Phantom of the Auditorium Read online

  Jeremy kept asking me about the play. He wanted to hear more about the Phantom. But I really didn’t feel like talking about it. I kept remembering my dream, remembering the panic of standing in front of three hundred people and looking like a total jerk.

  I dropped Jeremy off, then hurried across the street. I found Zeke waiting for me by the front door. He was staring impatiently at his watch.

  I don’t know why. It doesn’t have the correct time on it. It’s one of those digital watches with seventeen different controls on it. Zeke can’t figure out how to set it. He can play games on it — and play a dozen different songs. But he can’t get it to tell the time.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me right into the classroom. He wouldn’t even let me get my books from my locker or take off my coat.

  We marched up to Ms. Walker, who was sitting behind her desk, glancing over the morning announcements. She smiled at us, but her smile faded as she saw the solemn looks on our faces.

  “Is something wrong?” Ms. Walker asked.

  “Could we speak to you?” Zeke whispered, glancing at the kids already in class. “In private?”

  Ms. Walker gazed up at the wall clock. “Can’t it wait? The bell is going to ring in two minutes.”

  “It will only take a minute,” Zeke promised.

  She followed us out into the hall and leaned her back against the tile wall. “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s a phantom in the school,” Zeke told her breathlessly. “A real one. Brooke and I have seen him.”

  “Whoa!” Ms. Walker murmured, raising both hands to say stop.

  “No! Really!” I insisted. “We did see him, Ms. Walker. In the auditorium. We sneaked in. To use the trapdoor, and —”

  “You did what?” she cried, narrowing her eyes first at me, then at Zeke.

  “I know, I know,” Zeke said, blushing. “We weren’t supposed to. But that’s not the point.”

  “There’s a phantom,” I said. “And he’s trying to stop the play.”

  “I know you think I’ve been doing all those things,” Zeke added. “But I haven’t. It’s the Phantom. He —”

  Ms. Walker raised her hands again. She started to say something, but the bell rang — right over our heads.

  We raised our hands to protect our ears.

  When the bell finally stopped clanging, Ms. Walker took a few steps toward the classroom door. It was really noisy inside. The kids were all taking advantage of her not being in there.

  “I’m sorry I upset you with that story,” she told us.

  “Huh?” Zeke and I both cried out.

  “I never should have told that old phantom story,” Ms. Walker said fretfully. “It got a lot of kids upset. I apologize for scaring you.”

  “But you didn’t!” Zeke protested. “We saw a guy, and —”

  “Have you been having nightmares about a phantom?” Ms. Walker demanded.

  She didn’t believe us. She didn’t believe a word we had said.

  “Listen —” I started.

  All three of us jumped when we heard a loud crash inside the room. A crash followed by wild laughter.

  “Let’s get inside,” Ms. Walker said. She pointed at Zeke. “No more practical jokes — okay? No more jokes. We want the play to be good, don’t we?”

  Before we could answer, she turned and hurried into the room.

  “What am I doing here?” Brian moaned. He shivered and stared up at the dark trees. “Why am I doing this?”

  “You came with us because you’re a nice guy,” I told him, patting the shoulder of his sweater.

  “No. Because I’m an idiot!” Brian corrected me.

  This was all Zeke’s idea. He came to my house after dinner. I told my parents we had our play rehearsal. A lie.

  Then Zeke and I walked to school. We met Brian on the front walk, where he’d promised to wait for us.

  “I can’t believe Ms. Walker didn’t believe us,” Zeke fretted.

  “Would you believe such a nutty story?” I demanded.

  “Well, we’re going to find the Phantom and prove we’re right,” Zeke said firmly. “We have no choice now. I mean, if Ms. Walker won’t help us, we’ll have to find him on our own.”

  “You just like a good adventure,” I teased him.

  He raised his eyes to mine. “Well, Brookie, if you’re too scared …”

  “But what am I doing here?” Brian repeated, staring at the dark school building.

  “We need all the help we can get!” I told him. I gave Zeke a shove. “Let’s go. I’ll show you who’s scared and who isn’t.”

  “I think I’m a little scared,” Brian admitted. “What if we get caught?”

  “Who’s going to catch us?” Zeke asked him. “There’s no night janitor.”

  “But what if there’s an alarm or something?” Brian demanded. “You know. A burglar alarm.”

  “For sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Our school can’t even afford pencil sharpeners! No way they’ve got burglar alarms.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to break in,” Zeke said quietly, his eyes on the street. A station wagon rolled by without slowing. He tugged at the front doors. “They’re locked tight.”

  “Maybe a side door?” Brian suggested.

  We crept around to the side of the building. The playground stretched out, silent and empty. The grass glowed all silvery under the bright half-moon.

  The side doors were locked, too.

  And the back door that led into the band room was also locked.

  I raised my eyes to the roof. The building hovered over us like some kind of dark creature. The windows reflected the white moonlight. It was the only light I could see.

  “Hey — that window is open!” Zeke whispered.

  We ran full speed up to the half-open window in a ground-floor classroom. It was the home ec room, I saw. Mrs. Lamston probably left the window open to let out the horrible smell of the muffins we baked that afternoon.

  Zeke raised both hands to the window ledge and hoisted himself up. Sitting on the ledge, he pushed the window open wider.

  A few seconds later, Brian and I followed him into the home ec room. The aroma of burned cranberry muffins lingered in the air. We tiptoed through the darkness to the door.

  “Ouch!” I cried out as I banged my thigh into a low table.

  “Be quiet!” Zeke scolded.

  “Hey — I didn’t do it on purpose!” I whispered back angrily.

  He was already out the door. Brian and I followed, moving slowly, carefully.

  The hall was even darker than the classroom. We kept pressed against the wall as we made our way toward the auditorium.

  My heart was racing. I felt all tingly. My shoes scraped loudly over the hard floor.

  Nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. It’s just the school building, the building you’ve been in a million times. And there’s no one else here.

  Just you. Zeke. Brian. And a phantom.

  A phantom who doesn’t want to be found.

  “I don’t think I like this,” Brian whispered as we edged our way around a corner. “I’m really pretty scared.”

  “Just pretend you’re in a scary movie,” I told him. “Pretend it’s just a movie.”

  “But I don’t like scary movies!” he protested.

  “Ssshhh,” Zeke warned. He stopped suddenly. I bumped right into him. “Try not to be a klutz, Brookie,” he whispered.

  “Try not to be a jerk, Zekey,” I replied nastily.

  I squinted into the darkness. We had reached the auditorium.

  Zeke pulled open the nearest door. We peered inside. Total blackness. The air in the auditorium felt cooler.

  Cool and damp.

  That’s because a ghost lives in here, I thought.

  That made my heart pump even harder. I wished I could control my thoughts a little better.

  Zeke fumbled with his hand against the wall and clicke
d on a row of lights over the section of seats to our left. The stage came into view. Empty and silent. Someone had left a ladder leaning against one wall. Several paint cans were lined up beside the ladder.

  “How about turning on all the lights?” Brian suggested. He sounded really frightened.

  “No way,” Zeke replied, his eyes on the stage. “We want to take the Phantom by surprise, don’t we? We don’t want to warn him that we’re coming.”

  Huddled close together, we made our way slowly down the center aisle toward the stage. In the dim light, long shadows fell over the seats.

  Ghostly shadows, I thought.

  Did a shadow move near the stage?

  No.

  Stop it, Brooke, I scolded myself. Don’t let your imagination go wild. Not tonight.

  I kept moving my eyes back and forth, checking out the stage and the rows of seats as we slowly made our way to the front.

  Where is he? I wondered. Where is the Phantom?

  Does he live in that dark chamber so far below the stage?

  We were just a few feet from the stage when we heard the sound.

  A footstep? A floorboard creaking?

  All three of us stopped. All three of us heard it.

  I grabbed Zeke’s arm. I saw Brian’s green eyes go wide with fright.

  And then we heard another sound. A cough.

  “We’re … n-not alone!” I stammered.

  15

  “Wh-who’s there?” I called. But my voice caught in my throat.

  “Is anybody up there?” Zeke called to the stage. No reply. Another footstep.

  Brian took a step back. He grabbed the back of a seat and held on.

  “He’s back there,” Zeke said, leaning close to me, his eyes excited. “I know he’s back there.”

  “Where?” I demanded, choking out the word. It was hard to talk with my heart in my throat. I stared up at the stage. I couldn’t see anyone. I jumped when I heard another cough. And then a clanking sound rose up over the stage and echoed through the auditorium.

  At first I thought the trapdoor was about to move.

  Was someone riding up on it? Was the Phantom about to rise in front of our eyes?

  No.

  I cried out when I saw the backdrop begin to unfurl.

  The clanking sound grew louder. The backdrop was slowly being lowered at the back of the stage.

  “Who is doing it?” I whispered. “Who on earth is sending it down?”

  Zeke and Brian stared straight ahead and didn’t reply.

  Zeke’s mouth was wide open. His eyes didn’t blink.

  Brian gripped the back of the chair with both hands.

  The painted backdrop clanked down, unrolling as it lowered.

  All three of us gasped as we saw what had been done to it.

  It had been a gray brick theater wall. Brian and several other kids had worked for days on it, sketching it out, then painting it brick by brick.

  “Who — who did that to my painting?” Brian cried out.

  Zeke and I remained staring at it in silent horror.

  The gray wall had been covered with red paint splotches and thick red smears.

  It looked as if someone had dipped a wide brush in red paint, then smeared and stabbed it all over the backdrop.

  “It’s ruined!” Brian declared shrilly.

  Zeke was the first to move. He raised his hands to the stage floor and pulled himself up onto the stage. Brian and I followed after him.

  “Who’s here?” Zeke called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Who’s in here?”

  Silence.

  Someone is here, I knew. Someone had to lower that backdrop so that we could see what had been done to it.

  “Who’s here? Where are you?” Zeke repeated.

  Again, no reply.

  We moved closer, making our way slowly, keeping close together.

  And as we stepped up to it, words came into view. They were scrawled across the bottom, thick letters in heavy red paint.

  I stopped and squinted to read the message in the dim light:

  STAY AWAY FROM MY

  HOME SWEET HOME

  “Whoa,” I murmured. I felt a chill roll down my back.

  Then I heard a side door being pulled open.

  All three of us turned away from the backdrop in time to see a figure step into the auditorium.

  We cried out in surprise when we saw who it was.

  16

  She stood gaping up at us. She blinked her eyes several times, as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “I — I am really shocked,” Ms. Walker said finally.

  I swallowed hard. I struggled to say something, but no sound would come out.

  Zeke and Brian stood frozen like me.

  “I am so disappointed in all three of you,” Ms. Walker said, stepping closer. “Breaking and entering is a serious crime. And the three of you have no business —”

  She stopped short and let out a little gurgle as her eyes fell on the backdrop. She had been so surprised to find Zeke, Brian, and me onstage, she hadn’t seen it — until now.

  “Oh, no! Oh, good heavens!” she cried, raising both hands to her face. She tilted. Sort of toppled from side to side. I thought she was about to fall over!

  “How could you?” she gasped. She hurried across the stage, her eyes on the paint-splotched backdrop. “How could you ruin it? All the students worked for so many days to get it right. How could you ruin it for everyone?”

  “We didn’t,” Zeke said quietly.

  “We didn’t do it,” I repeated.

  She shook her head hard, as if trying to shake us away. “I’m afraid I’ve caught you red-handed,” she said quietly, almost sadly. I saw tears brim in her eyes.

  “Ms. Walker, really —” I started.

  She raised a hand to stop me. “Was it so important to you three to have your little joke?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Ms. Walker —”

  “Was it so important to make everyone believe there is a phantom? So important that you broke into the school — committed a serious crime — and then completely destroyed the scenery for our play? Was your joke so important?”

  “We really didn’t do it,” I insisted, my voice trembling, too.

  Ms. Walker stepped forward and rubbed a finger over a red paint splotch on the backdrop. When she pulled the finger away, it was smeared with red paint.

  “The paint is still wet,” she said, her eyes burning accusingly into mine. “There’s no one else here. Are you going to keep lying to me all night?”

  “If you’d just give us a chance —” Zeke started.

  “I’m especially disappointed in you, Brian,” Ms. Walker said, shaking her head, a frown tightening her features. “You just started at this school a week or so ago. You should be on your best behavior.”

  Brian blushed redder than I’ve ever seen a human blush. He lowered his eyes, as if he were guilty.

  I took a deep breath. “Ms. Walker, you have to let us explain!” I cried shrilly. “We really didn’t do this! We found it like this! Really!”

  Ms. Walker opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind. “Okay.” She crossed her arms over her skinny chest. “Go ahead. But I want the truth.”

  “The truth,” I said. I raised my right hand, as if swearing an oath. “Brian, Zeke, and I did sneak into the school. We didn’t really break in. We climbed in through a window.”

  “Why?” Ms. Walker demanded sternly. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home where you should be?”

  “We came to look for the Phantom,” Zeke broke in. He swept his blond hair back with one hand. He always did that to his hair when he was really tense.

  “We told you about the Phantom this morning, but you didn’t believe us.”

  “Of course I didn’t believe you!” Ms. Walker declared. “It’s an old legend. Just a story.” She frowned at Zeke.

  Zeke let out a frustrated sigh. “We saw the
Phantom, Ms. Walker. Brooke and I. We saw him. He’s the one who painted all over the backdrop. Not us. He’s the one who swung down from the catwalk. And grabbed Brooke at rehearsal.”

  “Why should I believe that?” Ms. Walker demanded, her arms still tightly crossed in front her.

  “Because it’s true,” I said. “Zeke, Brian, and I — we came to the auditorium to look for the Phantom.”

  “Where were you going to look for him?” Ms. Walker asked.

  “Well,” Zeke stammered. “Probably underneath the stage.”

  “You were going to take the trapdoor down?” Ms. Walker asked.

  I nodded. “Maybe. If we had to.”

  “But I clearly instructed everyone to stay away from the trapdoor,” she said.

  “I know,” I told her. “And I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. But we are really desperate to find the Phantom, to prove to you that he is real, that we’re not making him up.”

  Her expression remained hard. She continued to glare at us. “I haven’t heard anything to convince me,” she said.

  “When we got here, we heard some noises,” Zeke told her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Footsteps. Floorboards creaking. So we knew someone else was here.”

  “And then the backdrop started to come down,” Brian broke in, his voice shaky and small. “We just stood here and watched it, Ms. Walker. That’s the truth. And then when we saw how it was messed up, we … we couldn’t believe it!”

  Ms. Walker’s expression softened a little. Brian sounded so upset, I think she was starting to believe him.

  “I worked so hard on that backdrop,” Brian continued. “It was the first thing I ever worked on at this school, and I wanted it to be good. I wouldn’t wreck my own backdrop for a dumb joke. I really wouldn’t.”

  Ms. Walker uncrossed her arms. She glanced at each of us, then returned her eyes to the backdrop. Her lips silently formed the words of the scrawled message:

  STAY AWAY FROM MY

  HOME SWEET HOME

  She shut her eyes and kept them shut for a long moment. Then she turned back to us. “I want to believe you,” she confessed with a sigh. “But I just don’t know.”

  She began to pace back and forth in front of us. “I drove back to school because I’d forgotten your math test papers. I heard voices in the auditorium. I come in here, and I find you on the stage. The scenery totally smeared and destroyed. The paint still wet. And you ask me to believe that a mysterious phantom from over seventy years ago is responsible.”