Various techniques? Certain events? That’s real helpful, Allie thought irritably. She clicked on several links to other pages, but didn’t find anything new or exciting. She was about to give up when she came across an interesting article written by an anthropologist who had interviewed hundreds of people claiming to have encountered a ghost.
So we see that most of the time the ghost is an unwilling spirit who longs to finish its business and rest. In these cases, if a particular requirement is met, the ghost is satisfied and is content to leave the human world behind.
However, those spirits whose nature could be characterized as essentially evil or vengeful may never be satisfied. They believe themselves to have been wronged so severely that they wish to continually punish the perceived wrongdoer(s).
Such a ghost must be either endured or laid to rest by the living.
Allie scrolled down, looking for some details about this “laying to rest” business. But there the article ended. She was staring at the screen in frustration when her mother called up the stairs to say that Dub had arrived.
She flew to the front door, anxious to hear what he had learned. As soon as she saw his flushed cheeks and eager expression, she knew that he’d found something juicy.
Twenty-one
Allie put a finger to her lips, reminding Dub not to say anything that Walker could “overhear,” and beckoned him into the family room. She pulled up a chair for Dub, sat down herself, and typed: SO WHAT DID YOU FIND?
Dub, wiggling his eyebrows tantalizingly, typed: ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?
In an agony of curiosity, Allie replied: JUST TELL!!
Dub handed her a piece of paper on which he’d copied the information he’d found. Allie read, “The Seneca Times, December 28, 1980: Evelyn Murdoch and John Walker announced their engagement. Evelyn, an employee of—”
She gasped loudly in disbelief. Dub looked at her and quickly typed: WHAT? YOU HAVEN’T GOTTEN TO THE GOOD PART.
ARE YOU KIDDING?! EVELYN MURDOCH IS MRS. HOBBS!
Dub’s eyebrows lifted in amazement, and Allie realized she’d never told him that. SHE WAS EVELYN MURDOCH BEFORE SHE GOT MARRIED. I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE WAS ENGAGED TO JOHN WALKER!
Allie thought back, then wrote: SHE WAS ENGAGED TO WALKER IN DECEMBER AND MARRIED MR. HOBBS ON MARCH 30. THAT’S ONLY—she had to stop and calculate—THREE MONTHS LATER. WHAT HAPPENED???
Dub shrugged and pointed to the paper, urging Allie to continue reading.
The article went on to say that Evelyn Murdoch was employed by the school system and John Walker was the owner of Walker Motors, an auto repair shop. An April wedding was planned.
Allie looked up at Dub and mouthed the word “So?”
Dub held up his finger, signaling Allie to wait, while he juggled the rest of the papers in his hand. He found what he was looking for, but instead of handing it to Allie right away, he paused for dramatic effect.
She grabbed the paper and read that, on January 15, Walker Motors had burned to the ground. She looked at Dub and whispered, “No way!”
Dub nodded excitedly, and gestured for her to keep reading his hastily scribbled notes. She learned that the fire had definitely been set on purpose and that the main, in fact the only, suspect had been John Walker.
Allie was barely able to breathe.
Dub typed: SOUNDS LIKE WALKER WAS EITHER A LOUSY CAR MECHANIC OR A LOUSY BUSINESSMAN. EITHER WAY, WALKER MOTORS WAS ABOUT TO GO BANKRUPT. SO WALKER BURNED IT DOWN TO COLLECT THE INSURANCE MONEY.
LET ME GUESS, Allie typed eagerly. THEY KNEW HE DID IT, BUT THEY COULDN’T PROVE IT.
Dub nodded, and Allie typed: JUST LIKE THE FIRE THAT KILLED MR. HOBBS AND THE BABY.
For a minute, neither of them moved.
BUT WALKER DIED IN THAT SECOND FIRE, Dub wrote. WHY WOULD HE SET A FIRE, THEN STAY THERE TO BURN UP?
Allie shook her head. She couldn’t answer that question any more than the others swarming about in her mind. She was trying to sort out the rush of feelings sweeping through her at that moment. She was surprised, bewildered, curious, yes. Excited, even. But mostly, she felt ashamed.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. She felt like such a fool for trusting Walker, for believing that he was another poor, innocent victim, when he was actually an arsonist and con man, and who knew what else? Childish, vain, silly, blind, pigheaded, brain-dead idiot, she berated herself. She couldn’t think of words crummy enough to describe how stupid she had been.
She felt a poke in her side, but she didn’t want to look up and face Dub. She was too embarrassed. Another poke dug into her, harder. Finally, she lifted her head from her hands. Dub looked concerned. His lips formed the words “You okay?”
Allie sighed and began to type: NO. She wasn’t looking for sympathy, though. She didn’t deserve it. I THOUGHT I WAS SO SMART, DUB, AND I AM SO INCREDIBLY STUPID.
Dub was looking at her in confusion, so she typed some more: YOU SENSED SOMETHING WEIRD ABOUT JOHN WALKER FROM THE START. YOU EVEN TRIED TO WARN ME. BUT DID I LISTEN? NO. BECAUSE HE SAID YOU WERE JUST BEING JEALOUS AND I BELIEVED HIM. BECAUSE I WAS SO BUSY THINKING I WAS SPECIAL.
Dub looked uncomfortable. AL, TAKE IT EASY. SO YOU MADE A MISTAKE. SO YOU FORGOT THAT I AM DUB THE WISE AND ALL-KNOWING AND YOU ARE A MERE MORTAL. I’M USED TO IT.
Allie could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Dub continued typing. YOU CAN BEAT UP ON YOURSELF LATER IF YOU REALLY WANT TO. BUT RIGHT NOW WE ARE IN MAJOR NEED OF A PLAN.
Allie sniffled back the tears she had been about to shed. Dub was right. And, boy, was it good to have him use the word “we.”
I THINK WE SHOULD START, he was writing, WITH THE THINGS WE DO KNOW. THEN PROCEED TO THE THINGS WE DON’T KNOW.
OKAY, Allie agreed. FIRST OF ALL, JOHN WALKER IS A GHOST FOR A REASON. HE’S TRYING TO USE ME TO HELP HIM GET WHATEVER IT IS HE WANTS. IF IT’S NOT TO FIND HIS KILLER, THEN WHAT IS IT? WHY DID HE SET ME ON THE TRAIL OF MRS. HOBBS? WHY WAS HE IN HER HOUSE WHEN IT BURNED DOWN? IF HE SET THE FIRE, THEN SHE DIDN’T KILL HIM, HE KILLED HIMSELF. WHICH IS PRETTY DUMB.
Dub scratched his chin in thought. Allie had a sudden idea and added: MAYBE MRS. HOBBS DID SET THE FIRE, FIGURING WALKER WOULD GET THE BLAME BECAUSE HE’D DONE IT BEFORE . . .
She stopped, feeling more confused than ever. I JUST KEEP GOING IN CIRCLES.
WE KNOW WALKER SET THE FIRE THAT BURNED DOWN HIS BUSINESS, wrote Dub. MAYBE HE SET THE FIRE AT HOBBS’S HOUSE, TOO. BUT THE SUBJECT OF FIRE KEEPS COMING UP.
REALLY? GEE, I NEVER NOTICED, Allie answered with a smile.
WE’VE BEEN ASSUMING THAT MRS. HOBBS IS THE FIREBUG, wrote Dub. His eyes were getting wide, and Allie almost expected to see smoke rising from the top of his head, coming from the heat of his brain at work. BUT SUPPOSE IT’S WALKER. HE MELTS THE MICROFILM AT THE PERFECT MOMENT SO YOU SUSPECT HOBBS, AND SO YOU CAN’T KEEP GOING AND FIND ANY INCRIMINATING STUFF ABOUT HIM.
With a mixture of sadness and sudden insight, Allie wrote: I THOUGHT CHIEF RASMUSSEN’S ACCIDENT WAS MRS. HOBBS’S FAULT, BUT MAYBE WALKER DID IT. TO MAKE SURE THE CHIEF COULDN’T TELL ME ANY OF THIS STUFF YOU FOUND OUT.
Dub grimaced. RIGHT. AND IF HE STARTED THOSE OTHER FIRES, HE COULD HAVE STARTED THE ONE AT SCHOOL, TOO.
Allie hadn’t thought of that. CAN GHOSTS START FIRES? I GUESS THEY CAN. IT’S LIKE FIRES ARE WALKER’S SPECIALTY.
Dub answered with a sardonic expression: WHETHER HE’S DEAD OR ALIVE.
Allie typed: WALKER SEEMS TO HAVE POWERS WAY BEYOND LUCY’S.
The thought terrified her, in light of her new suspicions about Walker. The idea that Michael might get sucked into Walker’s web magnified her fear. She realized then that Dub didn’t know about Walker’s appearing to Michael and luring him to Mrs. Hobbs’s house. Quickly she typed out the whole story.
Dub’s expression grew grave. WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.
Allie responded: WE’VE GOT TO “PUT HIM TO REST.” LOOK AT THIS—
She clic
ked back to the ghost Web site. Dub read intently, then typed: THIS ISN’T VERY SPECIFIC.
Allie made a frustrated face, and he continued: SAY HE’S ONE OF THESE VENGEFUL SPIRITS. HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE PUT TO REST. HE’S HAVING FUN. “ENDURING” HIM IS NO GOOD, ESPECIALLY IF HE’S MESSING WITH MICHAEL. HE’S GOT TO BE “LAID TO REST BY THE LIVING.” I GUESS THAT MEANS US.
Allie thought about that, then typed: YEAH, BUT HOW?
Dub grimaced. BEATS ME.
THERE’S ONE PERSON WHO MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP, wrote Allie.
There was a gleam of excitement in Dub’s eye as he typed: ARE YOU THINKING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE THINKING?
YEAH. ONLY MY PARENTS WILL NEVER LET ME GO.
YOU STILL HAVE TO FEED HOOVER TODAY, RIGHT?
Allie thumped Dub on the back in triumph. GOOD THINKING! She thought for a moment and added, BUT YOU MIGHT HAVE TO FEED HER—SHE’S BEEN FREAKING OUT AROUND ME. ANYWAY, LET’S GO. ON THE WAY, WE’LL TAKE A LITTLE DETOUR TO ARMSTRONG STREET.
Twenty-two
The computer had allowed them to talk in secret, or so they hoped. But Allie and Dub saw no way around the problem that, from that point forward, probably everything they did and said would be seen and heard by John Walker’s ghost. They told Allie’s mother that they were going to Mr. Henry’s house so Dub could feed Hoover.
“Which is true,” Allie said to Dub, unconvincingly, she knew. She felt guilty about lying—or telling half the truth—but didn’t know what else to do.
Dub had ridden his bike to her house, so they pedaled together to Armstrong Street. They hid their bikes in the bushes on the border of Mrs. Hobbs’s property, and Dub got his first good look at the house.
“Weird,” he said. “It’s like she never fixed it after the fire.”
“I know. Cafeteria ladies probably don’t make a whole lot of money, but still . . . It’s definitely strange.” Allie pointed to the boarded-over, tarp-covered side of the house. “Mike was under there. Walker told him it was a fort.”
Dub shook his head. “I still can’t figure out why he did that.”
“Me neither.” Allie looked reluctantly toward the front door. She dreaded facing Mrs. Hobbs again, and she had no idea what was going to happen. She and Dub had talked about having a plan, but now that they were actually at Mrs. Hobbs’s house, she realized that was as far as it went. And while she now knew that John Walker was not to be trusted entirely, she still didn’t know what role Mrs. Hobbs had played in the whole mess.
“Come on,” she said, before she lost what little courage she had mustered up.
For the second time that day, she walked across the lawn and up the porch steps. At least this time Dub was by her side. Together, they peered in the window.
Mrs. Hobbs was sitting in the same place in the living room, staring listlessly at nothing. Her expression was slack, her eyes hollow.
Allie went over to the door and knocked. There was no answer. Dub, who was still watching through the window, mouthed the words “She’s just sitting there.”
Allie knocked again. Again there was no answer. Motioning to Dub to come with her, she opened the door, and they went inside. Mrs. Hobbs barely reacted. Her eyes flickered briefly toward them, then resumed their study of the air, or the wall, or whatever it was she saw inside her head. She hardly seemed threatening, but Allie had no intention of letting her guard slip.
“Mrs. Hobbs?” she ventured.
Without looking in their direction, Mrs. Hobbs spoke. Her voice was a low croak, with no hint of animation or emotion. “So he’s in on it now, too?”
“Do you mean Dub?” Allie asked, surprised. She glanced at Dub, who looked terrified.
Mrs. Hobbs didn’t answer, appearing to lose interest.
Allie needed to get Mrs. Hobbs’s attention. She decided to ask the question that was foremost in her mind. “Mrs. Hobbs, do you believe in ghosts?”
It was an outlandish question, one that under most circumstances would be met with laughter or scorn. But Mrs. Hobbs answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Of course.” After a long pause she added wearily, “And you know why.”
Allie’s heart began jumping around in her chest. Carefully she said, “I’ve—met—John Walker.”
Mrs. Hobbs seemed unsurprised.
“Do you know why he—John Walker, I mean—would appear to my little brother, Michael, and bring him to your house, and leave him alone under there?” Allie gestured toward the unfinished side of the house. “That’s where I found him this morning. Mike’s only four,” she added. “And he was scared.”
For the first time, Mrs. Hobbs’s face showed a glimmer of feeling. “Four?” she murmured. “Poor child.”
Allie looked at Dub, who was clearly as flabbergasted as she was. Was Mrs. Hobbs, the Snapping Turtle, showing what sounded like sympathy for a child?
“I don’t know what John Walker wants from me, Mrs. Hobbs,” Allie went on. “But I really don’t like him scaring Mike. What does he want with Mike?”
Mrs. Hobbs seemed to have to gather her strength to respond, and when she did, the answer came slowly and painfully. “I imagine it’s another way of trying to hurt me.”
Confused, Allie asked, “How?”
Mrs. Hobbs waved this away with a flutter of her hand. “Don’t you see? All I have left is my job. He can’t stand that I’ve been promoted. He doesn’t want me to have even that tiny little bit of happiness. Ms. Gillespie phoned yesterday to say that your father called her to complain about me. If you hadn’t found your brother and he was discovered, or harmed, at my house, I don’t think I’d have my job at the school much longer, do you?”
Allie was stunned. She didn’t know what she had expected Mrs. Hobbs to say, but certainly not that. “Why doesn’t he want you to be happy?” she whispered. “And what does he want with me?”
“Why don’t you ask him,” Mrs. Hobbs said, sounding exhausted. “He’s right behind you.”
“Yikes!” Dub shouted. Allie, also startled, whirled around.
“I don’t see anything,” Dub said. He sounded really spooked, and his eyes were just about bugging out of his head.
Allie said quietly, “I do.”
She’d known for several weeks that ghosts truly did exist. But she’d never before seen one, not a whole one, anyway, if “whole” was a word that could be used to describe a ghost. For the first time she was looking at John Walker, and not just his face but his entire body—his entire ghost body. He wasn’t solid, like a real person, because sometimes Allie could see right through him to the wall behind.
He turned his dark eyes on her and pleaded, “Listen to me, Allie. Don’t believe her! She’s the one who ruined my life. All I ever wanted was a home and a family, and look at me. She did this to me.”
“She set the fire?” Allie asked. “The one that killed you and her husband and her baby? The reason I ask is because I know you burned down your business for the insurance money.”
There was a silence, during which John Walker’s face went through a series of contortions. Outrage, wounded innocence, and frustration passed over his features, ending with what appeared to Allie to be an angry pout.
Mrs. Hobbs asked quietly, “What’s your answer, John?”
While Allie waited for Walker to answer, she sneaked a look at Dub. When she saw his face, she realized that he couldn’t see or hear John Walker, and he was dying to know what was going on. But there was no time to fill him in.
Walker burst out furiously, “It was your fault, and you know it!”
“That’s true in a way, John,” said Mrs. Hobbs thoughtfully. “It’s my own fault I got mixed up with you in the first place. I was young and foolish. And I’ve had the rest of my life to regret it.”
“No,” Walker said angrily. “We were happy. Then you ruined everything. I’ll never be able to forget what you did to me!” Walker’s voice was high now, and trembling with emotion.
“I did nothing except come to my sense
s before I married you. How could you think I’d want you after you bragged about burning down your own business for the money?”
“I did it for us! You said you loved me—and then you jilted me! You married him. You had a baby, and a happy life, and I had nothing!”
Compared to Walker’s near-hysteria, Mrs. Hobbs sounded calm, almost detached. “Poor John. You’re always the victim, aren’t you?”
“You deserted me! I needed you! You had no right!” Turning to Allie, he said, “She made me do it. You see that, don’t you?”
“You set fire to her house and killed her husband and baby because she broke up with you?” Allie asked incredulously.
Hearing that, Dub, apparently unable to contain himself any longer, shouted, “But he died in that fire, too! It doesn’t make sense!”
“It does if you know John Walker,” said Mrs. Hobbs. “He’s careless. Thoughtless enough and careless enough to die in the fire he set with his own hand. I only wish I’d died then, too.”
“Don’t say that!” Allie protested.
“It’s true. Ever since I broke our engagement and married Clifford, he’s done everything he could to make my life miserable. Then he got you to help him do his dirty work. Now you say he’s using your little brother, too. It’s got to stop.” Turning to Walker, she said, “No more children are going to be hurt. You win, John. I give up.”
“No!” Allie cried. “He can’t win. We can’t let him.”
“I hope you’ll be able to appreciate the irony, John,” Mrs. Hobbs went on, as if Allie hadn’t spoken. “When I die—”
“You’re not going to die!” Allie insisted.
“Nobody’s dying!” Dub shouted, sounding—and looking—scared.
“When I die,” Mrs. Hobbs continued, “it’s over for you, too. Without me to torment, you’ve got no reason to exist. Without me, you have no target for your pathetic jealousy and revenge. I don’t mind dying, John, to put an end to you.”
The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs Page 10