37 - The Headless Ghost (7 page)

Seth shook his head. “There were three covered bowls on the shelf. The kids
lifted the lid off the first bowl. Inside was Jeremy’s heart, still beating.

“They opened the second bowl. Inside were Jeremy’s eyes, still staring in
horror. And they opened the third bowl. And saw Jeremy’s teeth, still
chattering.”

The three of us stood silent in the orange glow of candlelight. We stared at
the dumbwaiter shelf.

I shivered. The pots rattled against the wall. But I was no longer frightened
by them. I raised my eyes to Seth. “Do you think that story is true?”

Stephanie laughed. Nervous laughter. “It can’t be true,” she said.

Seth’s face remained solemn. “Do you believe
any
of Otto’s stories?”
he asked me quietly.

“Well. Yes. No. Some.” I couldn’t decide.

“Otto swears the story is true,” Seth insisted. “But of course, he may just
be doing his job. His job is to make this house as scary as possible.”

“Otto is a great storyteller,” Stephanie murmured. “But enough stories. I
want to see a real ghost.”

“Follow me,” Seth replied. His candle flame dipped low as he spun around.

He led us back through the kitchen, into a long, narrow room at the back.
“This is the old butler’s pantry,” he announced. “All of the food for the house
was stored in here.”

Stephanie and I stepped past him, raising our candles to see the room better.
When I turned around, Seth was closing the pantry door behind us.

Then I saw him turn the lock.

“Hey—what are you doing?” I cried.

“Why are you locking us in here?” Stephanie demanded.

I dropped my candle. It bounced on the hard floor, and the flame went out.
The candle rolled under a shelf.

When I glanced back up, Stephanie was storming toward Seth. “Seth—what are
you doing?” she demanded angrily. “Unlock that door. This isn’t funny!”

I gazed around the long, narrow room. Shelves from floor to ceiling on three
walls. No windows. No other door to escape through.

With a sharp cry, Stephanie grabbed for the door handle. But Seth moved
quickly to block her way.

“Hey—!” I cried, my heart pounding. I stepped up beside Stephanie. “What’s
the big idea, Seth?”

His silvery eyes glowed with excitement behind his candle flame. He stared
back at us without speaking. The same cold stare I had seen on his face the
night before.

Stephanie and I took a step back, huddling close together.

“Sorry, guys. But I played a little trick on you,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?” Stephanie cried, more angry than frightened.

“What kind of trick?” I asked.

He pushed back his long, blond hair with his free hand. The flickering candle
sent shadows dancing across his face. “My name isn’t Seth,” he said softly, so
softly I could barely hear him.

“But—but—” I stammered.

“My name is Andrew,” he said.

Stephanie and I both cried out in surprise.

“But Andrew is the name of the ghost,” Stephanie protested. “The ghost who
lost his head.”

“I am the ghost,” he said softly. A dry laugh escaped his lips. More like a
cough than a laugh. “I promised you a real ghost tonight. Well… here I am.”

He blew out the candle. He appeared to vanish with the light.

“But, Seth—” Stephanie started.

“Andrew,” he corrected her. “My name is Andrew. My name has been Andrew for
more than a hundred years.”

“Let us out of here,” I pleaded. “We won’t tell anyone
we saw you. We won’t—”

“I can’t let you go,” he replied in a whisper.

I remembered the story of the sea captain’s ghost. When Andrew stumbled into
the sea captain’s room and saw the old ghost, the sea captain had said the same
thing to him.
“Now that you have seen me, I can never let you go.”

“You—you lost your head!” I blurted out.

“So you
can’t
be Andrew!” Stephanie cried. “You have a head!”

In the dim light from Stephanie’s candle, I could see the sneer spread over
Andrew’s face. “No,” he said softly. “No, no, no. I do not have my head. This is
one that I borrowed.”

He raised both hands to the sides of his face. “Here. Let me show you,” he
said.

Then he pressed his hands against his cheeks and started to tug the head up
from the black turtleneck.

“No! Stop!” Stephanie screeched.

I shut my eyes. I didn’t really want to see him pull off his head.

When I opened my eyes, Andrew had lowered his hands.

I gazed once again around the narrow pantry. How could we escape? How could
we get out of there? The ghost was blocking the only exit.

“Why did you trick us?” Stephanie asked Andrew. “Why did you bring us here?
Why did you lie to us?”

Andrew sighed. “I told you. I borrowed this head.” He ran one hand through
the hair, then down over the cheek, as if petting it. “I borrowed it. But I have
to return it.”

Stephanie and I stared back at him in silence, waiting for him to continue.
Waiting for him to explain.

“I saw you last night in the tour group,” he said finally, his eyes locked on me. “The others couldn’t see me. But I made
myself visible to you.”

“Why?” I asked in a trembling voice.

“Because of your head,” he replied. “I liked your head.”

“Huh?” A frightened gasp escaped my throat.

He gripped the blond hair again. “I have to return this head, Duane,” he said
calmly, coldly. “So I’m going to take yours.”

A frightened giggle escaped my throat.

Why do people suddenly start laughing when they’re terrified? I guess it’s
because if you don’t laugh, you’ll scream. Or explode or something.

Trapped in that small, dark room with a hundred-year-old ghost that wanted my
head, I felt like laughing, screaming, and exploding all at once!

I stared hard at Andrew, squinting in the dim light. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head. His silvery eyes narrowed, hard and cold. “I need your
head, Duane,” he said softly. He shrugged, as if apologizing. “I’ll pull it off
quickly. It won’t hurt a bit.”

“But—but I need it, too!” I sputtered.

“I’m only going to borrow it,” Andrew said. He took a step toward us. “I’ll
return it when I find my own head. Promise.”

“You’re not cheering me up,” I replied.

He took another step toward us.

Stephanie and I backed up a step.

He took a step. We backed up a step.

We didn’t have much more room to back up. We were nearly to the back wall of
pantry shelves.

Suddenly Stephanie spoke up. “Andrew, we’ll find your head!” she offered. Her
voice shook.

I turned to her. I’d never seen her scared before. Knowing that Stephanie was
scared made me
even more
scared!

“For sure!” I croaked. “We’ll find your real head. We’ll search all night. We
know this house really well. I’m sure we can find it if you give us a chance.”

He stared back at us without replying.

I wanted to get down on my knees and
beg
him to give us a chance.

But I was afraid that if I got down on my knees, he’d pull off my head.

“We’ll find it, Andrew. I
know
we will,” Stephanie insisted.

He shook his head. His borrowed head. “There’s no way,” he murmured sadly.
“How long have I been searching this house? For more than a hundred years. For
more than a hundred years, I’ve searched every hallway, every room, every
closet.”

He took another step closer. His eyes were locked on my head. I knew he was
studying it, thinking about how it would look on his shoulders.

“In all these years, I haven’t found my head,” Andrew continued. “So what makes you think you can find it tonight?”

“Well… uh…” Stephanie turned to me.

“Uh… maybe we’ll get lucky!” I declared.

Lame. How lame can you get?

“Sorry,” Andrew murmured. “I need your head, Duane. We’re wasting time.”

“Give us a chance!” I cried.

He took a step closer. He was studying my hair now. Probably deciding if he
should let it grow longer.

“Andrew—please!” I begged.

It was no use. His eyes were glassy now. He reached out both hands and took
another step.

Stephanie and I backed up.

“Give me your head, Duane,” the ghost whispered.

My back bumped a shelf on the wall behind me.

“I need your head, Duane.”

Stephanie and I huddled close and pressed our backs against the shelves.

The ghost floated closer, hands outstretched.

We pressed ourselves tighter against the shelves. My elbow bumped something
hard. I heard some heavy objects fall from the shelf.

“I need your head, Duane.”

He clenched and unclenched his hands. Two more steps and he’d be close enough
to grab me.

“Your head. Give me your head.”

I jammed my back against the shelves.

I heard a creaking sound—and the shelf started to slide.

I stumbled back. And realized that the
whole wall
was sliding.

“Wh-what’s happening?” I stammered.

The ghost reached for my head. “Gotcha!”

The ghost leaped at me, hands outstretched.

I ducked—and stumbled back as the wall slid away.

The wall made a loud grinding sound as it slowly spun around.

Stephanie fell to the hard floor.

I pulled her up quickly as Andrew made another wild grab for my head.

“A tunnel!” I shouted over the grinding of the wall.

As the wall spun away, it revealed a dark opening. Just big enough to squeeze
through.

I pulled Stephanie to the opening—and we squeezed inside.

We found ourselves in a long, low passageway. Some kind of tunnel. Hidden
behind the sliding wall.

I’d always heard about old houses that had secret halls and hidden rooms
built in them. I never thought I’d be so glad to find one!

Stephanie and I started to run. Our footsteps echoed loudly on the concrete
floor.

We ran past bare, concrete walls, cracked and pitted by time. We had to stoop
as we ran. The ceiling wasn’t as tall as we were!

Stephanie slowed down to glance back. “Is he following us?”

“Just keep running!” I cried. “This tunnel has got to lead out of here! Out
of this house! It’s
got
to!”

“I can’t see
where
it leads!” she replied breathlessly.

The low tunnel stretched out in a straight line. I could see only darkness at
the end.

Did it stretch on forever?

If it did, I’d keep running forever. I didn’t plan to stop running until I
was safely outside.

And once I was outside, I planned never to visit Hill House again. And I
planned to stay away from ghosts and to keep my head on my shoulders where it
belonged.

Big plans.

But plans don’t always work out.

“Ohh!” Stephanie and I both cried out as we nearly crashed into a solid
concrete wall.

The tunnel ended. It just ended.

“It—it doesn’t go
anywhere
!” I gasped. Breathing hard, I pounded
both fists against the wall. “Who would build a secret tunnel that leads
nowhere?”

“Push on the wall,” Stephanie cried. “Let’s both push. Maybe this wall will
slide open, too.”

We turned and leaned our shoulders into the wall. And pushed. Groaning and
gasping, I pushed with all my strength.

I was still pushing when I heard the scraping footsteps moving toward us down
the tunnel.

Andrew!

“Push!” Stephanie cried.

We shoved ourselves against the wall.

“Come on—slide! Slide!” I ordered it.

I glanced back and saw Andrew, jogging slowly, steadily toward us.

“We’re trapped,” Stephanie moaned. She collapsed against the wall with a
sigh.

Andrew came trotting closer.

“Duane—I want your head!” he called, his voice echoing against the concrete
walls.

“Trapped,” Stephanie murmured.

“Maybe not,” I choked out. I pointed into the dark corner. “Look. A ladder.”

“Huh?” Stephanie leaped to her feet. She squinted at the ladder. A metal
ladder, the rungs blanketed with dust. It led straight up the wall, through a
small, square opening in the low ceiling.

To where?

“Give me your head!” the ghost called.

I grabbed the sides of the metal ladder. I raised a foot onto the first rung
and peered straight up.

Into thick blackness. I couldn’t see a thing up there.

“Duane—” Stephanie whispered. “We don’t know where it leads!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied, starting to climb. “We don’t have a choice—do we?”

“Where are you going, Duane? I need your head!”

I ignored the ghost’s shout and scrambled up the ladder. Stephanie kept
bumping me from behind.

My sneakers slipped on the thick dust. My hands slid over the cold, metal
railings.

“Duane—you can’t get away!” Andrew called from down below.

Straight up. Straight up the ladder. Stephanie and I, breathing hard,
climbing frantically, as fast as we could climb.

Straight up.

Until the ladder started to tilt.

“Noooo!” I uttered a scream as it spilled forward.

A crumbling, cracking noise drowned out my scream.

It took me a few seconds to realize that the wall was breaking apart.
Crumbling into powdery chunks.

And we were falling.

I heard Stephanie scream.

I grabbed the metal railings with both hands—and held on tight.

But the ladder was sailing down now. Tumbling over the cracking, crumbling
old wall.

“Oww!” I landed hard. Bounced once. Twice.

My hands flew up and I was tossed off the ladder. I rolled onto my stomach,
rolled in the chunks of dirt and concrete of the broken wall.