A Gust of Ghosts (11 page)

“Almost,” Franny muttered. “That's always the problem.” But she took the chair next to Poppy.

“Great.” Will turned off the overhead light so that the attic room was lit only by flickering candlelight. “Everybody ready? Right. Let's get started.”

He put his hands palm down on the table, his fingers outstretched. “Come on.”

Sighing, Poppy and Franny placed their hands on the table as well.

“All right,” he said. “Now don't talk and don't lift your hands from the table—”

“We know how to act during a séance,” Franny said, exasperated. “For heaven's sake.”

Will closed his eyes. “Keep your minds open and receptive,” he murmured, his voice echoing strangely in the silent attic. “Any hint of disbelief can scare the spirits away....”

He lowered his voice and added a slight vibrato. “And now it's time to invite the Unseen to join us. Speak, O Spirit! Is anyone here?”

A breath of air made the candle flame dip. Shadows danced on the walls, looking like strange, misshapen creatures, and darkness seemed to gather in the corners of the room. A bead of sweat dripped down Poppy's face, and she could feel Franny's hand, which she held in her own, trembling.

She cleared her throat. “If there is anyone here, show yourself,” she said firmly (and rather more loudly than she meant to).

“Please,” she added.

For a few seconds, they all held their breath. Then, just when Poppy was beginning to feel very foolish, they heard something.

It was a series of light, steady thumps … as if someone—or something—was climbing the stairs.

Poppy, Will, and Franny watched in frozen horror as the doorknob turned ever so slowly. They could hear the sound of breathing as the door opened an inch. There was a long, mournful creak of the hinges. Then the door was flung open and a dark figure stood framed in the doorway.

“R
olly!” Franny's voice was sharp with a combination of fear and annoyance. “What do you think you're
doing
?”

“I'm just trying to see what
you
guys are doing,” Rolly said. “I heard you sneak up here without me.”

Will slumped back in his chair. “We weren't trying to leave you out of anything. We thought you were asleep. You're
supposed
to be asleep.”

“Well, I'm not.” Rolly focused his beady eyes on the candle. “So what are you doing?”

“Nothing. Let me take you downstairs and tuck you in,” Poppy suggested. “You really should be in bed.”

“Why?”

“You need your sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because little boys need sleep so they can grow into big boys,” Franny said.

“I don't. I don't need to sleep at all,” he said, climbing up on a chair. “Not
ever
.”

“Oh, let him stay,” said Poppy. “Nothing's going to happen anyway.”

Franny lowered her voice. “But what if it does? It could traumatize him. He could be emotionally scarred for life.”

“Nothing short of an alien invasion will upset Rolly,” said Poppy. “And maybe not even that.”

“Are you trying to talk to a ghost?” asked Rolly. “I could help.”

“You're too little,” said Franny.

“You'll get scared,” said Will.

Rolly's lower lip jutted out. “I won't! You're just trying to get rid of me. I don't believe there's a ghost here at all!”

The temperature dropped in an instant until the attic room was as chilly as a winter dawn. The candle flame sputtered and dipped in an icy draft. The sound of laughter—a boy's laugh—echoed from the walls.

Poppy dimly heard Franny say, “Oh, great. Now we'll never get to bed,” but she wasn't paying much attention. Her gaze was fixed on a corner of the attic room, where a misty shape was forming.

At first it looked like a patch of fog that had somehow lost its way. It was supposed to be somewhere on the moors of England, looking romantic and desolate in the moonlight. Instead, it was here, inside an attic in Texas.

The fog floated closer to the table where they were sitting.

Poppy felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up. A chill raced over her skin as she watched the swirling fog gradually firm up into the shape of a person.

“Look,” she whispered, shivering.

“Look at what?” asked Franny. “You said it yourself, Poppy. That could just be water vapor.” Despite Franny's words, Poppy could see her hands shaking.

“Franny's right,” said Will, trying to sound brave. “That—that doesn't look like much of anything. Wouldn't a ghost have more … I don't know …
presence
?”

“Not necessarily,” Poppy replied. She could feel her heart beating faster, but she tried to keep her voice calm and even. “Remember Mrs. Zimmerman. She first appeared as a tiny orb of light. Professor Wilson thought she was a firefly.”

“If we had a dog, its fur would stand on end,” Rolly said casually. “We would know if we had a ghost if we had a dog.”

They had been speaking in hushed voices, but this broke the spell.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Rolly,” Franny said crossly. “Forget the dog! Honestly, you're becoming obsessed.”

The fog glided a little closer.

Poppy reached for the magnetometer. “The fluctuations are going crazy,” she reported.

The fog shimmered a little, as if pleased.

“I've had enough of this!” Franny said, her voice shrill. “You can all hang around to see if there's some ghoul in the attic, but I'm going back to bed.”

She turned to leave, but the foggy shape slid around her so that it stood between her and the attic door.

“Look at the way it moved around you! It's almost as if it understood what you said!” Poppy jotted down a note in her logbook. “That could be a sign of intention and intelligence. It's too soon to tell for sure, but—”

“For heaven's sake, stop talking and get it away from me!” Panicked, Franny backed up, right into a coatrack where Mrs. Malone had hung all their winter coats.

Franny, of course, didn't remember that. She only knew that she suddenly felt what seemed to be woolly arms clutching at her. She shrieked, then whirled around and began batting at the coats, as if to beat them into submission.

“Be quiet!” Will snapped. “And stop fighting with the coatrack.”

The little patch of fog now moved closer to the table.

A voice said, “Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you.” It sounded like a boy.

Franny turned on Will. “That's not funny!” she snapped.

“What are you talking about?” asked Will.

“Throwing your voice like that,” she said. “I
told
Mom not to give you that book about ventriloquism for your birthday!”

Will said, “But I'm not—”

“Look,” Rolly said.

The Malones watched with fascination as the foggy shape slowly became even more solid.

First the arms and legs appeared. The shape lifted its right arm, as if practicing a movement it had almost forgotten. Then it lifted its left arm. Then it took a step toward them.

“I don't like this,” Franny whispered. “I don't like it at all.”

The shape turned in her direction.

“That's good,” Poppy said, writing furiously in her notebook. “It's responding to your voice. Keep talking, Franny.”

Franny whirled around to glare at her. “Are you
insane
?” she snapped.

Poppy looked up, surprised. “No, of course not,” she said. “I'm a—”

“Scientist! I know, I know! We all know you're a scientist!” Franny's voice was becoming hysterical. “Now stop being so scientific for just one second, Poppy, and look!”

She flung out her hand to point to the shape, which had now developed a shock of hair (light brown and messy).

As Poppy, Will, Rolly, and Franny watched, a snub nose appeared, followed by a scattering of freckles. Then, between one breath and the next, a pair of mischievous green eyes and a wide, grinning mouth emerged from the fog and they found they were staring at … a boy.

Of course, they knew that what they were seeing was really the ghost of a boy, but he looked entirely real and alive (except for a slight tendency to be transparent).

The ghost wore a faded T-shirt, dirty khaki shorts, and sneakers with holes in the toes. He had scabs on both knees and one elbow, a smear of dirt on his face, and a bandage around one finger. He looked like the kind of boy who fell out of trees and crashed his bike on a regular basis.

“Hi,” he said, grinning at them. “Pretty nifty materialization, huh?”

Poppy, Will, and Franny stared at him, their mouths hanging open. Even Rolly drew his eyebrows together slightly, the closest he came to displaying extreme emotion.

Finally Poppy managed to say, in a strangled voice, “Um, yes. Very … impressive.”

Rolly walked up to the ghost and gave him a long, unblinking look.

“Why did you come to our house?” he asked.

The ghost looked surprised. “You invited me. Or at least, he did.” He nodded at Will.

“I didn't!” said Will.

“Yes, you did! I heard you!” The ghost sat on the edge of a table, his feet swinging in the air, and looked with interest at the various pieces of equipment scattered on its surface. “You called me by name. You said, ‘Travis Clay Smith, if you're here, let us know. Come forth and let us see you.' Those were your exact words. So. Here I am.”

He pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged on the table. “I would have materialized earlier, but I'm a little out of practice,” he went on chattily. “I tried to make my presence felt, though.”

The shadow slipping along the floor
, Poppy suddenly realized.
The movement at the corner of my eye …

“Like, this morning, in the kitchen?” Travis went on. “Your mom walked right through me! She even felt the cold spot, but she thought someone had left the refrigerator open. Then I knocked the oatmeal off the stove—”

“That was you? I had to clean that up,” said Franny, indignant enough to forget her fear for a moment. “And it was
disgusting
.”

“Sorry,” Travis said, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought you'd figure out you had a ghost a long time ago. I mean, I wasn't exactly being subtle about it. But I guess you're not as observant as I thought you'd be—”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Poppy, ruffled enough in turn to forget that she was talking to a ghost. “I'm a scientist. And science is all about honing your observational skills so that you notice the slightest anomalies, then developing theories to account for the anomalies, then testing those theories through rigorously controlled experiments, which you then observe to see how well they work. Science is all about observation!”

Travis raised an eyebrow, then turned to Will, “Does she always go on like this?”

“Well, yeah.” Will actually grinned a little. “Pretty much.”

Travis's gaze fell on the video camera on the table. “Hey, what is this thing? I saw your father using it out at the cemetery.” He picked it up and started fiddling with the buttons.

“Stop that,” Franny snapped. “You'll break it.”

“No, I won't,” Travis said. He tried to put the camera down on the table, but missed the edge by several inches. The camera fell to the ground with an expensive-sounding crash.

“Oops.” He gave an apologetic shrug, then added cheerfully, “I guess I need to get used to moving objects again. It's not as easy as it looks, especially when you're as insubstantial as I am. On the other hand, it does make moving around a lot easier. See?”

He rose up into the air, still in his cross-legged position, and floated over to the window. “Hey, one of your neighbors has their own swimming pool. That's pretty neat. Boy, I'd love to be able to go swimming again.”

While Travis was peering out the window, Franny turned on Will.

“See? I told you. This is all your fault!” she hissed.

“Quit trying to blame everything on me,” said Will. “If anything, it's Poppy's fault. She was the one who made me put my hand on that gravestone.”

“I didn't
make
you—” Poppy began.

“You dared me. That's the same thing.”

“I didn't dare you to
say
anything,” she whispered. “That was
your
bright idea.”

Franny moved closer to Poppy so that they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring Will down. After several seconds, he gave in, throwing up his hands.

“Fine,” he said. “So I accidentally invited a ghost home. These things happen. The question is, what do we do now?”