Rules for Ghosting Page 11

  “The day after tomorrow is Mom’s big Halloween bash—there’s going to be all kinds of stuff going on, people coming in and out. Maybe we can find some way to break her out then.”

  Before Dahlia could reply, another voice cut through the quiet attic. “Hey, what’s going on up here?”

  Oliver let out a groan. “Poppy, not again,” he said. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s the middle of the night!”

  “Well, you’re not in bed, and I heard all this arguing going on up here. Did you know there’s some kind of ventilation passage between here and the turret? Who knew, huh? Hey, who is that? Why is there a strange girl in our attic? OLIVER?!”

  Oliver had dropped the crowbar and dashed across the attic floor to silence Poppy, putting both hands across her mouth. Poppy’s eyes bulged.

  “SHUSH!” Oliver whispered. “We don’t want Mom or Dad to …”

  Poppy shoved his hands off her face and started thrashing from side to side. “Mom and Dad are down on the second floor. They won’t hear a thing. But you—need—to—get off me NOW!”

  “Fine—as long as you HUSH!” Oliver let go and went back to his floorboard.

  Eyes wide and shining, Poppy scuttled over to Dahlia. “So who are you? Wait, your legs—what happened to them? Are you going invisible?”

  Oliver sighed. “Poppy, meet Dahlia. She’s … um, a ghost. She lives in this house, and I only just met her.”

  “HAH!” Poppy called out, loud enough that Oliver clamped his hand back over her mouth. She shoved him away again. “Sorry—I’ll be quiet. But didn’t I tell you that there was something going on with this house? Am I EVER not right?”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “You thought there was something creepy-weird about this house, not cool-weird.”

  “Close enough,” said Poppy. “So what exactly are you guys doing?”

  “There’s this machine that makes her solid and non-ghostly for a supershort amount of time. That’s the thing I was trying to pull up out of the floor before you barged in.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Poppy asked, leaning over to watch him work on the board. After a few minutes Dahlia felt her molecules go back to normal. She drifted up toward the ceiling, doing a happy little air-flip to celebrate.

  Down below her, Poppy let out a startled yelp. “Hey! Where’d she go? She was here, like, a second ago!”

  “Shush already,” Oliver said with an exasperated groan. “If you’re going to stay, you might as well make yourself useful. Grab the other side of this board.” He tossed down the crowbar and the two of them hoisted up the long plank.

  “Whoa, look at that! It’s a … wait, what is it? It’s old!”

  Oliver reached into the empty space under the floor and pulled out the device.

  “Seesaw,” Poppy said, running her finger along the words on the side. “Is this the de-ghosting machine, huh? Oliver? Is this it?”

  “Poppy, if you don’t calm down I’m not going to tell you a single thing.”

  Dahlia looked at them, and then at the Seesaw. She slid down a moonbeam and landed right in between them—still invisible to their eyes, she knew. She hated giving up her ghostly form, even for such a brief time. But these living kids were the only hope she had. Oliver was right: that Wiley guy wasn’t going to be talked into giving up the prize he had waited for so long. Something new had just occurred to her, though. If she found her Anchor, wouldn’t the Ghouncil have to get involved? They would call for Mrs. Tibbs, would see what had happened to her and send some kind of reinforcements to the rescue. Hadn’t Mrs. Tibbs said the Ghouncil was kind of like the police? Well, there you go. And getting free of the Boundary would also mean that she could follow Wiley home and try to figure out some way to help.

  It wasn’t the most foolproof plan, but it was a start. The biggest thing was it all had to happen soon. In spite of Oliver’s assurances, she didn’t think he’d be able to keep Rank Wiley on the premises for long.

  Dahlia reached out her hand and stuck it into the center of the Seesaw. It was going to be a long night, and she had a complicated story to tell.

  Chapter 18

  Oliver woke the next morning feeling like a truck had run over his head. Then he realized he was lying on the narrow strip of Matchbox floor, and Poppy was flopped across his bed, her foot resting smack on the bridge of his nose. He sat up, blinking. For a second he couldn’t remember why he was so tired, but as soon as he did, he jumped to his feet. The ghost, Dahlia! The other one, Mrs. Tibbs, sucked away into captivity! And Rank Wiley and his evil device! He had to get to work.

  Jabbing Poppy in the ribs—she was lucky he didn’t shove her on the floor, after she’d stolen his bed like that—he shook out his shirt and smoothed down his jeans so it didn’t look quite so much like he’d slept in his clothes. Not that Mom was likely to notice these days, with her one-track Party Zombie mind.

  “Hunnnh?” Poppy said groggily, sitting up. “Where am I? Why’s my room turned into a teeny-tiny box?”

  “Get up,” said Oliver. “You’re in my room. And we need to save the ghosts, remember? I have to go make sure Wiley doesn’t leave. You start looking for clues.”

  “Good morning to you too!” Poppy yawned and slid out of bed. “So, that was quite a story last night, huh? Did we ever figure out what type of clues we’re looking for?”

  Oliver was already at the door but stopped to look back at her. “No idea. She said they’ve already searched the house. I don’t know what we could find that they didn’t, except … when she was talking I kept thinking about the house itself. Silverton Manor. Remember that curse we keep hearing so much about?”

  Poppy perked up. “Yeah?”

  “Dahlia had no idea where that rumor started or why. It seems like something must have kicked it off. Maybe you can find out about that?”

  Leaving Poppy to digest her new mission, Oliver dashed down the attic steps and began the long trek toward the first-floor guest bedroom. When he was halfway down the second-floor hallway, something shot out of a far corner and zipped right under his foot. He swerved to avoid it, saving himself from stepping on it just in time. Bending down he saw an old-fashioned roller skate with long straps dangling off the sides and a yellow smiley face beanbag filling the base of it.

  “JJ!” he called, looking around for his offending siblings. They were nowhere to be seen, but gleeful cackles from around the corner confirmed his suspicions. He pushed the skate back toward the noise and continued down the hall.

  He came upon Wiley a minute later, his long legs sprawled out across the hallway. What on earth? Rank Wiley leaped up in a flash, looking first alarmed, then annoyed when he saw it was Oliver. He was busily stuffing a tiny camera into a messenger bag on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Wiley,” Oliver said, swallowing all the extremely unpleasant things he wanted to say. It was hard enough to make his voice sound friendly, without having to say nice stuff too! He took a deep breath and tried again. “Are you packing up all your hidden ghost cameras?”

  “I am rather flush with success at the moment, if you don’t mind,” Wiley said smugly, turning around and starting down the hall toward the stairs. “Seems like high time to move along, set my sights, focus on the next goal—that is, to begin dissecting the evidence.” Up ahead of them, Oliver thought he heard a telltale giggle. He brightened. Maybe he wouldn’t need to say anything nasty to get a nice little bit of revenge. Maybe if he kept the ghosterminator distracted …

  Wiley walked on a few steps and then apparently decided that talking to an annoying boy was better than no one at all. He beckoned and Oliver scooted closer, eyes darting from side to side. The edge of a red hair ribbon stuck out from around a corner right ahead of them. “I am confident,” Wiley intoned as they walked, “that the evidence I’ve collected this week—culminating in the remarkable capture of a live specimen!—will catapult me to international fame and fortune. I will be immortalized forever. I’m Rank T. Wiley, my boy, and the T stands f
or Timeless. Timeless! And if I should be able to discover what comprises the essence of those creatures, well!”

  The man’s eyes took on a faraway look. Oliver kept his own eyes on the ground. Even so, he almost missed the gentle whir as the smiling roller skate scooted out from behind a dark corner, sliding neatly under Wiley’s foot. Busy contemplating his future importance and worldwide acclaim, Wiley brought his foot down with purpose. Slam went the foot and zip went the skate and whoosh! went the ghosterminator.

  It was the most impressive tumble Oliver had seen yet. Wiley slid a full six feet down the hallway, teetered on the edge of the rounded staircase, then gave in to gravity and toppled onto his backside. Boom, boom, boom! It seemed impossible, but Wiley managed to bounce on his behind all the way down the sixteen steps leading to the living room. Obviously unhurt but bright red with embarrassment, Wiley leaped to his feet at the foot of the staircase. He shook his fist at Oliver.

  “You scheming scoundrel! You rotten shrunken head!” he bellowed.

  Oliver immediately swallowed his laughter and dashed down the stairs. He still had to deliver his message.

  “Wait, Mr. Wiley,” he said, reaching the landing slightly out of breath. “I’m so sorry about your fall. I had nothing to do with it, I promise! But about the ghost stuff … I, er, wonder if there might not be more things you could find before you go. Outside, maybe?”

  Wiley took two steps but seemed off-balance. He lifted his shoe and there, stuck to the bottom, was the grinning yellow beanbag. Wiley yanked it off angrily. “I repeat: I’ve gotten what I came for and I will not stay in this abominable house for another minute!” He hurled the beanbag across the room—

  Where it connected with the center of Mom’s face. Yellow smiley face wiggling on the tip of her nose, Mom was momentarily stunned. A chorus of delighted laughter came from the upper landing, where JJ’s prank had garnered the best results ever, and Oliver shuddered at how this would shape their future life of crime. But in an instant Mom swiped the beanie smile off her nose. She marched over to Wiley, hands on her hips.

  “You are going precisely where, Mr. Wiley?” she snapped. “Have you inspected the heating system, as agreed upon yesterday? What were the results of this inspection and what is next on your to-do list?”

  Wiley cowered. “Of course, Mrs. Day. The boiler and the heating vents are all in perfect running order—I inspected them thoroughly myself and they could not be in better condition. Ship as ship-shape, in fact. As to the other work …” He wrung his hands regretfully. “I truly wish I could stay longer. But the fact is that I’ve received an urgent call from a client who—”

  “Mr. Wiley, I am your client right now and I am telling you that your work is not yet complete. Come right this way—I have two tasks which must be taken care of immediately in preparation for tomorrow’s party.”

  Oliver took one step backward, then another, moving very quietly and stealthily. A sigh of relief escaped him. Wiley wasn’t going anywhere for a while; Mom would see to that. Satisfied, he started to run toward his room.

  But just as quickly he realized that his running feet weren’t moving anywhere: a hand had ahold of the back of his collar. “Young man,” Mom said. Could her arm really stretch that far? Oliver turned around. It was Party Zombie Mom all right, with one hand on his shirt and the other gripping Wiley’s sleeve, making sure her two latest victims couldn’t get away.

  “Decorations,” Mom said to Oliver. “I’ve ordered a bunch of supplies and piled them all up in the living room. Poppy’s in there getting started, so that’s a task for the both of you: by the end of the day tomorrow I want this house to look thoroughly haunted.”

  Oliver gulped. “Haunted?” He glanced at Wiley, who gave an uneasy chuckle.

  “Yes, haunted!” said Mom, letting go of both shirts and waving her arms, like a conductor directing symphonies of streamers and choruses of confetti. “I want the works: spiderwebs on the ceiling, spooky lanterns in dark corners, skeletons creaking from the upper railing. A hanged mannequin, perhaps? There are some noise machines, so make sure there are evil cackles at random intervals. Beyond that …” She shrugged. “Be creative.”

  Oliver opened his mouth. “You want all that by tomorrow night?”

  “Welcome to Silverton Manor,” Mom said grandly. “Your very own neighborhood haunted house.”

  “Now look here,” came a new voice in the hallway behind them. Rutabartle marched down the hall. “I hope you don’t mind I came right in—the front door was open—but I couldn’t help but overhear and Mrs. Day, I have to say that this haunted house business has gotten completely out of control. You assured me it would be a party—a simple affair, a neighborhood introduction. And now you seem to have this whole notion …”

  Oliver didn’t wait to hear any more. He slunk off toward the living room. Poppy was there waiting for him, looking every bit as glum as he felt but, thankfully, already channeling her hyperactivity into action. “We might as well get this out of the way,” she said. She’d thrown all the dust coverings into a huge pile in the corner, and every bit of floor, couch, and coffee table space was covered in neat piles. The inside of a cereal box was propped up on the mantel, showing a rough sketch of the main gathering hall, the staircase, and the upper hallway, with appropriate decorations planned out for each.

  Oliver whistled. “Wow! You’ve been busy.”

  Poppy glowered at him. “Don’t you dare tell Mom. If she ever catches on that I’m good at this stuff, she’ll have me doing it all the time. The important thing right now is to get it done and fast. Then we can start searching for clues.” She looked shiftily from side to side. “You know … for the ghosts. And I’ve got some great ideas about where we can start.”

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Oliver wondered from time to time where Dahlia was, and whether she was busy searching, or if the loss of her ghostly friend had made her too sad to do much. Somehow, Oliver didn’t think so. Ghost or not, Dahlia seemed to be plenty capable, and he figured she had more than one trick up her see-through sleeves. It also occurred to Oliver that his plan to try to stay in Silverton Manor had fallen completely into the background again. He would get back to it soon, he told himself. Right now, the ghosts’ dilemma took priority.

  Still, in spite of their lightning-fast decorating pace, and even though they gobbled their lunch and barely stopped for any breaks at all, it was nearly five o’clock by the time he and Poppy hung the last streamer and sprinkled on the last coating of chalk dust.

  With a groan, Oliver checked his watch. “Finally—I thought we’d never be done! We have at least another hour until dinner. Wanna start upstairs?” He wondered when Poppy had gone from pest to ally, but he couldn’t deny he had been glad for her help with this decorating—and he’d be glad of her help with the searching too. Even tagalong sisters had their uses, he guessed.

  “One more thing,” Poppy said, with a gleam in her eye. She darted toward the living room and came back out a minute later lugging a giant mound of white cloth.

  “The dust covers from the furniture?” Oliver said. “What’s all that for?”

  Poppy tossed him half of the pile. “You have to go around and cover all of our best decorations with this. Throw one right over the top. If it looks like we’re not finished with our job yet, Mom won’t give us anything else to do. We’ll have all the way till tomorrow night to search. If she sees we’re finished, well … then we’re finished.”

  Oliver was getting more and more impressed. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” he said, and Poppy beamed.

  Somewhere on the other side of the house, they could hear Wiley’s voice rising above his mother’s. “No, Mrs. Day, I most assuredly cannot. I’m grateful for your hospitality, but I cannot stay one moment longer. Yes, I might be able to return next week. But unfortunately, this assignment cannot wait.”

  Oliver looked at Poppy with wide eyes. Wiley was definitely leaving this time. What could they
do? And then a thought came to him—it was risky, and he wasn’t even sure it would work. But he had to give it a try. Tossing his half of the sheeting back onto Poppy’s pile, he said, “You do the sheets, Poppy. I’ve got to take care of something.”

  He barely heard Poppy’s shouted “HEY!” as he darted toward the main entrance and slipped out the front door into the chilly late afternoon.

  Chapter 19

  All day, Dahlia had been alternating between moving around the house, checking and rechecking areas they’d already searched, and using her Clearsight to keep an eye on Oliver and Poppy. But both living kids were completely absorbed with their party decorating. She could only hope that once they finished their work they could all regroup and figure out what to do next.

  For her part, Dahlia favored exploring the sealed-off attic room. More and more she’d started to feel it was somehow important. She’d gone just about everywhere else, aside from the rooms filled with living people and useless living-people stuff, and it made sense that this room held some important secrets. But how could she get to them when she couldn’t get inside? She’d drifted all the way around the square box of a room, running her hands along every edge of the walls surrounding it. A few times she thought she’d felt a tremor come from the room, like maybe some force was inside, keeping her out. But she couldn’t figure a way in.

  Outside, the late-afternoon sun was setting over the trees, and Dahlia sighed. She’d been focused on this room all day and nothing had come of it. It was time to go back to checking the rest of the house. She had to rescue Mrs. Tibbs, and to do that, she needed her Anchor.

  No sooner had she thought this than the rev of an engine caught her ear. She flashed through the walls into the front courtyard, where she gasped in astonishment. With a jaunty wave and an eager step, Rank Wiley was folding his long, lean body into his tiny pickup truck.