The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs

by Cynthia DeFelice

  Allie couldn’t bear to listen. She turned to Walker and shouted angrily, “Why don’t you just go away and leave her alone! Leave us all alone!”

  “No, Allie,” he said soothingly. “I can’t do that. She’s got to pay for what she did.”

  “For what I did, John?” Mrs. Hobbs shook her head sadly.

  “It was your fault,” Walker repeated. “You made me do it.” To Allie he said cajolingly, “You believe me, don’t you? It’s the truth.”

  “The truth!” Mrs. Hobbs said scornfully. “What would you know about the truth?”

  Walker glared at Mrs. Hobbs, and Allie thought she had never seen such malice.

  “You couldn’t bear to hear the truth,” Mrs. Hobbs said bitterly. “And I’ve lived alone with it for far too long.”

  Allie couldn’t stand any longer to hear Mrs. Hobbs talk about dying. It wasn’t right—it was all backward! Walker had to give up, not Mrs. Hobbs. Allie moved between Mrs. Hobbs and John Walker’s ghost. She needed to engage Mrs. Hobbs’s full attention. “Mrs. Hobbs,” she said loudly and, she hoped, firmly. “You’re not going to die to stop him. There’s got to be some other way.”

  “There’s got to be,” Dub repeated urgently.

  Mrs. Hobbs looked at Allie, really looked at her, for the first time that day. Slowly, she gazed at Dub, then back at Allie. “You seem to mean well, children, but there’s more to this story”—she stopped and sighed deeply—“than you can possibly know.” She added sadly, “More than you two youngsters should have to know.”

  Allie didn’t have any idea what Mrs. Hobbs was talking about. But she couldn’t let Mrs. Hobbs die to put an end to Walker’s ghost. There had to be another way to lay him to rest. There had to be.

  Looking at Mrs. Hobbs sitting forlornly in the shabby living room, Allie had a sudden, clear glimpse into what Mrs. Hobbs’s life was like outside school. Allie had told the class that was what she wanted to find out, and now she knew. Mrs. Hobbs lived a sad and solitary life, tortured by the memories of her husband and child and the vindictive ghost of John Walker. It was almost more than Allie could bear.

  She whispered, “Mrs. Hobbs, we”—she pointed to Dub, including him as she continued to speak slowly—“we didn’t know you before, but now we do. A little, anyway. So it’s not like you have to be—alone—anymore.”

  Mrs. Hobbs listened, and an odd expression came over her face. Allie sneaked a glance at Walker, and wished she hadn’t. He was looking right at her, and the fury on his face almost took her breath, and her courage, away. She could actually feel the heat of his anger.

  Trying to ignore him, Allie said desperately, “We’ll help you get rid of him. What can we do?”

  His voice shaking with anger and disbelief, Walker said, “Not you, too! I counted on you. You said I could trust you. Don’t you betray me, too.”

  Allie put her hands over her ears to block out Walker’s ranting. The room was growing hot, and Allie felt a stab of real fear at the power of his rage.

  “Tell her, Evelyn,” Walker was saying. “Tell her how sorry she’ll be if she betrays me.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Allie cried, grasping Mrs. Hobbs’s shoulder to keep her attention. “Think! How can we stop him?”

  At Allie’s touch, Mrs. Hobbs appeared to rouse herself from her stupor. Her eyes lost their dullness as they focused on Allie’s face. She nodded, seeming to make a decision. When she spoke, her voice was no longer sluggish and detached but steady and firm. “You know, John,” she said, “there’s a part to our story you’ve never known. I never told you, partly because I was afraid of what you’d do with the knowledge. I was afraid if the truth got out, I’d lose my job at the school.”

  “What are you talking about?” Walker said impatiently.

  “And, strange as it sounds, part of me didn’t want to tell you because, well, I thought I loved you once. And even though you won’t believe it, I never wanted to hurt you.”

  Walker snorted with disgust, but Mrs. Hobbs’s eyes never wavered as she continued talking. “Clifford Hobbs taught me what real love is.”

  Walker’s face darkened with fury. “I can’t understand how you could have preferred that pathetic old fossil to me.”

  “Of course you can’t. Because all you know is your own petty jealousy. You don’t know what it means to be decent and kind and forgiving. Clifford did.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Clifford!” Walker screamed.

  “But I have to, John, if you’re going to know the truth. You see, when you and I were engaged, I discovered that I was going to have a baby. But then I found out what kind of man you were and knew I could never marry you. I was prepared to take the consequences and raise my baby alone. Then I met Clifford, and he asked me to marry him. I told him I was going to have a baby, and he said he’d be proud to marry me and give that baby a home and a name. And he did.” Mrs. Hobbs was weeping as she said, “Clifford loved Tommy as if he were his own son.”

  There was a terrible silence then. Allie was trying hard to understand everything Mrs. Hobbs had been saying, but she was distracted by the look of horror that had slowly taken over John Walker’s face.

  Mrs. Hobbs put her face in her hands. “Tommy was your son, John. And you—you—” She stopped, and began to sob.

  Allie stiffened with shock as her mind filled in the words Mrs. Hobbs had been unable to say.

  The room had been growing hotter and hotter, and a bellow of anguish unlike anything Allie had ever heard resounded from the walls: “Noooo!” It rang in Allie’s ears and pierced her heart.

  At the same time, she was aware of Dub shouting frantically, “Allie, what the heck is going on?”

  She wanted to answer, but was unable to speak as, before her disbelieving eyes, the paint on the wall behind Mrs. Hobbs’s couch began to bubble and blister and peel. Then the squares of linoleum beneath Allie’s feet began to curl. The lampshade on the table seemed to be melting, and next to it, the leaves of a potted plant withered and turned brown. Sweat ran down Allie’s face and into her eyes as she watched a plastic cup ooze into a puddle on the windowsill. The heat was so intense that each breath she took seared her throat and lungs.

  Gasping for air, she turned to the ghost of John Walker and saw to her amazement that he had begun slowly to disintegrate.

  His hands and feet became blurry and indistinct, then disappeared altogether. His body contorted, and he continued to moan, “No, no, no, no . . .” His face hung suspended in midair, his expression one of unspeakable agony. Finally, only his dark, tortured eyes remained, burning into Allie’s for what seemed a long, long time, before flickering, at last, into oblivion.

  Allie, Mrs. Hobbs, and Dub remained frozen in stunned silence as the room slowly cooled around them.

  Twenty-three

  Dub was the first one to speak. In a shaking voice he whispered, “What happened? Is he gone?”

  Allie looked into his ashen face and nodded. They both turned to the quiet form of Mrs. Hobbs, who was staring with disbelief at the place where John Walker’s ghost had been. “Gone?” she repeated. Then again, wonderingly, “He’s gone . . .”

  Allie tried to shake herself free of the spell that Mrs. Hobbs’s terrible story had cast over her. She felt almost overwhelmed by sorrow and pity and horror. At that moment she wanted more than anything to run from that strange, sad house and never come back. But how could she just walk away? She felt she should speak to Mrs. Hobbs about what had happened, yet she had no idea what to say. If there were words suitable for the situation in which they found themselves, Allie didn’t know what they were.

  The silence stretched on. Finally, Mrs. Hobbs turned to look first at Allie, then at Dub, then back at Allie. “Who would ever believe what just happened?” she murmured hoarsely. “I can hardly take it in myself.”

  Allie merely nodded. She knew very well the feeling of being part of something that the rest of the world could barely imagine, let alone accept as true. She thought
about what Mrs. Hobbs had said. “No one would believe it,” she answered slowly. “And what good would it do to tell anyone, anyway?”

  Dub and Mrs. Hobbs both looked at her, waiting for her to go on.

  “Maybe,” she said, thinking as she spoke, “we should keep John Walker’s secret. We could . . . lay it to rest . . . along with his ghost.”

  A glimmer of surprise, and hope, passed over Mrs. Hobbs’s face. Almost fearfully, she asked, “Could we really do that?”

  Allie looked at Dub, who said solemnly, “I think it would be the best thing for everybody.”

  Mrs. Hobbs seemed to think it over, then nodded in agreement. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Allie met Dub’s eyes. It was time to go. They began walking toward the door. Allie turned back to say softly, “We’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  It hung like a question in the air, and for a moment Allie was afraid there would be no answer.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Hobbs at last, and Allie heard a hint of something like happiness in her voice. “I’ll see you at school.” A flash of apprehension crossed her face. “Unless Ms. Gillespie . . .” Her words trailed off, and Allie immediately knew what she was thinking.

  “Don’t worry,” Allie said quickly. “I’ll explain that it was all a misunderstanding.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Oh, and, Mrs. Hobbs? I’ve decided to interview my grandmother for Elders Day.” She paused. “So your secrets will be safe, too.”

  Allie and Dub walked across Mrs. Hobbs’s lawn to their bikes. There was so much to say that Allie didn’t know where to begin, so she just asked, “To Mr. Henry’s house?” Dub nodded, and they rode along in silence, both deep in thought about what they had just witnessed.

  When they pulled into Mr. Henry’s driveway and around to the back door, Allie said, “This will be the true test.”

  “You mean Hoover will be able to tell if Walker’s really dead? Or whatever you call it when a ghost croaks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From what I saw and heard, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about,” Dub replied.

  He started toward the door, but Allie held on to his arm to stop him. “Dub,” she said, “thanks for going over there with me.”

  “No problem,” Dub answered. “I’m glad I went. For the few seconds when I wasn’t scared out of my wits, it was pretty interesting.”

  “Talk about scared! Just be glad you couldn’t see Walker! Although I bet it was awful not being able to see or hear, and just having to imagine what was going on.”

  “You got that right,” said Dub.

  “Anyway, Dub, I feel really stupid about that fight we had. Or whatever it was.”

  “Forget it.”

  “All right, but there’s one thing I want to say first, okay? If you want to be friends with Pam, it’s all right. She’s nice. I was just, well, jealous, I guess.”

  “Well, as long as we’re having true confessions, how about me?” Dub said. “I was jealous of a ghost.”

  They both giggled. “But it isn’t funny, really,” Allie said with a shudder, “when you think about it. Walker did those horrible things all because he couldn’t stand it that Mrs. Hobbs married somebody else.”

  “It’s sickening,” said Dub. “If you ever catch me acting jealous again, just call me John. I promise I’ll snap right out of it.”

  Allie held out her hand for a high-five. “It’s a deal.”

  “Well,” said Dub, pointing to the door. “Shall we go in and see if you earn the Hoover Seal of Approval?”

  “Okay,” said Allie, more confidently than she felt. It wasn’t easy to forget the sight of Hoover growling at her, teeth bared, hackles raised in fear.

  She reached under the flowerpot for the key, but before putting it in the lock she said, “Dub? I wonder . . . how come we both acted so weird.”

  Dub, who ordinarily had an answer for everything, was silent. If Allie wasn’t mistaken, she saw a faint blush color his neck. That gave her the courage to say, “I think I got so jealous because I thought you liked Pam better. Liked her, you know, for a girlfriend.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Dub, looking surprised. “She’s nice, but no way.”

  Allie went on, feeling—she couldn’t believe it—shy in front of Dub. “But why did it bug me so much? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend.” She paused and added, “Right?”

  As soon as she had spoken, she wished she could snatch the words back. What if Dub looked at her as if she were crazy and said again, “No way!” She’d feel like a complete idiot.

  Dub’s blush crept from his neck to his face. “Who said you’re not?”

  Allie laughed happily. “Nobody,” she said.

  They stood grinning at each other for a moment. Then Allie turned to the door and opened it. Glancing back at Dub, she said, “Ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  Allie stepped into the kitchen, followed by Dub. “Hoover?” she called. She crossed her fingers and looked at Dub hopefully as they listened to the thump of Hoover’s footsteps on the floor overhead, then the click of her toenails as she descended the stairs. She burst into the kitchen with her head high, her tail wagging, and her mouth open in a doggy grin.

  “Hoover!” Allie exclaimed joyfully. “Come here, girl!”

  She fell to her knees so she could rub Hoover’s soft ears and bury her face in the big dog’s warm, sweet-smelling fur. “You were way smarter than I was, Hoovey,” she said. “Next time I suspect there’s a ghost around, I’m coming straight to you to check it out!”

  “I don’t see how you can even think about another ghost,” said Dub. “If I were you, I’d be sending out vibes saying, ‘This ghost magnet is out of business.’ ”

  “Believe me,” said Allie, stroking Hoover’s big, shaggy head, “I’m in no hurry to meet another John Walker. All I’m saying is, if there is a next time, I’m not going to be so . . .” She paused, searching for the right word. “Gullible,” she said finally.

  Dub looked at her, a serious expression on his face. “Did you know gullible is the only word that isn’t in the dictionary?”

  “Really?” Allie asked. Then she caught herself. “You rat,” she said, giving Dub a playful swat.

  Dub was cracking up. “Almost got you,” he said gleefully.

  “Almost,” Allie said. “See? I’m learning.” She got up and began pouring dog food into Hoover’s dish.

  “What about Mike?” Dub asked. “What if he sees another ghost?”

  “I’m going to tell him that if he ever sees somebody who looks ‘funny’ the way the ‘nice’ man did, he should tell me about it. That way, the next ghost—”

  “If there is a next ghost,” Dub added.

  “—will have not only Mike, but you, and me, and Hoover, and Mrs. Hobbs to contend with,” Allie finished, feeling pleased with the idea. “And by now, the spook world ought to know better than to mess with us!”

  Dub and Allie watched Hoover as she crunched away at her dinner. “Hey!” said Dub suddenly. “You’re really going to interview your grandmother, then?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Karen will say I chickened out, but so what?” Allie shrugged. “After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to imagine letting Karen Laver bother me ever again.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dub agreed. Then he offered a wicked grin. “And about Elders Day, don’t forget”—he raised his voice and finished at the top of his lungs—“you can always interview Louie Howell.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Dub, you’ll wake the dead!” exclaimed Allie. She smiled and added, “We wouldn’t want to do that now, would we?”

  Go Fish

  GO FISH

  * * *

  QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  CYNTHIA DEFELICE

  What did you want to be when you grew up?

  Happy. That was it. No further ambitions.

  When did you realiz
e you wanted to be a writer?

  Not until I was 36. Talk about late bloomers! I was working as a school librarian, which I loved, when I suddenly KNEW I wanted to try to write the kinds of books I loved sharing with my students.

  What’s your first childhood memory?

  I was playing down in the cellar window hole of our house (don’t ask me why) and I poked my head up out of the hole into the sunshine. There were buttercups growing nearby and they were very yellow in the sun. I had the clear thought that I was me, a unique person, and that I was part of the world. I was very young, probably four. I don’t think I had words then for the feeling I had, but I felt its meaning very strongly.

  What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?

  Oooh, lots of those! And the worst part was, I couldn’t hide it. My face turned beet red—a dead giveaway every time.

  What’s your favorite childhood memory?

  Fishing and acting as first mate on Captain Hank Garback’s charter boat with my brothers.

  As a young person, who did you look up to most?

  My dad, who was a good listener and very understanding.

  What was your worst subject in school?

  Math. Shudder. I still have math anxiety.

  What was your best subject in school?

  Surprise—English!

  What was your first job?

  Working in a bookstore in high school.

  How did you celebrate publishing your first book?

  Oh, I worked the celebrating to death! We celebrated the acceptance phone call. Then the contract. Then the advance check. The first galleys. The first review. Publication. And on and on. Champagne, ice cream, you name it!

  Where do you write your books?

  In my office, second floor of my house on Seneca Lake. I am deeply attached to my office and find it difficult to write anywhere else.

  Which of your characters is most like you?

  Allie Nichols, except that she is much braver, smarter, and cooler than I ever was!