R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 07

M
Y SISTER
, T
ARA, AND
I
were arguing. For a change.

“You didn't have to throw the fish up in the air,” I said. “You got Max into a lot of trouble.”

“It was a joke, Nicky,” Tara said. “It was supposed to be funny.”

“Max didn't think it was funny,” I said. “And what about the rest of the class? When the fish cracked in half, those poor kids started screaming their heads off.”

“That's what made it funny,” Tara replied. She jammed her floppy red hat down over her dark hair.

It was a sunny, warm afternoon. Tara and I were walking home from Max's school.

Tara and I don't have a school of our own to go to. That's because we're dead.

We're ghosts.

Max Doyle is the only person we know who can see and hear us. Sometimes being a ghost is
lonely and boring. So Tara and I follow Max to school and try to help him out.

Today we didn't help him out much.

Today was Pet Day in Ms. McDonald's sixth-grade class. But Max didn't want to bring his big, furry wolfhound, Buster, to school. That's because Buster
hates
Max.

Buster starts to growl and snap whenever Max comes near. When he sees Max, he only thinks, Meat! Max gets a little tired of having his dog chew on him all the time.

So Max didn't bring Buster for Pet Day. Instead, he did a very funny thing. He brought a big fish to school. A dead one. It was the stuffed bass that his dad had mounted on the den wall.

Max pulled the fish off the wall and carried it to class. When it was his turn, he carried it to the front of the room. He told everyone it was his pet fish, Ernie.

That's when Tara decided to help Max out.

I tried to stop her. But my sister is stubborn. Once Tara makes up her mind to do something, forget it. That's why I call her Hurricane Tara.

She floated up to the front of the room and took the fish from Max's hands. “Maxie, let me hold it up while you describe it,” she said.

“No—give it back!” Max cried. He made a grab for the fish—and missed.

A lot of kids in the class were kinda shocked.
They couldn't see Tara. They could only see the fish jumping out of Max's hands. Max seemed to be standing there arguing with
himself
!

“Give it back!” Max shouted again. He grabbed the tail and tugged.

Tara tugged back. “I'm only trying to make your talk more interesting,” she said.

It became a real tug-of-war.

Ms. MacDonald's mouth dropped open. “Max—what are you doing?”

“Trying to reel him in,” Max said. “He's … uh … trying to swim upstream.”

Some kids were laughing hard now.

Tara should have stopped. But my little sister doesn't know the words “give up.”

“Nicky! Catch!” she shouted. And she tossed the big fish high in the air. Over the kids' heads to me at the back of the room.

“It's okay, everyone!” Max shouted. “It's a
flying
fish!”

Tara threw it too hard. It bounced off the chalkboard, sailed back, and hit a girl in the head.

She started to scream.

The bass hit the floor hard—and broke in half. Hundreds of cockroaches poured out from inside it, scampering over the floor.

And then
everyone
was screaming. Screaming, stamping their feet, leaping onto their chairs.

It was way funny. But no one was laughing.

Max was in major trouble. Tara and I decided it was time to leave.

So now we were walking past sparkling green front yards, on our way back to Max's house. Our old house—when we were alive.

“Max didn't look too happy,” I said.

Tara sighed. “I was only trying to make Pet Day more fun. It's hard to have fun when you're … when you're a ghost.”

Two squirrels came chasing each other across the grass. They ran right between Tara and me. One of them brushed my leg. They had no idea we were there.

“Yeah. I hate being invisible,” I said. “I'm tired of being a ghost. I wish Mom and Dad would hurry back.”

Our parents are ghosts too. We don't know why. We don't know what happened to our family.

Mom and Dad were scientists. They had a lab where they found a way to capture evil ghosts. One day, the ghosts escaped. And the four of us were no longer alive.

That's all we know.

Mom and Dad went off to find answers. They think they can find a way to bring our family back to life. They told us to wait for them in our old house, with Max and his family.

But they've been gone a
long
time. Tara and I really miss them. We've been feeling very sad lately.

We turned onto Bleek Street, our street. I heard shouts from the next yard. A boy was screaming.

Tara and I hurried across the street. We saw the Wilbur brothers, Billy and Willy—the worst kids at Jefferson Elementary.

They were teasing a little red-haired boy. He looked to be only five or six.

Billy Wilbur grabbed the boy's baseball cap and tossed it to his brother, Willy. They were playing keep-away with the little guy's cap. They held it right in front of his face, then jerked it out of his reach.

The little boy started to cry. That made the Wilbur brothers toss back their heads and heehaw with laughter.

“Come on, Nicky.” Tara tugged my arm. “Let's go have a little fun with those Wilbur brats.”

B
ILLY
W
ILBUR HAD THE
little boy's cap. He squatted down at the edge of a flower garden and started scooping with one hand, filling the cap with mud.

“Give me my cap!” the little boy pleaded. Tears ran down his red cheeks. “It's my new cap!”

“It's
our
new cap now!” Willy said.

Billy stood up and whirled around. He raised the cap, brimming with mud. “You want it back, Casey?” he said, grinning. “Okay, I'll give it back.”

“Put it back on Casey's head,” Willy said, grinning at his brother.

Tara swooped up behind them. She grabbed the cap and plopped it down on Billy Wilbur's head. The wet mud oozed down his face.

Casey's mouth dropped open in surprise.

Billy turned angrily to his brother. “Hey, punk! Whatja do that for?” He pulled the cap off and tossed it at Willy. He wiped mud off his face with one hand and smeared it down the front of his brother's shirt.

“Hey!” Willy jumped back. “I didn't do anything!”

I grabbed him by the shoulders and made him spin around a few times. Tara had ahold of Billy. We pushed them forward and made them crack heads.

They both cried out angrily.

Casey laughed.

“What's your problem?” Billy Wilbur shouted angrily.

“What's
your
problem?” Willy screamed.

They both turned on little Casey. “What are you laughing about, punk?” Willy snarled. “It's time for your mud bath, isn't it?”

Casey stumbled back.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed. “Mud bath time.”

“Nooooo—please!” Casey screamed.

They both dove at him. But Tara and I grabbed the two Wilburs by their ankles.

“Whoa—!”

“Hey!”

We pulled them up till they were standing on their heads.

Casey stared at them in shock. “How do you do that?” he asked.

“I … don't… know,” Billy Wilbur said.

“I can't get down!” his brother groaned. “Casey, help us down!”

Casey stood there frozen, gaping at them.
Then he grabbed his muddy cap and took off running down the block.

As soon as he was gone, Tara and I let go of the Wilburs. They flopped onto their stomachs, confused. Then they both jumped up fast.

They gazed all around. They scratched their heads.

“Weird,” Willy Wilbur muttered.

“Totally,” his brother said.

They took off running in the other direction.

Tara and I laughed. “That was kinda fun,” I said.

“Too easy,” Tara replied. “Hey, Nicky. Maybe that's what we could be doing for laughs. Turn everyone upside down!
Terrorize
the neighborhood!”

I nodded. “Well … we're already terrorizing Max!”

“He'll like what we did to the Wilburs,” Tara said, straightening her cap. “If he ever speaks to us again.”

We crossed the street. Our house was two blocks away. A girl raced past on a bike, pedaling furiously. She almost knocked us over. She had no idea we were there.

I heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind us.

I spun around—and saw a short man. Cropped white beard. Wearing a black raincoat.

He slid behind a fat tree trunk.

“Weird,” I muttered.

Tara and I walked another half block. Again, I heard the scrape of shoes on the walk behind us.

We both turned around. I saw a flash of black—the man's raincoat disappearing as he ducked behind a hedge.

I stared hard at the hedge. I could see the man ducking low, peering back at us.

A chill ran down my back.

I turned to my sister. “Tara,” I whispered, “guess what? We're being followed.”