Have You Met My Ghoulfriend? Page 3

  “How funny are you, Colin? Not!”

  “Where's the cat, Fat Face?”

  So Colin could hear the cries too. Weird.

  “I don't have a cat,” I said. “What makes you think I have a cat?”

  “Because I heard it meowing. It woke me up.”

  “Funny. I didn't hear anything,” I lied.

  “Maxie, if you have a cat, you're in major trouble,” Colin said. “You know Mom is allergic.”

  He crossed the room to my closet and began heaving stuff out, tossing it all over the floor. “Is it in here? Where is it?”

  I sat up. “Get your paws off my stuff. I told you, I don't have a cat.”

  What could I do? He was pulling everything out of my closet. He knows I always get into trouble with Mom and Dad when my room is a mess. I had to think of something to get him out.

  “You know what I think it was?” I said. “It wasn't a cat. I think it was just my stomach growling real loud.”

  “Oh, really?” He backed out of the closet and turned to me. “Stomach growling? I know how to cure that, Maxie.” He leaned forward, took a running start, and gave me a ferocious head-butt in the stomach.

  I yelped in pain. It hurt so much, I thought his head had gone all the way through me!

  Giggling and pumping his fists in the air, Colin ran out of the room.

  A few minutes later, I started breathing again. I slid back under the covers and listened for the cat. Silence.

  I knew where its cries were coming from. I think I knew all along, but I didn't want to admit it.

  The cat was in the tunnel. The tunnel hidden behind a panel in my bedroom wall. Nicky and Tara and I discovered the tunnel one night. It led to some kind of terrifying ghost world, all dark and cold and filled with lurking ghosts and spirits.

  Nicky and Tara forced me to go into the tunnel to find a box of Nicky's belongings. I still have nightmares about it. I was trapped in the tunnel, trapped in the ghost world. Nicky and Tara had to pull me out, pull me back to my room.

  The tunnel opening has been paneled up ever since. I never want to go back to that terrifying place again.

  “Please go away,” I whispered to the cat. “Please—stop crying. No one wants you here.”

  As I struggled to fall asleep, little did I know that I'd be pulling off that wall panel in just a few hours.

  9

  THE NEXT MORNING, DAD jumped up from the breakfast table as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. “Max, are you hiding a cat in your room?”

  “Huh?”

  That was my best reply for first thing in the morning.

  I saw Colin grinning at me over his bowl of shredded wheat. Mom leaned against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee between her hands.

  “Your brother heard a cat in your room last night,” Dad said.

  Colin's grin grew wider. He loved getting me in trouble.

  “He's a dirty liar,” I said.

  Mom choked on her coffee. Dad hurried over to slap her on the back. Dad is a big, beefy guy, built like a buffalo. And Mom looks sort of like a frail little bird. So when Dad slaps Mom on the back, believe me, she stops choking right away. She never wants a second helpful slap.

  “Don't call your brother names,” Dad said.

  “Yeah. Don't call me names, you big piece of garbage,” Colin chimed in.

  Dad laughed at that. He thinks Colin is a riot.

  “Maxie, I know you want a pet,” Mom said, setting her mug on the counter. “But I'm terribly allergic to cats.”

  “Besides, you have Buster,” Dad said.

  “Buster?” I cried. “Buster hates me! He thinks I'm one of his chew toys!”

  Buster is a big, furry wolfhound we got a few years ago. He stays mostly outside or in the garage. Whenever I come near him, he growls and sinks his teeth into my leg.

  Dad says he's just being friendly. He says I have to get over my fear of dogs.

  I'm not afraid of dogs. I'm afraid of being eaten!

  Colin loaded his spoon with cereal and snapped it toward me. He got me right in the forehead with a big wet wad of shredded wheat.

  Dad laughed. To him, everything Colin does is golden.

  Mom shook her head at Colin. “Don't play with your food. And stop picking on Maxie.”

  “What about the cat in his room?” Colin insisted.

  “Give me a break. I don't have a cat,” I said through gritted teeth.

  And at that moment, a loud meeeeow floated into the kitchen from upstairs.

  Everyone froze.

  And listened.

  And heard another long cat cry, shrill and sad.

  It's a ghost cat, I thought. It has to be a ghost cat. So why can everyone hear it?

  This cat must really want to be heard!

  Colin jumped up from the table. “I told you! Did you hear it? We all heard it, right?”

  “Heard what?” I said. “I didn't hear anything.”

  But the three of them were already hurrying out of the kitchen. They went running up to my room, and I had no choice but to follow them.

  What should I do? I asked myself. How can I explain this?

  I decided to tell them the truth. Come clean and tell them the whole story. Then maybe they'd finally believe me about the ghosts in the house.

  When I reached my room, Colin was tossing things out of the closet again. Dad was down on the floor, searching under the bed. Mom stood with her arms crossed, listening for the cat.

  “Whoa. Stop!” I shouted. “I'll tell you the truth.”

  They turned to me. Mom raised her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no. Maxie, you really are hiding a cat in here?”

  “It's a ghost cat,” I said.

  Dad and Colin groaned. “Not another crazy ghost story,” Dad said. “I warned you, Max—”

  “Just listen to me!” I cried. “I can prove it to you.” My heart was thudding in my chest. Would I finally be able to make them believe me?

  “The cat must be in the tunnel,” I said.

  Dad stood with his powerful arms crossed over his chest. The fire-breathing dragon tattooed on his right bicep seemed to stare at me. “What tunnel?” he asked.

  “There's a tunnel in my room. It's hidden behind that wall panel.” I pointed. “I just discovered it a few weeks ago. The tunnel is very long and dark. It leads to some kind of ghost world. It—”

  Colin burst out laughing. “You're talking about a PlayStation game, right?”

  “No, it's true!” I screamed.

  Dad rolled his eyes. “Max, I warned you about these babyish ghost stories….”

  “I'll prove it!” I cried. “I'll prove it to you.” I darted to the wall, wrapped my hands around the edges of the wall panel, and tugged.

  Stuck.

  “The tunnel is right behind this panel,” I said. “You'll see.”

  I tugged harder.

  The panel still wouldn't budge.

  “You'll see,” I repeated. “Then you'll be sorry you didn't believe me.”

  With a groan, I bent lower, tightened my hands around the edges, and yanked the panel with all my might.

  “Yes!”

  I pulled the panel away.

  And everyone gasped.

  10

  SOLID WALL.

  No sign of any tunnel.

  I dropped the wood panel to the floor and slapped the wall with my hand. Hard plaster. I slapped at it frantically with both hands. Where was the tunnel? Where?

  Mom came up from behind and put her arms around me. “Max, I'm very worried about you. Why are you making up these crazy ghost stories?”

  “Because he's totally mental!” Colin exclaimed. He let out a high horse whinny. “He's gone looney tunes!”

  Dad shook his head. “It isn't funny, Colin. Max needs help. I know he'll get it at the Plover School.”

  “Maybe you're right,” Mom said. “Maybe he does need to get away from this house and go to a place with some structure.”

  Structure? What
is structure?

  What was she talking about? I couldn't believe it. Mom never wanted me to go away to that horrible boarding school. Why was she suddenly agreeing with Dad?

  Just because the tunnel disappeared?

  “You're both going to be late for school,” Mom said. “We'll talk about this later. Get your backpacks and go.”

  I trudged across the room to get my backpack. I saw Dad staring hard at me. And the fire-breathing dragon on his arm was staring at me too.

  I realized I was trembling. Now I'll never get them to believe me, I thought. I'm totally on my own—with two ghosts haunting the house. And a ghost cat. And an evil ghost who is going to bring a ghoul to break me.

  Totally on my own …

  Dear Diary,

  Not much happened today.

  Sorry I don't have any exciting things to write about.

  I may be going to another school soon. But I don't want to write about that. Bye for now.

  Max

  That night, the cat appeared.

  Well, it wasn't the cat. But it was enough of a cat to get me into major trouble.

  The four of us were home having dinner. Dad brought home a bucket of chicken, and Mom microwaved some vegetables to go with it. When they weren't looking, Colin shoved a handful of string beans down the front of my shirt.

  “Hey—!” I let out a shout. The string beans tickled!

  That's when we heard the cat. A loud meow from upstairs. I glanced quickly around the table. Everyone had heard it.

  I tried to make them forget about it. “I got an A on my health quiz today,” I said.

  But they were all listening hard. And when the cat meowed again, Dad jumped up from the table. He pointed a finger at me. “Max, I told you—no cat. No more crazy stories about a tunnel in your wall. If I find a cat up there, you're grounded for a year, maybe two.”

  “I don't have a cat,” I protested. “Why would I hide a cat up there when I know I'm not allowed to have a cat?”

  “Because you're dumb?” Colin chimed in.

  “Don't call Maxie dumb,” Mom said.

  “He is dumb,” Colin said. “He doesn't want to eat his string beans. So he's hiding them in his shirt.”

  “That's a lie!” I shouted.

  But Colin jerked my shirt up out of my jeans, and the string beans tumbled out onto the floor.

  “Those are Colin's string beans!” I cried.

  Dad frowned at me. “Why did you put Colin's string beans down your shirt?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, the cat meowed again.

  And now everyone jumped up from the table and hurried to the stairs. “Hey, wait—” I called after them.

  I shoved my chair back and climbed to my feet. Something crunched under my shoes. String beans. I ignored it and chased after my family.

  Dad led the way up the stairs to my room. He clicked on the ceiling light, and we all jammed into the room.

  “This is totally stupid,” I said. “I don't know where those meows are coming from, but I don't have a cat. I swear.”

  “He's lying. He's definitely got a cat,” Colin said, glancing around. “It has to be up here somewhere.”

  “I don't have a cat up here!” I cried. “I can't believe—”

  Another meow.

  We all turned toward the sound. Dad stepped up to my dresser. He pulled out the top drawer …

  All four of us gasped as a black cat leaped out of the dresser.

  11

  WITH A SHRILL CRY, the cat jumped onto Dad's chest.

  Startled, Dad staggered back. The cat let out a shriek and jumped to the floor. It ran through Mom's legs and darted under my bed.

  Colin grinned. “Told you.”

  I recognized the cat instantly. It was Edgar, the Swansons' black cat from next door.

  How did Edgar get in my dresser drawer? Hello. That wasn't hard to figure out.

  Colin.

  Had to be Big Fat Sneak Colin.

  But how could I prove it?

  I turned to Dad. He was steaming. Smoke didn't come out of his ears. But his face was an angry red, the color of raw hamburger. His big chest was heaving up and down like a bomb about to explode.

  “Uh …,” I started.

  Mom suddenly looked very pale. She had her hands pressed to the sides of her face. “It … it brushed against me,” she said to Dad. “Did you see? It brushed against my legs.”

  Then she turned to me. “Isn't that the neighbors' cat?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It's Edgar. I'm sure Colin—”

  Mom sneezed.

  Dad stormed toward me. “I don't care what its name is. Get that cat out from under your bed.”

  “Okay. No problem.”

  I dropped to my knees and pushed my head under the bed. “Edgar, it's okay. Come here,” I said softly. I tried coaxing him for a while, but he didn't budge. “Edgar, psst psst psst. Come here, kitty. Nice kitty. You know me—right, Edgar?”

  I stretched out my hands to grab him, but he was all the way back against the wall.

  I heard Mom sneeze again.

  And again. Loud sneezes that shook the whole bedroom.

  I slid further under the bed. “Come here, Edgar. It's okay, fella. Come to Max.”

  I made a grab for him—and he sprang away, out into the room.

  Mom let out a cry. I climbed to my feet and saw Edgar on top of my dresser. Mom opened her mouth in a violent sneeze. Her cheeks and forehead were bright red and swollen.

  “Get that cat!” Dad screamed.

  Colin moved quickly across the room. He picked up Edgar in both hands and held him against his chest. “That's a good cat,” he whispered, petting Edgar's back. “What did that bad Max do to you?”

  “This isn't fair!” I shouted.

  Mom sneezed so hard, both of her contact lenses flew out.

  Colin carried Edgar to the door. “I'll take him back where he belongs,” he said. “Then I'll vacuum around here, Mom, so you'll feel better soon. I'm sure Max didn't mean to make you so sick.” He disappeared down the stairs.

  “But—but—but—” I sputtered.

  Mom and Dad were on their hands and knees searching for Mom's contacts. “Colin is a take-charge kinda guy,” Dad said to Mom.

  “Colin is a take-the-cat kinda guy!” I cried. “I know you won't believe me, but he's the one who hid Edgar in my dresser drawer.”

  “Keeping a cat in a drawer is really cruel,” Dad said. “You're grounded for life, Max. No arguments. Maybe you can go out again when you're thirty. We'll see.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. But I knew there was no point.

  How could I ever pay Colin back for this little joke? There had to be a way.

  That's what I was still thinking about late at night when I couldn't fall asleep. How can I get my revenge? How?

  And then I heard the sad meow of a cat. Not Edgar. The other cat, the mystery cat. A soft animal cry, so close and far away at the same time.

  What else can go wrong? I asked myself.

  The next morning, I found out.

  12

  “TARA? ARE YOU HERE?”

  I blinked, trying to get used to the darkness. Where was I? How long had I been away?

  “Nicky, is that you?” I heard Tara's whisper nearby.

  I turned to her. Pale gray moonlight poured in from a window. Tara had a floppy hat pulled down over her hair. Her face was covered in shadow. All I could see were the long, dangling plastic earrings she always wears.

  “Where are we, Nicky?”

  I squinted, struggling to focus. I heard a cat meow, a soft, sad cry. “We're back in Max's room,” I said. “I don't know how long we've been away.”

  Tara stepped into the ray of moonlight. Her expression was sad. “Think we'll ever get better at being ghosts? I hate not knowing when I'm going to appear and disappear.”

  The cat meowed again.

  I watched Max sleeping, the blanket pulled up over his head. He groaned in his s
leep. Maybe he was having a bad dream.

  Tara stepped close to me. “Something I forgot before we disappeared,” she said. She slapped my arm. “Touched you last.”

  She scooted away. I chased after her. She tripped over Max's Darth Vader wastebasket, and it clattered to the floor. I glanced at the bed. Max didn't wake up. I tagged Tara. “Touched you last.”

  She slapped me back. “Touched you last.”

  Sometimes our “touched you last” game lasted for hours. It was a serious sport. We never wanted to be the loser. Now here we were—ghosts—and we couldn't stop playing it. Sick, huh?

  Suddenly, Tara slumped down on the edge of Max's bed. She cupped her face in her hands and let out a long sigh.

  “What's wrong?”

  “We're nowhere, Nicky. We've been back here in our old house for weeks. And we haven't come any closer to finding Mom and Dad.”

  I sprawled on the floor and leaned against the bed. “That ghost named Phears is our only clue,” I said. “He knows our parents. Maybe he even knows where they are. But he's too evil and too frightening. No way to talk to him.”

  Tara shook her head. Her earrings rattled. “We don't know how we died. And we don't know if Mom and Dad are dead or alive. We can't just sit here in our old house waiting for them to return.”

  “Well … I know,” I said. “I thought your new boyfriend here was supposed to help us.”

  Tara bonked me on the head with her fist. “Don't call him that.”

  “You have a crush on Max,” I said. “It's obvious.”

  She bonked me again, a little harder.

  “Ow.” Yeah, sure, I'm a ghost. But it still hurts to be bonked on the head.

  Above me, Max stirred in his sleep. The cat meowed again, its voice hoarse, tired.

  “Max did help a little,” Tara said. “He went in the weird tunnel in the wall and brought out that box of your stuff.”

  “Oh, yeah. The box.” I'd hidden it under the bed. I pulled it out and opened it. It had a lot of stuff I'd saved back when … back when I was alive.

  I sifted through it. Some keys I didn't recognize … a Spider-Man action figure … a small comic book …

  I pulled out a framed photograph of Mom and Dad and held it up to the moonlight. Tara leaned her hands on my shoulders and gazed at it with me.