A Whole Nother Story (12 page)

“Well?” said Aitch Dee as the car drove past. “Now what?”

“We wait,” said El Kyoo. “The next car is bound to give us a ride.”

“We walked twelve miles through the middle of nowhere and not one person stopped to pick us up thanks to you and your baby blue underwear sticking out of your pants. So what makes you think someone’s going to help us out now?”

“Because I am an optimist,” said El Kyoo. “Whereas you see the glass as half empty, I like to look at it as half full. See? Look here.”

Aitch Dee looked up to see a rusted blue pickup truck making its way toward them. The truck slowed to a stop and the driver, a solid-looking man with squinty eyes and a leather cowboy hat, leaned across to the passenger side window.

“Where you fellas headed?” said Buck Weston to the two stranded agents.

“Just to the end of the drive-through,” said El Kyoo, pointing over his shoulder with his hitchhiking thumb.

“I’m headin’ that way myself,” said Buck. “Hop in.”

The two agents climbed into the dusty truck, trying to avoid sitting on the springs that had begun to come through the overworn seat.

“We really appreciate this,” said El Kyoo. “You know they won’t let you order if you don’t have a car?”

“Is that a fact? Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

As Buck drove toward the order window, Aitch Dee noticed something hanging from the rearview mirror. Something very interesting.

“That’s quite a unique necktie you’ve got there. Mind if I ask where you got it?”

“Not at all,” said Buck. “Got it from my good friends Ethan, Jough, Maggie, and Gerard. It’s my new good-luck charm.”

“Really,” said Aitch Dee. “I’d love to hear more about these good friends of yours.”

As Buck leaned in toward the window to give the young woman his order, Aitch Dee reached into his breast pocket and removed the photo of Ethan Cheeseman, which pictured the brilliant physicist dressed in a white shirt and a red
U
-covered tie.

SOME GENEROUS ADVICE ON GIFT GIVING

A
ll gifts are not created equal. Historically speaking, there are good gifts and there are bad gifts.

Good gifts: A bottle of champagne, a box of fine Belgian chocolates, the Statue of Liberty.

Bad gifts: A bottle of shampoo, a box of fine Belgian matches, the Trojan Horse.

Of all the annual gift-giving occasions, none is more expensive than Christmas.

One way I’ve found to cut back on my yuletide gift spending is by adopting a little holiday tradition known as the Secret Santa. Here’s how it works. Rather than buy a gift for each and every member of your family, you simply drop your names into a hat, then fake your own deaths and move to Brazil.

A less extreme version involves drawing a name from the hat and buying a gift for that person. To make things more interesting, the name you draw is kept a secret. To make things even more interesting, the hat is filled with fierce, biting ants.

Keeping the name a secret, though it adds an element of mystery to the process, prevents you from asking that person what type of gift he or she would prefer, ensuring that you will find yourself wandering through the mall in a stupor until they turn off the escalator.

For this reason I advise that, before dropping the names into the ant-infested hat, each person should loudly state their name and what they would like for Christmas. As in, “My name is Carl and I would like a new hat.”

So, be it a new hat, a box of matches, or a giant wooden horse full of bloodthirsty Trojans, the thing you should remember above all else when giving someone a gift is to make certain that you are not giving him something that might provide nosy government agents with information as to your whereabouts.

CHAPTER 17

I
t was just after midnight. Mr. Cheeseman and his two sons slept soundly in their cozy room at the bed-and-breakfast while Pinky, recently smuggled in, snored softly, curled up on a rug at the foot of the bed.

In the adjacent room, Maggie was having a much harder time finding sleep. She lay on her back practicing the breathing exercises her mother had taught her but ultimately was unable to lose consciousness. Suddenly, she could hear something in the room that was not the sound of her own breathing. She opened her eyes and before her loomed something that caused her to lose her breath altogether. It was a woman. A strange-looking woman, roller-skating back and forth at the foot of Maggie’s bed.

“Who are you?” Maggie demanded. “What do you want?”

The woman turned to Maggie and said nothing for a moment, then finally spoke.

“Fraud, fraud, it’s not the dog,” she moaned.

“Fraud, fraud, it’s not the dog? What do you mean it’s not the dog?” Maggie said sternly.

She received no answer from the woman, who repeated her message twice more, then smiled calmly, skated through the wall, and disappeared.

Mr. Cheeseman and the boys were dead to the world when suddenly the quiet disappeared with a loud pounding on the door that separated the two rooms.

“Open the door!” yelled Maggie. “It’s stuck! Hurry!”

Mr. Cheeseman flew out of bed and ran to the door. The only problem was, the room was dark and utterly unfamiliar to him and finding the door was not easy. He tripped over Pinky, who let out a yelp. On his hands and knees, he crawled toward the sound of Maggie’s voice, which was getting louder with each passing second.

“Help! Open the door!”

Finally, Mr. Cheeseman was able to open the door and in ran Maggie, crying and out of breath.

“What is it?” Mr. Cheeseman said, taking the trembling girl into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“A woman was in my room,” said Maggie. “She’s gone now. But I saw her. She was right there at the foot of my bed.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mr. Cheeseman.

“Yes, I’m sure. She spoke to me. She said ‘Fraud, fraud, it’s not the dog.’ ”

“Now what do you think she meant by that?”

“I don’t know. I asked her but she just skated right through the wall.”

“Skated through the wall?”

“What’s going on, Dad?” Jough yawned.

“Yeah, I’m trying to sleep here,” said Steve in his annoyingly squeaky voice. “What’s all the noise about?”

Down the hall they heard a door open, followed by a mysterious sound.

“It’s her. It’s the woman,” said Maggie, hiding behind her father. “She’s coming to get me.”

“I think that’s Coral on her scooter,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “We’d better hide Pinky.” Quickly, Jough grabbed Pinky, lifting her onto the bed and pulling the covers up over her head.

“Is everything okay in there, Mr. Stapler?” Coral asked through the door.

Mr. Cheeseman opened the door to reveal Coral sitting on her scooter. Her face was shiny and scrubbed and her hair was full of curlers the size of cucumbers.

“Sorry to wake you, Coral,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “But my daughter says she saw a woman standing in her room.”

“Not standing,” said Maggie. “Roller-skating.”

“Oh,” said Coral with a chuckle. “Looks like you’ve had a visit from our resident ghost.”

“You have a ghost?” said Mr. Cheeseman.

“I’m afraid so,” said Coral. “That’s why there are always so many rooms available. Word gets out, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maggie. “But this didn’t look like any ghost I’ve ever seen on TV or in the movies. Those ghosts are always dressed in flowing white gowns. This woman was wearing a lime green tube top and short, cut-off jeans. She was skating back and forth on pink roller skates.”

“That’s her all right,” said Coral. “I’ve only owned this bed-and-breakfast for five years but apparently she’s been haunting the place since the mid-1970s. She’s harmless, really. Legend has it she was a woman who liked to roller-skate around the house and, one day, got too close to the cellar stairs.”

“That’s horrible,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

“Isn’t it? Anyway, I’ve been meaning for some time now to have something done about it, but there are always so many other little fix-ups to do. Leaky faucets, loose floor boards, burned-out lightbulbs. Leaves a person very little time for things like exorcisms.”

“I see,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

Just then, Pinky let out a muffled bark from beneath the covers.

“What was that?” asked Coral. “That noise. It sounded like a dog barking.”

Jough gave Mr. Cheeseman a worried look.

“Yes,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “It sounded exactly like a dog barking. And quite frankly, I am outraged.”

“What?” said Coral, taken aback.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “This has gone too far. Charging people good money to stay in a house that is haunted by a ghost is one thing. But charging people good money to stay in a house haunted by two ghosts is quite another.”

“Two ghosts?”

“Yes. The ghost of a woman in a tube top and the ghost of a barking dog. Why, I have a good mind to complain to the authorities.”

“Now, now, there won’t be any need for that, Mr. Stapler,” said Coral. “Let’s just all calm down. Try and get some rest and we can discuss it in the morning.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Good night, Coral.”

“Good night,” said Coral, suspiciously eyeing a somewhat dog-shaped lump beneath the covers as she turned her scooter around and ran into the wall. “Oh, pumpkins!”

When Mr. Cheeseman was certain that Coral had returned to her own room, he shut the door.

“Are you okay, Maggie?”

“I’m scared,” she said, hugging her father tightly. “I’ve never seen a ghost before.”

“Neither have I,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “I imagine it must have been quite terrifying. But according to Coral, this particular ghost is pretty harmless.”

“Harmless or not, I am not going back into that room,” said Maggie.

“I understand. Gerard?” Mr. Cheeseman said with a grin.“Still want your own room?”

“I don’t know,” said Gerard. “What’s a tube top?”

“I’ll take the room,” said Jough.

SOME SPIRITUAL ADVICE ON DEALING WITH GHOSTS

F
or the record, I do not frighten easily. The following is a complete, unabridged list of things that scare me.

1) Tornadoes

2) Sharks

3) Tornadoes full of sharks

4) Intermittent windshield wipers

5) Ghosts

Though all frightening in their own special way, only one of the above is capable of giving me the creeps, the willies, and the heebie-jeebies all at the same time, and that is a ghost.

I saw my first ghost when I was just ten years old. I awoke one night to find an unearthly presence at the foot of my bed. Startled, I jumped out of bed and immediately fell to my knees and prayed that I had not fractured my kneecaps. Anyone who has ever fallen to his knees knows exactly what I’m talking about.

And as I knelt there, in the middle of my room, praying for pain relief and for that ghost to go away, he turned to me and spoke five simple words. He said, “Never take advice from anyone.”

And just like that, he disappeared and never showed himself to me again. But I took his words to be a sign that I should never take advice from others but should, instead, pursue a career in the dispensation of advice. And so, my advice to you regarding ghosts is to always listen to them carefully. They may be telling you something very important.

CHAPTER 18

M
r. 5 sat at a booth in a roadside diner with Mr. 88, Mr.29, and Mr. 207. Despite the fact that his breakfast was perfectly delicious, Mr. 5 was not happy. For nearly two years now he had been tracking his prey, but on this morning, he had absolutely no clue as to where Mr. Cheeseman might be. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Mr. 1 would demote him to the lowly double-or triple-figure status of his dining companions, who were in the midst of a very meaningful discussion.

“Now what about pulverizing? What is that?” asked Mr. 207.

“Pulverizing is what I’m going to do to all of you if you don’t shut up this instant,” said Mr. 5, slamming his juice glass down onto the table for emphasis. “We had them. We were so close this time and once again they’ve completely vanished.”

“Maybe they used the LVR,” said Mr. 207 through a mouthful of buttered toast. “It’s possible. I mean, if the whole reason we’ve been after them all these years is because they have a machine that can enable time travel, then it’s quite logical to assume they may have already used it for that purpose.”

“You’d better hope that’s not the case,” said Mr. 5.“Because if the LVR is already working, they’re liable to go back to a certain time in history that none of us would like to revisit. Remember, you’re all accomplices in the death of Mrs. Cheeseman. It was you, Mr. 88, who spiked her coffee that morning. And it was you, Mr. 29, who picked the lock on the door to let him in.”

“What about me?” asked Mr. 207. “I was sick that week. Sore throat.”

“You’ll have more than a sore throat if you don’t stop talking,” said Mr. 5. “If we don’t find them before they perfect the LVR, we could all find ourselves in a great deal of trouble.”

“I told you we should have taken care of the whole family,” said Mr. 88.

“And that’s exactly why you are where you are today,” hissed Mr. 5. “Because of idiotic statements like that. Don’t you realize that we need Mr. Cheeseman alive? Even if we had the LVR, he’s the only person who knows the computer code to make it work.”

When Mr. 5 and the others had finished their breakfast, they walked out to the car just as a school bus was pulling into the parking lot. They watched as several odd-looking people got off the bus.

“Look at that,” said Mr. 5 to his friends.

“No kidding,” said Mr. 207. “That beard is out of control.”

“No, you moron. I’m talking about the earmuffs. I’ve only ever seen earmuffs like that on one other person.”

“The Cheeseman kid,” said Mr. 88.

“Exactly.”

As Jibby and the rest of his crew walked toward the diner, they found their path suddenly blocked by four men they had never seen before.

“Excuse me,” said Mr. 5. “Sorry to bother you. I couldn’t help but notice those exquisite earmuffs you’re wearing. Do you mind telling me where you got them?”

“Sure,” said Dizzy. “I got them from my friend Ethan.”

Mr. 5’s eyebrow raised involuntarily. “Ethan, you say. Any idea where we might find this Ethan fellow?”

“Well, the last time I saw them—”

“That’s enough, Dizzy,” Jibby interrupted, then turned to address Mr. 5 and his friends. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Just a guy with cold ears, that’s all,” said Mr. 5.

“It’s the middle of June,” said Three-Eyed Jake.

“Tell that to your buddy,” said Mr. 5, nodding toward Dizzy.

“Oh, these earmuffs aren’t for keeping your ears warm,” said Dizzy. “They were invented by Ethan so that people like me—”

“Okay, that’s it, Dizzy,” said Jibby. “I am officially revoking your speaking privileges.”

“But—”

“Effective immediately.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Mr. 5. “I was just admiring the earmuffs and wanted to know where I might get a pair for myself.”

“We don’t know,” said Jibby.

“So you have no idea where Ethan Cheeseman is right now?”

“That’s funny,” said Jibby. “We never told you our friend’s last name.”

“I’m sure you must have,” said Mr. 5.

“I don’t think so. Now stand aside. We’re going to get some breakfast.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go until I get a little more information,” said Mr. 5, who nodded to Mr. 88, who responded to the nod by pulling a handgun from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

“Now wait just a minute here,” said Jibby.

“No, you wait just a minute,” said Mr. 5. “If you don’t tell us what we need to know, the only breakfast you and your little band of freaks will be eating is through a straw. Is that understood?”

Jibby looked at the gun and then back at Mr. 5.

“If you’re gonna shoot us, you best do it now and get it over with. But just to advise you, you may get some of us, but you won’t get us all. And if you don’t get us all, that’s one living enemy you’ll wish you never made. And one more thing. If you ever threaten me again, it’ll be the last time. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Jibby pushed his way past Mr. 5 and marched up to the diner while the others followed. Mr. 88 stared at Mr. 5 with a look that seemed to say “Well? Should I shoot them?”

Mr. 5 responded by storming off across the parking lot. Mr. 88 shrugged and retired the gun to his holster, then joined the others in following Mr. 5 to the car.

Inside the diner, Jibby and his friends watched Mr. 5 and the others.

“What do you think?” asked Jake.

“I think Mr. Cheeseman and his children might be in even more trouble than we are,” said Jibby. “Those guys are bad news.”

Jough, Maggie, and Gerard were sitting on the creaky porch swing when Mr. Cheeseman drove into the driveway and got out of the car with Pinky right behind him.

“Good news,” he said. “I think I found the perfect place for us.”

“You mean we get to stay in this town?” asked Jough.

“Why not? It’s nice and quiet and Pinky hasn’t growled since yesterday.”

For a brief moment the children forgot all about ghosts on roller skates and government agents and international superspies and let out a cheer, happy that, for the next little while at least, they would not be living in their car.

Mr. Cheeseman warned the children that the house he had picked out was rather small because, after being on the run for so long, money was tight and it was all they could afford.

As they drove to the house, they passed a large empty field that until very recently had been home to an apple orchard. One day, large yellow machines came and removed all of the trees so houses could be built in their place. The machines then leveled out the ground and began digging a series of rectangular holes, each about four feet deep and roughly the width and length of an average-sized house. Of course the dirt had to go somewhere and next to each hole was a huge mound of cool, damp earth.

“Did you see that?” said Gerard as they passed the field. “There must be a zillion dirt clods there.”

“A gazillion,” said Steve.

“A Brazilian,” said Gerard, who was especially delighted to find that the field was only a half block from the small pink house Mr. Cheeseman had chosen as their new home.

Mr. Cheeseman had hardly come to a stop in the driveway when the children bolted from the car and ran through the empty house, which smelled like wet paint and carpet cleaner. Jough and Gerard raced to the bedroom facing the front yard and declared it theirs. Maggie ran to the bedroom facing the back and claimed it for herself. Pinky ran to the bathroom and drank from the toilet.

“Well, what do you think?” Mr. Cheeseman asked his children.

“You’re right, it is a little small,” said Maggie. “But it’s . . . cozy, I suppose.”

The house was very clean and very well maintained. The backyard smelled strongly of the bright pink lilacs that grew up against the fence.

“I chose it for the double garage and for the neighborhood. The schools are supposed to be very good.”

“What about the dirt clods?” said Gerard.

“Uh . . . yes,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “That was a very important consideration. Plus, there’s a nice park right down the street.”

“Is there a baseball diamond?” asked Jough. “At the park?”

“There are three,” said Mr. Cheeseman with a smile.“Now, we should be able to get some furniture delivered in the next few days, but in the meantime, I’m afraid we’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

This was another reason money was tight. Each time Mr. Cheeseman packed up his family and moved them to a new location he had to buy new furniture, which he usually found at any number of local secondhand stores.

“Can we get bunk beds this time?” Gerard pleaded hopefully.

“No,” said Jough. “You toss and turn when you sleep and shake the bed all night. Besides, I don’t want your bubble gum dropping onto my head.”

For the next few nights, they all slept on the floor in their sleeping bags. Gerard talked Mr. Cheeseman into setting up one of the tents in the boys’ room so he could at least pretend he was camping out. When the furniture finally arrived, they unpacked their things and did their best to make the place their home.

Maggie unpacked her books, her hair-care products, and her archery equipment. Jough unpacked his clothes and his baseball glove. Gerard unpacked his toys and his presidential dirt clod collection.

“Darn it,” he said as he lined each dirt clod up on his new dresser. “Every time we have to move, one of them ends up damaged. Look, Grover Cleveland’s beard broke off.”

Jough took the dirt clod from Gerard and examined it briefly.

“That is a shame,” said Jough, trying to sound sincere.“But now it looks just like Ty Cobb.”

“Who’s Ty Cobb?”

“He was a famous baseball player.”

“But I don’t like sports.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Jough. “How can you like dirt and not like sports?”

“I don’t like dirt,” said Gerard. “I only like dirt
clods
. There’s a difference.”

When they had finally gotten the house in order, Mr. Cheeseman began the arduous task of reassembling the LVR so that, once he was able to figure out the formula, it would be ready to go.

In the meantime, the children were becoming accustomed to their new home and their new town. Being that they were smart, pleasant, witty, attractive, polite, and relatively odor free, they all made friends quite easily.

The first to make a friend was Jough. One Sunday afternoon he wanted nothing more than to play catch. He got out his baseball glove and ball but found that Mr. Cheeseman was hard at work in the garage, Gerard was hunting for dirt clods at the construction site down the street, and Maggie was, well, the chances of Maggie agreeing to play catch were about the same as Jough agreeing to put on a tutu and dance
Swan Lake.
Though she was by no means a girlie-girl, baseball was of absolutely no interest to her.

Not to be denied, Jough took his glove and his ball to the front yard, where he proceeded to throw the ball high into the air, letting it bounce off the sloped roof and into his awaiting glove. After ten or so minutes of this, Jough looked over to see a boy just about his own age standing at the edge of the yard.

He was the most well-dressed boy Jough had ever seen. His hair was short and tidy. He wore dark blue shorts with a matching blue shirt, white socks, and shiny brown leather shoes.

“Hello there,” the boy said with a nod.

“Hello,” said Jough.

“Do you like baseball?”

“Yeah,” said Jough. “I’d like to pitch in the World Series someday.”

“You must be pretty good then.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure whether I am or not,” said Jough. “My family moves around so much that I hardly ever get to play. But I can throw a screwball. My dad’s a physicist and he taught me how to throw all kinds of pitches using scientific principles. How about you? Do you play?”

“I play pinochle, backgammon, three-dimensional chess, and the bass drum in the school band,” said the boy. “But no baseball. Not anymore. My dad made me sign up for baseball last year, but I was absolutely terrible.”

“Oh come on,” said Jough. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

“You don’t understand,” said the boy. “My dad would come to the games and tell the other dads that I had a wooden leg.”

“Oh.”

“And a glass eye.”

“I see.”

“And that I was adopted. Then, on the way home after the game, he would make fun of me and remind me of everything I did wrong, which was, well, everything.”

“Wow, that’s too bad,” said Jough. “I guess I’m lucky that my dad has always been very supportive.”

“Aw, it’s just as well,” said the boy. “I’m allergic to grass. And plants. And most kinds of dirt.”

“So, in other words, you’re allergic to . . . Earth?”

“Pretty much. Except for the parts that have been paved over. Thank goodness for the indoors.”

“That must be awful.”

“I take medicine. I’m Elliot, by the way,” said the boy as he walked across the yard with his well-dressed arm fully extended. “Elliot Walsingham.”

Jough took Elliot’s hand and shook. “I’m Jough. Nice to meet you.”

“It was only a matter of time,” said Elliot. “I live in that big green house just down the street. The one with the blue convertible in the driveway. I’m sure you’ve heard me practicing the bass drum.”