A Gust of Ghosts (9 page)

When the door closed behind Mr. Farley, Poppy, Will, and Franny thundered down the stairs and burst into the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Malone were staring at each other in shock.

“I can't believe they're going to give our money to someone who studies old pianos!” said Will, not even pretending that they hadn't been eavesdropping.

“Antique harpsichords, dear,” Mrs. Malone said. “And I'm sure it's a rewarding subject, in its own way....” Her voice trailed off unhappily.

“Does this mean we don't have to go on any investigations for a while?” Franny asked, sounding just a little too relieved.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Malone said. “Searching for the paranormal is not just a job; it is our calling. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night will keep us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds.”

“What about lack of funds?” Will asked. “That will stop pretty much anything.”

“Now let's not worry ourselves over something that might not happen,” said Mrs. Malone, sounding very worried indeed.

Poppy didn't say anything. She had a question she wanted to ask, a question that loomed in her mind, a question that made her stomach clench, but she was too afraid to ask it.

Will we have to move again?

She thought about how she had dreamed of a house just like the one they were now living in. She thought about her cozy bedroom, the wide front porch, and the lawn where they could play croquet one day, just as soon as they convinced their parents to buy a croquet set. She thought about how she had been looking forward to making new friends and settling in at a school for longer than a semester.

She thought about how she finally felt that she had a home.

And then she realized how wrong she had been about Mr. Farley. He may have looked like a quiet little man with a boring briefcase, but those looks were deceiving. His gray suit and thinning hair and rimless spectacles were
exactly
what a Nemesis looked like.

“W
e must have courage!” Mr. Malone said to his family that evening after supper. “Are we going to give up at the first obstacle, fall at the first fence? No! We are going to persevere! We are going to forge ahead! And we are going to keep on until victory is ours!”

He stood in the middle of the living room, his legs wide apart, his chin raised proudly, his posture straight and stalwart. He looked like a general encouraging his army to make one last assault against the enemy. It would have been a stirring picture if it hadn't been for his troops, who were, simply put, not buying it.

“I can't believe we're going to have to leave Austin already,” said Franny. She was curled up at the end of the couch, clutching a pillow to her stomach. “We just got here.”

“If we move, can we get a dog?” Rolly said.

“At least I haven't unpacked all my boxes,” said Will. He was lying on the rug, staring gloomily at the ceiling.

His mother gave him a narrow look. “Will, you told me that you had,” she said. “You
promised
.”

“I knew there wasn't any point,” he told the ceiling. “I had a feeling that we weren't going to stay here long.”

“Really?” said Mrs. Malone, momentarily diverted. “Was it a flash of ESP, do you think?”

“Clearly it was not,” said Mr. Malone, “since
we are not going anywhere
.”

“But if we could run an experiment with Will that demonstrated precognition, perhaps we could present that to Mrs. Farley,” said Mrs. Malone.

“The only thing I see in our future,” said Will, “is a moving truck.”

“I can see that, too, and I don't even have ESP,” muttered Franny.

Mr. Malone stared fiercely around at his family. “I can't believe I've raised children who would give up the fight at the first hint of opposition! The answer to a slight setback isn't to sit around crying! The answer is to go out and find some evidence that is so astounding, so amazing, so
spectacular
that Mrs. Farley will have no choice except to let us keep our grant.”

His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose in the midst of this tirade. He pushed them up again and said grimly, “Those harpsichordists aren't going to know what hit them.”

Mrs. Malone looked dubious, but she said, “Your father is right. We can't just give up. Maybe we should watch the film from the cemetery. There might be something there....”

Her voice trailed off, as if even her determined cheerfulness could not overcome the dismal facts facing them.

“That will take weeks,” said Will. “Months! And you heard Mr. Farley. We only have a few days!”

“And it's so boring,” added Franny. “Hours and hours and
hours
of watching nothing happen.”

“Nonsense! Remember that video from the Louisiana investigation?” Mr. Malone asked. “Thirteen hours of watching Spanish moss waving in the breeze. Then all of a sudden—bam! A swamp creature appears, right in the middle of the screen!”

“That was just a duck hunter who got lost and fell into the water,” said Poppy.

“Well, he was covered in mud,” said Will, trying to be fair. “And he did have slimy green swamp weed all over his head. I can understand why Dad got confused—”

“My point is,” said Mr. Malone, “that you never know when you might see something that could alter our current notions of reality. So tonight, we are watching the film from our camera trap.”

This was met with a concerted groan from everyone except Mrs. Malone, who was clearly determined to be gallant in the face of impending disaster.

“I'll make popcorn!” she said. “It will be fun!”

“Is everyone ready?” Mr. Malone asked.

Poppy held up the remote from her spot on the couch. “Ready,” she said. Poppy had been assigned remote control duties, a task she enjoyed. She liked the illusion that she could stop, reverse, or speed up time, all with the push of a button.

Will waved a languid hand from the floor. “Ready.”

Poppy nudged him with her foot. “Don't go to sleep.”

“Oh, I won't,” he said, yawning. “In fact, I'm sure it will be impossible to sleep once the movie starts. We'll probably be awake for hours, too terrified to go to bed.”

“Franny?” Mr. Malone asked.

“For heaven's sake! Yes, I'm ready, you're ready, everybody's ready,” said Franny. “Let's go. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done.”

“That's not quite the can-do spirit I'd hoped for, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers,” said Mr. Malone. “Now, remember—be quiet, stay focused, and keep your eyes open for … can anyone tell me what we're looking for?”

“Misty figures,” said Poppy drearily.

“Glowing orbs floating through the air,” added Franny, bored.

“Strange flashes of light,” said Will, without bothering to open his eyes.

“I'm glad to see that you children have been paying attention for once,” Mr. Malone said. “All right, Poppy. Go ahead and start the video....”

For almost fifteen minutes, nothing moved except the dark branches of the oak trees, which swayed gently in a breeze. Then there was a sudden movement on the screen.

“Did you see that?” Mr. Malone said, leaning forward in his chair.

“Yes, I did, there was definitely something there!” exclaimed Mrs. Malone.

“Rewind!” said Mr. Malone. “Let's watch that again....”

Poppy dutifully rewound.

As the video started again, Mr. Malone stared intensely at the screen.

“There!” he said. “Hit pause!”

Poppy did and managed to capture the exact moment a raccoon, scurrying along on its own masked business, turned to look into the camera lens.

Mr. Malone slumped back in his chair, disappointed.

“Well, that was exciting,” said Franny. “Maybe if we watch long enough, we'll see a possum. Or a bat.”

“Shh!” Mr. Malone held up a warning hand and leaned forward, gazing intently at the screen. “Did you hear that? Poppy, go back a little bit.”

She dutifully rewound the video and started it up again.

“Be quiet, everyone,” Mr. Malone said. “Not a sound!”

Will closed his eyes. Franny sighed and let her head droop onto the armrest. Poppy raised one skeptical eyebrow, but she leaned forward just a bit and turned up the volume.

For a long moment, there was no sound except the rustle of leaves and a distant hooting of an owl. Then they heard it—what sounded like a faint moan.

“There! That was it!” Mr. Malone said. “Did you hear it?”

“I did!” Mrs. Malone's eyes were shining. “And did you see the mist! It drifted across the screen at the very same moment that we heard that unearthly moan!”

Poppy frowned. “I didn't see any—”

“Rewind, rewind!” Mr. Malone jumped up and began pacing back and forth. “This could be exactly what we need to show Mrs. Farley that we're on track.”

As Poppy pressed the rewind button, she said, “That sound could have been caused by a lot of things besides a ghost, you know. Like maybe one tree branch rubbing against another. Or an animal that's been hurt.”

Mr. Malone waved a hand dismissively. “We'll eliminate those possibilities, of course. But in the meantime”—he sat back down and focused his attention on the screen—“let's all keep an open mind.”

“But—” Poppy began.

“Come on, Poppy, don't be a spoilsport,” said Will. He sat up and grinned at her. She knew what that grin meant. Will was now so bored that he had decided to entertain himself by pretending to be wildly enthusiastic about the investigation, thus encouraging Mr. and Mrs. Malone to ever greater flights of fancy.

She crossed her eyes at him to show she disapproved.

He waggled his eyebrows at her to show he didn't care, then turned an eager face toward his parents and said, “Hey, maybe we could watch the tape in slow motion this time!”

“
There's
a bright idea!” said Mrs. Malone. “And a very helpful one. Thank you, Will.”

“It just seemed to make sense,” he said modestly.

As Mr. and Mrs. Malone turned their attention back to the screen, Poppy leaned over to hiss in Will's ear. “Stop encouraging them! It's not funny.”

“I'm not trying to be funny,” he murmured piously. “I'm
trying
to be a kind and caring son. You would do well to follow my example.”

“Oh,
please
.”

“Remember, Mom and Dad are old,” said Will. He was doing his best to look virtuous, although a tiny smile kept creeping onto his face and spoiling the effect. “We should help them get a
little
enjoyment out of the days they have left to them.”

“Yes, you're right, Will,” she said as she pressed Play. “You're a real saint.”

This time Poppy played the film in slow motion. Roughly two seconds after the moan began, a faint trail of mist could be seen in front of the camera lens. It took three seconds to drift from the right side of the screen to the left, and then it disappeared, just as the moaning stopped.

This was the focus of even more argument.

“There's a very simple and rational explanation,” insisted Poppy. “The headstones are made of granite and marble. That means they absorb the sun's heat during the day. Then when the sun sets and the air cools down, the headstones keep putting off heat. So there could easily have been a three- or four-degree difference in the air temperature, which, as we all know from basic science class, can create a mist.”

“I suppose that's true,” said Mrs. Malone, disappointed.

“Only if your hypothesis about the change in temperature is correct,” said Mr. Malone. “If it's not, then bang goes your theory, and we're back to the strong possibility of a ghost.”

“Okay, let's get the readout from the digital thermometer,” said Poppy. “I left it at the cemetery so we could get overnight readings. We can compare the temperature data with the video, match up the time sequence, and see if there are any temperature variations that correspond to the time that the mist appears on the video—”

“Never mind,” Mr. Malone snapped.

“Or I could check with the weather bureau to see what the humidity index was last night,” she went on. “Sometimes a camera flash reflects off moisture in the air, which can create an illusion of mist.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Malone said. “And I was so hoping to have something definite to show that Mr. Farley!”

Up until that moment, Poppy had been feeling the inner glow that she always felt when she was playing around with different theories. It was fun to toss out ideas, to consider the arguments for and against, to feel her mind sparking like a computer running at high speed....