“There! That was it!” Mr. Malone said. “Did you hear it?”
“I did!” Mrs. Malone’s eyes were shining. “And did you see the mist! It drifted across the screen at the very same moment that we heard that unearthly moan!”
Poppy frowned. “I didn’t see any—”
“Rewind, rewind!” Mr. Malone jumped up and began pacing back and forth. “This could be exactly what we need to show Mrs. Farley that we’re on track.”
As Poppy pressed the rewind button, she said, “That sound could have been caused by a lot of things besides a ghost, you know. Like maybe one tree branch rubbing against another. Or an animal that’s been hurt.”
Mr. Malone waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll eliminate those possibilities, of course. But in the meantime”—he sat back down and focused his attention on the screen—“let’s all keep an open mind.”
“But—” Poppy began.
“Come on, Poppy, don’t be a spoilsport,” said Will. He sat up and grinned at her. She knew what that grin meant. Will was now so bored that he had decided to entertain himself by pretending to be wildly enthusiastic about the investigation, thus encouraging Mr. and Mrs. Malone to ever greater flights of fancy.
She crossed her eyes at him to show she disapproved.
He waggled his eyebrows at her to show he didn’t care, then turned an eager face toward his parents and said, “Hey, maybe we could watch the tape in slow motion this time!”
“There’s a bright idea!” said Mrs. Malone. “And a very helpful one. Thank you, Will.”
“It just seemed to make sense,” he said modestly.
As Mr. and Mrs. Malone turned their attention back to the screen, Poppy leaned over to hiss in Will’s ear. “Stop encouraging them! It’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he murmured piously. “I’m trying to be a kind and caring son. You would do well to follow my example.”
“Oh, please.”
“Remember, Mom and Dad are old,” said Will. He was doing his best to look virtuous, although a tiny smile kept creeping onto his face and spoiling the effect. “We should help them get a little enjoyment out of the days they have left to them.”
“Yes, you’re right, Will,” she said as she pressed Play. “You’re a real saint.”
This time Poppy played the film in slow motion. Roughly two seconds after the moan began, a faint trail of mist could be seen in front of the camera lens. It took three seconds to drift from the right side of the screen to the left, and then it disappeared, just as the moaning stopped.
This was the focus of even more argument.
“There’s a very simple and rational explanation,” insisted Poppy. “The headstones are made of granite and marble. That means they absorb the sun’s heat during the day. Then when the sun sets and the air cools down, the headstones keep putting off heat. So there could easily have been a three- or four-degree difference in the air temperature, which, as we all know from basic science class, can create a mist.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Mrs. Malone, disappointed.
“Only if your hypothesis about the change in temperature is correct,” said Mr. Malone. “If it’s not, then bang goes your theory, and we’re back to the strong possibility of a ghost.”
“Okay, let’s get the readout from the digital thermometer,” said Poppy. “I left it at the cemetery so we could get overnight readings. We can compare the temperature data with the video, match up the time sequence, and see if there are any temperature variations that correspond to the time that the mist appears on the video—”
“Never mind,” Mr. Malone snapped.
“Or I could check with the weather bureau to see what the humidity index was last night,” she went on. “Sometimes a camera flash reflects off moisture in the air, which can create an illusion of mist.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Malone said. “And I was so hoping to have something definite to show that Mr. Farley!”
Up until that moment, Poppy had been feeling the inner glow that she always felt when she was playing around with different theories. It was fun to toss out ideas, to consider the arguments for and against, to feel her mind sparking like a computer running at high speed....
Then she saw her mother’s crestfallen face.
“I’m just saying we should look at the data,” she said weakly. “I just think we should check to see if there was moisture in the air.”
“And it’s an excellent theory, Poppy, except for one thing,” said Will, who had obviously decided to throw himself wholeheartedly into his new role as The Child Who Believed. He paused just long enough to make sure he had everyone’s full attention, then said dramatically, “Even if there was a hundred percent humidity last night—we weren’t using a flash.”
Mr. and Mrs. Malone both cheered up immediately.
“You’re absolutely right, we weren’t!” said Mr. Malone. “Excellent point.”
“Yes indeed, well done,” said Mrs. Malone.
“When all natural explanations have been dismissed,” Will said earnestly, “then only one remains. An explanation that is supernatural.”
“Very well said,” said Mr. Malone. “Write that down, somebody. We should use that when we go to the institute to do our presentation.”
Poppy ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “Look. What we’re seeing is probably just water condensation. We can’t show that to Mrs. Farley. She sees it on her bathroom mirror every morning!”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” said Mr. Malone. “Or maybe we just haven’t analyzed the film thoroughly enough. Now, let’s watch it again, and I want everyone to concentrate this time....”
In the end, they watched the same six-second section of the video twenty-seven times. And every single time, they saw and heard the same thing and had the same argument.
The clip started with the faint moan, if indeed it was a moan.
Poppy insisted that it sounded more like the creak of a tree branch swaying in a breeze, but Mr. Malone swore that he could hear a word being spoken.
“Listen,” he kept saying. “Open your ears and really listen! Can’t you hear it? It sounds like ‘beeeee.’” He lowered his voice and added a ghostly vibrato as he repeated the word a few more times. “‘Beeeee! Beeeee!’” Then in his normal voice he added, “You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like an apparition!”
“Of course it sounds like a ghost when you say it like that!” Poppy snapped. “I don’t think it sounds like a word at all, but even if it did, what is the ghost trying to say? What does ‘beeeee’ mean?” She used the same low vibrato to say “beeeee” as her father had, but added a sarcastic twist that her parents, unfortunately, did not even notice.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Malone nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder … B as in the letter B? Perhaps the spirit’s name begins with B? Or maybe it’s ‘be’ as in the verb ‘to be’? Or even ‘bee’ as in the insect? Perhaps the ghost was stung to death by a bee?”
“Maybe the ghost is trying to say ‘beware!’” Will suggested with a gleam of mischief. “Or ‘be afraid!’”
“I think the ghost is saying ‘be mine,’” said Franny.
Will pretended to gag.
“My idea is just as good as yours,” Franny said heatedly. “Not every ghost has to be a homicidal maniac, you know. Some of them might be romantic.”
“So they wander around cemeteries talking like a bad Valentine’s Day card?” Will scoffed.
“Yes!” she said, her eyes flashing. “Why not? Maybe that mist is actually the ghost of a man whose one true love betrayed him by marrying another! And maybe he died young of a broken heart! And then lingered on the earthly plane, hoping to somehow win her back!”
“You’re both delusional,” said Poppy. “No one is saying anything because there’s no one there.”
Will shook his head. “There are none so blind,” he said solemnly, “as those who will not see.”
He reached for the remote. “Give me that. Yo
u just didn’t stop the tape at the right spot. I’ll show you exactly where the voice starts talking.”
“You will not.” Poppy held the remote out of reach. “I’m the one in charge of the remote, and I know exactly how to use it.”
Will got up on his knees to grab for the remote, Poppy twisted away to keep it out of his reach, he leaned farther to get it, and they both ended up tumbling to the floor in a heap.
“Ow.” Poppy rubbed her elbow and glared at her brother. “You practically broke my arm!”
“Well, you kept hogging the remote!”
“That was my job!”
“And I was just trying to help!”
“All right, that’s enough,” Mrs. Malone said briskly. “I think it’s time we all went to bed. After all, there are only so many hours one can spend staring at a TV screen.”
Mr. Malone picked up Rolly, who had fallen asleep on the easy chair, hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and started up the stairs. “That’s right,” he said. “It’s easy to miss something when you’re tired. We’ll all have a good night’s sleep, then get up bright and early tomorrow and pick up where we left off.”
“We’re doing this again?” asked Franny, appalled.
“Of course,” said Mr. Malone. “We still have hours of video to watch.”
“But I wanted to go swimming tomorrow....” Her voice faded as she followed Mr. and Mrs. Malone up the stairs and out of sight.
Will yawned hugely and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, that was a fun evening.”
“Yeah, right,” said Poppy, putting the remote back in its holder (she was the only member of the family who ever bothered to do this). “Years from now, these are the family memories we’ll cherish.”
As they started for the stairs, Will noticed the tape recorder lying between two couch cushions.
“Oh, good, I thought I lost this,” he said. He flicked a switch to rewind. “Hey, you want to hear how you sound on tape? I promise, you’ll be horrified.”
He pressed the play button. Will’s voice came out of the miniature speaker, sounding tinny and far away.
“Hellooo. Is there anyone there? Anyone at all? Speak now or forever hold your peace....”
There was a pause in which the tape hissed. Then Poppy heard her own voice saying, “Very funny, Will.”
She winced. Will was right. She sounded like a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz movie, only less impressive.
Then Will’s voice said, “Who are you? And what do you want from us?”
More hissing from the tape recorder.
“Come on, I’m tired,” said Poppy. “Let’s go to bed.”
Then she heard another voice, a boy’s voice. “Travis,” it said. It sounded faint and far away; Poppy could barely hear it over the background hiss of the tape. Still, there was no doubt what the voice said next.
“I want to play....”
Chapter TEN
“Will, that is not funny!” said Poppy, glaring at him accusingly.
They were still standing in the living room. From overhead they could hear a door close as Mr. Malone left Rolly’s room, footsteps as Mrs. Malone walked across her bedroom floor, and running water as Franny brushed her teeth.
“What?” Will was staring at the tape recorder with a dazed expression. He didn’t seem to have heard what Poppy said.
“Faking a ghost voice is not funny,” said Poppy impatiently. “What if Mom or Dad heard that? They’d go running off on a wild-goose chase just when they need to be focusing on something that they can present to Mrs. Farley!”
Will blinked, as if waking up, and looked at her, his eyes wide and scared. “Poppy, listen,” he said. “I didn’t do anything to this tape.”
Poppy squinted at him suspiciously. She’d made the mistake of falling for Will’s practical jokes in the past, back when she was young and gullible. She had no intention of falling for one ever again....
But Will wasn’t smirking the way he normally did after playing a prank. He looked pale and worried. “When I asked those questions in the graveyard, I didn’t hear a voice answer, did you?”
“No,” Poppy said slowly. “Of course, that’s why we bring tape recorders on our investigations. They pick up sounds we might miss....”
Will looked at the tape recorder in his hands with horror, as if he’d suddenly realized he was holding a live scorpion, and tossed it back on the couch. “But I was just kidding around—”
“Will! Poppy! Upstairs! Bed! Now!” Mrs. Malone’s voice floated down from the second floor.
Poppy glanced up the stairs. “We’d better go.”
“Are you crazy?” said Will. “Do you think I’m going to fall asleep after hearing this?”
“Of course not,” Poppy snapped. “We have to pretend to go to bed, then wait until Mom and Dad fall asleep.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s give it half an hour, then meet in the attic, okay? I’ll tell Franny to come, too.”
“And then what?” Will asked uneasily.
“Then we’ll see if we can get in touch with whoever—or whatever—said this,” said Poppy.
“For heaven’s sake, couldn’t this wait until morning?” Franny yawned. “Why can’t anyone in this family ever sleep through the night?”
“Be quiet or you’ll wake up Mom and Dad,” said Will, holding the attic door open. “And hurry up!”
“All right, all right,” Franny grumbled. She climbed the last few steps to the attic, followed by Poppy, and looked around. Will had turned on the light bulb that hung from the ceiling, but its dim light didn’t reach as far as the shadows in the corners. “As if we didn’t have enough drama in this house already.”
“We have a situation on our hands,” said Will. “A serious situation. Listen.”
He pressed the play button. The whispery voice at the end of the tape seemed to echo faintly off the attic’s sloping ceiling and wooden walls. There was a long silence after he clicked the tape recorder off.
Then Franny said, “Oh, great. This is all we need.” She gave Will an accusing look. “Thanks a lot, Will.”
“What did I do?” he asked, injured.
“You were fooling around at the cemetery, pretending to ask ghosts questions—”
“And what happened?” Will asked heatedly. “We got a ghost voice on tape. That’s a good thing. Mom and Dad could play it for Mrs. Farley.” He waved the recorder under Franny’s nose. “This could help save the grant!”
Poppy cleared her throat pointedly. “If,” she said, then waited until she had Franny and Will’s attention. “If that really is a ghost’s voice on the tape. And there’s only one way we can find out. We’ve got to do our own investigation.”
Franny looked uneasy. “I’m not sure we should try to handle this on our own. I think we should tell Mom and Dad.”
Poppy shook her head. “We can’t let them get their hopes up. You know what they’ll do. They’ll get overexcited. They’ll tell Mr. Farley they’ve found something before they know what they’ve got, they’ll call the media, and they’ll make complete fools of themselves. We’ve seen it all a million times before.”
“Yes, but still—”
“Come on, Franny,” said Will. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Franny raised one eyebrow. “You remember the Zimmerman case, don’t you?”
“How could I forget,” Will muttered. “Mom and Dad have only told us that story about a zillion times.”
“Professor Wilson didn’t think anything bad could happen either, and he’s spent the last fourteen years in an insane asylum,” said Franny.
“The Thornfield Home is not an insane asylum,” said Poppy. “It is a rest home for paranormal investigators who …”—she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to remember the exact words of the home’s mission statement—“oh yes, who have ‘experienced a close brush with the supernatural that led to wandering wits, unlikely enthusiasms, and fits of nerves.’” She opened her eyes. “A res
t home, Franny.”
“Call it an asylum, call it a home, whatever,” said Franny impatiently. “The point is that Professor Wilson made contact with Mrs. Zimmerman’s ghost and asked her into his house, and then she turned out to be the kind of ghost who never leaves. He ended up committing himself to get away from her!”
“Well, she did talk a lot—” Will said.
“Did you hear what I said?” Franny asked. “He invited her in! That was his fatal mistake!”
“So?”
“So what do you think we’re about to do?” Franny asked. “All kinds of horrible things could happen!”
“Oh, come on, what can ghosts do when you think about it?” Will said. “Hover, lament, maybe wail a bit. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Come on, Franny.” Poppy sat down. “Nothing’s going to happen. I can almost guarantee it.”
“Almost,” Franny muttered. “That’s always the problem.” But she took the chair next to Poppy.
“Great.” Will turned off the overhead light so that the attic room was lit only by flickering candlelight. “Everybody ready? Right. Let’s get started.”
He put his hands palm down on the table, his fingers outstretched. “Come on.”
Sighing, Poppy and Franny placed their hands on the table as well.
“All right,” he said. “Now don’t talk and don’t lift your hands from the table—”
“We know how to act during a séance,” Franny said, exasperated. “For heaven’s sake.”
Will closed his eyes. “Keep your minds open and receptive,” he murmured, his voice echoing strangely in the silent attic. “Any hint of disbelief can scare the spirits away....”
He lowered his voice and added a slight vibrato. “And now it’s time to invite the Unseen to join us. Speak, O Spirit! Is anyone here?”
A breath of air made the candle flame dip. Shadows danced on the walls, looking like strange, misshapen creatures, and darkness seemed to gather in the corners of the room. A bead of sweat dripped down Poppy’s face, and she could feel Franny’s hand, which she held in her own, trembling.
She cleared her throat. “If there is anyone here, show yourself,” she said firmly (and rather more loudly than she meant to).
A Gust of Ghosts Page 7