The Ghost of Ernie P. (10 page)

Jeff wiggled uneasily. Was he just imagining that Pastor Larsen was speaking directly to him? He felt perspiration pop out on his forehead as he listened.

…
and the only way to beat a problem is to meet it head-on. Ask God for strength and guidance, and then get ready to go to work. You'll be surprised at what you can do
.…

There was more, but Pastor Larsen was looking at other people in the congregation now. Jeff concentrated on those first few sentences. Pastor Larsen had said God would help you if you faced a problem and didn't try to run away. That reminded Jeff of Art's advice.
I guess I'd hide out for a while.… And if that didn't work—I'd tell both of 'em to go jump in the lake
.

He groaned under his breath. What if he did what Pastor Larsen and Art recommended? What would happen if he told the ghost of Ernie Barber to go jump in the lake? He was terrified, just thinking about it. Yet, at the same time, he felt a small quiver of excitement.

Brave
. He whispered the word to himself. He'd never done anything really brave before.

Later, as they were leaving the church, Pastor Larsen shook hands with Jeff and his mother. “You looked troubled this morning, Jeffrey,” he said kindly. “Are you feeling better now?”

Jeff nodded. “Yes, sir, I am.” It was true, for the moment, at least.

“He hasn't been himself for a couple of weeks,” Mrs. Keppel said. “But I do believe he looks perkier now. Church was what you needed, Jeff.”

She beamed, and Pastor Larsen beamed, and Jeff beamed at them both. He kept the smile firmly in place, even when Pastor Larsen's narrow face widened briefly to an Ernie Barber roundness, and his very own mother's light blue eyes seemed to turn Margo Muggin dark.

Brave
, Jeff reminded himself. It was a good word, but living up to it was going to be hard.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

The sky was mud-colored when they left the church. Fat black clouds loomed above the trees.

“Not again!” Mrs. Keppel murmured. She pulled a folded plastic scarf from her purse, and she and Jeff hurried down the block to the car. The rain was hardly more than a drizzle, but thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.

“This reminds me of the day of Ernie Barber's funeral,” Jeff's mother commented, and then she bit her lip as if she wished she'd kept the thought to herself.

Jeff wished she had, too. He could feel his newfound courage melting away with every peal of thunder.

The house was chilly and dark when they let themselves in. Mrs. Keppel went from room to room turning on lights, while Jeff stood uncertainly in the kitchen. He didn't know what to do next. It was all very well to decide to face up to his problem, but how was he supposed to start?

“Jeff, what in the world is this?” Mrs. Keppel came back to the kitchen with a manila envelope in her hand. “It was lying on top of the morning paper in the front hall.”

Jeff stared at the familiar wrinkled envelope in his mother's hand.

“It's—it's nothing,” he said in a strangled voice. “Just—just some stuff I'm going to get rid of.”

“Then why was it lying on top of today's paper?”

Jeff shrugged and forced himself to take the envelope. “It's nothing,” he repeated.

As soon as his mother went upstairs to change, he tiptoed downstairs to the fruit cellar. The heavy wooden door was closed, just as he'd left it, but when he opened it, glass glinted on the floor. The bottle that had held Ernie Barber's “evidence” had been shattered in a dozen pieces.

Clumsy
! Jeff thought grimly. It was more proof that the ghost needed help from a real person to get things done.

Jeff found a broom and swept up the jagged pieces. Thunder rattled the walls of the house as he thought about what had happened, and why. The clippings had been whisked from their hiding place and transported upstairs, to be left on top of the
Treverton Journal
. Ernie's ghost was trying again to make Jeff tell the world that Margo Muggin was a witch. He wanted the clippings delivered to the newspaper.

Jeff swept the last of the glass into the dustpan and closed the door of the fruit cellar behind him. Pastor Larsen's voice echoed in his ears.
The only way to beat a problem is to meet it head-on.… You'll be surprised at what you can do
.…

Goose bumps pricked Jeff's arms as he realized what it was he must do if he was going to be Keppel the Brave. He had to move fast. If he didn't, he'd lose his nerve and remain Keppel the Coward forever.

He raced to the kitchen and fumbled through a drawer till he found a book of matches. His mother was still upstairs; once she came down, he wouldn't have a chance to go outside.

The manila envelope lay on the counter. It seemed to Jeff that it quivered, ever so slightly, when he picked it up.

Matches, the clippings—now all he needed was some kind of container. He thought of the metal garbage can in the cupboard beneath the sink. It had a snug-fitting cover. He took it out and dropped the plastic sack of garbage in the sink.

The floor creaked overhead as his mother moved around her bedroom. Jeff threw open the back door and stepped out, staggering in the wind. Across the yard, the tent bucked and billowed. Tree branches swayed wildly, and Mrs. Keppel's favorite lawn chair was tipped on its side. The whole backyard seemed to be in motion.

Jeff knew he couldn't burn the clippings in the tent—it would be too dangerous—but maybe he could stand just inside while he did it. He dropped the envelope into the garbage can and raced across the lawn. Lightning flickered overhead like Fourth of July fireworks.

Another thunderstorm with no rain
, Jeff thought. It was definitely Ernie Barber kind of weather—lots of noise and showing off.

Inside the tent, Jeff dropped the garbage can and fastened back the tent flaps. With trembling fingers he opened the can, snatched the clippings from the envelope, and crumpled them into balls. He tossed them into the can and tried to light them with one of the matches.

The match flared and went out. Jeff cringed as thunder crashed around the tent.
Keppel the Brave
, he reminded himself. But now
brave
was just a word. He couldn't even remember what it meant.

The second and third matches went out in his fingers. The fourth flared brightly, and he lowered it into the can. One of the clippings began to burn.

There was a CRACK overhead, like the blow of a giant fist, and then the sound of something falling. Jeff grabbed the garbage can and set it outside the tent. The fire burned brightly now. Another bolt of lightning lit the yard, and Jeff saw bricks scattered on the patio. The chimney must have taken a direct hit.

Jeff looked up and saw a sight he'd never forget. On the slope of the roof, just above the eaves, a dark column rose. He thought at first that it was smoke, but as he stared, the column began to change shape. A thick body, draped in a long black cape, appeared, then a wide-brimmed black hat above a broad and furious face.

Jeff dropped the garbage-can lid. After imagining it a hundred times or more, he was finally seeing the ghost of Ernie Barber.

“Jeffrey!” Mrs. Keppel threw open the window just below where the ghost trembled in the wind. She pressed her face against the screen. “Jeffrey Keppel, what are you doing out in this storm? Get into the house this instant!”

The ghost raised one arm, and another lightning bolt hit the chimney. A second one struck the maple tree near the garage. The tent lifted around Jeff like a balloon about to take off.

Suddenly, Jeff was angrier than he'd ever been in his life. Ernie Barber was attacking his house, his favorite climbing tree, even his much-loved tent. “You stop that!” he roared at the menacing figure. “I'm not going to do anything you want me to do, so just stop it!”

Mrs. Keppel's eyes went wide with shock. “How can you talk like that?” she exclaimed. “Are you out of your mind, Jeffrey?”

A lightning bolt smacked the garbage can and sent it dancing across the lawn. Jeff leaped after it.

“I said Stop!” he bellowed. “I was crazy to let you get away with pushing me around, but I'm not crazy now, so get out! Scram! Get lost!”

“Jeff, you're hysterical. What is wrong with you?” Mrs. Keppel sounded hysterical herself. “Come into the house this minute!”

There was a loud
whump
. Jeff whirled around in time to see his tent rise from the ground and swoop like a giant bat across the yard.

It was the last straw. “You'll be sorry!” he howled, shaking his fist at the ghost. “You're nothing but a bully. I should have told you a long time ago to go jump in the lake!”

Mrs. Keppel staggered back from the window as if she'd been struck. “You'll be sorry for
that
, young man,” she shouted when she reappeared. “This has gone far enough. One more word, and you're grounded. And if that's not enough, there'll be other punishments as well.”

Punishment
! Jeff thought. That's what was needed here. He wanted to punish Ernie Barber for all the mean tricks he'd played. But how could you punish a ghost?

He glared up at the threatening figure on the roof, and Ernie glared back at him. The ghost seemed to be—Jeff blinked—he seemed to be growing taller, wider, darker. Jeff took a couple of steps backward and then stopped. He was
not
going to let Ernie Barber scare him ever again. Scaring people was what ghosts liked to do, and this ghost liked it better than most.

Right then, Jeff knew how he could fight back. There was one weapon a bully—especially a ghost-bully—couldn't stand.

Laughter!

“You know what?” he shouted. “You look real silly wobbling around up there. You look like a Halloween scarecrow. Don't you know it's the middle of summer?”

“Oh, Jeff!” Mrs. Keppel gasped. Overhead, the ghost towered against the sky. Lightning crisscrossed behind him.

Jeff tried to laugh. “I'll tell you what you are,” he yelled above the thunder. “You're
smog
, that's what! Just a big blob of smog!”

It was working. Jeff was almost sure that the towering figure was starting to change color. “Just smog,” he shouted again. “Just dirty old pollution that's going to wash away as soon as it starts to rain!”

Now he was certain the ghost was smaller. The black cloak had faded to gray. Jeff dashed to the corner of the lawn where the garden hose lay coiled like a green snake. He twisted the nozzle, and a jet of water leaped across the yard.

“Why wait around?” he demanded, and this time his laugh came more easily. “You make the thunder and lightning, Ernie, and I'll take care of the rain!”

He pointed the nozzle upward. “Don't dissolve all over the roof,” he yelled. “Those are brand-new shingles.”

The ghost was silvery now and almost transparent. For a moment more it lingered, and then it was gone. Jeff played the hose back and forth across the roof, hardly aware that the wind was dying and the thunder had stopped.

The back door burst open and his mother marched across the patio. She looked frightened but determined.

“Put down the hose, Jeff,” she said in a soothing voice. “That's a good boy.”

Jeff twisted the nozzle and dropped the hose on the grass. “It's okay,” he said, “I did it.”

“Did what?” Mrs. Keppel followed his gaze to the roof. “Oh, my, there's a hole in the chimney. You didn't do
that
, for goodness' sake. The lightning hit it.”

“I know,” Jeff said. He couldn't stop smiling, even though his mother's expression was grim. “But I kept it from getting worse.”

Mrs. Keppel started to say something and then changed her mind.

“It's okay, Mom,” Jeff said again, “it really is.” For the first time he realized that his mother must have thought he'd been shouting at
her
when he was talking to Ernie's ghost. That's why she was so upset!

“You're probably wondering what this is all about,” he said, searching desperately for an explanation. “I was just—just—I was just letting out my feelings! You're always telling me to do it—so I did it.”

Mrs. Keppel looked doubtful. “With a garden hose?” she demanded. “With a garbage can? What were you burning in there, anyway?”

Jeff was inspired. “My troubles,” he said. “It was sort of—sort of like a symbol, see? I burned up my troubles, and now I feel fine.”

“And you weren't calling
me
a bully? You didn't mean all those dreadful things you said a few minutes ago?”

“I wasn't talking to you, at all,” Jeff told her truthfully. “I was talking to—to my troubles.”

“Well, then.” Mrs. Keppel still looked uncertain, but she was beginning to get her color back. “Well, it sounds very peculiar to me,” she said. “It's not normal behavior at all.” She gave Jeff another searching look and then started back to the house. At the kitchen door, she stopped and turned again. “We'll have soup for lunch,” she said firmly. “It's that kind of day.”

Jeff started to follow but headed to the garage for a ladder instead. He had to rescue his tent before he did anything else. It was hanging from the pickets behind the rosebushes, and even from here he could see that there was a tear in the canvas.

The sun broke through the clouds as he steadied the ladder and climbed to the top rung. He balanced there for a moment, feeling great in spite of the damage to the tent.

Keppel the Winner!
he thought proudly.
No more ghost of Ernie Barber!
He could hardly believe what he'd done.

He was still standing on the ladder when his mother came back to the door. “You've had a phone call,” she called. “I took the message.”

Jeff waited. He didn't want to hear about the phone call. He just wanted to go on being Keppel the Winner!