It's All Downhill from Here (6 page)

“No, no! Ms. Walcott is right!” Maggie cried. “I told you we shouldn't buy this house. Old Man Wharton said so.”

“Zip it, Maggie,” Mrs. Kim warned.

“I'm just trying to stop us from making a horrible mistake!”

“Your daughter speaks wisely,” Ms. Walcott said. “It would be best to honor Mr. Wharton's final wish.”

“Yeah? And what's he gonna do if we don't?” Simon asked. “Come back from the dead and get us, like some ski-hating zombie?”

“Simon, don't be rude,” Mrs. Kim snapped.

“Do not underestimate Jonas,” Ms. Walcott said.
“He was a very powerful and determined man.”

“Not anymore,” Simon muttered under his breath, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“If any dead person can stop the living, I am certain that it is Jonas Wharton.”

“That's who I saw!” Maggie exclaimed. “The night we arrived. In the window. It must have been Jonas Wharton watching us arrive.”

“Maggie, that's enough!” Mr. Kim shouted. “We love this place. The house is perfect, the grounds are beautiful, and the mountain is ideal for skiing. No disrespect intended to you, Ms. Walcott, or to the memory of Mr. Wharton, but tomorrow my wife and I are going to talk to the bank about getting a loan to buy the place.”

Mr. Kim continued, “The old Wharton Mansion will become the new Piney Hill Ski Resort.”

A loud boom rocked the house, shaking the chandelier above the dining room table. Maggie felt her balance shift. She almost fell.

Then every light in the house went out!

“Where are those candles?” Mr. Kim shouted.

“Right here in this bag,” his wife replied. “Just a moment.”

Mrs. Kim fished a handful of candles out of a bag of emergency supplies she had packed, not knowing exactly what they would find when they arrived at the mansion. Once the candles were lit, Maggie looked around.

“Hey, where did Ms. Walcott go?” she asked.

“Maybe she had a date with Old Man Wharton's ghost,” Simon quipped.

“Ms. Walcott? Are you all right?” Mrs. Kim called, but received no reply.

“I think turning out the lights is a bad joke, or a cheap scare tactic to try and frighten us so we don't buy
this house,” Mr. Kim said, the annoyance clear in his voice. “I'm sorry, Ms. Walcott, if you can hear me, but it's not going to work.”

At that moment, everyone heard the front door slam shut.

Maggie raced to the front door. She wanted to talk with Ms. Walcott, to find out about Jonas Wharton, to confirm what she now believed—that Old Man Wharton's ghost was haunting this house.

Reaching the door, Maggie flung it open, only to see Ms. Walcott's footprints in the snow leading away from the door. The snow was coming down so heavily, the footprints were already being filled in. She heard a car door slam, then watched as Ms. Walcott sped down the driveway and away from the house.

“She's gone,” Maggie reported.

“She left her things,” Mrs. Kim said to no one in particular.

“Did anyone else think she was a bit odd?” Mr. Kim asked.

“Totally weird,” Simon said.

“You're only saying that because she told you she didn't want you to go skiing,” Maggie said.

“No, I'm saying that because she was talking about a dead guy haunting this house and trying to scare us away.”

“Well, it would explain a lot,” Maggie said, convinced now that they were dealing with a ghost. “The old man's face in the window, the lit candle that suddenly disappeared, the—”

“Are you still going on about that?” Mr. Kim said.

“Something is definitely going on here,” Maggie defended herself. “And then there was the secret passageway.”

“Wait, what?” her father asked.

Maggie forgot that she hadn't yet told them about that. “Last night, when everyone was asleep, I went back to the library. I found a secret passageway. It led to a strange room with all these pictures.”

“What were you doing wandering around the house in the middle of the night anyway?” asked Simon.

“I had a bad dream,” Maggie admitted. “I couldn't sleep.”

“What kind of bad dream, honey?” Mrs. Kim asked.

“I dreamed I heard a voice and got out of bed to see who it was,” Maggie began. “I saw the same old man I saw in the window—”

“Imagined you saw,” Simon interrupted.

Maggie continued, “I followed him outside. He disappeared, and I got locked out during a big snowstorm. I woke up and went to explore.”

“And it never occurred to you that you might have still been dreaming?” Simon asked.

“Just stop, Simon!” Maggie shouted. “You don't know what you're talking about. I believe that there is a ghost in this house. I do! You may think I'm crazy, but that's what I think. Besides, all you care about is your stupid skiing! Nothing else—”

“Maggie!” Mrs. Kim interrupted.

“Simon does have a good point, Mags,” Mr. Kim said quietly. “Since you dreamed about seeing Old Man Wharton and getting locked out and all that, isn't it possible that you dreamed all this other stuff too?”

“No!” Maggie yelled. “I was not dreaming, or imagining, or whatever excuse you want to make. I know what I've been seeing. I've been seeing the ghost of Jonas Wharton. He never left this house, even after he died.”

“Lower your voice, young lady,” Mrs. Kim said. “We are going to the bank tomorrow. And if we get the loan, we are buying this place. And we will all live here. End of discussion!”

“Fine!” Maggie shouted back. “Then I'm going to bed!”

She got up and stormed away from the table, heading to her room.

“I'll go see if I can calm her down,” Sophie said, excusing herself.

“Good luck with that,” Simon mumbled.

“Thank you, Sophie,” said Mrs. Kim.

A short while later, Maggie and Sophie were in their beds. A heavy silence hung in the room. Every so often Maggie let out a sigh of exasperation. Sophie bided her time, waiting for the right moment, hoping she could find just the thing to say to help her friend.

“It's a drag when no one believes you, Mags,” Sophie said, finally breaking the silence. “I know. I've been there.”

“Do
you
believe me?” Maggie asked softly.

“I don't know what to believe,” Sophie admitted.

“Do you really think I can't tell the difference between having a dream and being awake?”

“Sometimes it's hard.”

“Sophie, I know what I saw. My parents think I'm making this up because I don't want to live here.”

“Well, you
don't
want to live here, right?”

“Yes, but why would I make up some crazy ghost story that no one would believe—”

“That no one
does
believe,” Sophie corrected her friend.

“‘That no one does believe?' Do you think I'm that lame?”

“No, of course not,” said Sophie. “Let's do some more investigating tomorrow, okay?”

Having tried her best to help her friend, Sophie dozed off. Maggie, on the other hand, was wide awake, staring up at the pattern on the canopy. She had just about convinced herself that she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in this snowy wilderness, and nothing she could say or do would stop that from happening, when she heard something. Something strange, yet vaguely familiar.

A barely audible whisper. A raspy male voice.

No, no, not again!
she thought.

The weak voice grew slightly louder.

Maggie started chanting in her head.
It's just the wind . . . it's just the wind . . . it's just the—

“Leave this place!” the raspy voice said, still weakly,
but now loud enough for Maggie to make out the words.

“Leave this place!”

This time Maggie felt warm breath on her ear. She turned quickly, expecting to see someone, but no one was there.

That is
not
the wind!

Maggie threw her covers off and sat on the edge of her bed. She glanced over and saw Sophie peacefully snoring away.
I am
not
going on another wild ghost chase through this creepy old house only to have no one believe what I saw or heard.

The voice came again, only this time it sounded as if it were coming from just outside the bedroom window.

Maggie stood up and threw on her slippers. She already regretted getting up as she walked toward the window.

Peering out, she saw only blowing, drifting snow.

“Leave this place,” Maggie heard again. It sounded simultaneously like a whisper and like someone calling up to her from the ground below the window.

I can't go out there alone,
Maggie thought.
Besides, I need Sophie to back up my story.

“Sophie, wake up,” she said softly.

Sophie didn't move.

“Sophie!” Maggie called a little louder.

Still nothing.

“Soph!” she cried, shaking the bed.

“Uhhhhh,” Sophie moaned, rolling over. “What?”

“I hear a voice outside. I think it's Old Man Wharton. I'm going out to look, but I need you to come with me.”

Sophie pulled the covers up over her head. “You're crazy if you're going out late at night in the freezing cold and snow. Have fun, but leave me alone. I'm asleep, see?”

She proceeded to fake an extremely loud snore.

“Leave this place!” the voice sounded from outside once again.

Maggie hurried back to the window. This time when she peered down, she saw letters being scratched in the snow. An
L
, then an
E
. There was no writer that Maggie could see.

“No!” she cried, realizing what the ghost was trying to spell.

This time she was not going to take no for an answer.

“Soph!” she yelled, pulling the covers off Sophie, grabbing her hand, and dragging her from her bed.

“You're crazy, Mags,” Sophie moaned, stumbling to
the window. “And I am not going to—”

Sophie stopped in midsentence. Her jaw fell open, and she pointed down at the snow. Together, Maggie and Sophie watched the last letter being written. Another
E
.

“I see it, Mags! I see it!” she cried. “‘Leave this place.' That's what it says. ‘Leave this place.'”

“Nice to know I'm not completely crazy,” Maggie replied. “Come on. We have to show the others. This proves that Old Man Wharton's ghost is haunting the house.”

“Wait a minute, Mags,” Sophie said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Your parents might not believe that a ghost wrote it. They didn't see the letters being written as if no one was there. What if they think that Karina Walcott came back? She was very upset that your parents want to turn this house into a ski lodge.”

“That's why I had to have you as a witness,” Maggie said. “Now, come on. Let's get a closer look.”

Snatching up her flashlight, Maggie tiptoed downstairs, followed closely by Sophie.

“Leave this place!” the voice said again, now clearly coming from right outside the front door.

Reaching the door, Maggie gripped the knob, took
a deep breath, threw it open, and stepped out into the swirling snow.
Please still be there,
she thought, having finally found an ally in Sophie, who stepped outside beside her.

She could barely see anything through the moving wall of white snow. Maggie's flashlight beam reflected right back against the snow, making it even harder to see.

“Where are you, Jonas?” she called out. “Why do you want us to leave?”

“Leave this place!” the voice repeated, sounding like it was coming from someone standing right next to her. But as best as Maggie could make out, she and Sophie were alone, standing in the freezing cold and raging snow.

“Where
are
you?” Maggie shouted through the blinding snow. “Show yourself! Stop torturing me!”