’ve heard it. I used to sleep on the first floor, in the bedroom right behind this room. And every night I’d be awakened by all kinds of terrible noises. Doors slamming, stairs creaking, books and things being toppled off shelves and tables. But the worst is a kind of high-pitched sound. It sounds like screaming.” Mrs. Carpenter shuddered. “It’s enough to make your blood run cold.”

  “Did you ever get out of bed to have a look?” asked Chris.

  “Goodness, no! I was afraid of what I might see!”

  Chris could certainly understand that.

  “But I know I’m not imagining these noises because every morning, I find signs that they’ve been here.”

  “Like what?” Susan blinked.

  “Chairs that have been tipped over, papers and bottles of ink that have been thrown off the desk, pillows tossed off the couch. Whoever this ghost is, he certainly isn’t very neat.”

  The twins would have laughed if Mrs. Carpenter didn’t look so distressed over the whole thing.

  “If you’re still prepared to stay here overnight—and very possibly see this ghost for yourselves right in this room—then I’ll be going up to bed now. There are some blankets in the hall closet.” Mrs. Carpenter stood up and headed for the stairway. “And girls?” she said, turning back for a moment.

  “Ye
s?”

  “If you’re not still here in the morning, I’ll understand why you’ve left.”

  With that, Chris and Susan were left all alone. “Gee, Sooz,” Chris said. “Did you hear Mrs. Carpenter’s description of all the noises she’s been hearing? They certainly sound real enough!”

  “And they couldn’t very well be just her imagination if she’s been finding chairs and books on the floor the next day.”

  As the two of them looked at each other, they were thinking the exact same thing.

  “Come on, Chris. We’ve come this far. We can’t turn back now.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Well, we might as well find some blankets and get comfortable.” Looking at Susan, her face glowing eerily in the firelight, Chris added, “I have a feeling we have a long night ahead of us.”

  Not long after the girls had drifted off to sleep, they both awoke with a start. The floorboards were creaking very softly. Someone—or something—was in the room with them.

  “Chris, is that you?” Susan called, her voice barely audible. By then the fire had died out, and the room was completely dark. “Are you walking around?”

  “No,” came Chris’s shaky reply. “I’m still lying on the couch. I was hoping it was you who was walking around.”

  Susan inhaled sharply. “I guess we’re not alone, then.”

  The two girls lay in the dark, keeping very still, afraid to move. Sure enough, they began hearing the noises that Mrs. Carpenter had described. The stairs creaked, doors slammed, things fell to the floor.

  “Gosh, Chris! It’s as if this house were alive!” Susan whispered hoarsely. “I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

  “Me, either! Oooh, we should have left a light on.” Chris was actually trembling.

  “Can’t you see ghosts even in the dark? Don’t they glow or something?”

  Just then there was a loud crash. It sounded as if something-—a vase or maybe a ceramic pitcher—had fallen onto the floor and broken into a thousand pieces. Both girls let out a loud squeal.

  “Let’s get out of here, Sooz!”

  But something had changed Susan’s reaction from fear to anger. Maybe it was the fact that Mrs. Carpenter’s lovely things were being destroyed; maybe it was the fact that this kind woman was being forced out of her house. At any rate, she decided that it was definitely time to get to the bottom of all this.