Haunted Island (7 page)

“You mean like this one?”

Chris quickly turned and looked at the spot to which Amy was pointing. At eye level, directly opposite the kitchen door, was a niche in the wall. Inside the niche was wedged a small, rectangular box. Chris eagerly rushed up the stairs, grabbed it, and opened it. “I found it!” he said.

“You mean
I
found it,” Amy said. She stepped back into the kitchen, and Chris followed her. “You still haven’t told me what it is.”

“It’s a tinder box,” he said.

“What’s a tinder box?”

“I read about them when I was working on my pioneer project. The museum even has one on exhibit. There’s a piece of flint and a piece of steel inside. People would rub the flint and steel together to make sparks, and the sparks would catch on kindling and start a fire.”

“You’re smarter than I thought you were.” Amy grinned at Chris. “Now, can we get out of this awful house? You promised that when I said we should go, we’d go, and I’ve been saying it and saying it.”

“I keep my promises,” Chris said. “We’ll go back to the beach right now.” He tucked the box into a pocket of his jeans.

Amy ran to pick up the oiled paper and wrapped the journal tightly. “Poor Amelia,” she said. “I wonder what happened to you.”

The house suddenly trembled as though caught in a rush of wind.

Amy and Chris stared at each other, then scrambled to get out the front door.

“Something heard us,” Amy whispered, looking back at the house.

“It was just the wind,” Chris said.

The air was still and damp. “What wind?” Amy asked.

Before Chris could answer, a mournful cry drifted down from the top of the hill. “Shadow! Here, Shadow! Come!”

“Joshua Hanover!” Chris said.

“Run!” Amy yelled.

Chris raced through the woods, stumbling and tripping and bouncing off the trees until he reached the beach. He flung himself down on the ground next to the pile of branches they had made.

“Maybe we won’t have to wait until tonight to light this,” he said. “Maybe we should set it off right now.”

Amy didn’t answer, so he said, “What do you think? Will they see the bonfire back at the inn?”

He turned to look at Amy. “Well?”

But Amy wasn’t there.

Chris jumped to his feet. “Amy? Where are you? Amy!”

He hurried back to the route they’d taken through the woods, retracing his steps toward the Hanovers’ house. “Amy,” he called. He shuddered. What had happened to Amy?

He made his way between two trees, and skirted a fallen tree. “Amy!”

“Chris!” The hiss came from behind the large log. “Over here! Be quiet!”

Chris stretched to look over the log and saw his sister huddled against the fallen branches.

“What are you doing there?” he asked.

“Get back here with me! Quick!” she whispered again, adding, “And be quiet!”

Chris crawled over the log, dropping beside her. “Why didn’t you run to the beach with me?”

“You were faster than I was. I thought I’d better hide.”

“From what? Joshua Hanover? We heard him up at the top of the hill.”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t know from what. There was something close behind us. It was catching up.”

“Did you see it?”

“No. But I knew it was there.”

The close-growing pines seemed to cut out much of the morning light. “I didn’t see anything,” Chris said. “And I’d feel safer in the open than I do in this forest.”

“But what about whatever was chasing us?”

“I didn’t see anything, and I was yelling for you and making a lot of noise. If something were trying to catch us, it would have found me in a hurry.” Chris stood up and held out a hand to Amy. “Come on. I’d rather be on the beach.”

“And I’d rather be back at the inn,” Amy said, but she took his hand and got to her feet. She brushed pine needles from her shirt and jeans and looked around cautiously.

“Want to race back?” Chris asked. The damp silence in the woods made him edgy.

“No. I want to walk quietly and carefully.”

“It will take longer.”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.” Amy’s expression was solemn. “I want to be able to hear whatever might be near us.”

“I’m sorry—” Chris started to say, for the first time feeling guilty that he had been so eager to come to the island that he had talked Amy into it.

“Shhhh,” Amy said, interrupting him. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

She held the journal tightly, and together they carefully walked through the forest on their way to the beach.

Chris let out a huge sigh of relief as they broke through the trees onto the strip of beach, and Amy said, “We made it!” But she suddenly grabbed Chris’s hand so tightly that it hurt. “Chris! What happened to our pile of wood for the bonfire?”

The wood, which had been so carefully stacked and made ready for the fire, had been scattered.

Chris ran forward and kicked at the nearest pine branch. “Who did this?” he shouted.

“We’ll have to put it all back together!” Amy said. “And it was so much hard work in the first place!”

Chris groaned. “We haven’t got a choice. Let’s get back to work.”

Just then a low growl came from the edge of the woods. They whirled to stare. There, standing in the path they had made, was a huge black dog. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. He took a step toward them.

“D
ON’T MOVE!” CHRIS MURMURED
. The dog took one step and stopped. The stiff hair on its neck bristled as it growled low in its throat.

Carefully, slowly, while keeping his eyes on the dog, Chris bent and picked up a pine branch that was about three feet long with brittle clusters of needles at one end. It was splattered with small lumps of pitch. “Hold this,” Chris said to Amy.

From his pocket he pulled the tinder box and opened it. The dog raised his head and moved a step closer to them. It stared into Chris’s eyes.

Chris held the flint and steel under the dried needles on the branch and quickly struck them together. Sparks flew, the needles and pitch caught, and fire suddenly blazed, turning the branch into a torch.

Chris dropped the flint and steel and grabbed the branch. He ran toward the dog, holding the branch ahead of him. “Get out of here, Shadow!” he shouted. “Go away!”

Like an echo, far up the hill, a cry came. “Shadow! Come!”

Instantly the dog disappeared.

Amy plopped down. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. My legs won’t hold me up.”

“While you’re down there, will you pick up the flint and steel for me?” Chris asked.

“Thanks for the sympathy,” Amy said.

“I was scared, too,” Chris said. He stuck the unlit end of the torch in the sand. The blaze had lasted only a few seconds, but the end of the branch continued to burn.

Amy put the flint and steel in the tinder box and handed it to Chris. “Shadow was going to attack us.”

Chris looked toward the woods where Shadow had appeared. “I don’t think ghosts can attack people.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, ghosts don’t have bodies. They’re just—just—whatever ghosts are made out of.”

Amy dusted off the seat of her jeans. “That doesn’t sound like a good scientific explanation.”

“Trust me,” Chris said. “Shadow can’t attack you. He’ll just appear or disappear, but he can’t do anything physical.”

Amy spread her arms wide. “Then how about this mess? He was able to do this to the wood we’d collected for our bonfire.”

Chris thought a minute. Then he said, “Maybe Amos did it.”

“Amos told us he couldn’t go to the island with us. It couldn’t have been Amos. And besides,” Amy said, “Amos is a ghost, too.”

“Why would Shadow do it? He’d want to get rid of us.”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Amy said, “that whoever did it doesn’t want us to leave.”

“So we have to find out why,” Chris said.

“I just want to get off this island. I don’t want to find out.”

“Finding out may be our only answer to getting off the island.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Chris glanced at Amy. “You aren’t going to like my idea, but I think we ought to go to the Hanovers’ house and look around again.”

“You’re right. I don’t like it. I hate it.” Amy shook her head. “The house was a mess of broken stuff. The only thing we found that was important was this journal. Besides, to get to the house we have to go back through that creepy woods.”

“It isn’t a very big woods.”

“I won’t do it,” Amy said.

“Maybe we can go around it,” Chris offered. “Let’s walk along the water’s edge and see if there’s some sort of break in the woods.”

Amy scowled. “I guess I’ll agree to that. But you have to promise we won’t go into the woods.”

“You can call it,” Chris said. “We won’t go into the woods unless you say so.”

“I’ve heard
that
before.”

Chris glanced at the small bundle in Amy’s hand. “Why don’t you leave that journal here?”

“Something might happen to it.”

“It’s wrapped in that oiled paper. Even if it rains it will be protected. Why don’t you wedge it in a branch of a tree?”

“Because,” Amy said firmly, “I want to take it with me.” She looked at the sky. “The clouds are so yucky and dark, it looks like it’s going to rain again any minute.” She tucked the wrapped journal under the belt on her jeans. “Okay,” she said, “I’m ready to go.”

Chris picked up the torch.

“Your torch is still burning,” Amy said. “That’s great! We can take it with us.”

“The pitch will keep the wood burning,” Chris said. “But pine burns fast. The torch won’t last much longer. It’s not worth taking.” He turned it and stuck it upside down in the sand, snuffing out the glow.

Chris walked along the shore in a southeasterly direction. Amy was right on his heels. At times a lone pine grew right at the water’s edge, and they had to climb and scramble over and around it. The shoreline was rocky, and twice Amy stumbled.

Chris jumped from a rock to a patch of flat land that created a small cove. He heard a splash and Amy’s shout.

“That does it!” she said. “Now I’ve scraped my elbow on that rock!” She sat down on the ground, pulled a tissue out of her pocket, and wadded it against her elbow.

Chris bent to examine the wound. “I’m sorry, Amy,” he said. “Is it bleeding very much?”

“No,” Amy said, “but it stings. How far do we have to go?”

Chris leaned back against the embankment, which was as high as his shoulders. He was sorry Amy had hurt her elbow, but he was glad for a chance to rest a moment. “Not too far,” he said.

“I don’t mind being here by the water,” she said, as she twisted to examine her elbow. “But I don’t like the woods. I get the feeling there are things in the woods—like bugs and whatever else lives in the woods—rats? Skunks?” Amy looked up at Chris and the edge of the woods beyond him. She dropped the tissue she’d been holding, and her mouth opened wide.

“Oh!” she whispered. “Chris, don’t move!”

“What—” he started to ask, but Amy slowly got to her feet.

“Don’t talk! Don’t make a sound!” she said. “There’s a snake up there on the ground near your head. I don’t know if he’s poisonous or not. He’s awfully close to you. If you move he might strike.”

She quickly bent and picked up a stone, then edged toward Chris, a step at a time. “When I say go, drop as fast as you can,” she murmured.

Chris tensed and watched his sister move into position. She slowly raised the stone. “Go!” she shouted.

He threw himself on the ground and heard a plop as the stone landed.

“Did you get him?” Chris yelled. He scrambled away from the bank and got to his feet.

“No,” Amy said, “but I scared him. He slithered off into the woods.” She made a face. “Yuck! I hate snakes! What would they be doing on this island? What do snakes eat?”

“Rats,” Chris said, then wished he hadn’t.

Amy gave a yelp. “I
knew
there were rats on this island!” She shuddered. “I don’t think Aunt Jennie is going to want to use this place for her guests.”

“Rats and snakes can be exterminated,” Chris said. “They’re no problem.”

“What about the ghosts? Are you going to figure out a way to exterminate them, too?” For a moment Amy looked as though she was going to cry. “I want to go back to the inn.”

“We will,” Chris said. “But for now we have to go just a little farther.”

“How much farther can we go? We must be almost at the opposite side of the island by this time.”

“Not quite.”

Amy looked up at the woods. “All I can see are trees. And it’s steep. We’re at the back of that hill.”

“Want to climb it?”

“No! That snake’s in there! And so are his relatives and friends!”

Chris climbed on a boulder at the other side of the little cove and looked ahead. “It’s that or go back,” he said. “We can’t make it along the shore anymore. There’s a steep, straight drop from the woods down to the water. At the bottom of the cliff are jagged rocks.”

“If we go back,” Amy said, “we might find Shadow there again. But if we go through the woods we don’t know what we’ll find.”

“We’ll find the house,” Chris said. He tried to sound positive and reassuring.

“Are you sure you’ll know the way?”

“The island isn’t that big, Amy. We can’t get lost. If we head into the woods here and go west, we’ll come to the house.”

“Which way is west?”

“Amy! Trust me.”

“Shadow won’t be expecting us to come from this direction, will he?” Amy asked.

“That’s what I told you.”

Amy managed to scramble up the bank at the edge of the woods. Clods of dirt slid from under her feet. “It’s slippery,” she said. “Be careful when you climb up here. That bank feels as though it’s going to collapse.” She picked up a small branch and flourished it in the air. “This is for hitting snakes and rats and…and…other things with,” she said.

Chris fell the first time he tried to climb the bank. Finally he reached as far as he could across the top, dug in with his fingers, and finally managed to make it to the top.

“Find a stick for yourself first,” Amy said.

With the number of small branches that had fallen, it took Chris only a minute to find one just the right size.