The Case of the Graveyard Ghost (4 page)

I
t was a blustery night, perfect for charting the growth of guppies. So, after washing the dishes and feeding her animals, Nell sat at her desk and flipped on the lamp. Ten seconds later, the phone rang.

“Doyle and Fossey,” she answered, shoving her pencil behind her ear.

It was Drake. “Have you read today’s copy of
The Frisco Files
?”

“Negative.”

“Read the cover story. There’s no time to lose.”

“Check.” Nell set down the receiver and dug in her school backpack. Every week, Frisco published and sold his own science newsletter for five cents per copy. Although a nickel was too much money for such bad science, Drake and Nell always wanted to know what Frisco was up to.

Nell read, her eyes growing larger by the second.

“This is bad,” said Nell, shaking her head.

“Agreed,” replied Drake.

“And did you notice that today at school we could hardly give away copies of our own newsletter?” asked Nell. Drake and Nell also published a weekly newsletter called
Amazing Science for Geniuses and the Merely Curious.
This week their newsletter detailed Sloane Westcott’s laundry-chute blastoff. (Needless to say, Sloane was
not
amused.)

“We gave away only five copies,” said Drake, “as opposed to our usual ninety.”

“While Frisco’s newsletter was selling like hotcakes,” said Nell.

“Here’s the deal,” Drake said, sounding very serious. “Our reputation is at stake. Therefore, we must go to the graveyard to investigate. Dad and I will pick you up at seven-fifty sharp.”

“Check.”

Click.

Old Mossy Graveyard was the oldest, spookiest graveyard in town. Not only did it have crumbling, lichen-covered tombstones, but it also had twisted trees and things that went
bump!
and
oooh!
in the night.

Fortunately, tonight was a full moon. Perfect for investigating. And as Drake, Nell, and Dr. Livingston, Nell’s dog, clambered out of the car, the wind moaned, sounding perfectly haunted.

“Don’t be long,” said Mr. Doyle. And, like all the other parents in all the other cars, he turned on the interior light, rolled down his window, and opened his newspaper. “Scream if you need me.”

“Roger that,” said Drake and Nell as they shut the car door.

Up the winding path near the gardener’s shed, they saw a line of kids. Sloane was taking their money. “That’ll be one dollar. Seat 3C. Next!”

When Sloane saw Drake and Nell, she frowned. “Wouldn’t you know. It’s the beaker-brain twins and their dumb dog.”

Nell ignored Sloane and whipped out three dollars. “My treat,” Nell said to Drake and Dr. Livingston.

“Seats 4A, B, and C,” snapped Sloane. “They’re the crummiest seats I’ve got. And no funny detective stuff, or I’ll kick you out. And no refunds.”

Once Nell took her seat, with Drake on one side and Dr. Livingston on the other, the show began.

Sloane stood before the audience. “Welcome to the greatest ghost show on earth! And without further ado, let’s begin.” She waved her arms around, sprinkled some glittery dust, and said, “Abracadabra! Presto chango! Hocus pocus! Alakazam!”

Nothing.

More glittery dust. “Abracadabra! Presto chango! Hocus pocus! Alakazam!”

Nothing.

“Ahem. Maybe you didn’t hear me. I
said
, Abracadabra! Presto chango! Hocus pocus! And Alaka-ZAM! ARE YOU DEAF, OR WHAT?!” And then, just as Nell was about to cross her arms smugly, there appeared . . .

. . .
a ghost.

A chill swept up Nell’s spine as both the ghost and the wind began to howl. Beside her, Dr. Livingston growled. Drake almost fell off his chair.

“Oh my gosh,” whispered Nell. “I can’t believe it.
It’s real.
”

T
he ghost was terrifying.

Ghoulish.

Wrapped in chains and dripping with blood, it waved its arms about, moaning.

And then, as if blood and chains and moans weren’t enough, Sloane walked
right through
the ghost. “I am not afraid,” she declared, with her hands on her hips.

“AAAAHHHH!!!!!!” screamed the audience.

“Fascinating,” murmured Drake.

“Scary,” whispered Nell.

Grrr,
growled Dr. Livingston.

And then the ghost began to speak. “
Ooooooh! I ammmm the ghossst of Mossssy Laaaake. Yooou muuussst doooooo what I ssssaaaay. Yooou muuussst put all your moneeeeeeyyyy innnn the jaaarrr, or else I will haunt you forrrevvvver! Oooooooooh!
”

“AAAAHHHH!!!!!!” screamed the audience again.

“Hmm,” murmured Drake.

“Sounds fishy,” whispered Nell.

Grrr,
growled Dr. Livingston.

Soon the clink of money filled the air.

Nell ignored the money jar and took notes in her notebook, using her handy-dandy flashlight pen. Every now and then, Drake whispered his observations in her ear, which she jotted down as well. But there was something about the ghost’s voice that wasn’t quite right. Something Nell couldn’t put her finger on. It bothered her, rather like having an itch where you can’t scratch. Meanwhile, Dr. Livingston disappeared.

The show was over. “Same show tomorrow night,” said Sloane. “Five bucks each. Tell your friends. Now scram.”

Just then, Dr. Livingston bounded up with something in his mouth. Once in the car, Nell examined it. “Hmm. It appears to be a piece of the ghost’s bloody sheet.”

Drake held it to his nose. “Smeared with ketchup, no less.”

“Was it a trick?” asked Mr. Doyle as he drove home.

Nell nodded. “No doubt. The sheet with ketchup proves it. But how they did it is the question. It was remarkable.”

“Indeed.” Drake pushed up his glasses. “The case has me baffled. Let’s return to the graveyard tomorrow to search for clues. That is—if it’s all right with you, Dad.”

“Affirmative,” said Mr. Doyle.

The next evening at dusk, they found a few footprints around the grave and tombstone where Sloane had been standing. “Same shoe size and print,” said Nell, disappointed. “Likely Sloane’s footprints.”

“Ground’s solid,” observed Drake, jumping up and down a few times. “The ghost couldn’t have risen from the soil. No trees overhead to dangle a ghost from either.”

They circled the area. They scanned the sky. They checked behind tombstones. And just as they were about to give up, they walked into something hard and flat and invisible.

“Ow!” cried Drake.

“Ow!” cried Nell.

Arf!
cried Dr. Livingston.

Nell rubbed her nose. “What the—”

Drake got up and brushed himself off. (He’d fallen backward onto his behind.) “It’s a large sheet of plastic glass,” he said, rapping on its surface “Propped up between tombstones. Invisible to the audience.”

“Yes, but why?” Nell frowned. This case was becoming more puzzling by the minute.

But before Drake could answer, Dr. Livingston took off toward the gardener’s shed.

Suddenly Nell had a hunch. She followed Dr. Livingston and tried the door. It opened.

Creeeeak!

“Follow me, Detective Doyle,” she hollered as she entered the shed.

It was dark and dusty inside. Nell flicked on her pocket pen flashlight. Of course, there was the usual gardener’s stuff. Shovels, rakes, hoes, and the like. But there was some other stuff that didn’t belong—a white sheet smeared with ketchup, and a pile of chains. Not your normal everyday gardening stuff.

“Aha,” whispered Drake.

“Hmm,” murmured Nell.

Grrr,
growled Dr. Livingston.

Nell lifted the sheet. “There’s also a slide projector here. And a bottle of ketchup. You know, Detective Doyle, something bothered me about the ghost last night. Now I realize what it was.” “What?”

“The voice of the ghost wasn’t coming from where the ghost was standing.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Drake. “You’re right! The voice of the ghost was coming from—”

“—
inside this shed,
” they said together.

“And last night,” continued Drake, “if I recall correctly, the door to the shed was open, although from where we were sitting, we couldn’t see inside.”

“Hmm.” Nell thought very hard. “And straight out from the open doorway is—”

“—the sheet of plastic glass!” finished Drake. “I think I’m beginning to get the picture,” said Nell.

“Ditto,” replied Drake. “Let’s return to the lab for analysis.”

“And then,” Nell hollered over her shoulder as she flew out the door and down the path, “it’s show time!”

L
ater that night, silvery moonlight filtered through the trees and into the graveyard. All was still and silent. A creepy fog slithered around the tombstones. An owl hooted.

Drake, Nell, and Dr. Livingston watched from the back row as Sloane waved her arms, sprinkled glitter, and chanted her magical words.

Suddenly the ghost appeared and clanked his chains.
“Oooooooooh! I ammmm the ghossst of Mossssy Laaaake. . . .”

But the audience, instead of screaming, instead of covering their eyes in terror, instead of digging in their pockets for all their money . . .
began to laugh.

That’s right. Laugh!

Because written with ketchup on the front of the ghost’s sheet were the words: I AM A FAKE! This was the moment Nell had been waiting for. Out of her pocket she took the fragment of ketchup-y sheet that Dr. Livingston had brought her the night before and held it to his nose. “Fetch!” she whispered in his ear.