Mostly Ghostly Freaks and Shrieks Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Experience all the chills of the Mostly Ghostly series!

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Experience all the chills of the Mostly Ghostly series!

  Mostly Ghostly #1: Who Let the Ghosts Out?

  Mostly Ghostly #2: Have You Met My Ghoulfriend?

  Mostly Ghostly #3: One Night in Doom House

  Mostly Ghostly #4: Little Camp of Horrors

  Mostly Ghostly #5: Ghouls Gone Wild

  Mostly Ghostly #6: Let's Get This Party Haunted!

  Mostly Ghostly #7: Freaks and Shrieks

  AND COMING SOON:

  Mostly Ghostly #8: Don't Close Your Eyes

  MY SISTER, TARA, AND I were arguing. For a change.

  “You didn't have to throw the fish up in the air,” I said. “You got Max into a lot of trouble.”

  “It was a joke, Nicky,” Tara said. “It was supposed to be funny.”

  “Max didn't think it was funny,” I said. “And what about the rest of the class? When the fish cracked in half, those poor kids started screaming their heads off.”

  “That's what made it funny,” Tara replied. She jammed her floppy red hat down over her dark hair.

  It was a sunny, warm afternoon. Tara and I were walking home from Max's school.

  Tara and I don't have a school of our own to go to. That's because we're dead.

  We're ghosts.

  Max Doyle is the only person we know who can see and hear us. Sometimes being a ghost is lonely and boring. So Tara and I follow Max to school and try to help him out.

  Today we didn't help him out much.

  Today was Pet Day in Ms. McDonald's sixth-grade class. But Max didn't want to bring his big, furry wolfhound, Buster, to school. That's because Buster hates Max.

  Buster starts to growl and snap whenever Max comes near. When he sees Max, he only thinks, Meat! Max gets a little tired of having his dog chew on him all the time.

  So Max didn't bring Buster for Pet Day. Instead, he did a very funny thing. He brought a big fish to school. A dead one. It was the stuffed bass that his dad had mounted on the den wall.

  Max pulled the fish off the wall and carried it to class. When it was his turn, he carried it to the front of the room. He told everyone it was his pet fish, Ernie.

  That's when Tara decided to help Max out.

  I tried to stop her. But my sister is stubborn. Once Tara makes up her mind to do something, forget it. That's why I call her Hurricane Tara.

  She floated up to the front of the room and took the fish from Max's hands. “Maxie, let me hold it up while you describe it,” she said.

  “No—give it back!” Max cried. He made a grab for the fish—and missed.

  A lot of kids in the class were kinda shocked. They couldn't see Tara. They could only see the fish jumping out of Max's hands. Max seemed to be standing there arguing with himself!

  “Give it back!” Max shouted again. He grabbed the tail and tugged.

  Tara tugged back. “I'm only trying to make your talk more interesting,” she said.

  It became a real tug-of-war.

  Ms. MacDonald's mouth dropped open. “Max—what are you doing?”

  “Trying to reel him in,” Max said. “He's … uh … trying to swim upstream.”

  Some kids were laughing hard now.

  Tara should have stopped. But my little sister doesn't know the words “give up.”

  “Nicky! Catch!” she shouted. And she tossed the big fish high in the air. Over the kids' heads to me at the back of the room.

  “It's okay, everyone!” Max shouted. “It's a flying fish!”

  Tara threw it too hard. It bounced off the chalkboard, sailed back, and hit a girl in the head.

  She started to scream.

  The bass hit the floor hard—and broke in half. Hundreds of cockroaches poured out from inside it, scampering over the floor.

  And then everyone was screaming. Screaming, stamping their feet, leaping onto their chairs.

  It was way funny. But no one was laughing.

  Max was in major trouble. Tara and I decided it was time to leave.

  So now we were walking past sparkling green front yards, on our way back to Max's house. Our old house—when we were alive.

  “Max didn't look too happy,” I said.

  Tara sighed. “I was only trying to make Pet Day more fun. It's hard to have fun when you're … when you're a ghost.”

  Two squirrels came chasing each other across the grass. They ran right between Tara and me. One of them brushed my leg. They had no idea we were there.

  “Yeah. I hate being invisible,” I said. “I'm tired of being a ghost. I wish Mom and Dad would hurry back.”

  Our parents are ghosts too. We don't know why. We don't know what happened to our family.

  Mom and Dad were scientists. They had a lab where they found a way to capture evil ghosts. One day, the ghosts escaped. And the four of us were no longer alive.

  That's all we know.

  Mom and Dad went off to find answers. They think they can find a way to bring our family back to life. They told us to wait for them in our old house, with Max and his family.

  But they've been gone a long time. Tara and I really miss them. We've been feeling very sad lately.

  We turned onto Bleek Street, our street. I heard shouts from the next yard. A boy was screaming.

  Tara and I hurried across the street. We saw the Wilbur brothers, Billy and Willy—the worst kids at Jefferson Elementary.

  They were teasing a little red-haired boy. He looked to be only five or six.

  Billy Wilbur grabbed the boy's baseball cap and tossed it to his brother, Willy. They were playing keep-away with the little guy's cap. They held it right in front of his face, then jerked it out of his reach.

  The little boy started to cry. That made the Wilbur brothers toss back their heads and heehaw with laughter.

  “Come on, Nicky.” Tara tugged my arm. “Let's go have a little fun with those Wilbur brats.”

  BILLY WILBUR HAD THE little boy's cap. He squatted down at the edge of a flower garden and started scooping with one hand, filling the cap with mud.

  “Give me my cap!” the little boy pleaded. Tears ran down his red cheeks. “It's my new cap!”

  “It's our new cap now!” Willy said.

  Billy stood up and whirled around. He raised the cap, brimming with mud. “You want it back, Casey?” he said, grinning. “Okay, I'll give it back.”

  “Put it back on Casey's head,” Willy said, grinning at his brother.

  Tara swooped up behind them. She grabbed the cap and plopped it down on Billy Wilbur's head. The wet mud oozed down his face.

  Casey's mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Billy turned angrily to his brother. “Hey, punk! Whatja do that for?” H
e pulled the cap off and tossed it at Willy. He wiped mud off his face with one hand and smeared it down the front of his brother's shirt.

  “Hey!” Willy jumped back. “I didn't do anything!”

  I grabbed him by the shoulders and made him spin around a few times. Tara had ahold of Billy. We pushed them forward and made them crack heads.

  They both cried out angrily.

  Casey laughed.

  “What's your problem?” Billy Wilbur shouted angrily.

  “What's your problem?” Willy screamed.

  They both turned on little Casey. “What are you laughing about, punk?” Willy snarled. “It's time for your mud bath, isn't it?”

  Casey stumbled back.

  “Yeah,” Billy agreed. “Mud bath time.”

  “Nooooo—please!” Casey screamed.

  They both dove at him. But Tara and I grabbed the two Wilburs by their ankles.

  “Whoa—!”

  “Hey!”

  We pulled them up till they were standing on their heads.

  Casey stared at them in shock. “How do you do that?” he asked.

  “I … don't… know,” Billy Wilbur said.

  “I can't get down!” his brother groaned. “Casey, help us down!”

  Casey stood there frozen, gaping at them. Then he grabbed his muddy cap and took off running down the block.

  As soon as he was gone, Tara and I let go of the Wilburs. They flopped onto their stomachs, confused. Then they both jumped up fast.

  They gazed all around. They scratched their heads.

  “Weird,” Willy Wilbur muttered.

  “Totally,” his brother said.

  They took off running in the other direction.

  Tara and I laughed. “That was kinda fun,” I said.

  “Too easy,” Tara replied. “Hey, Nicky. Maybe that's what we could be doing for laughs. Turn everyone upside down! Terrorize the neighborhood!”

  I nodded. “Well … we're already terrorizing Max!”

  “He'll like what we did to the Wilburs,” Tara said, straightening her cap. “If he ever speaks to us again.”

  We crossed the street. Our house was two blocks away. A girl raced past on a bike, pedaling furiously. She almost knocked us over. She had no idea we were there.

  I heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind us.

  I spun around—and saw a short man. Cropped white beard. Wearing a black raincoat.

  He slid behind a fat tree trunk.

  “Weird,” I muttered.

  Tara and I walked another half block. Again, I heard the scrape of shoes on the walk behind us.

  We both turned around. I saw a flash of black—the man's raincoat disappearing as he ducked behind a hedge.

  I stared hard at the hedge. I could see the man ducking low, peering back at us.

  A chill ran down my back.

  I turned to my sister. “Tara,” I whispered, “guess what? We're being followed.”

  TARA TURNED AND SQUINTED into the hedge. “Let's go see what he wants,” she said.

  She tugged her hat down and started walking toward the man, swinging her arms at her sides.

  Typical.

  I ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Hel-lo! Are you crazy? Don't you see him hiding there?”

  She pulled herself free. “So?”

  “So he doesn't want us to see him,” I said, glancing back at him. I could see the black raincoat through the leafy hedge. “That means he's dangerous,” I said. “How many dangerous ghosts have come after us this year?”

  “A lot,” Tara replied. “What makes you think he's a ghost?”

  I let out a sigh. “I don't know what he is. I only know he's trying hard not to be seen.”

  “Then, if you're so smart, what should we do?” Tara asked.

  I thought about it for a moment. “Run?”

  “Okay. Run,” Tara said.

  We took off running side by side across the grass.

  Two squirrels turned their heads as we zoomed past. I knew they couldn't see us, but they must have felt the burst of wind.

  Some kid had left a tricycle in his driveway, and I ran right through it. Tara's long plastic earrings jangled and flew behind her as she picked up speed.

  We reached the end of the block. I glanced back.

  The man was still following. His black raincoat flapped in the wind. He dove around the side of a house when he saw me turn.

  “Almost home,” I said. “We'll be safe.” I started across the street—but Tara tugged me to a stop.

  “No. Not home,” she said, breathing hard. “We can't go home, Nicky. We don't want him to know where we live.”

  The man peeked out at us from behind the house, then quickly pulled his head back.

  “Okay. Let's go.” I turned at the corner and led us away from our house. We ran into a backyard with a small plastic swimming pool and pool toys scattered everywhere.

  We ran to the side of the garage and stopped. “Is he still there?” Tara asked.

  I peeked out. “Yes. Still there.”

  “Let's go into this house,” Tara said. She had her hands on her knees and was struggling to catch her breath. “Maybe it will throw him off the track. He'll think it's our house.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he'll come in after us.”

  Tara didn't wait to discuss it. She disappeared through the brick wall of the house, and I followed her inside.

  We found ourselves in a brightly lit yellow and white kitchen. Two little boys sat at a small kitchen table. One of them was playing with a Game Boy. The other was coloring with markers.

  They didn't look up when Tara and I burst inside.

  Tara stepped right up to their table. “Hey, guys, can you hear us?” she called.

  No.

  Tara and I tiptoed to the kitchen window. My heart was pounding. We never sneak into other people's houses. It just doesn't seem right.

  But this was definitely an emergency.

  We both leaned on the edge of the kitchen sink and peered out the window. “Oh, wow!” Tara cried. “Look at him. He's still out there!”

  The little man looked angry. Above his short white beard, his face was bright red. He stood beside the kiddie pool, his eyes narrowed into slits. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of the raincoat.

  He stared at the house. But he didn't make a move to come inside.

  “Who is he?” Tara whispered. “Why is he following us?”

  I sighed. “It can't be good news.”

  “Level Three!” the kid with the Game Boy shouted from behind us at the table. “I made it to Level Three!”

  I watched the little man start to pace back and forth. I could see he was thinking hard. He nearly fell into the swimming pool!

  He took a few steps toward the back door.

  My heart skipped a beat. Tara grabbed my arm. “Nicky—is he coming in?”

  No.

  He seemed to change his mind. He spun around and walked off. I stretched up as far as I could, watching him stride away.

  I let out a long breath of air and stepped back from the window. “I … I think he's gone,” I said. “But let's wait a few minutes to make sure.”

  I saw a plate of Girl Scout cookies on the counter. Thin Mints. My favorite.

  “Don't even think about it,” Tara said. She shivered. “We have to get home. I hate being followed. I didn't like that little man.”

  I couldn't resist. I lifted one cookie off the plate.

  Wouldn't you know it? That's when both little boys turned around.

  They saw the cookie floating in midair. And they both started to laugh. They thought it was funny.

  I popped the cookie into my mouth.

  “Mommy—the cookies are alive!” one of the kids shouted. “The cookies fly!”

  “Way to go, dude,” Tara said. “Come on. We're outta here.” She pulled me through the kitchen wall.

  Outside, we pressed ourselves against the brick wall. Staying in
the shadow of the house, we gazed around.

  No sign of the little man.

  “Let's move,” Tara whispered.

  We took off, running hard. I was gasping for breath by the time we reached our house. Tara and I burst right through the front door without bothering to open it.

  We didn't stop to see if anyone was home. We bolted up the front stairs—to Max's room.

  “Max? Are you home?” I shouted. “Max?”

  And there stood someone in black. Waiting for us.

  PANTING HARD, I STAGGERED back against the wall. Was it the little man? No. Not the guy with the white beard. It was Max's big brother, Colin.

  Colin, dressed in black sweats, snooping around Max's room.

  He pulled open Max's desk drawers and pawed through the stuff inside. What was he looking for?

  Probably just snooping.

  Colin is not the best big brother in the world. Actually, he might be the worst.

  Colin is big and handsome and blond and strong and athletic. He works out all the time. And he uses chubby little Max as a crash test dummy.

  “Ooh. What's that smell?” Tara whispered. She pinched her fingers over her nose.

  “Why are you whispering?” I asked. “Colin can't hear us.” And then I smelled it too. Something sour.

  A really sour smell. Like two-day-old puke.

  Colin carried a little white paper bag over to Max's bed. He checked the door to make sure no one was coming. Then he reached inside the bag and pulled out an egg.

  Whoa. The disgusting odor swept over us. It was coming from the egg!

  Colin had a cold grin on his face. He held the egg way out in front of him.

  Holding my nose, I moved closer. The egg was hard-boiled and covered in mold. Furry green and blue stuff had grown all over it.

  Totally gross.

  And what did Colin plan to do with the rotten egg?

  Put it under Max's pillow, of course.

  “Let's stop him,” Tara whispered. She was fading in and out of view. I could barely see her.

  “I can't,” I said. “I'm feeling … very … weak.”

  That's one problem with being a ghost. If you use your energy up, you disappear for a while. Sometimes a short while. Sometimes a long while.

  You can't control it.

  It's like you're asleep. Only you don't know where you are. And you never dream.