Wart (9 page)

Rachel and Ham sat down, too, and for a minute they were all quiet. Then Rachel said, "What're you thinking, Stew?"

"Martha wouldn't hang around with witches. I mean, she's a librarian. Nobody is as sensible as a librarian."

Ham started getting up. "Well," he said, "if you're thinking Ms. Gibbs isn't a witch, let's just go on home."

Rachel grabbed his garbage-bag skirt. "No," she said, "we came to get the necklace, and we're going to do it."

Just then the light went on in Ozgood's room. They could see two forms through the shade, and then the light went off again. "She tucked him in," said Rachel. "It won't be long now."

They waited without saying anything, barely breathing until the light came back on and went off three times. "It's time," said Rachel. They stood up and moved quietly toward the back door.

"Quickly," said Ozgood's voice in the dark. "Quickly and cautiously up to my room. The closet door is open."

Tiptoeing, they went through the kitchen into the dining room, where the stairs were. An open door separated the dining room from the family room, where Martha sat watching TV.

Their feet didn't make a sound as they crossed the room, but the rustling of their garbage bags seemed loud to Stewart. He held his breath. If Martha decided to get up or to turn down the sound, they were dead. Once they were up the stairs, he relaxed some. The first hurdle was over.

"We need to look over Ms. Gibbs's room," said Rachel, "see how things are arranged in there. The door was half open, and she pushed it wider. For a minute they all looked inside, then moved on.

Ham landed in the closet first, and the other two piled in after him. "We'll close the door at first," whispered Rachel, "so we can use the flashlight, but after a bit, we'll have to open it for air."

The thought came to Stewart that Rachel had definitely become the leader, but he didn't mind a bit. He knew he was too nervous to think clearly. Ham took food from his bag and arranged it on the closet floor. They all ate. The sandwiches were sort of squashed, but they tasted good. Ozgood had politely pushed his bones into a corner, but Rachel, also a serious science student, pulled them out and started to examine them. While she ate, the bones rested beside her, a skull in her lap. Stewart thought it was a strange picture, but his life had changed so much that odd almost seemed normal.

After a while they switched off the light and opened the door just slightly. It wasn't long until they heard voices downstairs. None of them dared even whisper because the sounds were coming closer, up the stairs. Ham grabbed Stewart's arm. Feeling Ham shake made Stewart even more nervous, so he reached for Rachel's hand and held it. They sat there, crunched together in a terrified little pile.

A light from the hall told them that Ozgood's door was being opened. It was too late to close the closet. "I won't turn on the light," whispered Ms. Gibbs. "Just want to look in on him."

"He's a darling," said Martha. "And you are, too, Wanda. I'll never forget what you're doing for me, uprooting your life and Ozgood's to move here."

"Oh, don't thank me," said Ms. Gibbs, and she laughed. "I'm having fun. The man's a challenge. I'm just glad you called me for help."

Then the door closed and the two women went back down the stairs. In the closet, they quit holding onto each other, took deep breaths, and slipped off their garbage bags.

Stewart bent his head to rest on his raised knees. What was Martha talking about? What was Ms. Gibbs doing for her? Then a thought came to him. "Martha must be under a spell," he whispered. "That's the only thing that makes sense. Martha's under a spell and so is my dad."

"Maybe," said Rachel. "Do you think Ozgood is really asleep?"

"Surely, he didn't go to sleep, knowing we're hiding in here," said Ham, but Stewart pointed out that little kids sometimes went to sleep no matter what. After a long time, they heard Ms. Gibbs come upstairs and open her bedroom door.

"How long do you think it will take for her to get to sleep?" Stewart whispered.

"Not long, I hope," said Ham. "I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Put your plastic bag back on and wet your pants," said Rachel. "We aren't leaving this place for at least two hours." Ham groaned.

They settled back to wait. Rachel passed the time touching the bones. Stewart decided to try to get his mind on a good Taylor Montgomery daydream. He settled on being the president of the United States, the youngest ever elected. Having lost track of Taylor, he had never married despite the fact that women swooned when he spoke.

Things were going along well until a bunch of people on a subway are taken hostage by some terrorists. No one in the country knows what to do, so of course they turn to President Wright. He looks at the passenger list and sees Taylor's name.

People beg him not to, but he is determined to trade himself for the hostages. Just before he is ready to leave, a note comes from Taylor. She says that the terrorists let her write it because she is about to die. She tells Stewart that she has always loved him, but that she had to drop out of his life because she thought she wasn't good enough for him.

He takes out his handkerchief and wipes his tears. There are a lot of reporters who want to take the president's picture while he cries over the hostages. "There is no time for tears or pictures," Stewart says. "This is the time for action!"

His advisers send for all kinds of bulletproof vests and stuff, but Stewart refuses them. "Bring me two garbage bags," he says. "They were the protection I wore on my first dangerous mission."

He was just at the good part where he burst onto the train and Taylor held out her arms to him when Ham started to move. "I'm going to the John," he said.

"No," Rachel protested. "She may not be asleep."

"I'm going anyway." He pushed the closet door open wider.

"If he makes it to the bathroom, we might as well check out Ms. Gibbs's room. Maybe we can tell if she's asleep," Stewart suggested.

"Well, I don't know," Rachel said. "If we are going to do it, we have to plan first."

"Plan quick," Ham said.

"Okay, here's the deal." Rachel took the bones out of her lap and arranged them gently in the corner. "Ham, you go first. Don't turn on the bathroom light or flush the toilet. Stew and I will wait here just inside the room until we see you come back from the bathroom. If it is real quiet in there, we'll open the door just enough to crawl in." She breathed deeply. "Now let's see, there was a dresser, a bureau, and a nightstand. I'll check out the dresser top. There may be a jewelry box there. Ham, you take the bureau top, and Stew will do the nightstand. If one of us finds it, we just head out. The other two will follow."

"All right," said Stewart, "but what if we don't find it? What if it's in a drawer or still on her neck? What then?"

"Well," Rachel said, thinking. "Well, then we go into the closet and look for other evidence. I'll bring the camera and the flashlight."

Ham went first on his hands and knees. "You can walk," whispered Rachel, but Ham stayed down. Stewart thought it was probably easier for Ham to control his strained bladder that way.

When Ham was out the bedroom door, Rachel and Stewart left the closet and moved to the doorway. As soon as Ham's dark form came out of the bathroom, they tiptoed toward Ms. Gibbs's room. Once there, they all dropped to their knees. The low sound of a train whistling through the crossing a few blocks away sent shivers down Stewart's spine, and when it passed, the sound of their breathing seemed to echo loudly against the walls of the hallway.

The door wasn't completely closed. Rachel gave it a little pull. They waited. Then an encouraging sound came from the room, regular little snorts. Ms. Gibbs was snoring. Even in the dark, Stewart could see Rachel make a thumbs-up sign. Then Ham and Stewart started stacking their hands on top of each other's, like for luck before a basketball game. Rachel caught on and joined them.

Rachel, of course, went first, then Stewart, followed by Ham. Stewart wished he still wore his garbage bags as a sort of armor but they'd make too much noise. They moved around the end of the bed. So far so good. Stewart was beside the nightstand. He put up his hand and began to slide it across the top of the little table. At first, he was afraid to look at Ms. Gibbs, asleep there in her bed. Then he took a quick glance. It wasn't too dark for him to see that she slept in some sort of netlike cap, which he supposed was to protect her hairdo. There was a bunch of white stuff smeared all over her face. Witch or not, he thought she was plenty scary looking at night.

Then he forgot all about how she looked because his fingers touched a chain. Slowly he pulled it to him. There was moonlight from the window, and it picked up the green shine. He held it up for a second, hoping the others would see. Then, still on his hands and knees, he started for the door. Holding the necklace in one sweaty fist, it was hard to crawl, so he jammed it into his pocket.

Suddenly, there was an extra big snort from Ms. Gibbs, and she flopped over in bed. "Hold still," she muttered. "Don't hop." Then she tossed herself over in bed again. Stewart froze. She was about to wake up. What should they do?

Rachel moved quickly, reaching for the closet door and getting it open. Ham moved quickly too. Ms. Gibbs turned noisily again in her bed, and Stewart knew she was likely to wake herself by talking in her sleep. Still, he couldn't move. When something touched his foot, he started with fright and almost yelled out. It was Rachel. She gave his foot a hard jerk, then shot back into the closet. Stewart followed, pulling the door after him.

"What was that?" called Ms. Gibbs, and Stewart thought her voice sounded awake. It was totally dark in the closet, but it didn't matter because Stewart kept his eyes shut tightly anyway. If Ms. Gibbs opened the closet door, he wanted no possibility of seeing her face. He lay there, aware that either Rachel or Ham was under him, aware of the chemical smell coming from the bottles on the shelf, but unable to move.

From the crack under the door came a ray of light, and they knew that Ms. Gibbs had switched on her lamp. Any second now she would get out of bed, cross to the closet, and find them. Then Stewart remembered what was in his pocket. Could she turn them into frogs without that necklace? A small thumping sound and a sort of metallic rattling could be heard. Then the light went off again. Was she going back to sleep? For a long time they didn't dare move. Then it started again, that marvelous, delightful sound of Ms. Gibbs snoring. In the closet the three moved about a little, getting off each other, but it was a long time before they dared to push open the door and start the long crawl to safety.

Outside the bedroom, they stood up and began to move more quickly, across the upstairs hall, down the stairs, through the dining room, into the kitchen. Ham reached for a cookie from a plate of them on the cabinet, but Stewart slapped his hand. It would have taken too long to get the plastic wrap from around the plate.

When the fresh night air hit their faces, they all broke into a run, not slowing until they were out of the Gibbses' yard. It was Rachel who stopped first, sort of throwing herself down on the curb. Stewart sat down beside her and was shocked to see that she was crying. "Rachel," he said, "what's the matter. Are you hurt?"

"Scared," she sobbed. "I was so scared."

He could feel her shaking beside him, and he put his arm around her. "Don't cry," he said. "We made it because you were so brave." Stewart felt a big smile come to his face. He felt good, like he was saving Taylor Montgomery from terrorists or something. "Let's look at the necklace," he said. He took his arm from around Rachel and began to dig into his pockets, first the right, then the left. He jumped up yelling, "Where is it? Help! Oh no! It's gone!" He whirled and reached down to grabbed Ham's shoulder. "I've lost the necklace."

Ham slumped, resting his head on his knees. "I know it," he said, "and I left our snacks in Ozgood's closet."

"Ham," Stewart yelled. "Forget the food. The necklace is gone!"

"It's okay," said Rachel, back to her competent self now. "It must have fallen from your pocket. We'll find it."

Rachel started crawling then, and the other two joined her, crawling through the wet grass in the Gibbses' yard, searching in the dark for a green stone. At the back porch they stopped. "Well," Rachel said, "it must be inside."

"Do we go after it?" Stewart asked.

"Sure." Ham already had his hand on the door. "We can't give up after all we've been through tonight."

"That's right," Rachel agreed, so they went inside. Retracing their path, they traveled on all fours across the kitchen, into the dining room, and up the stairs.

"I'll just go into Ozgood's room and get the food," Ham whispered. "Meet you guys outside."

Rachel and Stewart moved on to Ms. Gibbs's room. The sound of snoring came to their ears, and they knew the woman was sleeping. Slowly, Stewart pushed open the door. She was lying on her side, and this time Stewart looked at her right away.

Rachel looked right off too. Stewart knew that because she grabbed at him just as he was reaching for her, both of them pointing toward the sleeping woman. The moonlight was shining in brightly now. They could see her plainly, the net thing around her hair, the white goop on her face, and on her neck a chain with a shiny green stone.

Without pausing to close the door, they backed up just a little, stood, and made a tiptoeing dash for the stairs. Every little bit, Stewart turned back to make sure they weren't being followed.

• SEVEN
•

I
t was a miserable walk home. No one said anything except to complain about aching feet. Ham didn't even eat anything from the snack bag.

When they were finally there and inside the garage, Stewart looked at his watch to see that it was three o'clock. They climbed into the van, where they planned to sleep.

"You take the fold-out seat," Stewart said to Rachel. "We'll sleep on the floor."

Rachel took out the alarm clock from her equipment bag, set it, and said, "Good night."

"I'm giving up," Stewart said, and he closed his eyes. "There is no use trying to fight her."

"Might as well," said Ham. "Maybe she really will help you with stuff. Maybe she'll even help me if you ask her to."

"Stop it you two, and, Stewart Wright, don't you even think of giving up." Rachel sat up and shook her finger at Stewart. "You can't let a witch take over your family. We aren't beaten yet."

"Maybe she isn't a witch at all. Maybe she found the necklace," he said sadly. "Maybe she found it when she turned on the light. Remember the rattling noise we heard?"

"It found her," said Rachel, "and you know it." She lay back down.

Stewart didn't answer. There was nothing more, it seemed to him, to say. The next thing he knew the alarm was going off. He looked at the time, seven thirty. Dad was probably up and could be coming out to the garage any time. They climbed out, ready to go their separate ways. "Thanks," said Stewart. "Thanks, both of you. You were great."

"Anytime," said Rachel with a little laugh.

"Yeah," said Ham, "anytime in the next century!"

Stewart sat for a while on the front step, feeling dejected and alone. When he heard his father stirring in the house, he got out his key and went in with a story ready about waking up early at Ham's house and deciding to come on home.

His father was in a great mood, singing and joking. "Got any plans for the day?" He poured himself a cup of coffee.

"I'm pretty exhausted, not much sleep last night at Ham's. I don't even want any breakfast. I just want to go to bed." It was true that he was sleepy, but he also figured his father was going to suggest some activity involving Ms. Gibbs. That was a face Stewart just couldn't look at again so soon. He headed out of the kitchen.

"Okay." Dad was taking eggs from the refrigerator. "Think I'll pick up Georgia, and if she's not too tired, we might go do a little Christmas shopping. We'll have our algebra lesson when I get home."

Stewart stopped and turned back to his father. "Christmas shopping? Last night was just Halloween."

"Well, sure it's early. Probably I won't buy anything, just look." He smiled at Stewart. "I think this will be our best Christmas ever."

He'll probably be married by December, Stewart thought with an inward groan. Then suddenly he remembered last Christmas, Martha helping them decorate the tree. Martha, he had to see her today. Maybe he would just level with Martha, ask her what Ms. Gibbs was doing for her. No, he couldn't admit hearing that. Still, he would go to talk to Martha. He would find a way to get information.

"Dad," he said, "after I wake up, I'd like to go over to the library to get a book and maybe talk to Martha a little."

"Sure, there's no reason Martha can't still be a friend of the family." Stewart thought his father's voice sounded a little sad.

"Dad," he said. "It was really stupid of me . . . " He paused and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I mean not wanting you to marry Martha. I don't . . . maybe even after all that time I really hadn't, you know, accepted Mom's death."

His father was quiet for a second, just stood there with the eggs in his hand. Then he said, "It's okay, son. I guess I used you for an excuse. If I had really been ready for marriage, I wouldn't have waited for your approval." Dad smiled at him, and Stewart could see that his father thought their problems were over.

Stewart set his alarm for one. Then he fell into bed and went right to sleep. His dad and Georgia weren't home when he woke. After a nice long shower, he cooked a frozen pizza, scarfed it down, and was ready to go.

He got his bike from the garage, deciding to push it for a time before getting on, giving his muscles a chance to warm up. It was a good day for a bike ride. His father's remarks about Christmas shopping made him realize that he wouldn't have many more days like this one before winter. Well, he told himself as a red leaf drifted down to land on his face, today is an important day. The damp leaf had stuck to his face, and he did not remove it. Today he would decide what to do with his life. He could keep fighting like Rachel said he should, or he could just give in and quit being a worry wart. He felt very tired. If Dad wants to marry Ms. Gibbs, well, that's his business. Maybe he just wouldn't think about supernatural stuff. "Hey," he said aloud, "the woman makes great cookies."

"Cookies?" said a voice, and he saw Mrs. Wolf, their new neighbor, straighten up from behind her hedge. "Don't be pestering me for cookies. I gave them all away last night."

"Oh no, ma'am," he said. "I won't pester you." He got on his bike then and began to ride. "Maybe I won't pester anyone," he told the wind. He reached up to take the leaf from his face. "Maybe I'll turn over a new leaf."

He liked the way the library looked, made from some kind of white rock, and he liked the smell of it when he stepped inside. Martha was behind the desk, and Stewart saw her as soon as he came into the library. She was glad to see him, like always. "Stewart, good to see you. Did you come for a book on psychology?"

He opened his mouth to say yes because he was getting so used to lying, but he stopped himself. "No," he leaned on the big counter and looked at her warm, honest face. "I think maybe I'll get a book like that, but I came today to see you."

Tears came to her eyes, but she gave a little laugh. "Come on, now," she protested, "you've never been exactly wild about me." She shook her head. "Of course, there's no danger now of my stealing your father's attention."

"No, honest." Stewart leaned against the counter and he felt like crying too. He forced down the feeling. "I was wrong to act like a spoiled brat." He ducked his head for a second, then looked up again. "You would have been great."

"Oh, Stew," she said, wiping at her eyes, "that's good to hear even if it is too late."

Stewart wanted to ask her about Ms. Gibbs. He wanted to know what Martha would say if he just asked straight out about the witch thing, but the words wouldn't come. "Guess, I'll go now," he said, but she reached out to touch his arm.

"Wait, Stew," she looked right into his eyes. "Your father would have married me if he really wanted to. Don't blame yourself, but do give Wanda Gibbs a chance."

"I don't like that woman." He blurted out the words.

"Oh, Wanda is a little different, but she has a good heart. I should know! She's helped me plenty. If you had come in an hour earlier, you would have run into her. She was in here getting a book, and she talked to me about how much she thinks of you and Georgia." She smiled at him. "Believe me, Stew, things are going to work out for us all."

"She got a book?" he stalled, trying to think of how to ask his question.

"Yes, Wanda has developed an interest in poltergeists."

Stewart imagined his ears might be stretched up over his head. This was really interesting. "Does she believe in them?" He hoped his voice sounded casual.

Martha stacked a few books that were lying on the counter. "She doesn't know, but she told me an interesting story about something that happened to her last night."

"Really?" He put his hands in his pockets because he could feel them shaking and didn't want Martha to see. "What happened?"

Martha smiled. "I guess Wanda wouldn't mind my telling you. It seems she had a strange experience with a necklace. I babysat with Ozgood . . . " She paused.

"Go on," Stewart urged, then he realized he was showing too much interest. "I mean if you have time. I'm sort of interested in poltergeists."

"Well, after she came home, Wanda had taken off her green necklace. You may have noticed it, the one she wears a lot."

Stewart nodded and resisted the desire to urge her on.

"She says she is certain she put it on her nightstand. Then something woke her in the night. She decided to go to the bathroom, and several feet from her bed she felt an object under her foot. It was her necklace. She wonders how it could have moved and if the sound of that movement was what woke her." Martha gave a little laugh. "Who knows, maybe there really are such things as poltergeists? Anyway, Wanda has the book if you want to look at it. The fellow who wrote it believes in little spirits."

"Really?" It was all he could think to say.

"Yes," she stacked the last book, "and I think Wanda might too. She says she's going to sleep in the necklace from now on. It's very special to her because it belonged to her grandmother."

Stewart forgot all about the psychology book and wandered off after telling Martha good-bye. Right outside the library was a low brick wall, and he sat down on it. It was a place where kids liked to sit and wait for their rides. Usually they read the books they had just checked out. Stewart had no book, but he had to be still and think.

He sat for a long time. Several kids came to wait on the wall and were picked up, but Stewart hardly noticed them. Finally, he jumped down from the wall and got his bike. His mind was made up. Ms. Gibbs wouldn't have had to tell Martha a thing about the necklace. That meant, he was sure, that her story about finding it must be true.

He was anxious to talk to Rachel about what he had decided. She was in the front yard working with Molly Dot. The puppies were in a box on the front porch, their front paws and heads sticking up over the edge so they could watch their mother. Rachel took a dog treat from her pocket. She held it high with one hand. Then with the other hand also held high, she snapped her fingers. Molly sat up on her back legs. Rachel began to sing, "Patty cake, patty cake baker's man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can." All the time Rachel sang, Molly brought her paws together, over and over. When she quit singing, Molly dropped to all fours and Rachel gave her the treat.

"Wow!" Stewart said. "She's getting really good at that. I bet you win that prize." He got off his bike, leaned it against the porch, and went over to stroke Molly's head.

"I hope so. Georgia holding the little Dot should help." Rachel went over to sit on the porch and set the puppies out of the box onto the porch. She picked one up. Stewart went to sit beside her.

He picked up a puppy too. "Everything is okay." He sighed deeply and smiled at Rachel. "I don't believe Ms. Gibbs is a witch." Stewart poured out the story about the poltergeist book.

"So?" Rachel shrugged. "I don't see what that proves." Then she put down her puppy and held up her hand. "Wait, it does prove something, but it doesn't disprove the witch theory."

Stewart sighed. Sometimes Rachel got on his nerves. "What do you think it proves?"

Rachel gathered up the puppies and put them back in the box. She didn't say anything until she was standing up. "It proves, dummy, that Martha is in on the whole thing. Don't you remember what she said to Ms. Gibbs? Martha is grateful for something Ms. Gibbs has done for her. Maybe Ms. Gibbs is blackmailing her or maybe Martha traded your dad for some magic Ms. Gibbs did for her. Does Martha have a sick mother or anything? Well, anyway, Martha knows Ms. Gibbs has bewitched your dad, and she doesn't care!"

Why was Rachel always so unreasonable? Stewart jumped up. "You're crazy, Rachel, really crazy." He stomped off, forgetting all about his bike.

His father was reading the paper in the family room when Stewart got inside. They exchanged greetings. Stewart sat down and turned on the TV, but he didn't even try to find something to watch. After a minute, he took a deep breath, and said, "Dad, if you want to marry Ms. Gibbs, it's fine with me."

Dad put down his paper and looked at Stewart. "That's nice to hear, son. It's good to know you've grown up lately. Time will tell about a wedding."

Stewart had expected a more joyous reaction, but it didn't matter. He felt relaxed and free for the first time in what seemed like ages. He flipped off the TV and wandered to the front of the house. Through the big picture window he saw Rachel walk by. She was probably going to Ham's, probably going to share her crazy idea about Martha. Oh well, Sammi might be right about Rachel. He might be better off if he didn't hang around with her. Besides Rachel could be really aggravating.

"Get your algebra book, son." His dad got up and went into the kitchen to sit at the table. "We're in this algebra thing together," Dad said when Stewart was back. "We're in everything together." Stewart actually enjoyed the algebra lesson. Maybe he could just let go and trust his father.

He went to his room and turned on his computer. "Okay," he wrote to Sammi, "I'm thinking I might hang around with Ham and Rachel less. Taylor's noticed me some. What do I do next?"

Sammi was online, and she began to answer at once. "Surely you've called her. Right?" Stewart admitted he hadn't, and Sammi shot back, "Call her, Stew. Call her right now."

He got out his student directory, looked up Taylor Montgomery's number, and dialed it. It only took two rings for Taylor to answer, but that was long enough for Stewart to get scared. "It's me," he said, "Stewart, Stewart Wright."

"Why sure, Stewart," she said. "Of course, I know your voice."

"Oh, that's great! I mean it's great to talk to you." He said, and because she didn't say anything, he knew he had to come up with something else. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about missing your party." He hoped she would say something because he couldn't think of another word.

"You're soo sssweet." She dragged the last two words out, and the sound of her voice gave Stewart goose bumps.

"Well, guess I'd better go hit the books and everything."

" 'Bye, Stewart. See you Monday." Stewart put down the phone. He couldn't just sit there quietly. Taylor Montgomery recognized his voice and said she would see him on Monday. Suddenly, he was jumping on his bed, like he had done when he was a little kid. One jump, though, and he knew why he hadn't done it lately. He had to duck his head to keep from hitting the ceiling.