59 - The Haunted School (2 page)

I hoisted up the two cans of paint and made my way back out into the hall. I
glanced quickly both ways, thinking I might see Thalia and Ben.

A shadow leaned out from an open doorway.

I froze and stared.

“Who—who’s there?” I called.

A man backed out of the doorway, pulling a large vacuum cleaner. He wore a
gray uniform and had the stub of an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth.

The janitor.

I sighed and made my way to the stairs. I don’t think he saw me.

The stairway curved halfway down. I started down the steps, but I stopped in
front of a large bulletin board on the wall. I glanced over the notices of
school events, a calendar, and a lost-and-found list.

Oh, wow. I’m in trouble. I don’t remember seeing this on my way up, I told
myself.

I gazed back up to the top of the stairs. Did I take the wrong stairway? Will
these stairs take me back to the gym?

Only one way to find out, I decided.

Gripping the paint cans tightly, I turned and continued down.

To my surprise, the stairs ended at the second floor.

I gazed down a long hallway, searching for stairs to take me to the gym in
the basement. But I saw only closed classroom doors and long rows of metal
lockers.

The paint cans started to feel heavy. My shoulders ached. I set the cans on
the floor and took a moment to stretch my arms.

Then I picked up the cans and started walking again, my footsteps ringing in
the empty hall. I glanced into the rooms I passed.

Whoa!

A skeleton grinned at me from a doorway.

My mouth dropped open. But I quickly got myself together. “Probably some kind
of science lab,” I murmured.

I thought I saw a small black cat lurking at the end of a row of lockers. I
stopped and squinted down at it. Not a cat. Somebody’s black wool ski cap.

“Tommy—what is your problem?” I said out loud.

I never realized how creepy a school building can be after everyone has left.
Especially a totally unfamiliar school building.

I turned the corner into another long, empty hall. Still no stairs in sight.

Ben and Thalia must wonder what happened to me, I thought. They must think I
got lost.

Well… I
am
lost.

I passed a display case of shiny sports trophies. A red-and-black pennant
draped over the case proclaimed GO, BISONS.

That’s our team name. The Bell Valley Bisons.

Aren’t bisons big and very slow? And aren’t they almost extinct?

What a lame team name!

I continued down the hall, thinking hard. Thinking of better team names. The
Bell Valley Hippos… the Bell Valley Warthogs… the Bell Valley Water
Buffalos…

That last one made me laugh.

But I stopped laughing when I realized I’d reached the end of the hall. A
dead end.

“Hey—!” I called out, my eyes searching the closed doors. Shouldn’t there be
a stairway here? Some kind of exit?

There appeared to be a narrow doorway. But it was boarded up. Old, rotting
boards had been nailed over the entire opening.

I never should have volunteered to get the paint, I told myself. This school
building is too big, and I don’t know my way around.

Thalia and Ben are probably fed up by now.

I gazed down the long hall. Two unmarked doors stood side by side against one
wall. They didn’t appear to be classroom doors.

I decided to try one.

I leaned forward and pushed a door with my shoulder. And stumbled into a large, dimly lit room.

“Whoa—where
am
I?” My voice sounded small and shrill. Squinting into
the gray light, I saw a crowd of kids staring back at me!

The kids stared back at me so stiffly, so still… still as statues.

And then I realized they
were
statues!

Statues of kids. At least two dozen of them.

They were old-fashioned looking. Their clothes were funny, like from an old
movie. The boys wore sports jackets and very wide neckties. The girls’ jackets
all had wide shoulder pads. Their skirts came down to their ankles.

I lowered the paint cans to the floor. Then I took a few cautious steps into
the room.

The statues were so real looking, so lifelike. More like department-store
mannequins than statues. Their glass eyes glistened. Their red mouths were set
sternly, not smiling.

I stepped up to the statue of a boy about my age and grabbed the sleeve of
his jacket. Real cloth. Not sculpted stone or plaster.

It was so dark in the room. Hard to see clearly.

I reached into the pocket of my khakis and pulled out my red plastic lighter.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to have a lighter. There’s no reason why I
would have one except my grandfather gave me the lighter a few weeks before he
died. And I’ve carried it around with me as a good luck charm ever since.

I flicked the lighter and raised the flame to the boy’s face. The skin was so
real. It even had tiny pimples on one cheek and a scar under the chin.

I closed the lighter and slipped it back in my pocket. Then I touched the
boy’s face. Smooth and cool, carved or molded out of some kind of plaster.

I rubbed my finger over one of his eyes. Some kind of glass or plastic.

I tugged at the back of his dark brown hair. It started to slide off.

A wig.

Beside him stood a statue of a tall, thin girl in a black sweater, and a
long, straight black skirt down to her ankles. I gazed up into her dark, shiny
eyes. She appeared to stare back at me.

So sad. Her expression seemed so sad to me.

Why weren’t any of these statues smiling?

I squeezed her hand. Cool plaster.

Why are these statues here? I wondered. Who put them here in this hidden
room? Is it some sort of art project?

I stepped back—and spotted an engraved sign over the door. My eyes moved quickly over the big, block letters:

CLASS OF 1947

I stared at the sign. Read it again. Then I turned back to the roomful of
statues. And one of the statues called out: “What are
you
doing here?”

“Huh?” I let out a loud gasp.

“What are you
doing
in here, young man?” the voice repeated.

Blinking hard, I whirled around.

And saw Mrs. Borden, the principal, standing in the open doorway.

“You—you’re not a statue!” I blurted out.

She moved quickly into the room, holding a clipboard against the front of her
sweater. “No, I’m not,” she replied without smiling.

She glanced down at the two paint cans on the floor. Then she stepped up
beside me, her eyes studying me.

Mrs. Borden is very short. She is only an inch or two taller than me. And
she’s kind of chubby. She has curly black hair and a round, pink face. She
always seems to be blushing.

Some kids told me that she’s really nice. I met her only for a moment when I
showed up at Bell Valley my first morning.

That morning, she was all upset about a pack of dogs that were swarming over
the playground and frightening the little kids. She didn’t have time to talk to
me.

Now she stood so close to me, I could smell the peppermint on her breath.
“Tommy, I think you must be lost,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess,” I murmured.

“Where are you supposed to be?” she asked, still clutching the clipboard to
her chest.

“The gym,” I replied.

She finally smiled. “You’re a long way from the gym. This is the entrance to
the old building. The gym is in the new building, way on the other side.” She
gestured with the clipboard.

“I took the wrong stairs,” I explained. “I was coming from the art room, and—”

“Oh, right. You’re on the Dance Decorations Committee,” she interrupted.
“Well, let me show you how to get back downstairs.”

I turned to the statues. They all stood so still, so silently. They seemed to
be eavesdropping on Mrs. Borden and me.

“What
is
this room?” I asked.

She put a hand on my shoulder and started to move me toward the door. “It’s a
private room,” she said softly.

“But what
is
it?” I repeated. “I mean—these statues. Who are these
kids? Are they real kids or something?”

She didn’t reply. Her hand tightened on my shoulder as she guided me to the
door.

I stopped to pick up the paint cans. When I glanced back at Mrs. Borden, her
expression had changed.

“This is a very sad room, Tommy,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“These kids were the very first class in the school.”

“The class of nineteen forty-seven?” I asked, glancing at the sign.

The principal nodded. “Yes. Just about fifty years ago. There were
twenty-five kids in the school. And one day… one day, they all disappeared.”

“Huh?” Startled by her words, I dropped the paint cans to the floor.

“They vanished, Tommy,” Mrs. Borden continued, turning her gaze to the
statues. “Vanished into thin air. One minute they were here in school. The next
minute, they were gone… forever. Never seen again.”

“But—but—” I sputtered. I didn’t know what to say. How could twenty-five
kids vanish?

Mrs. Borden sighed. “It was a terrible tragedy,” she said softly. “A terrible
mystery. The parents… the poor parents…”

Her voice caught in her throat. She took a deep breath. “They were so
heartbroken. The parents had the school boarded up. Closed forever. The town
built a new school around it. The old building has stood empty ever since that
horrible day.”

“And these statues?” I asked.

“A local artist made them,” Mrs. Borden replied. “He used a class photo. A
photo of everyone. The artist used the photo to make these statues. A tribute to
the missing children.”

I stared at the roomful of statues. Kids. Vanished kids.

“Weird,” I muttered.

I picked up the paint cans. Mrs. Borden opened the door.

“I—I didn’t mean to come in here,” I apologized. “I didn’t know…”

“No problem,” she replied. “This building is very big and very confusing.”

I led the way out to the hall. She closed the door carefully behind us.
“Follow me,” she said. The heels of her shoes clicked loudly on the hard floor
as she walked, swinging the clipboard at her side.

She walked really fast for a tiny person. Holding a paint can in each hand, I
had to struggle to keep up with her.

“How are you getting along, Tommy?” she asked. “Aside from getting lost, I
mean.”

“Fine,” I said. “Everyone’s been really great.”

We turned a corner. I had to jog to catch up to her. We turned another
corner. Into a brighter hallway. The tile walls were a bright yellow. The
linoleum floor gleamed.

“This is where you meant to go,” Mrs. Borden announced. “And there is the
stairway down to the gym.” She pointed the way, then smiled at me.

I thanked her and hurried off.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the gym. I hoped Thalia and Ben weren’t angry
about how long it took me. I was really eager to ask them about the class of
1947. I wanted to hear what they knew about all those missing kids.

Holding the cans of red paint, I made my way down the two flights of stairs
to the basement. It all looked familiar now.

I ran past the lunchroom to the double gym doors at the end of the hall.
Pushed open the doors with my shoulder. And burst into the gym.

“Hey—I’m back!” I called. “I—”

The words caught in my throat. Thalia and Ben were sprawled facedown on the
gym floor.

“Oh, nooooooo!” I let out a wail of horror.

The paint cans fell from my hands and clattered heavily to the gym floor.

One of the cans rolled in my path, and I stumbled over it as I hurtled toward
my new friends. “Thalia! Ben!” I screamed.

They both giggled.

And raised their heads from the floor, grinning.

Ben opened his mouth in a long, phony yawn.

“We got so tired waiting for you, we fell asleep!” Thalia declared.

They both laughed again. Ben shot Thalia a high five.

They both climbed to their feet. Thalia hurried over to her purse. She pulled
out a lipstick tube and began applying another red coat to her lips.

Grinning, Ben narrowed his eyes at me. “You got lost—right?”

I nodded unhappily. “Yeah. So? Big deal,” I muttered.

“I win the bet!” Ben cried happily. He held out a hand to Thalia. “Pay up.”

“Whoa! I don’t believe you two!” I exclaimed. “You bet on whether I got lost
or not?”

“We were pretty bored,” Thalia confessed. She handed Ben a dollar.

He shoved it into his jeans pocket. Then he glanced up at the big scoreboard
clock. “Oh, wow!” he cried. “I’m late! I promised my brother I’d get home by
five.”

He ran to the bleachers and started gathering up his backpack and jacket.

“Hey, wait—” I called. “I want to tell you what I saw upstairs! I mean, it
was so weird. I—”

“Later,” he said, pulling on his jacket as he jogged toward the double doors.

“But what about the red paint?” I cried.

“I’ll drink it tomorrow!” he shouted. Then he disappeared out the doors.

I watched them bang shut. Then I turned to Thalia.

“He’s pretty funny sometimes,” she said. “I mean, sometimes he makes me
laugh.”

“Ha-ha,” I muttered.

I picked up the cans of red paint and carried them over to our banners on the
floor. “Sorry it took me so long,” I told her. “But—”

She was brushing some kind of makeup onto her eyelids. “You saw something
weird upstairs?” she asked, glancing at me over the little round mirror she held in her free hand.

“Well, first I ran into the hall and knocked over this weird girl,” I told
her.