Who Let the Ghosts Out? Read online

  Everything went bright red for a minute. So bright, I had to shut my eyes.

  When I opened them, I was standing on the street corner with Buster's leash in my hand. Why did my hand ache? Had Buster snapped at me?

  I gazed around the dark street. Something had just happened, I knew. Something strange. I struggled to remember. I felt kinda shaky and weak.

  But I couldn't remember anything strange.

  Buster bared his teeth and started to growl at me. He swung his head around and tried to take a bite out of my leg. At least he felt totally normal.

  I tugged him home and locked him up in the garage. Then I hurried inside, still feeling weird.

  I found Mom and Dad in the den, side by side on the brown leather couch, staring at the wide-screen TV. “What took you so long, Maxie?” Mom asked, her eyes straight ahead on the screen.

  “I … don't know,” I answered. “I feel kinda dizzy, kinda weak. And my hand hurts.”

  “Hold it down!” Dad snapped. “Wrestling is on.” He leaned toward the TV screen so that his face was nearly in the ring with the two hulky wrestlers.

  “Max, you'd better go up to your room,” Mom said. “You're interrupting a grudge match.”

  “Aren't they all grudge matches?” I asked. They didn't hear me. They were cheering on one of the wrestlers, shouting and shaking their fists in the air. Mom was usually so quiet, like a little mouse. But she enjoyed wrestling more than Dad.

  “Kill him! Kill him!” she was screaming.

  Dad slapped her a hard high five.

  I turned and climbed the stairs to my room.

  I IM'd Aaron for an hour or so. I was starting to feel more normal. I asked Aaron if he had trouble with the algebra homework. Some of the equations were about a mile long.

  But, of course, Aaron hadn't opened his math book. He never does.

  That's one reason I really like Aaron. He's just about the only kid in my class who never asks me for help with his homework!

  Other kids call me all the time. “Brainimon, help me with my science project.”

  “Brainimon, what's the answer to number six?”

  “Please, Brainimon—write a quick book report for me.”

  My phone rings so often, you'd think I was actually popular!

  Anyway, I was online with Aaron until nearly eleven. Then, yawning, I tucked myself into bed. I could hear Colin playing his guitar in his room down the hall. After a while, the music stopped.

  I had nearly drifted off to sleep when I heard the noises in the kitchen. Again. The scraping sounds. The clanging of pots. Faint footsteps.

  And then the soft croak of a voice. Soft and sad, like a sigh.

  “Oh, glory. Oh, glory…”

  Trembling, I jammed the pillow over my head and covered my ears.

  I didn't want to hear these ghostly whispers. I'd heard them every night, ever since we moved into this house. No one else heard them. No one believed me.

  Who was down there? If only I had the courage to go and see …

  Instead, I jammed the pillow over my head— and prayed whoever it was would go away.

  7

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS went by without any problems. Except two kids dropped out of my after-school Stargate SG-1 club. They said Stargate SG-1 was boring, and they wanted to join a Deep Space Nine club instead.

  “The joke is on them,” Aaron said after they left. “There is no Deep Space Nine Club. It broke up three years ago.”

  So now there was just Aaron and me left in the Stargate SG-1 club. Kinda boring, since we're not into Stargate SG-1 that much. We just wanted to make some new friends.

  On Monday afternoon, I hurried home and hard-boiled eight eggs. They were almost finished when Colin came nosing around. “Yo. What's up, Chicken Lips?” he asked, staring into the pot.

  “Just making some eggs,” I said.

  He started to reach into the boiling water to pull one out. I knew what he planned to do. Drop the egg into my T-shirt pocket and then smash it. He'd done it before.

  Luckily, his phone rang, and he hurried to answer it.

  A close call.

  Why did I need eight hard-boiled eggs? For juggling, of course. Juggling is an important part of my magic act. I don't want to be a good juggler. I want to be an awesome juggler.

  That night after dinner, I took my eggs out of the fridge, went up to my room, closed the door, and began to practice in front of the mirror. I juggled four eggs at once, keeping two in the air at all times.

  Yes. Yes!

  I really had a good rhythm going.

  And then I heard a voice, a whispered voice behind me: “We're back—!”

  I stared into the mirror. No one was there.

  I spun around. No one.

  I started juggling again. Two eggs up, two down. Two eggs up …

  And then another whispered voice—so close to me I could feel a rush of cold wind on the back of my neck. “Yes, we're back.”

  The hard-boiled eggs flew out of my hands.

  “Ow—!”

  One egg cracked and splattered on my head. The yolk ran down my forehead. Another egg cracked on my sneaker, spreading yellow goo over the laces.

  Big jerk Colin. He switched the eggs!

  Wiping egg yolk off my face, I stared at a boy and a girl. They both wore short-sleeved T-shirts even though it was freezing outside, and straight-legged, faded jeans.

  “How—? How did you—” I sputtered.

  How did they get in my bedroom? Who were they? How come I could see right through them?

  They were both tall and thin, with slender, serious faces. The boy had spikey brown hair and seemed to be about my age—eleven.

  The girl wore a floppy red hat, so I couldn't see her face very well. She had matching red plastic earrings dangling from her ears. She looked about nine or ten.

  The girl blinked as if just waking up. “We're back, Nicky,” she repeated to the boy.

  “I was so frightened,” the boy said. “I thought we had faded away forever.”

  “Who are you?” I tried to shout, but my voice caught in my throat.

  “That boy Max is still here,” the girl said, narrowing her eyes at me.

  “How long have we been gone?” the boy asked.

  She shrugged. “I don't know. But, look—he's still wearing the same clothes. He should lose the baggy cargo pants. They make him look like a sailboat.”

  “What's with the egg dripping down his face?” the boy asked. “Tara, are you sure we're not having a crazy nightmare?”

  She grabbed his arm. “This is too scary. Make him go away.”

  “Who are you?” I finally managed to shout. One of the four eggs hadn't broken. I picked it up to use as a weapon. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Your room? It's my room!” the boy named Nicky shouted.

  “Whoa. Nicky.” Tara's mouth dropped open. She tugged at the sides of her floppy red hat. “Nicky, that boy—he … he can see us!”

  “Yes, I can see you!” I cried. “But I don't want to! Get out. Get out of here!”

  “We're starting to fade again,” Tara said. “Nicky, I'm afraid. I can feel myself disappearing again.”

  “We've got to learn to control this,” Nicky said. He turned to me. “Being a ghost isn't as easy as it looks, Max.”

  Then they both disappeared.

  My legs were trembling so hard, I grabbed the side of my desk to hold myself up. I glanced around the room frantically. My heart pounded like crazy.

  “Are you gone?” I cried. “Did you leave?”

  “We're still here,” Nicky said. “I'm sitting on your bed. I mean, my bed. This is my room, you know.”

  “You can hear us,” Tara said. “No one else can. Only you.”

  “Yes, I can hear you. But I can't see you now. You're invisible. Please—you're scaring me to death. Go away,” I pleaded. “I'm afraid of ghosts. No kidding.”

  “You should be afraid of us,” Nicky said.


  “Why?” I asked in a tiny voice.

  Nicky lowered his voice. “Because we're going to haunt you forever,” he whispered.

  8

  THEY BOTH LAUGHED HIGH, evil laughs.

  I felt a whiff of cold air.

  “Mom! Dad!” I began to scream at the top of my lungs. “Help me! Mom! Dad!”

  Maybe the wrestling show was over. Maybe they could hear me downstairs.

  I turned and saw the extra eggs rising up from the bowl. They floated in the air in a straight line and began to circle me.

  Again, the two ghosts cackled with glee. “We're going to haunt you, Maxie,” the invisible girl whispered. “Haunt you forever. As long as you live in this house.”

  “Haunt you forever … Haunt you forever …,” they both chanted.

  “Mom! Dad! Hurry!” The eggs danced around me. “Somebody—help!”

  “Maxie?” Colin came bursting into the room.

  The four eggs dropped to the floor and splattered onto my white carpet. I leaped back against the wall, shivering in fright.

  “What's up with the eggs?” Colin asked, gazing at the yellow goo spreading over the carpet. “Why did you do that?”

  “I—I—I—” I stammered.

  Colin stared at me. “Have you totally lost it?”

  “I didn't do it!” I sputtered. “Ghosts did it! Two ghosts. A boy and a girl. They're in this room, Colin. They smashed the eggs.”

  Colin laughed. “Yeah, sure. Tell me another one.”

  Nicky and Tara suddenly reappeared. They stood in front of my bed, their arms crossed in front of their chests. They watched Colin and me with smiles on their faces.

  “There they are!” I shouted, pointing. “Don't you see them?”

  Colin spun around. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I see them. Right there. A boy and a girl.”

  I let out a startled cry. “Awesome! You do see them? No lie?”

  “No lie,” he said. “And I see Peter Pan, too! And check it out—there's Bugs Bunny. Hi, Bugs! Where's Daffy?”

  “Ha, ha,” Tara said. “Colin is a joker, isn't he, Nicky? Remind me to laugh later.”

  “He's about as funny as being dead,” Nicky said.

  “Colin—did you hear that?” I asked. “Did you hear Nicky and Tara?”

  Colin squinted at me. “You're making up names for your invisible ghosts? Have you gone totally mental?”

  “Colin can't see us, but Max can,” Nicky said. “Weird.”

  “My arm!” Colin suddenly cried, jerking his arm back. “Help! The ghosts have control of my arm!” He punched me hard in the stomach.

  “Ohhh.” Pain shot through my body. Gasping for breath, I stumbled to the floor.

  Colin laughed. “I didn't do it! The ghosts made me do it!”

  Mom and Dad came rushing in. “What's going on? Colin—what are you doing in here?” Dad demanded.

  “Helping Max with his homework,” Colin said.

  Then Mom and Dad saw the yellow goo running down my hair—and broken eggshells and yolk splattered all over the rug. Mom raised her hands to the sides of her face. “Who made this horrible mess?”

  “I didn't do it!” I cried, my voice cracking. “My room is haunted. Two ghosts are here! Don't you see them? They're both by the door!” I pointed frantically.

  Mom and Dad turned to the door. Nicky and Tara stuck their tongues out at them. Mom and Dad turned back to me.

  “Maxie, you're too old to have invisible friends,” Mom said. “You've got to stop making up these ghost stories.”

  “You don't see them?”

  “He's gone totally wacko,” Colin said. “I tried to talk him out of this stupid ghost story, but he wouldn't listen.”

  Mom still had her hands pressed to her face. “Eggs all over the carpet. We have to clean this up. What's wrong with you, Max?”

  “He's definitely got too much time on his hands,” Dad said, shaking his head. “This is why he should be sent away to school. To make him forget these dopey ghost stories.”

  “Let's talk about that later,” Mom said.

  “But just look at him,” Dad said. He pointed at me—the Point of Death. He always points when he's really angry. “Invisible friends? Cracking an egg on his head? Is that healthy?”

  “Dad, I didn't—”

  “Give me a break.” He turned and stomped out of the room.

  “But my room is haunted!” I screamed after him.

  Mom tsk-tsk ed. “Max, go get a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, and clean this mess up. Then get into the shower and wash the egg off your hair. And no more crazy talk about ghosts.” She followed Dad downstairs.

  Colin shook his head. “Can I give you some good advice?” he said.

  I took a step back. “Advice?”

  “Yeah. Here's some good advice.” He punched me really hard in the stomach again.

  “Owww!”

  I howled and bent over, grabbing my knees and waiting for the pain to fade.

  “The ghosts made me do that,” Colin said. He turned and strode away.

  As he reached the door, Tara stuck her foot out and tripped him.

  “Huh?” Colin stumbled and fell. He landed with an oof on his stomach. Slowly, he raised himself to his knees and shook a fist at me.

  “You're meat,” he said. “You're hamburger now.”

  He pulled himself up with the hall railing and disappeared to his room.

  Laughing, Nicky and Tara slapped each other a high five.

  “Hel-lo. Did you hear what he said?” I gasped. “I'm hamburger. Hamburger!” I rubbed my sore stomach.

  “How come you can see us, and the rest of your family can't?” Tara asked.

  I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “That's a cool-looking pendant around your neck. Where did you get it?” Tara asked.

  “My mom found it when we moved here,” I told her. I grabbed it and tucked it back under my T-shirt. “Mom said it would bring me luck.” I pulled a gob of egg from my hair. “But I don't think it's working yet.”

  “It looks sort of like a bullet,” Tara said.

  “What's inside it?” Nicky asked.

  “Nothing. It doesn't open. Why are you two asking me all these questions?”

  “We're bonding,” Nicky said.

  “I don't want to bond with you,” I said. “Go away. Go haunt someone else. There are already ghosts in this house. There's no room for you.”

  They stared at me in silence. “I'm no fun to haunt,” I said. “Really. Have you ever seen projectile vomiting? That's what I do whenever I'm haunted.”

  “Cute,” Nicky said.

  “Did our parents sell this house to your parents?” Tara asked me. “Did you see my parents?”

  “The house was empty,” I said. “No one lived here.”

  “But—what happened to us?” Tara cried. Her voice broke. She turned away from me. “What happened to our family?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “I don't know who you are. Dad said we got the house cheap because no one was living here.”

  Nicky lowered his head sadly.

  Tara's shoulders were moving up and down. I think she was crying.

  “Hey …uh… are you still going to haunt me?” I asked again.

  To my surprise, they both vanished.

  9

  “MAX NEEDS OUR HELP,” Tara said.

  I sighed. “He needs our help? Tara, we're the ones who need help. We're dead. We're ghosts. And we don't remember why or how it happened. And Mom and Dad are missing, and we may never see them again. Besides, he's beyond help. Look at him. He's eleven years old, and he still has Velcro sneakers!”

  It was a few nights later. At least, I think it was a few nights. Tara and I had disappeared—faded into an emptiness—and we lost all track of time.

  We were sitting on the floor with our backs resting against Max's bed. Behind us, he was asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring softly.

  “Cut him some slack, Nicky,�
� Tara said. “He's not a bad guy. And he's in trouble. His big brother is totally horrible to him. And his dad wants to send him away to school because he's not a big jock. Maybe we can help him.

  “And maybe Max can help us, too,” my sister said softly.

  “Help us? How?”

  “Help us find Mom and Dad. I don't think we can do it on our own. We keep appearing and disappearing. Sometimes we fade away for days. We can't control it. Sometimes we can pick up objects and sometimes we're too weak. Sometimes we're solid, and sometimes we're totally see-through. We're not good at being ghosts yet.”

  “We just need more practice,” I said. “After a few weeks, we'll be able to haunt this house like pros!”

  “But, Nicky—”

  “We don't need Max,” I said. “He's too frightened to help us. You heard what he said about projectile vomiting. How helpful is that?”

  “That was a joke,” Tara said. “He jokes a lot. Can't you tell when he's kidding?”

  “I'm not in the mood for jokes,” I grumbled. “I'm dead, remember. I don't need jokes anymore.”

  Behind us, Max stirred in his sleep. “Help,” he whispered. “Help.”

  “Do you believe it?” I said. “He's even a wimp in his sleep!”

  “We can help him be brave, Nicky,” my sister insisted. “Then he can help us find Mom and Dad.”

  I pinched Tara's cheek. “I think you have a crush on him. You do—don't you? You have a crush on him—big-time.”

  “Do not!” she cried, shoving my hand away. “Touched you last.”

  “Touched you last.”

  She slapped my arm. “Touched you last.”

  I let her win. “What do you like about him, Tara? His cute little baby face? His collection of sci-fi T-shirts? His goofy grin?”

  “Shut up, Nicky!” Tara shouted. “I mean it. Shut up!”

  “You're blushing,” I said.

  “Ghosts can't blush, you moron!”

  “Well, if they could—” I started. But I stopped when I heard a noise. A muffled clattering sound. From downstairs.