Ghouls Gone Wild (3 page)

“Horses?” I said. My voice cracked. “Horses make me sneeze. Even when I see them on TV!”

“You'll get used to them,” Mom said softly. “Let's all have a lovely celebration dinner. Enjoy your steak, Maxie.”

“Hey—who let Buster in the house?” Dad shouted.

I didn't see the big dog in time. All I saw was a blur of dark fur.

Buster leaped up and grabbed the whole steak off my plate. He gobbled it down in seconds without even chewing.

“My steak!” I cried. I stared down at the dog, who was licking his chops.

Dad tossed back his head and hee-hawed. “That dog is
crazy
for meat!”

I gazed at my empty plate. My stomach growled. Or was that Buster?

Mom turned to my brother. “Colin, share your steak with Max,” she said.

“I can't,” Colin said. “Coach says I need protein.” He sawed off a big chunk of meat, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed it in my face.

Mom let out a sigh. “Sorry, Max. There's no more steak.” She stood up and walked to the food cabinet. She brought me a bowl and the box of Frosted Flakes. “Here. You like these.”

So I ate Frosted Flakes while everyone else ate steak.

“I've already put the house on the market,” Dad said. “Mr. Grimmus, my new boss, is coming all the way from Texas in a few days. He wants to meet you all. I guess he wants to check us out. Make sure I'm right for the job.”

Mom patted Dad's hand. “Of course you're right for the job,” she said.

Dad let out a really loud burp.

Sometimes he and Colin have burping contests. They go for loudness and for length of time. I tried to join in once, but I barfed up my entire dinner.

We all turned back to the TV. On the news, they were showing the swimming pool accident again. There I was, holding up the mayor's pants while he flopped and floundered in the pool.

Dad shook his head. “It's a really good thing we're leaving town,” he said. “I've met Mayor Stank. He's not a nice man. Believe me. He holds a grudge.”

A chill gripped the back of my neck.
A grudge?

I climbed the stairs to my room. I felt strange—excited and worried at the same time. I decided to practice my magic. That always calms me down.

I picked up the milk bottles I'd been working with. I'm trying to teach myself to juggle full milk bottles. I think that will be a really exciting finish to my act.

If I drop one, the bottle will shatter and milk will fly all over. It will be messy. But I don't plan to drop any.

I started practicing with just two bottles. They were heavy and hard to toss and catch.

“How can you juggle at a time like this?” a voice said. Tara appeared beside me. She grabbed one of the bottles. “We heard everything, Max.”

Nicky appeared in front of me. “You're moving! What are we going to do?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Beats me.”

“You can't move. You
can't!”
Tara cried. She was tossing a milk bottle from hand to hand. I took it away from her.

“We have to wait in this house for Mom and
Dad to come back,” Nicky said, pacing back and forth. “Tara and I can't leave.”

“You'll be safe here,” I said. “It won't be so bad. Someone else will move in and help you. You'll be okay.”

“But we
need
you, Max,” Tara said. “You're the only one who can see and hear us.”

“You have to stop your dad,” Nicky said. “You can't let him move your family away.”

“What can I do?” I said. “I can't stop him. We're moving as soon as he sells the house.”

Nicky and Tara grew silent. I could see they were thinking hard.

“Hey, you wouldn't try anything—would you?” I asked. “You wouldn't try to stop us from moving!”

Tara smiled at me. “Of course not, Maxie.”

O
N
S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON
, I walked to Aaron's house to tell him the bad news. Aaron and I have been friends since we were little kids.

Even when he was a baby, he was kinda strange. For example, he learned to walk—and then a few months later, he learned to crawl.

I knew he'd be upset about my family moving away. It was going to be really tough for both of us. For one thing, Aaron had the first season of
Buffy
, and I had the second season. How would we ever trade episodes?

Aaron greeted me at the door and led me to his room. He was wearing a blue and red
Star Trek
cap, sideways; brown shorts; and a T-shirt that said:
DON'T
WEAR THIS.

Where does he find these dumb shirts?

He closed the door behind us. “Shhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “I brought home a jar of honey.”

I squinted at him. “Honey? Why?”

“I'm going to pour it into my sister's bed,” he whispered.

“Why?” I asked.

“Revenge,” he said.

Aaron spends a big part of every day getting revenge on his six-year-old sister, Kaytlin.

Aaron giggled. “Tonight she'll climb into bed. She won't see the honey till it's too late. She'll be sticky for the rest of her life.” He giggled some more.

“I came over to tell you something,” I said.

“Shhh. Not now,” he whispered. “I'll show you the jar of honey.” He grabbed his backpack and pulled it open.

His mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged. He let out a groan. “Oh noooo.”

I peered into the backpack. The lid had come off the jar. The thick, sticky honey had spilled all over Aaron's books and binders.

He lifted his math book out. It was dripping with a heavy layer of gunk.

“Ruined,” Aaron moaned. “I'm ruined.” He dropped the soaked textbook into the backpack. “Kaytlin did this!” he cried, shaking a fist. “She did this. This means
war!”

“But Aaron, I need to tell you something,” I said.

He tossed the backpack down and flew out the door. I followed him to the kitchen.

“Maybe we have some in this cabinet,” he said. He pulled open the door and began shoving jars
and bottles out of his way. “Yes! Here it is!” He held up a jar. “A big jar. We haven't lost. This war is just beginning.”

“We?”

He pulled off the lid and tossed it aside. Then he ran past me with the jar raised in front of him. His eyes were wild. His mouth was twisted in an evil grin.

I followed him down the long hall. He stopped at his sister's room and peeked in. “She's not home,” he said. “Come on. Let's rock and roll.”

He tiptoed to Kaytlin's dresser and slid open the top drawer He giggled. “It's her underwear drawer. Check it out.”

I didn't really want to see Kaytlin's underwear. But I didn't have a choice. I peeked into the drawer.

Her underpants were neatly folded in rows, organized by color.

“Aaron, I really have to tell you something,” I tried again.

But he motioned for me to hush. Then he leaned the honey jar against the drawer and tipped it upside down. Slowly, slowly, the thick goop started to pour out onto Kaytlin's underpants.

Aaron moved the jar slowly back and forth. He had covered two rows of underpants when his mother stepped into the room.

“Aaron? What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

Aaron turned around, still holding the jar over the drawer. “Uh…nothing,” he said.

“You are going to be doing nothing for a long, long time,” she said. “Because you are grounded for life.”

“Not again,” Aaron said.

So I had to leave. I didn't have a chance to tell Aaron my sad news. I decided to e-mail him when I got home.

T
HE SUN HAD GONE DOWN
.
I started to walk home from Aaron's house. Fog floated in, making the trees and houses hazy.

I heard soft thuds behind me. I realized that someone was following me.
Again!

I turned. I saw him. The boy dressed in black. The boy with the old man's face.

My heart started to pound. My legs felt shaky and weak. I decided to stop and face him. “Who are you?” I cried. “What do you want?”

And then once again, he whispered the words:
“I'm watching… I'm watching …”

Huh? Watching? Watching
me?

Why?

His voice sent a shiver down my back.

Suddenly, car headlights swept over the ground as an SUV turned the corner. The light poured right through the boy.

Right through him!

He took off, bending low to avoid the light.

And I realized he was a ghost. He had to be a ghost.

I took a deep breath. No sign of him now. The light had frightened him away. I turned and ran home.

I found Mom in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. “Mom, someone followed me!” I cried.

“That's nice, dear,” she said. She didn't look up. She was busy cleaning.

“No, Mom—listen!” I cried. “It was scary. A boy—he chased me. He had an old man's face. I—”

Finally, she turned around. “Oh my goodness!” she cried. “Look at you. Max, this won't do! The Marvins will be here any minute.”

“Who?”

“Get clean. Get changed. Clean your room. Clean, clean, clean!” she cried.

I stared at her. “I don't understand. A strange old man chased me. I think he might have been a ghost—”

“No time for your ghost stories,” Mom said. She started to push me out of the kitchen. “Mrs. Flake will be here soon. She's the real estate agent, Maxie.”

“Mrs. Flake?”

“Don't laugh at her name, whatever you do,” Mom warned. “She doesn't know it's a funny name.”

“But Mom—” I started.

“She's bringing a nice young couple. The Mar-vins. To look at our house.”

No way would Mom listen to my story. With a sigh, I heaved myself upstairs. I pulled off my clothes and carried them to the laundry room.

I took a hot shower. Put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

“Clean, clean, clean,” Mom had said. So I did my best to straighten my room. I made my bed and I picked up a lot of junk from the floor and shoved it into my closet.

I felt really tense. I couldn't stop thinking about that guy in black.

I needed to talk to somebody. “Nicky? Tara? Where are you?” I called.

No answer.

Where were they? Were they angry at me because I wanted to move and leave them behind? They'd been disappearing a lot lately. They said they couldn't control it.

I needed to talk to them. I needed to tell them I knew they were angry at me. But they had to understand—there was nothing I could do about it.

I picked up three of my six heavy milk bottles and started to juggle them. I knew the juggling would calm me down. But I was so tense, I couldn't get my rhythm going.

When the front doorbell rang, all three bottles flew from my hands.

With a wild swipe, I grabbed them all before they hit the floor. Mom wouldn't be too happy to find broken glass and pools of milk all over the rug.

I heard voices downstairs. A woman said, “What a charming place.” Then a man said, “This is just the right size.”

I set the milk bottles on my desk. I lined up all six to make them look neat.

A few minutes later, Mom led everyone into my bedroom. Mrs. Flake was a white-haired woman with flashing blue eyes and bright purple lipstick. The Marvins were blond and thin and nice-looking.

Mr. Marvin wore a red tie and a blue blazer. His wife wore a short denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt.

“This is Max,” Mom said. I nodded to them. “You'll have to excuse the messiness,” Mom said.

Messiness? I cleaned everything up!

Mrs. Marvin gave me a sweet smile. “How old are you, Max?” she asked. I hate when grown-ups ask that question.

“Eleven years, eleven months, and four days,” I said.

They all laughed. “Max likes math,” Mom said.

Mrs. Flake waved a hand around the room.
“Notice the windows,” she told the Marvins. “They give a lot of light.”

The Marvins walked around my room. “Very charming,” Mrs. Marvin said. “What are those?”

She walked up to the row of milk bottles. Her husband followed her.

“Do you collect old milk bottles?” he asked.

“No. I juggle,” I said.

“You juggle bottles filled with milk?” Mrs. Flake asked.

I didn't have a chance to answer. The six bottles suddenly floated up into the air. And then, with a loud
pop pop pop
, the lids flew off.

Nicky and Tara! They
had
to be doing this!

I knew it. They're angry—and they're trying to chase the Marvins away! They think they can stop me from moving!

I let out a cry as gushers of milk flew up high— almost to the ceiling—then came pouring down over the Marvins.

They both ducked, but they weren't fast enough. The milk plopped onto their heads, their shoulders, their clothes. Thick white clots clung to their hair.

“It's
sour!”
Mrs. Marvin cried, her hands in her hair. “Oh, it smells. It
smells!”

I held my nose. But I could still smell the putrid odor of the sour milk.

Mrs. Flake was gagging and choking. Holding
her hands over her face, she staggered out into the hall.

The Marvins flapped their arms and shook their bodies. They were drenched in the thick, sour glop.

Wiping clots of milk from their eyes, moaning and choking, they staggered after Mrs. Flake.

A few seconds later, the front door slammed. The Marvins were gone.

Mom glared angrily at me, hands on her hips. She tapped one shoe on the floor. I could see she was too angry to speak.

I took my fingers off my nose. “Mom,” I said, “does this mean they won't buy the house?”

M
OM AND
I
WORKED
for more than an hour to clean up the mess. She kept biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. She didn't say a word to me the whole time.

She wore a scarf over her nose and mouth to keep out the smell. We both had buckets and sponges. The milk had soaked the wall, the floor, my desk—everywhere. I pulled big clots of it from my computer keyboard.

Mom didn't talk. But Dad had a lot to say when he got home.

“Max, you're part of this family. You can't pull stupid stunts like this to keep us from moving.”

Of course, Jerk Face Colin had to chime in: “There's sour milk left in one bottle. Make Max drink it, Dad. Make him drink it!”