When the Malones moved into their new house, Poppy had been put in charge of organizing Rolly’s bedroom. That was when she discovered that every word spoken in the living room floated up through this grate. By experimenting, she found that she could even see a little of what was happening below by lying on her stomach and peering through the opening at exactly the right angle.
They had taken up their positions in advance of Mr. Farley’s arrival after convincing Rolly to stay in Will’s room. (They did this by letting Rolly play with Will’s video games, a sacrifice that Will had made for the greater good; they had all feared that Rolly would give away their position by barking through the grate at exactly the wrong moment.)
“I think a Nemesis sounds like a comic book character,” Will went on. “The Nemesis! Seven feet tall, hands of steel that can crush an ordinary mortal, and dark, glittering eyes that can freeze an opponent in his tracks!”
“Well, I think a Nemesis sounds dashing,” Franny said, rolling over on her back and smiling dreamily at the ceiling. “Like a wicked pirate or something.”
“I’m sure Mr. Farley looks perfectly ordinary,” said Poppy.
“Of course he does. That’s how he hides his nefarious ways. During the day, he looks like a mild-mannered grant manager,” said Will, relishing the chance to use his most sinister voice. “But at night, he turns into his evil alter ego: The Nemesis—”
The doorbell rang.
They stared at each other, wide-eyed.
The Nemesis had arrived.
To Will’s and Franny’s disappointment, Mr. Farley didn’t look like an arch villain or a dashing pirate. If anything, he looked like a timid woodland creature of some sort—a squirrel, maybe, or a mole.
He had rung the doorbell at precisely 1:00 P.M. They could hear Mrs. Malone open the door and greet him, her voice pitched a little higher than normal from nerves as she invited him in.
They held their breath as they waited for him to come into view—and then he appeared. He walked into the living room with a soft step, as if trying to blend into the background. As he turned toward Mr. Malone, who was sitting in his favorite armchair, they could see that Mr. Farley was a colorless man, with thin hair and pale eyes. He wore a gray suit and rimless glasses and carried a nondescript black briefcase. His smile when he said hello was small and didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Poppy distrusted him at first sight.
“Mr. Malone, I presume?” he asked, with a small cough.
“Yes,” Mr. Malone said, standing to shake Mr. Farley’s hand. “Dr. Malone, actually. I have a PhD in applied physics, and my wife has a doctorate in wildlife biology and a master’s degree in cryptozoology.”
“Ah, so it’s Dr. and Dr. Malone,” Mr. Farley said with a dry chuckle. “It must get confusing sometimes, answering the phone.”
“We manage to keep things straight most of the time,” said Mrs. Malone in an artificially bright voice. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, or maybe a lemonade?”
Poppy held her breath as Mr. Farley said, “Thank you, no,” and turned to sit down. If he chose the rocking chair, they would only see the back of his head, but if he sat on the couch—
“Yesss!” Will said as Mr. Farley chose the couch. He squirmed closer to the grate, pushing Franny out of the way.
“Stop it!” Franny hissed. “I can’t see!”
“I’ll let you look in a minute,” said Will, putting one eye closer to the grate.
She elbowed him in the ribs. “Move over!”
Poppy glared at them. “Be quiet! I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
Scowling at Will, Franny inched forward and tilted her head in order to see what was happening below.
“… and so, you see, I really had no choice,” Mr. Farley was saying. “My great-aunt is, I’m sorry to say, very fickle in these matters.”
“But the letter she sent when she gave us the grant was so lovely!” Mrs. Malone cried. “Warm, encouraging, full of interest and enthusiasm for the world of the paranormal—”
“As I said.” Mr. Farley sighed. “Fickle. One day she has a passion for UFOs or ghosts; the next day she can talk of nothing but antique harpsichords or ancient Peruvian poetry. You aren’t the first scholars I’ve had to give bad news. Why, I remember when I told Professor Rutland that his study of cave petroglyphs would no longer be funded. After twenty years of research, he felt that he was close to making a great discovery, but my great-aunt had met a young man who believed that there was a code hidden in an ancient Sanskrit manuscript that would reveal the day when the world would end. I have to admit, his theory sounded more interesting than anything Dr. Rutland had found looking at cave drawings, but still, it was a blow. Professor Rutland wept. A grown man, crying like a small child.” Mr. Farley shook his head. “And, of course, there were the wild accusations of lawsuits and other threats of a more personal nature. It took me almost half an hour to pry his hands off my throat.”
“That must have been terrible for you,” said Mrs. Malone. “He sounds rather unbalanced.”
“Unfortunately, even the mildest researchers react badly when their money is taken away,” Mr. Farley said. “That’s why I carry a small can of pepper spray with me at all times. Of course, it’s always very upsetting to lose a grant. However, if one can’t show any results....”
His voice trailed off.
“But this Professor Rutland had twenty years of funding with no results,” Mr. Malone said quickly. “We’ve barely had a chance to get started!”
“And we came so close a few weeks ago,” Mrs. Malone added with rather desperate brightness.
Will closed his eyes. “Please, please don’t mention the vampires,” he murmured.
“You see, we had heard on very good authority that there was a horde of vampires headed our way,” continued Mrs. Malone, rather breathlessly. “Our esteemed colleague Dr. Oliver Asquith had actually been attacked by one of them and had developed quite a bad limp as a result. He managed to kill a few of them, so of course the rest were bent on revenge. We had high hopes that they would track him to our door and that we would be able to interview them, perhaps take a few photos—”
Will closed his eyes and let his head drop so that his forehead rested on the grate.
“Maybe it will be all right,” Franny whispered, nudging him to move over so that she could get a better view into the living room. “Maybe Mr. Farley likes vampires. Some people do, you know.”
“Even though Dr. Asquith had actually encountered the vampires, unfortunately, so many supernatural experiences simply cannot be replicated,” Mrs. Malone was saying earnestly. “As he explained to us later, the undead are quite sensitive to atmosphere. Apparently the vibrational frequency of our house simply did not appeal to them, and so they passed us by.”
She finally came to a halt. There was a brief silence. Then, feeling perhaps that her story had not ended as impressively as it might have, she added, “It was still a very interesting experience, as well as quite educational. I’m sure that we’ll be able to use what we learned in our next investigation.”
From the expression on Mr. Farley’s face, he did not find this convincing. He also appeared to be one of the few people on the planet who did not find vampires glamorous, charismatic, or even all that attractive.
“Indeed,” he said dryly.
The word seemed to hang in the air.
“Not every investigation pans out, of course,” Mr. Malone said hastily. “And that was only our first try! Perseverance, that’s the key! And we just so happen to have discovered a very promising new area of study.”
“Ah?” Mr. Farley said absently, glancing at his watch. “And what is that?”
A self-satisfied smile appeared on Mr. Malone’s face. “An old cemetery with documented hauntings that span decades,” he said proudly. “We’ve unearthed a treasure trove of eyewitness accounts in the archives of the local library. Newspaper reports, letters, diary entries—”
Mr. Farley didn’t let him finish. “Yes, yes, that all sounds very interesting,” he said, sounding completely uninterested. “But unless you can prove any of it … well, I’m afraid my great-aunt’s interest has recently been piqued by mini schnauzers. Especially the white ones.”
Mrs. Malone cast a nervous look at Mr. Malone, but quickly rallied.
“They’re delightful dogs, of course,” she said. “So bright and perky! But, really, in the grand scheme of things, I don’t think that any type of dog is quite as important as proving that the human personality exists beyond death, do you?”
“I completely agree,” Mr. Farley said. “If one were to see a ghost, it would be a memorable occasion. And if one were to actually provide evidence that ghosts exist—well, who could deny that that person deserved a most generous grant?”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Malone relaxed a bit.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Mrs. Malone said. “That was exactly our thought.”
Mr. Farley gave them a cool smile. “Yes. As I said. If one were to provide proof.” He paused to let that sink in. “And you have not done that.”
“We have not done that yet,” Mr. Malone corrected him.
“Yes. Well.” Mr. Farley snapped his briefcase shut and stood up. “I came here to underscore one point and one point only: my great-aunt likes to see results. And when she doesn’t—well, her mind does wander. I suggest that you find something to show her by this time next week. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee that your grant will be safe.”
When the door closed behind Mr. Farley, Poppy, Will, and Franny thundered down the stairs and burst into the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Malone were staring at each other in shock.
“I can’t believe they’re going to give our money to someone who studies old pianos!” said Will, not even pretending that they hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“Antique harpsichords, dear,” Mrs. Malone said. “And I’m sure it’s a rewarding subject, in its own way....” Her voice trailed off unhappily.
“Does this mean we don’t have to go on any investigations for a while?” Franny asked, sounding just a little too relieved.
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Malone said. “Searching for the paranormal is not just a job; it is our calling. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night will keep us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds.”
“What about lack of funds?” Will asked. “That will stop pretty much anything.”
“Now let’s not worry ourselves over something that might not happen,” said Mrs. Malone, sounding very worried indeed.
Poppy didn’t say anything. She had a question she wanted to ask, a question that loomed in her mind, a question that made her stomach clench, but she was too afraid to ask it.
Will we have to move again?
She thought about how she had dreamed of a house just like the one they were now living in. She thought about her cozy bedroom, the wide front porch, and the lawn where they could play croquet one day, just as soon as they convinced their parents to buy a croquet set. She thought about how she had been looking forward to making new friends and settling in at a school for longer than a semester.
She thought about how she finally felt that she had a home.
And then she realized how wrong she had been about Mr. Farley. He may have looked like a quiet little man with a boring briefcase, but those looks were deceiving. His gray suit and thinning hair and rimless spectacles were exactly what a Nemesis looked like.
Chapter NINE
“We must have courage!” Mr. Malone said to his family that evening after supper. “Are we going to give up at the first obstacle, fall at the first fence? No! We are going to persevere! We are going to forge ahead! And we are going to keep on until victory is ours!”
He stood in the middle of the living room, his legs wide apart, his chin raised proudly, his posture straight and stalwart. He looked like a general encouraging his army to make one last assault against the enemy. It would have been a stirring picture if it hadn’t been for his troops, who were, simply put, not buying it.
“I can’t believe we’re going to have to leave Austin already,” said Franny. She was curled up at the end of the couch, clutching a pillow to her stomach. “We just got here.”
“If we move, can we get a dog?” Rolly said.
“At least I haven’t unpacked all my boxes,” said Will. He was lying on the rug, staring gloomily at the ceiling.
His mother gave him a narrow look. “Will, you told me that you had,” she said. “You promised.”
“I knew there wasn’t any point,” he told the ceiling. “I had a feeling that we weren’t going to stay here long.”
“Really?” said Mrs. Malone, momentarily diverted. “Was it a flash of ESP, do you think?”
“Clearly it was not,” said Mr. Malone, “since we are not going anywhere.”
“But if we could run an experiment with Will that demonstrated precognition, perhaps we could present that to Mrs. Farley,” said Mrs. Malone.
“The only thing I see in our future,” said Will, “is a moving truck.”
“I can see that, too, and I don’t even have ESP,” muttered Franny.
Mr. Malone stared fiercely around at his family. “I can’t believe I’ve raised children who would give up the fight at the first hint of opposition! The answer to a slight setback isn’t to sit around crying! The answer is to go out and find some evidence that is so astounding, so amazing, so spectacular that Mrs. Farley will have no choice except to let us keep our grant.”
His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose in the midst of this tirade. He pushed them up again and said grimly, “Those harpsichordists aren’t going to know what hit them.”
Mrs. Malone looked dubious, but she said, “Your father is right. We can’t just give up. Maybe we should watch the film from the cemetery. There might be something there....”
Her voice trailed off, as if even her determined cheerfulness could not overcome the dismal facts facing them.
“That will take weeks,” said Will. “Months! And you heard Mr. Farley. We only have a few days!”
“And it’s so boring,” added Franny. “Hours and hours and hours of watching nothing happen.”
“Nonsense! Remember that video from the Louisiana investigation?” Mr. Malone asked. “Thirteen hours of watching Spanish moss waving in the breeze. Then all of a sudden—bam! A swamp creature appears, right in the middle of the screen!”
“That was just a duck hunter who got lost and fell into the water,” said Poppy.
“Well, he was covered in mud,” said Will, trying to be fair. “And he did have slimy green swamp weed all over his head. I can understand why Dad got confused—”
“My point is,” said Mr. Malone, “that you never know when you might see something that could alter our current notions of reality. So tonight, we are watching the film from our camera trap.”
This was met with a concerted groan from everyone except Mrs. Malone, who was clearly determined to be gallant in the face of impending disaster.
“I’ll make popcorn!” she said. “It will be fun!”
“Is everyone ready?” Mr. Malone asked.
Poppy held up the remote from her spot on the couch. “Ready,” she said. Poppy had been assigned remote control duties, a task she enjoyed. She liked the illusion that she could stop, reverse, or speed up time, all with the push of a button.
Will waved a languid hand from the floor. “Ready.”
Poppy nudged him with her foot. “Don’t go to sleep.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he said, yawning. “In fact, I’m sure it will be impossible to sleep once the movie starts. We’ll probably be awake for hours, too terrified to go to bed.”
“Franny?” Mr. Malone asked.
“For heaven’s sake! Yes, I’m ready, you’re ready, everybody’s ready,” said Franny. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done.”
“That’s not quite the can-do
spirit I’d hoped for, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,” said Mr. Malone. “Now, remember—be quiet, stay focused, and keep your eyes open for … can anyone tell me what we’re looking for?”
“Misty figures,” said Poppy drearily.
“Glowing orbs floating through the air,” added Franny, bored.
“Strange flashes of light,” said Will, without bothering to open his eyes.
“I’m glad to see that you children have been paying attention for once,” Mr. Malone said. “All right, Poppy. Go ahead and start the video....”
For almost fifteen minutes, nothing moved except the dark branches of the oak trees, which swayed gently in a breeze. Then there was a sudden movement on the screen.
“Did you see that?” Mr. Malone said, leaning forward in his chair.
“Yes, I did, there was definitely something there!” exclaimed Mrs. Malone.
“Rewind!” said Mr. Malone. “Let’s watch that again....”
Poppy dutifully rewound.
As the video started again, Mr. Malone stared intensely at the screen.
“There!” he said. “Hit pause!”
Poppy did and managed to capture the exact moment a raccoon, scurrying along on its own masked business, turned to look into the camera lens.
Mr. Malone slumped back in his chair, disappointed.
“Well, that was exciting,” said Franny. “Maybe if we watch long enough, we’ll see a possum. Or a bat.”
“Shh!” Mr. Malone held up a warning hand and leaned forward, gazing intently at the screen. “Did you hear that? Poppy, go back a little bit.”
She dutifully rewound the video and started it up again.
“Be quiet, everyone,” Mr. Malone said. “Not a sound!”
Will closed his eyes. Franny sighed and let her head droop onto the armrest. Poppy raised one skeptical eyebrow, but she leaned forward just a bit and turned up the volume.
For a long moment, there was no sound except the rustle of leaves and a distant hooting of an owl. Then they heard it—what sounded like a faint moan.
A Gust of Ghosts Page 6