22 - Ghost Beach

I don’t remember how we got to the graveyard.

I remember the sky grew dark—and we were there.

My sister Terri and I walked past rows of crooked, old tombstones, cracked
and covered with moss. Even though it was summer, a damp, gray fog had settled
on everything, sending a chill through the air.

I shivered and pulled my jacket closer. “Wait up, Terri!” I called. As usual,
she had plowed ahead. Graveyards get her all excited. “Where are you?” I yelled.

I squinted into the gray fog. I could see her shadowy figure up ahead,
stopping every few seconds to examine a tombstone.

I read the words on the tombstone tilted at my feet:

In memory of John,

son of Daniel and Sarah Knapp,

who died March 25, 1766,

aged 12 years and 22 days.

Weird, I thought. That kid was about my age when he died. I turned twelve in
February. The same month Terri turned eleven.

I hurried on. A sharp wind swept in. I searched the rows of old graves for my
sister. She had disappeared into the thick fog. “Terri? Where did you go?” I
called.

Her voice floated back to me. “I’m over here, Jerry.”

“Where?” I pushed forward through the mist and the leaves. The wind swirled
around me.

From nearby came a long, low howl. “Must be a dog,” I murmured aloud.

The trees rattled their leaves at me. I shivered.

“Jer-ry.” Terri’s voice sounded a million miles away.

I walked a little further, then steadied myself against a tall tombstone.
“Terri! Wait up! Stop moving around so much!”

I heard another long howl.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Terri called. “I’m over here.”

“Great. Thanks a lot,” I muttered. Why couldn’t I have a sister who liked baseball instead of exploring old cemeteries?

The wind made a deep sucking noise. A column of leaves, dust, and dirt
swirled up in my face. I pinched my eyes shut.

When I opened them, I saw Terri crouched over a small grave. “Don’t move,” I
called. “I’m coming.”

I zigzagged my way around the tombstones until I reached her side. “It’s
getting dark,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I turned and took a step—and something grabbed my ankle.

I screamed and tried to pull away. But its grasp tightened.

A hand. Reaching up through the dirt beside the grave.

I let out a shrill scream. Terri screamed, too.

I kicked hard and broke free.

“Run!” Terri shrieked.

But I was already running.

As Terri and I stumbled over the wet grass, green hands popped up everywhere.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Pop! Pop!

The hands rose up. Reached for us. Grabbed at our ankles.

I darted to the left.
Thwack!
I dodged to the right.
Pop!

“Run, Terri! Run!” I called to my sister. “Lift your knees!”

I could hear her sneakers pounding the ground behind me. Then I heard her
terrified cry: “Jerry! They’ve got me!”

With a loud gasp, I spun around. Two big hands had wrapped themselves around
her ankles.

I froze, watching my sister struggle.

“Jerry—help me! It won’t let go!”

Taking a deep breath, I dove toward her. “Grab on to me,” I instructed,
holding out my arms.

I kicked at the two hands that held her.

Kicked as hard as I could. But they didn’t move, didn’t let go.

“I—I can’t move!” Terri wailed.

The dirt seemed to shake at my feet. I peered down to see more hands
sprouting up from the ground.

I tugged at Terri’s waist. “Move!” I yelled frantically.

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can! You’ve got to keep trying!”

“Ohhh!” I let out a low cry as two hands grabbed
my
ankles.

Now I was caught.

We were both trapped.

“Jerry! What’s your problem?” Terri asked.

I blinked. Terri stood beside me on a rocky strip of beach. I stared out at
the calm ocean water beyond us and shook my head. “Wow. That was weird,” I
murmured. “I was remembering a bad dream I had a few months ago.”

Terri frowned at me. “Why now?”

“It was about a cemetery,” I explained. I turned back to glance at the tiny,
old cemetery we’d just discovered at the edge of the pine woods behind us. “In
my dream, green hands were popping out of the ground and grabbing our ankles.”

“Gross,” Terri replied. She brushed her dark brown bangs off her face. Except
for the fact that she is one inch taller than me, we look like a perfect
brother-sister combination. Same short brown hair, same freckles across our
nose, same hazel eyes.

One difference: Terri has deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, and I
don’t. Thank goodness.

We walked along the ocean shore for a few minutes. Tall, gray boulders and
scraggly pines stretched all the way to the water.

“Maybe you remembered that dream because you’re nervous,” Terri said
thoughtfully. “You know. About being away from home for a whole month.”

“Well, maybe,” I agreed. “We’ve never been away this long. But what could
happen here? Brad and Agatha are really great.”

Brad Sadler is our distant cousin.
Ancient,
distant cousin is more
like it. Dad said Brad and his wife, Agatha, were old when
he
was a kid!

But they’re both fun, and really energetic despite their age. So when they
invited us to come up to New England and spend the last month of summer with
them in their old cottage near the beach, Terri and I eagerly said yes. It
sounded great—especially since our only other choice was the cramped, hot
apartment where we live in New Jersey.

We had arrived by train that morning. Brad and Agatha met us at the platform
and drove us along the pine woods to the cottage.

After we had a chance to unpack and have some lunch—big bowls of creamy clam chowder—Agatha said, “Now why don’t you
kids have a look around? There’s lots to explore.”

So here we were, checking things out. Terri grabbed my arm. “Hey, let’s go
back and check out that little cemetery!” she suggested eagerly.

“I don’t know…” My frightening dream was still fresh in my mind.

“Oh, come on. There won’t be any green hands. I promise. And I bet I can find
some really cool gravestones for rubbings.”

Terri loves exploring old graveyards. She loves all kinds of scary things.
She reads scary mysteries by the dozen. And the weird thing is, she always reads
the last chapter first.

Terri has to solve the mystery. She can’t stand not knowing the answer.

My sister has a million interests, but gravestone rubbings is one of her
stranger hobbies. She tapes a piece of rice paper over the gravestone
inscription and then rubs the design onto the paper, using the side of a special
wax crayon.

“Hey! Wait up,” I called to her.

But Terri was already jogging up the beach toward the cemetery. “Come on,
Jerry,” she called. “Don’t be a chicken.”

I followed her off the beach and into the small forest. It smelled fresh and
piney. The cemetery was just inside, surrounded by a crumbly stone wall. We squeezed through the
narrow opening in the wall that led inside.

Terri began inspecting the tombstones. “Wow. Some of these markers are really
old,” she announced. “Check out this one.”

She pointed at a small gravestone. Engraved on the front was a skull with
wings sprouting on either side of its head.

“It’s a death’s-head,” my sister explained. “Very old Puritan symbol. Creepy,
huh?” She read the inscription: “‘Here lies the body of Mr. John Sadler, who
departed this life March 18, 1642, in the 38th year of his age.’”

“Sadler. Like us,” I said. “Wow. I wonder if we’re related.” I did some quick
calculations. “If we are, John Sadler is our
great-great-great-great-grandsomething. He died over 350 years ago.”

Terri had already moved on to another group of markers. “Here’s one from
1647, and another from 1652. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten rubbings this old
before.” She disappeared behind a tall tombstone.

I knew where
we’d
be spending the month. I’d had enough of cemeteries
for today, though.

“Come on. Let’s explore the beach, okay?” I checked around for Terri. “Terri?
Where’d you go?” I stepped over to the tall tombstone.

Not there.

“Terri?” The ocean breeze rustled the pine branches above us. “Terri, cut it
out, okay?”

I took a couple of steps. “You know I don’t like this,” I warned.

Terri’s head popped up from behind a tombstone about ten feet away. “Why? You
scared?”

I didn’t like the grin on her face. “Who, me?” I said. “Never!”

Terri stood up. “Okay, chicken. But I’m coming back here tomorrow.” She
followed me out of the cemetery and onto the rocky beach.

“I wonder what’s down here,” I said, heading along the shoreline.

“Oh, look at this.” Terri stooped to pluck a tiny yellow-and-white wildflower
that had sprouted up between two large rocks. “Butter-and-eggs,” she announced.
“Weird name for a wildflower, huh?”

“Very,” I agreed. Terri Sadler Hobby Number Two: wildflowers. She likes to
collect them and press them in a huge cardboard contraption called a plant
press.

Terri frowned. “
Now
what’s your problem?”

“We keep stopping. I want to go exploring. Agatha said there’s a small beach
down here where we can go swimming if we want.”

“Okay, okay,” she replied, rolling her hazel eyes.

We trudged on until we reached a small, sandy beach. It was really more rock
than sand. Staring out to the water, I saw a long rock jetty stretching out into
the ocean.

“Wonder what that’s for,” Terri said.

“It helps hold the beach together,” I explained. I was just about to launch
into my explanation of beach erosion when Terri gasped.

“Jerry—look! Up there!” she cried. She pointed to a tall mound of rocks
just past the jetty along the shoreline. Nestled high into the rocks, on top of
a wide ledge, sat a large, dark cave.

“Let’s climb up and explore it,” Terri cried eagerly.

“No, wait!” I remembered what Mom and Dad had said to me that morning as we
boarded the train: Keep an eye on Terri and don’t let her get too carried away
with things. “It might be dangerous,” I said. I
am
the older brother,
after all. And I’m the sensible one.

She made a face. “Give me a break,” she muttered. Terri made her way across
the beach and toward the cave. “At least let’s get a closer look. We can ask
Brad and Agatha later whether or not it’s safe.”

I followed behind her. “Yeah, right. Like ninety-year-olds ever go cave
exploring.”

As we came nearer, I had to admit it was an awesome cave. I’d never seen one
that large except in an old Boy Scout magazine.

“I wonder if someone lives in it,” Terri said excitedly. “You know. Like a
beach hermit.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called: “Whooooo!”

Sometimes Terri can be such a dork. I mean, if you were living inside a cave,
and you heard someone go “whoooo,” would
you
answer back?

“Whoooo!” My sister did it again.

“Let’s go,” I urged.

Then, from inside the cave, a long, low whistle pierced the air.

We stared at each other.

“Whoa! What was that?” Terri whispered. “An owl?”

I swallowed. “I don’t think so. Owls are only awake at night.”

We heard it again. A long whistle floating out from deep inside the cave.

We exchanged glances. What could it be? A wolf? A coyote?

“I bet Brad and Agatha are wondering where we are,” Terri said softly. “Maybe
we should go.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I turned to leave. But stopped when I heard a fluttering sound.
From behind the cave. Growing louder.

I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted up at the sky.

“No!” I grabbed Terri’s arm as a shadow swept over us—and an enormous bat
swooped down at us, red eyes flashing, its pointed teeth glistening, hissing as
it attacked.

The bat swooped low. So low, I could feel the air from its fluttering wings.

Terri and I dropped to the hard ground. I covered my head with both hands.

My heart was pounding so loudly, I couldn’t hear the fluttering wings.

“Hey—where’d it go?” I heard Terri cry.

I peeped out. I could see the bat spiralling up into the sky. I watched it
swoosh and dip beyond us. Then suddenly it went into a wild spin.

It crashed onto the rocks nearby. I could see one black wing flapping weakly
in the breeze.

Slowly, I climbed to my feet, my heart still thudding. “What made it drop
like that?” I asked in a shaky voice. I started toward it.