The Odds Get Even (8 page)

T
hat night, the Odds rode in a tight group toward the mill: Boney on his metallic-blue Schwinn, Squeak swerving with his goggle vision on his red Raleigh cruiser, and Itchy on his mom’s old green CCM, complete with flowered grocery basket strapped to the handlebars. They wove through the darkened streets, punching in and out of the lamplight until the lights disappeared and the street turned to gravel. When they reached the top of the hill leading to the Old Mill the boys skidded to a stop, the dust kicking up in little clouds around their bikes.

“Now remember,” Boney said, “we keep our bikes close, just in case anything goes wrong.”

Squeak nodded. Itchy gulped.

Boney pushed off with his foot, coasting his Schwinn slowly toward the stone ruins. Squeak and Itchy followed
close behind, Itchy’s front tire rubbing dangerously against Squeak’s rear tire.

“You’re going to make me crash,” Squeak hissed over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Itchy apologized, applying the brakes.

As they reached the abandoned mill, Boney dismounted and guided his bike carefully through the opening in the stone foundation. Squeak did the same. Itchy stood at the entrance peering cautiously into the ruins.

“Come on,” Boney rasped.

Itchy followed reluctantly, yanking his mom’s bike across the rocks. The bike clattered over the stones, eliciting dirty looks from Boney and Squeak.

“Sorry,” Itchy apologized again.

The boys leaned their bikes against the stone wall. Itchy moved to engage his kickstand, but Boney stopped him.

“You might not want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“We might need to make a quick getaway.”

The boys peered nervously through the dark night air. Boney stepped forward, his sneakers grinding loudly over the gravel. Itchy and Squeak watched from the safety of the stone wall.

“Is there a reason why we have to test the Apparator in the dark?” Itchy asked. “Don’t ghosts come out during the day, too?”

“All reported sightings of the ghost have been at night,” Squeak informed him. “It only makes sense that we come in the dark if we hope to get an accurate reading.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Itchy grumbled, pulling a Big Turk bar from his back pocket and ripping open the wrapper.

“How can you eat at a time like this?” Squeak asked.

Boney grimaced. “How can you eat that at all? Big Turks don’t even qualify as chocolate.”

Itchy took a large bite from the bar. “It helps me relax.”

Boney walked across the ruins to the firepit. “Hey, guys, over here. This is where I was standing when I saw the ghost. The glasses should be here somewhere.” He searched the ground, kicking through the dirt with his sneakers. “They were here before, I swear.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Squeak advised as he pulled the ghost detector from his messenger bag. “We don’t want to disrupt the ectoplasmic energy.”

“Definitely not,” Itchy said, opening another chocolate bar and taking a bite. He looked warily around the ruins, chewing quickly.

Squeak held the detector in the air. “I feel we should say a few words before we run the test. You know, kind of like what the Queen does at a ship christening ceremony.”

“Fine,” Boney agreed.

Squeak cleared his throat. He assumed an official air, speaking in a lower voice, the kind an important scientist might have. “After many days of effort, we are finally standing here, three scientists, dedicated to unearthing the truth behind nature’s mysteries, dedicated to a study of the intricate fabric of this world’s subtle complexities, dedicated to—”

“Can we get on with it?” Itchy snapped through chocolate-covered teeth.

Squeak turned indignantly toward Itchy. “Some of us take this sort of thing rather seriously.”

“Well, I take my life seriously,” Itchy retorted.

Squeak rolled his eyes and turned to Boney. “Sir, if you’re ready…”

When Boney nodded, Squeak pressed the red switch on the handle of the Apparator with his thumb. There was a click, and a low hum began to emanate from the detector. The tube at the end of the black handle began to pulse green, the light reflecting in the thick lenses of Squeak’s goggles like two luminescent squid.

“How do we know when it’s detected a ghost?” Boney asked.

“The light changes according to the ectoplasmic energy field,” Squeak explained, mesmerized by the humming device. “It evolves from green, which means safe, to yellow, which means caution, to red, which means a ghost is in the area.”

“It’s turning yellow now!” Itchy said, pointing to the glowing tube.

“Cool,” Boney said, watching as the pulsing light grew in intensity.

“It’s turning red!” Itchy wailed. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Not yet,” Squeak said. “We need proof that we’re actually detecting a ghost.”

“Like what? A dead body?”

“It could just be fluctuations in the barometric pressure causing an increase in static electricity affecting positive air ion levels,” Squeak explained. “We need to know for certain that the detector isn’t giving a false reading.”

“Yes, of course,” Itchy agreed, sarcastically. “We wouldn’t want a false reading.”

The Apparator continued to change. A low moaning rose up from behind the stone walls.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Itchy said to Boney.

“It wasn’t me,” Boney said.

Itchy looked at Squeak.

“It wasn’t me either,” Squeak said.

The detector began to buzz. The tube turned fire-engine red as the moaning grew louder, filling the air.

“It’s the ghost!” Itchy screamed, pointing across the mill to a shimmering form rising from behind a pile of rubble.

“Run for it!” Boney yelled.

Itchy grabbed Squeak’s shirt and sent him tripping to the dirt. The ghost detector fell out of his hands and rolled wildly across the ground. Boney stumbled over Squeak’s sprawled legs and went flying to the ground as well.

“STAY OUT OF MY MILL!” the ghostly voice growled.

The shimmering form streaked toward the Odds as they scrambled over each other to reach their bikes. The abandoned Apparator glowed angrily on the ground.

“We’re getting out!” Itchy shouted, grabbing his bike and jumping on the seat. His feet pounded against the pedals and dirt sprayed everywhere as he launched toward the opening in the wall, only to hit a rock and catapult head first over the handlebars into the grass.

Boney and Squeak ditched their bikes. They grabbed Itchy’s arms and attempted to heave him to his feet,
but his legs turned instantly to overcooked spaghetti noodles.

“STAY OUT OF MY MILL!” the ghost shrieked, rushing across the ruins, its dark mouth gaping, its empty eye sockets trained on the boys.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! It’s curtains for us!” Itchy screamed as the ghost fell upon the Odds in a heap.

Determined not to go down without a fight, Boney kicked and shouted, grabbing the ghost by the head and pounding furiously with his fists. Squeak lay like a paralyzed hamster on the ground, eyes and mouth frozen open.

“Ow!” The ghost yelled as Boney continued to kick and punch.

“It
is
curtains,” Squeak suddenly announced, emerging from his paralysis.

“Huh?” Boney said, still struggling with the ghost.

“It’s curtains,” Squeak exclaimed, grabbing one end of the shimmering ghost and yanking with all his might. “Real curtains. It isn’t a ghost at all,” he said as he uncovered a dusty little man cowering beneath the fabric.

“Oh, blast,” the little man exclaimed.

Boney jumped angrily to his feet. “What do you think you’re doing, running around, scaring the heck out of people?”

The man lowered his eyes sheepishly. “I live here,”
he said, in a voice that made him sound as if he gargled with gravel. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses on his nose.

“Hey! Those are the glasses I saw by the firepit!” Boney said.

“I put them there,” the man said. “I wanted to take advantage of the legend.”

“The legend of the missing boys?” Squeak asked as he retrieved the Apparator. He checked it over, switching it on and off several times.

The man nodded.

“So why are you going around impersonating a ghost?” Boney demanded.

The man shrugged. “It’s the only way I can keep people out of the mill.”

“Despicable,” Itchy said, examining the remnants of the squashed chocolate bar in his hand.

“Odd,” Squeak added.

The man eyed Itchy’s chocolate bar hungrily.

Itchy gobbled the last of the bar. “We should beat him up,” he said, his mouth full of chocolate. He pointed to the curtains. “Look, he just painted that stupid face on himself. Pathetic.”

The man cringed. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to keep you away.”

“Why?” Boney asked.

“It’s—it’s the only home I have,” the man stammered, clinging to the fabric curtain.

The boys exchanged puzzled looks.

“My name is Rufus,” he said, holding out his hand. He wore an old pair of navy-blue mechanics’ coveralls, the legs rolled several times at the ankles and wrists. There was a worn oval patch sewn to the coveralls with the name “Charlie” stitched in red letters.

“How come your badge says ‘Charlie’ if your name is Rufus?” Itchy asked suspiciously.

The man looked at the patch on his chest. “Oh that.” He lowered his hand. “Someone…uh…left these here years back.”

“And where’d you get those glasses?” Itchy asked.

Rufus smiled. “I found them. Don’t know if they’re helping or not.”

Boney shook his head. “So you pretend to be a ghost to keep kids away.”

“Not just kids,” Rufus said. “Anybody. I heard about the ghost after those kids went missing all those years ago.”

“In 1952,” Squeak said.

Rufus nodded. “Yes, that’s right. It was 1952. Nasty business, that.”

“How do we know you aren’t the guy responsible for those kids going missing?” Itchy asked.

“Me?” the man said incredulously. “Why, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“How do we know that?” Itchy said. “How can we trust the word of a guy who runs around in a curtain moaning like a ghost, wearing somebody else’s clothes?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Rufus said apologetically. “Besides,” he added, almost proudly, “I help keep vandals away. They were destroying what was left of the property.”

“And you’ve never seen any ghosts around here?” Boney asked.

“None but me,” the man answered.

Squeak sighed loudly. “Well…there goes the official test of the ghost detector.”

“I’m sorry, boys,” Rufus said. “I didn’t mean to spoil it for you.” He eyed the detector in Squeak’s hand. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Squeak shrugged and handed him the device.

Rufus turned the Apparator over in his hands, admiring the coiled wire and red switch. “Mighty fine piece of work. It uses an air ion detector in conjunction with a variable tube radio capacitor fitted with a dielectric insulator.”

Squeak’s eyes widened behind his goggles. “Yeah! How did you know?”

“I used to be quite handy myself, designing and building things.” Rufus flipped the switch on the detector. It crackled and hummed wildly in his hand. He flipped the switch again, and the light in the tube slowly ebbed to a cold grey. “You just may have yourself something here.”

Itchy snatched the detector from the man. “Yeah, sure. If we were looking for weird old men running around in curtains impersonating ghosts, we’d win the Invention Convention for sure.”

Rufus lowered his eyes dejectedly. “I’m really very sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Boney said. “It was exciting for a moment to think the detector actually worked.” He turned toward his friends. “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”

“We won’t be bugging you again, mister,” Squeak said glumly as he took the Apparator from Itchy and stuffed it in his bag. He swung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his bike, rolling it through the opening to the path.

The man waved as the boys cycled away. “It was nice meeting you all. Come back and visit sometime.”

B
ack at the clubhouse that night, Itchy and Boney continued to sew sequins on the Elvis costume while Squeak tinkered with the Apparator.

“We can’t enter the convention with a faulty device,” Squeak said wistfully. “I just don’t understand why it didn’t work. I’ve checked all the connections, re-soldered all the points, and tightened the screws. Even if the Apparator was picking up errant static electricity, it shouldn’t have responded so violently.” He turned the detector over in his hands, the same way Rufus had. “Maybe I need to reduce the gauge of the copper wire…or try replacing the insulators in the capacitor…”

Itchy looked up from his sewing. “Maybe it’s so sensitive it can pick up
fake
ghosts as well.”

Squeak frowned, peering along the length of the tube.

Itchy reached over and plucked a peanut butter and
honey cracker from the tall stack on the table next to him. “Do you think that old guy was telling the truth?”

“About what?” Boney asked.

“You know…about being homeless and protecting the mill and all that.”

Boney shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess there’s no way to find out for sure.”

“He had us pretty scared, though, didn’t he?” Itchy said.

“Yeah,” Boney laughed.

“We should have known it wasn’t a real ghost anyway,” Itchy continued.

“Why?”

“He was too short.”

“Right.” Boney shook his head. “I guess ghosts can be short, too, Itchy.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Itchy agreed.

“If they’re short in real life, they should be short in the afterlife, right?” Boney reasoned. “He seemed interested in the Apparator, though. I wonder if he could help us make it work.”

“Incoming!” Squeak suddenly shouted, grabbing the Apparator and diving to the clubhouse floor.

Itchy wadded up the Elvis costume and dove on top of it, protecting it from the exploding eggs. Boney ducked beneath the window as an egg whizzed past
his head and splattered on the wall behind him. Larry’s horrible, hoarse laugh filled the air. The boys looked at each other in shock.

“That was close,” Boney said. “Is everyone all right?”

“Aye, aye,” Squeak said.

“Ditto,” Itchy groaned from his place on the floor.

Boney slowly raised himself up so he could see out the window. “Coast is clear.”

Squeak continued to lie on the clubhouse floor, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I wonder what da Vinci would have done in a situation like this.”

“Being bombed by eggs?” Itchy asked.

Squeak gave him a puzzled look as he rose to his feet, placing the Apparator carefully on the table. “Perhaps I made a mistake in the calculation for the coil frequency…”

“It’s a good thing we covered the reference library,” Boney said. He took a rag, dipped it in the pail of water, and began wiping egg off the plastic.

Itchy stowed the Elvis costume safely on a shelf before dunking the mop in the bucket and sloshing water on the clubhouse floor. “Lousy egg-bombing convicts,” he cursed.

“What were you saying about Rufus before we were so rudely interrupted?” Squeak asked Boney.

“I was wondering if he could help us out,” Boney
said. “He seemed to know a lot about electronics and that kind of stuff.”

Itchy eyed him warily, stuffing peanut butter and honey crackers in his mouth as he scrubbed the floor. “What do you mean?”

“He said he used to build stuff. It wouldn’t hurt to ask him to take a look at the Apparator.”

“He already looked at it,” Itchy said.

Squeak stared forlornly at his invention. “Maybe he was just being polite. I think we should ask him. My dad’s too busy to help us, and I could sure use a second opinion.”

Itchy rolled his eyes. “How do we know we can even trust the guy? I mean, he might be a total psycho for all we know. He lives in an abandoned mill, running around with a curtain over his head.”

“Come on, Itchy, he’s just an innocent guy who doesn’t have a home. We don’t have to marry him. We just need his advice.”

“How do we know he’ll even agree to help us?” Itchy asked.

“Simple,” Boney said. “We’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“We’ll threaten to call the cops and turn him in for murder?”

“No. We’ll bring him food. You saw the way he looked at your chocolate bar.”

Itchy quickly stuffed the last of his crackers into his mouth. “I’m not wivving him anyfing,” he protested, cracker crumbs spraying everywhere.

“You don’t have to,” Boney said. “I’ll give him something, for heaven’s sake.”

Itchy nodded with finality, swallowing with a huge gulp. He pointed at his throat. “Milk,” he croaked.

Squeak tossed him a small carton of milk from the cooler. Itchy wrenched it open and drained the carton in one big swig.

“You’re going to give yourself indigestion if you keep that up,” Squeak admonished him. “Anyway, I think Boney’s idea is worth a try.”

Itchy rubbed his stomach happily. “Ahhh…that’s better.”

“William!” Boney’s aunt called from the kitchen door. “Bedtime!”

Boney groaned but answered politely, “Yes, Auntie!” He threw the rag into the pail. “Tomorrow, after dinner, we rendezvous at the clubhouse, then visit Rufus. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Squeak said.

Itchy pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, fine. Agreed.”