by Avi
The boys were tense, restless. Jessica’s eyes showed excitement. “Are we set?” she asked, like a coach telling a team to go out there and win.
“I am,” said Barney. “You, Tony?”
“I’m good.”
“What’s your costume?” Jessica asked.
“A ghost,” I said.
Their eyes shifted to one another, as if not sure how to respond.
“What kind of ghost?” Jessica demanded.
I shrugged. “An ordinary one.”
No one spoke until Jessica said, “Just make sure we’re the only ones who know who you are.” She stood up. “Okay, guys. Seven o’clock. Batalie’s room.”
Barney said, “Cool.”
During lunch, I sat with Lilly and her friends. No matter what anyone said, there were gales of laughter.
Lilly turned to me. “Do you have your costume?”
It was the same question that Jessica had asked. I said, “Yeah.”
“What?”
“If you’re not telling, I’m not.”
Not exactly funny, but everybody laughed.
When school ended at three, everyone left to hide inside their costumes.
The party would start at five thirty.
Once home, I tried to walk my slackline but kept falling.
At about a quarter to five, my folks got in. “We wanted to see your costume,” Dad announced.
“Can I borrow one of your white shirts?” I asked. Mom found an old one of Dad’s, which she gave to me, asking, “What are you going to be?”
“I’ll show you.”
Dad’s shirtsleeves covered my hands, which I liked. I put on some baggy white pants, then a pair of whitish sneakers, and finally my blank mask.
I studied myself in the mirror. Except for my scruffy brown hair, with no mouth and no eyes I was a blank.
I walked in on my folks.
“A ghost!” cried Dad. “Love it.”
“Looks like fun,” said Mom. “When do you have to be there?”
“It starts soon.”
“When will you be back?”
“It’s supposed to end at eight,” I said, careful not to say when I would return. Actually, I didn’t know when—or if—I’d be back.
“Should I pick you up?” asked Mom.
“I’ll call,” I said.
“Have fun, Mr. Ghost,” said Mom.
Dad called, “Come back alive.”
I muttered, “Someday,” and left our apartment.
It was almost five thirty when I set out for school, mask in hand. Daylight was dwindling. In the east, a half-moon hung low. To the west, a few crimson clouds cut across the sky like bleeding wounds. Streets were crowded with Friday night traffic, horns beeping like a cell phone test center.
I saw lots of little kids dressed up: Spider-Man, a cowboy, Darth Vader, a witch, one little kid in a full-size 49ers helmet. He looked like a mushroom with legs. Most of these kids were with parents.
About a block from school, I began to see bigger kids in costumes so elaborate I couldn’t tell who they were. I halted, put on my mask, and went on.
As I reached the school steps, cars were pulling in. More costumed kids were climbing out. It was clear they had spent a lot of time and money.
I headed into school and found myself saying—under my breath—Uncle Charlie’s last words: “Here we go.”
When I stepped inside the school, an adult dressed in a tuxedo with a face painted bloodred pinned a number on me. “For the costume contest,” it was explained.
The scene at school was incredible. Call it a fantasy animation movie gone wild, or your worst nightmare. First there was the fake cemetery. Then it was like a costume store come to life. Name any movie or TV character. Think of the animals on Noah’s ark. Think of every movie monster, from Godzilla to your favorite space alien. They were there. Even famous people had come, like an Abraham Lincoln with a green face and fangs plus George Washington with a bloody hatchet buried in his head, dripping scarlet gore.
As creatures ambled about the reception-hall cemetery, strobe lights flickered and the sound system blared sounds of fake thunder, lightning, and rain, followed by wicked laughter, screeches, owl hoots, and eerie music. The great chandelier had even been hung with tiny red beads—meant, I supposed, to be drops of blood.
Everything was fake death, of course, but I knew that some of the fake was real. Amid the zany zombies and glittery ghosts, six really dead souls were mingling, intent on staying alive for the next seven years by feasting on me. And there I was, a pretend ghost, about to deal with real ghosts bent on real death. A circus of the weird. I had to ask myself: Which weird was going to be for me, “strange” or “fate”?
My costume was one of the simplest, and probably the cheapest. Still, I doubted if anyone knew who I was any more than I could tell who was who behind their disguises. I could guess which ones were teachers, because they were bigger than most of the kids. Not that I could put names to them. I assumed Ms. Foxton was there, but wasn’t sure. Nor could I figure out if Batalie, a small adult, was there.
I had no idea who Lilly was. Same for her best friend, Mia. She had told us she was going to be a clown, but in all the horror, there was a crowd of gory clowns.
I caught sight of a Penda Boy, then four more in as many minutes. All wore green suits, lace collars, high-button shoes, and blond wigs, so like the painting. Who the kids were, I had no idea because faces were painted green, red, or blue. Then, as I wandered around, I saw Mrs. Penda.
She was standing halfway up one of the main staircases as if surveying the scene. She looked exactly like her painting, except that the number seven was pinned to her sleeve. Considering where she stood, it occurred to me that either she wanted to be noticed, or she was looking for me. Not that anyone paid special attention to her. She appeared as one odd character among all the others. But having seen her down by the bay a few days before, I was sure she was the real Mrs. Penda, which is to say Jessica.
It struck me: she had the best disguise of all. She was the only one who came as herself. And nobody knew it.
Except me.
Or so I thought. Because then I saw a second Mrs. Penda, this one with the number seventy-seven on her sleeve. She too looked so like the Mrs. Penda in the painting, I no longer knew who the real one was, or if either one was. All I knew was that Mrs. Penda was there, waiting to grab me.
Though restless, wanting to get things going, I roamed about. Like everyone else, I approached this costumed person, then another, peering at them, trying to guess who was who. At the same time, people kept coming up to me and asking, “Who are you?” I turned away—as they did—not answering.
I did see a troll and, because of his size, decided it was Mac. Not that I was sure. There were a number of short ugly goblin creatures too, one of which had to be Barney. Enormous Mr. Bokor was not hard to find. He was costumed all in black, including a black cape and a black top hat. He had painted his face blue, with yellow streaks running from his eyes.
For a while people milled around, showing off. I supposed we were being judged for best costume. At some point, I realized that the Mrs. Pendas were gone. So was Bokor. I had not found Lilly. That worried me.
A voice rang out over the speaker system. “Let the games begin.”
I actually shuddered.
The speaker voice went on. “Apple ducking in the first-grade room. Flip ball in the fourth-grade room.” Other games were mentioned. If I heard it right, there were no games in Batalie’s room. Jessica had arranged everything.
People began to move out of the reception-hall area. Some went down the hall, while others headed for the second floor. I made my way up too. Once there, I walked to the far end of the hall, Batalie’s room. Number seven.
I stood in front of the shut classroom door and looked back along the hall. At the other end, I saw costumed kids wandering in and out of various rooms. No one was near me.
Certain I wouldn’t be not
iced, I opened the door. It was dark inside. I felt around the door frame until my fingers felt a switch. I flicked it up. Lights came on. It was deserted. My eyes went right to the door at the back. It was ajar.
Jessica had done what she had promised to do.
I hoped the Penda Boy would.
I shut the classroom door behind me, stepped forward, and surveyed the room. It all looked ordinary. Papers on Batalie’s desk were arranged neatly, topped by his reading glasses. On the comment board, student portraits were lined up. It took a moment for me to realize that my picture had been removed. The realization gave me goose bumps.
I went to that door on the back wall. It was narrower than modern doors, and not as tall. Chips of white paint were scattered on the floor like confetti—but not for a party. A few feet from the door, on the floor, lay a knife. I assumed Jessica had used it to get the door open. Since it was also probably what she was going to use on me, I picked it up and gingerly felt the edge. It was very sharp.
Hurriedly setting the knife down on a chair, I used both hands to pull the door open wide on its stiff hinges in hopes the Penda Boy would be there. He was not. But I was struck by how different the two sides of the door were. The class side was smooth and white. The far side had an old-fashioned glass doorknob and a latch meant to keep the door closed. It was also filthy, matted with shaggy strands of dirt-encrusted cobwebs in which lay mummified flies. Life on one side of the door, death on the other.
Light from the classroom allowed me to see some of what lay beyond that door: a short hallway, not so very different from what I had seen that time I was in Jessica’s basement room. Warped wooden floor and walls. A low ceiling made of the same material. The hallway didn’t go far but veered to the left. The air was dusty.
I was not sure what to do. The Penda Boy had told me that once I went through the door, he’d be waiting for me. He wasn’t. For that matter, Jessica had also said she’d be with me when I went through. She hadn’t arrived either.
I had one last moment to escape. I didn’t. I had to go through with it.
Leaving the door ajar, I took out my phone and checked the time. It was about ten minutes before seven. In an odd way it was reassuring that I was early.
I grabbed a chair and set it near the door so I could keep watch. Once I was there, it took all my strength and resolve to sit down and try to be calm. My sole hope was that the Penda Boy would appear before Jessica.
Wanting to keep watch on the time, I put my phone on the chair next to the knife. Hot, tense with waiting, I took off my mask and rolled up my long sleeves. My eyes kept shifting from that little hallway to the time on my phone. And the knife.
The room shook, hard. Books sprang from shelves. A few desks slid along the floor. The earthquakes were becoming ever more powerful.
I heard what sounded like an announcement blaring from the school’s speaker system. I assumed it was some game thing. Or perhaps the contest for the best costume had been decided. Not caring, I stayed where I was, concentrating on the time. I toyed with the knife. I put it down. I fidgeted. The minutes on my phone changed very slowly. As it happened, I had been sitting there for a while, trying hard not to think, when I heard a sound behind me.
I spun about. It was a clown. It took a moment for me to realize it was Mia, Lilly’s best friend.
“Hi,” I said.
“Tony!” she cried breathlessly. “Oh my God, have you seen Lilly?”
“Don’t know what costume she’s wearing. Why?”
“Didn’t you hear?”
“Hear what?”
Mia was panting. “Something’s happened to Ms. Foxton. She’s had an accident. Or worse. Nobody knows what happened. Oh my God, it’s awful.”
I stared.
“Didn’t you hear the announcement?” Tears trickled down, smearing her smiling clown face, making her look grotesque. “The party is canceled,” she said. “We’re supposed to go right home, but I was going to stay with Lilly. Only I can’t find her. She said she wanted to find out who was dressed as Mrs. Penda. But she never came back. Why are you sitting in here? Is that back door open?”
I said, “Did you say she went to find Mrs. Penda?”
“Tony, I have to find Lilly.” She moved toward the outer door. “You better go. If you find Lilly, please tell her to call my phone, okay? Please.”
“What was Lilly’s cos—”
She ran out.
Following her out of the room, I watched her run down the deserted hallway. From afar, I heard shouts, and screams.
What happened to Lilly?
The sound system blared, “All students must leave the building immediately. No exceptions. Remain calm, but move quickly. The Halloween party is canceled. All students must leave the building immediately. Please leave.” Lights began to blink out. Darkness was advancing along the hallway—toward me.
At that moment—more than at any other time—I considered running out of the school. Instead, I forced myself to go back into the classroom, to the back door. I peered into the small hallway. No Penda Boy. I checked my phone. When I saw that it was 6:59, I shifted around to face the classroom door, just in time to see Mrs. Penda—the number seven still pinned to her sleeve—walk into the room.
She was not alone. Behind her was Bokor. So were Mrs. Z and Batalie. So were Barney and Mac. And, standing next to Mrs. Penda, was Uncle Charlie.
Smiling, Uncle Charlie looked just the way he had that Sunday morning when I first saw the school—and all times since: an old pot-bellied guy, gray hair flopping over his forehead, dressed in a checkered shirt, tan suspenders, jeans, and loafers, the tassels still in place.
“Hello, Tony,” he said in that croaky voice I knew so well. “I’m so glad I can talk to you again. I must apologize. I didn’t want to tell you what to do. Not a good thing to do with kids your age. Just wanted to keep you moving forward.”
It was his seeming so regular, so normal, that shocked me. I had to tell myself that he was dead, a ghost, and was trying to become alive by taking my soul.
Unable to say anything, I simply stared at him.
He made a casual gesture. “This is my friend Mrs. Penda. A long time ago, she and I went to school together. I want you to know it was I who suggested to Mrs. Penda that you become a student here. I told Mrs. Penda you would be perfect. And I was right. Oh, Tony, I just wanted to come back to life and have more fun. We did have fun, didn’t we?
“Do you remember,” he went on, “my words just before I died? What Albert Einstein said? ‘The distinction between past, present, and future is only an illusion.’ So here we are. You might say Mrs. Penda is past. I’m the present. And you’re the future. I do hope you’re feeling pleased.”
What I felt was an overwhelming feeling of betrayal and rage.
While he spoke, Mrs. Penda looked on, her face severe, lips clenched tightly, cheekbones hollow, black hair piled atop her head, the air reeking of her sweet, musty perfume. Only when Uncle Charlie stopped speaking did she cover her face with both hands. They were an old woman’s hands, thin-fingered, wrinkled, with swollen knuckles and cracked, yellowing nails.
But when she took her hands away, those wrinkles began to melt, the knuckles to smooth, the fingers became youthful. She became the young Jessica again, the pretty Jessica. She loosened her hair and let it fall about her face, pushed a strand behind her ear, while offering up one of her most dazzling smiles. She was evil one moment, my best friend the next. It was all so impossible.
“Now, Tony,” she said, “aren’t you glad your uncle Charlie brought you here? Did we amaze you?”
When I still didn’t answer—I couldn’t—she said, “I guess I did surprise you. I hate to tell you, your ghost costume is so fake. And I know how much you hate fake. I thought you would have understood by now: ghosts are real. And we’re going to give you the opportunity to be a real one.”
By her side stood Mac, costumed as a troll, and Barney, in a stupid goblin outfit, holding some kind
of knurly club. Looming behind was Bokor. The blue and yellow on his face had fused, giving him a dark green hue, as if he were rotting. Perhaps he was.
Batalie was there too, costumed like some idiot pirate. Mrs. Z stood by his side, small in her trim black suit, her face childishly painted with cat whiskers. A revolting couple.
“Did . . . did my parents know what you were doing?” I managed to say to Uncle Charlie.
“Of course not!” he cried, his eyes positively merry. “We never did bother about them, did we? You and me, Tony, we’re the real family, remember?”
I said, “You lied to me.”
“Now, Tony,” he said, “I asked you if it wouldn’t be great if we went to the other side, together. And you said, ‘Sure.’ So I arranged it. Don’t you think that’s great? While I’m not fond of Ms. Foxton, I was in the room when she quoted that Greek philosopher, Aristotle, to you. I loved what she said: ‘A friend is one soul in two bodies.’ That’s exactly the way you and I were, Tony. Right from the moment I moved in with you and your parents, I wanted us to be together, forever. You and me, one soul, two bodies. Well, eight bodies, actually. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
“What happened to Lilly?” I asked. “And Ms. Foxton?”
Mrs. Penda said, “Ms. Foxton has been fired.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Schools are complicated,” said Bokor. “They require an enormous amount of cooperation. If the head of school doesn’t work well with the teaching staff—doesn’t have their full trust—you might say the school dies. We need the school to continue.”
Then Mrs. Z said, “And Tony, we know Ms. Foxton went to your home. Visiting students without parents being present is completely against school regulations. My goodness. It’s against state law.”
“Are you the law?” I said.
“This is my school!” Jessica cried. “It’s for me. Without me it’s nothing. It would vanish.”
“What about Lilly?”
Jessica laughed. “Your friend is not very smart. She wanted to know who I was. I showed her. She’s safe as long as you cooperate. She’s our backup.”
From where I was standing, against the wall, I was able to dart a look into the hallway behind the door, which was open a few inches. I was desperately hoping the Penda Boy would be there. He was not.