I So Don't Do Spooky (18 page)

“Josh, my man, time to get those copper dowsing rods into position. Junie, Sherry, be at the ready with your equipment.” All military, Zane spreads his legs apart. Elbows straight, he holds out the gaussmeter. “I. Am. Now. Turning. On. The. Meter.”

Our eyes glued to the thin red needle, we lean toward Zane and his magic machine. Zane thumb-flicks the On switch.

And … nothing. Nada. Zilch.

The needle doesn't waver, doesn't quiver, doesn't budge.

Slowly, slowly, we trek around the school. We're dead quiet, totally focused on every sound, every movement, every breath.

My muscles ache with tension. Like the day after we do weights in PE. Josh is mummy-walking, the dowsing rods out in front of him. Junie's index finger hovers above the shutter button. Zane handles his expensive meter like he's in charge of the royal jewels. In one hand, Amber waves the digital thermometer. In the other, she's manning a flashlight, sweeping its arc of light on the ground in front of us so we don't stumble over stray trash.

We search the north side of the school.

Nothing.

The east side.

Nothing.

The west side.

Nothing.

The south side.

Nothing.

Back at the office door, Josh lowers the dowsing rods. The camera whirrs as Junie switches it off. With out discussion, we congregate in a circle. Very horror-movie-ish.

I blow out a breath and begin to relax from the neck down. Vertebrae by vertebrae I'm turning rubbery.

“I'm bored.” Amber's whine slices the night air. “Let's go to a club or something, Zane.”

Annoyance flits across his face.

With furrowed brow, Zane looks each of us in the eye. He saves Amber for last. “Team, we've done good work here. The area is clean.” He clicks off the meter. “I sense some disappointment. And I don't like disappointed troops. Let's move our operation elsewhere. According to a fellow ghost hunter I had lunch with today, there is a middle school in the area with paranormal activity.

“Donner.”

L
eaning against the office door at Donner Middle School, Amber announces, “I'm still bored.”

Sounds like Zane's already traveling the exit ramp on Amber's freeway of romance.

Zane ignores her. “We need to be extra careful here. Because we've broken rule number two. I did not check out the location during daylight hours.”

“I know my way around the pool area,” Josh says.

Zane ignores him. The Ghost Hunter is a focused dude.

I don't mention that I know which sidewalk leads to the computer lab, home of the Donner robotics club.

We get all organized. Junie turns on the camera. Josh has the dowsing sticks out and in position. I'm
carrying the tape recorder. Amber's scowling and twirling the thermometer in the air. Zane, of course, guards the gaussmeter. Everyone has a flashlight.

Amber stands at attention. “Flashlights,” she intones, “on.”

Zane goes still, his head at an angle. “There's a buzz in the air here. A paranormal energy. I can feel it.”

There's a buzz in my stomach too. Called panic + fear.
Sniff. Sniff
. Everything smells normal.

“So, Zane,” I say, “how hard is it to identify a ghost? As in, get their name?”

“Depends on the ghost.” He doesn't even look at me; he's dialing into the atmosphere. “A friendly ghost might tell you his name. An unfriendly ghost? You gotta put together the clues, ask questions of the living. It's not easy.”

So not the answer I want.

We move en masse toward the pool, like a giant bug with ten legs and ten pairs of eyes. Off-key, Amber's humming a vaguely familiar song.

“You okay?” Junie murmurs to me.

I shrug. “Barely.”

“Something's here,” Zane whispers. “The hairs on my arms are standing up.”

I'm not sure how he can tell with a long-sleeved T-shirt on, but I'm buying it. And edging toward freak-out.

We plod around the pool. A breeze comes up. I'm
sniffing so hard, I'll probably end up with a hugely embarrassing nosebleed.

“Nothing here,” Zane says. “Let's head back to the school buildings.”

Another breeze. Zane stops. “The needle's moving.”

We all crowd around. Sure enough, it's wavering. Faintly. In fact, you could easily miss the movement if you weren't staring with bugged-out eyeballs.

Amber stops humming.

The dowsing rods begin to shake, ever so slightly. “It's not me,” Josh says. “I'm trying to hold them still.” His arm muscles are taut with effort.

Junie points the camera at the L-shape where the ends of the rods meet.

And then I smell it. Faintly. The telltale scent of honey + dirty socks.

Yikes!

I poke the flashlight in my pocket, then, with my free hand, reach to rub the amethyst.

It's not there!

The clasp! It was warped from when I ripped the necklace off earlier in the garden. The necklace must have slipped off in the car.

Yikes!

Should I run for it? Leave the safety of my friends? And Zane's equipment and his bizarre piggyback technique? Is the necklace for sure in Amber's car?

I rack my brain. Yes! I can definitely remember
touching the amethyst on the ride between the two middle schools.

The stalker smell gets stronger.

“Look at the meter now!” Zane says.

The needle's jumping and jiggling like kids at an after-school dance.

The rods are shaking. Josh is quiet, concentrating, staring at the ends.

I shove my hand in my pocket. “Zane,” I say all hysterical, “you didn't give us the cloves.”

“Amber,” Zane says in a low voice, “reach into my backpack. Very slowly. Don't scare the spirit.” His eyes widen. “The meter's really going ballistic!”

Sure enough, the needle's bobbing and peaking and dancing and prancing. My pulse is doing the same thing.

I mouth to Junie, “He's here!” I point to my bare neck, where there should be a protective amethyst necklace.

“Get the cloves now, Sherry,” Junie says.

The honey + dirty socks smell is nauseatingly strong.

“That's
my
job.” Amber reaches for the zipper. She grabs hold of the tab and pulls. The zipper's teeth yawn open.

The zipper closes. Fast.

Amber frowns, guiding the zipper open again.

The zipper snaps shut.

“Sherry, I don't like cloves,” the ghost-stalker says.
“Tell your friend not to waste her time. I could do this all night.”

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

The dowsing rods start shaking and jerking like they're in seizure mode.

“I can barely hold on to these,” Josh says through clenched teeth.

Amber reads the thermometer. “Fifty-five degrees.”

“That's a drop of ten degrees,” Junie says.

An orb glows sickly green between the ends of the two rods. It grows and grows until it's the size of a bowling ball. Shimmering and glowing in the night.

Click, click, click
. Junie's finger taps on the camera's release button.

The wind roars in my ears. My pulse roars in my ears. I can't tell what's from the ghost and what's from my fright.

The camera is ripped from Junie's hand. Tiny and dark, it sails high above us toward the bright of a school light. With a crash, it smashes into the light and the bulb winks out.

The wind blows strong and noisy. Like the ghost's swirling around us. The rods dance out of Josh's hands and clatter away.

The five of us stand there, silent and stunned.

Junie makes the first move. She unhooks her necklace and whirls it in the air, cowgirl-lasso style.

“This spirit is out of control!” Zane shouts. “I don't think one amethyst will make a difference.”

But the wind dies down.

From above us, the ghost-stalker says, “This is between us, Sherry. Your friends can go home.”

He sounds like he's around my age! I call out, “Who are you?”

Everyone looks at me like I've totally lost it. Of course, they can't hear him. And they don't know how desperately I need his name for the silver box.

“Get Ms. Paulson to quit robotics.” The stalker's blurry shape skitters in the night sky.

He ignored my question, but calling The Ruler Ms. Paulson is a clue that he's not from my school.

“I can make things very ugly,” he says, gliding closer to me, “if you don't do what I say.”

Like at the Party Store when they inflate balloons with helium, I start filling up with fear.

And then the image of a glittering amethyst twirls into my mind. One amethyst, and he's backing off. Two amethysts might chase him away.

“Let's go,” I say. I whisper to Junie that my amethyst is in Amber's car.

“Yeah.” Josh grabs my hand. “We're outta here.”

“No, no!” Zane drops to his hands and knees. “I've got it covered.”

I kick at the sole of Zane's shoe. “Get up! Get up!”

He starts mumbling in some strange language, chanting the same string of sounds over and over.

It's definitely not French. Too many vowels.

“Zane,” Amber says, “we're leaving.”

The four of us sprint to the parking lot. A breeze blows along with us, but high in the air. I can still smell honey + dirty socks. The ghost is following us!

I'm slightly out in front, determined to get my necklace from Amber's car. As quickly as possible.

My fingers grasp the door handle. The ghost swooshes in close to me. He blows angry smelly air all around.

“Junie!” I yell. “Your necklace!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a light bobbing closer and closer to our strange scene. It's a bicycle. The rider is pedaling head down, focused on the pathway. Shoulder-length, midnight black hair flows from under one side of her helmet.

It's Claire!

As she pedals under a light, she looks up and sees me. Her face registers complete and total confusion. Then she glances above me.

I follow her gaze. The ghost-stalker's hazy image hovers. He's staring at Claire.

Still gawking up at the ghost, Claire's headed straight for a post—the post with the robotics meeting announcement. Her lips part and she gasps, “Dylan?”

T
he air is totally still. The smell of honey + dirty socks has disappeared. The ghost is gone.

We rush over to Claire. She pushes her bike off her chest and sits up.

I kneel. “You okay?”

She rubs her forehead, right next to a smear of dirt. She glares at me. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Long story, but nothing to do with robotics.” While I'm answering her, all kinds of mystery pieces are slotting into place. She saw the ghost. She named the ghost. What is the connection between Claire and the stalker? I need to talk with her alone.

I gesture with my arm to Josh, Junie and Amber. “Maybe you should go check on Zane?”

They leave.

“What's up, Claire?” I ask. “How come you're riding your bike in the middle of the night?”

She stands and brushes bits of grass and dirt off her sweatpants. “Get lost, Sherry.”

Obviously not a girl known for her manners. “Look, when I snuck into your robotics club meeting, it wasn't to spy on your program,” I say.

Claire rubs her forehead again, still missing the dirt.

Voices float through the dark toward us. Josh, Junie, Amber and Zane are approaching the parking lot. I need info from Claire. Fast.

“So did you see anything weird before you crashed into the post?” I'm watching Claire closely.

She swings a leg over her bike. She avoids my eyes. “Nope.”

“You did so. We both did,” I say. “A blurry outline of a ghost.”

She spins a pedal with her foot, then jerks it to a stop. “I'm going home.” She mutters under her breath, “Like I can even concentrate now.”

“Claire, you saw a ghost.”

She's on her bike and getting her balance.

“Who's Dylan, Claire?”

Without even a wave goodbye, she rides off.

Josh, Junie, Amber and Zane show up. We help Zane pack his ghost-hunting stuff. He's strangely
quiet, perhaps plotting a return trip with his ghost-hunter buddies. In other words, without us. Which is okeydokey by me. My next meeting with the stalker will be in a cemetery at midnight. Way frightening.

We wave goodbye as he drives into the night.

“Where's your friend on the bike?” Amber asks.

“Gone home,” I say. “But she's not really a friend.”

“I guess that's why she got Josh's name wrong.” Amber unlocks the car doors.

“I've never seen her before.” Josh shakes his head.

“I thought maybe she had you mixed up with another polo player.” Junie opens the passenger door.

They all think Claire was referring to Josh when she said “Dylan.” They don't realize she was talking to the ghost. Only Claire and I saw the ghost-stalker!

When Amber's backing out, Josh says, “You know, I came tonight for laughs. I never believed in ghosts before. But I sure do now.”

Amber nods. “And I am so done with all this. That kind of wind is not good for my skin type.”

“What about Zane?” Junie asks. “He's not giving up ghosts any time soon.”

“I am so done with him too. That guy is not my type.”

Can't argue there. Amber's more into guys with motorcycles and reputations for breaking curfew. Not guys who mumble in a foreign language and who'll always rate a ghost higher than her.

We drive in silence. Because we're totally exhausted. And more than a little freaked. I pat the seat until my fist closes around my necklace.

Tomorrow will bring a big whopping powwow with my mom and grandfather.