Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls (4 page)

That night, Janine helped me with my homework. She is picky, picky, picky. I bet teachers wouldn't even notice half the things she makes me correct. We were just finishing up when a great crash of thunder sounded.

“Gosh, it's late in the season for thunderstorms,” Janine remarked.

“Ooh, but I love them,” I said. “They make me feel all shivery…. Janine?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when we were little and we'd crawl under Mom and Dad's bed during thunderstorms? We'd pretend we were camping—”

“But we were really just hiding.”

“Yeah,” I said fondly.

“Very interesting, psychologically,” said Janine. “The fear process—”

“Janine?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Janine glared at me, then stalked out of the room. I knew Mimi had said I would have to work at being Janine's friend, and she was right. It would take a
lot
of work. How did Janine get the “fear process” out of something as nice as autumn thunderstorms? Even so, I resolved not to give up so easily the next time we talked.

I flicked on the radio and turned it to the local station. I listened to it while I worked on my still life. Maybe the weather report would mention something about the thunderstorm.

I dabbed away at the gray area under the egg. It's hard to figure out what shape shadow an egg will cast.

The music came to an end, and I perked up my ears. “At the top of the news,” said the radio newscaster suddenly, “is a local story. The thief dubbed the Phantom Caller has been spotted in a stolen car traveling south through New Jersey. State troopers are tailing him. Details on the hour.”

“All right!” I cried. “He's gone!” I was so excited that I turned off the radio, snatched up the phone, and called Stacey. “Guess what! Guess what!” I cried.

“What?” said Stacey excitedly. “Wait. Trevor
called you, right? Oh, I knew he would. I
knew
it! Oh, Claud, did he ask—”

“Stacey, Stacey,” I said. “That's not it.” I felt like a deflated balloon. “He didn't call. It's something else.” Unfortunately, the something else wasn't as exciting as Trevor. “Oh,” said Stacey.

“The Phantom Caller's gone. I just heard it on the radio.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. Heading south through New Jersey. Away from us. The police are after him.” “Oh, I hope they catch him.” “Well, even if they don't, he's out of our hair. We can forget about the Phantom Caller for good.”

A little while later, I hung up the phone. Then I called Kristy to tell her the news, and then I called Mary Anne.

Boy, were we relieved.

The next evening, I had a sitting job for two little girls, Nina and Eleanor Marshall. On school nights, I'm allowed to baby-sit until nine-thirty. The deal with my homework is that it must get done in the afternoon. I worked on it with my mother.

At seven-thirty that night, I was in the Marshalls' kitchen, pouring a glass of milk for Nina, who's three. (Eleanor, who's just a year old, was already in bed.) The radio was playing in the background. Nina was watching TV in the den.

Then, just like the night before, a song ended, and the announcer began the evening news with a piece about the Phantom Caller.

Oh, good! I thought. They've captured him.

But I was wrong. Very wrong.

“The man thought to be the Phantom Caller,” said the newscaster, “has been captured—and is not the Phantom Caller. The Phantom Caller is still at large.”

Still at large! What a horrible way to phrase that. It sounded as if he might be anywhere … maybe in the Marshalls' backyard … or peering through the kitchen window.

I turned off the radio.

Then I dared to look around to see whether the Phantom Caller was at the window. All I could see were the kitchen lights reflected in the glass.

I put the carton of milk in the refrigerator and picked up the glass. “Nina!” I called. “Here's your milk.”

She scurried into the kitchen just as the phone rang. “I want to talk,” she said.

I was trembling, but I tried not to let Nina know. “Only if it's your Mom,” I told her. I picked her up and lifted the receiver, dreading the voice I might hear, hoping it really was Mrs. Marshall just calling to check on things.

“Hello?” I said lightly (for Mrs. Marshall's benefit).

Silence.

“Hello? …
Hello?”

More silence. Then a click as the caller hung up. Oh, my gosh. The Phantom Caller was in Stoneybrook. I just knew it.

I wondered if I should call Stacey and give her our coded message. What was I supposed to ask about? Barrettes? Ribbons.

“Claudia?”

I jumped a mile as Nina asked, “Who is it?”

“Wrong number,” I said. I hung up the phone, put her down, and handed her the milk. “Well, let's go watch TV,” I suggested.

“I can't anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because my show is over. I have to go to bed.” Nina was getting a milk mustache.

“So soon?”

“That's my bedtime. After my show.”

I knew what her bedtime was, but maybe just
once she could stay up a little longer. “How about a special treat?” I said excitedly. “You can stay up until eight o'clock.”

“But Mommy and Daddy don't let me. That's the rule.”

What was I doing anyway, trying to convince a three-year-old to keep me company? “Okay, then. Upstairs we go.”

Nina handed me her empty glass. I put it in the sink and we climbed the stairs. I turned on every light I could possibly find. I wondered what kind of jewelry Mrs. Marshall had.

After Nina was in bed, I tiptoed to Eleanor's room to check on her. I stood in the doorway and let the light from the hall shine into her bedroom. I stared at her crib.

It looked empty!

Oh, my gosh! Maybe the Phantom Caller was in the Marshalls' house somewhere and he'd taken Eleanor! I dashed over to her crib. There she was, all bunched into a corner. I straightened her out and covered her up again.

Eleanor sighed in her sleep.

I sighed, too.

I turned off the upstairs lights and went back down to the den. I turned the TV on. Then I turned it off. If the TV was on, the Phantom Caller could
sneak up on me too easily. I sat in the silence and flipped through a magazine.

Crick, crick, crick.

What was that?

Just the Marshalls' cat settling down on a pile of newspapers.

Plink, plink.

What was that?

Water dripping in the sink.

All the little noises were driving me crazy. I put the TV back on. I tried to watch it, but my gaze kept traveling to the dark windows that faced the backyard. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I shut the curtains.

Then I decided to call Stacey.

“Claudia!” Stacey exclaimed when she got on the phone. “Have you been listening to the news?”

“Yes!” I said. “What do you think?”

“I was just going to call you because I know you're baby-sitting. I don't know
what
to think!”

“Oh, it's so spooky here. Every little noise makes me jump. And you know what? The phone rang a while ago, and
the caller didn't say a word.
He just hung up.”

“Oooh. But you're … you're not asking about your hair ribbon,” Stacey said cautiously.

“No,” I replied. “Not yet.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“I do, but I don't want the Marshalls to come home and find you here with me. I don't want them to think I can't handle a simple job by myself.”

“Well, do you want to stay on the phone a while?”

“Yes. That would be great.”

“So what's going on with Trevor?” asked Stacey.

“Oh, the usual.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. I wonder if he even knows about the Halloween Hop. Poets are sometimes off in their own worlds. Maybe he hasn't heard the announcements in school.”

“Oh, I bet he has,” said Stacey. “How could anyone miss them?” She put her hand over the receiver to disguise her voice and did a pretty good imitation of Mr. Taylor talking on the intercom. “As you know, children, Halloween falls on October thirty-first this year.”

I giggled. “Mr. Taylor is so dumb. He thinks we—” I broke off.

“Claudia?” asked Stacey.

“Shhh.” I held the phone away from my ear and listened intently. I definitely heard footsteps
in the garage. “Stacey, Stacey,” I said urgently. “Have you found my b—I mean, did you see my—Have you found my … my …”

“Your red ribbon?” whispered Stacey.

“Yes!” I gasped.

“Yes, I did. I mean, no, I found—I …”

“Did you find my blue—Oh, no, Stacey, someone's at the garage door. I can hear the knob rattling!”

“I'm going to call the police.”

“Claudia?” called a deep voice.

It was all I could do not to shriek. “He called my name!” I yelped to Stacey.

“Claudia,” said the voice again, “we've misplaced the house keys. Can you let us in, please?”

I let my breath out in one long, shaking sigh. “It's the Marshalls, Stace,” I whispered. “Gotta go. I'll call you when I get home.”

I ran to the back door, unlocked it, and flung it open. I have never, ever in my whole life been so glad to see anybody.

“Hi, Claudia,” said Mrs. Marshall.

Mr. Marshall was standing behind her, patting his pockets and muttering, “I can't figure out where those darned keys went.”

I held the door open for them. “Sorry for the
confusion,” Mrs. Marshall went on. “The house keys may be at Mr. Marshall's office. Here, dear, use mine,” said Mrs. Marshall to her husband. She took a ring of keys from a peg in the back hall and handed it to him. Then she turned to me. “How were the girls tonight?”

“Oh, just fine,” I said. “Nina went to bed as soon as her show was over.”

“Good. No problems, then?”

“None at all.” I was still shaking.

Mrs. Marshall began rummaging through her purse for money.

A few minutes later, as Mr. Marshall was opening the door to walk me home, the phone rang. I heard Mrs. Marshall pick it up and say hello. Then I heard her hang up, saying, “That's strange.”

I shivered. It was strange, all right.

Thursday, October 23

This evening I baby-sat at Watson's. It's hard to believe Watson will become my stepfather next year. Oh, well.

As I promised the rest of the club members last Saturday, I've been bringing our club record book to school every day so each of us can check the appointments and see where the others will be baby-sitting. After tonight, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. See, Karen, Watson's five-year-old daughter, was so nervous about the woman next door who she thinks is a witch that she was making me nervous. Then, just when I was about the most scared I've
ever been, the phone started ringing … and ringing … and ringing….

Poor Kristy. I'm glad she and Watson, her mother's boyfriend, finally get along better. But I guess it is a little frightening to sit at his house. I've never done it, but Mary Anne has. She was spooked, too. And that was a while ago, before we knew anything about the Phantom Caller. For starters, Watson's house is huge, practically a mansion, and the house next door, which is also huge, is gloomy and rambling, with turrets and towers and dark windows everywhere. If that weren't bad enough, little Karen is convinced that Mrs. Porter, who lives there, is a witch named Morbidda Destiny, who has put two spells on Boo-Boo, Watson's fat cat. On the night Kristy was baby-sitting, Karen had a new twist on her fears about Mrs. Porter.

Kristy arrived at Watson's at seven. She can't baby-sit very late on weeknights, but Watson was only going to Parents' Night at Karen's private school, so he was going to be home early. Usually, his kids, Karen and Andrew, don't stay with him during the week, but since his ex-wife had broken her ankle, Watson was taking them more often than usual.

“Hi, Kristy!” Karen cried when Mrs. Thomas dropped Kristy off at Watson's.

“Hi!” added Andrew happily. Andrew is three.

Andrew and Karen like Kristy so much that not long ago, Kristy promised them she'd be their main baby-sitter at Watson's until she becomes their stepsister.

Watson walked into the front hall. “Well, Kristy,” he said warmly, “I'm so glad you could come.” (Kristy knew that Watson was really just glad she wasn't such a pill about him and her mother anymore.) “I don't think you'll have any trouble tonight.”

Kristy smiled at Watson as Boo-Boo wandered into the hall. “I know one way to avoid trouble,” she said. “We'll keep Boo-Boo inside.” She turned to Karen and grinned at her, but Karen just stared back solemnly. Uh-oh, thought Kristy. Something's wrong.

“All right,” said Watson, “the emergency numbers are in the usual place, and the phone number of Karen's school plus her classroom number are taped to the phone, just in case.” Kristy nodded. “Seven-thirty is bedtime for Andrew,” Watson went on, “and eight o'clock for Karen. By the way,
there's peppermint-stick ice cream in the freezer and … I don't believe Andrew and Karen have had dessert yet.”

“Yay! Ice cream!” cried Andrew, jumping up and down. Karen continued to look solemn.

Kristy began to feel suspicious—and a little nervous.

Watson shrugged into his coat. “Good-bye, pumpkin,” he said, kissing the top of Karen's head. “Good-bye, Andy.”

He left quickly, calling over his shoulder, “I'll be home before nine, Kristy. Thanks again.”

Kristy glanced warily at Andrew and Karen. This was the moment when even the most baby-sat-for children sometimes burst into tears. Jamie Newton, for instance, absolutely hated for his parents to leave him just before bedtime. But Andrew was already on his way into the kitchen after the ice cream. Karen, apparently, had other things on her mind.

“What's the matter?” Kristy finally asked her, taking her hand. She really didn't want to know, yet it was her job to know.

“Morbidda Destiny,” whispered Karen.

“What about her?” Kristy whispered back, a little shivery tickle running up her spine.
She remembered how strange Mary Anne said Boo-Boo had acted the day she was baby-sitting, when Mrs. Porter had chased him out of her garden with a rake.

“Kristy? Ice cream?” called Andrew from the kitchen.

“Just a sec, Andrew.”

“More spells,” whispered Karen urgently.

“Really?” asked Kristy, trying to sound unconcerned. “Boo-Boo looks all right.”

“Not Boo-Boo. Me,” said Karen. She closed her eyes dramatically.

“You!” exclaimed Kristy. “What's she done to you?”

“Given me freckles.”

“Karen,” said Kristy, hiding a smile, “you already had freckles. You've had freckles since you were two years old. I've seen pictures.”

“She's given me more.”

“Sometimes they spread.”

Karen shook her head.

“Kristy!” called Andrew, sounding impatient.

“Coming! Karen, I really don't think you need to worry. Let's go have some ice cream with Andrew, okay?”

“Okay … but I'm warning you. If she squints
her eyes and holds one hand in the air, she's putting a spell on you.”

“I'll be on the alert,” Kristy said.

They walked into the kitchen—and found pink ice cream dripping all over the table and onto the floor. Three bowls and three spoons were sitting stickily in the middle of the mess.

“Andrew!” cried Kristy.

“I helped,” he said proudly. “I let Boo-Boo out, too.”

Kristy turned pale. “You—you let
Boo-Boo
out? Andrew, I—”

“I guess he wasn't paying attention,” said Karen quickly.

Kristy calmed down. “I guess not…. Andrew, thank you very much for helping. But from now on, maybe you should tell me before you help with Boo-Boo, okay? Sometimes we don't let him outside.”

Andrew's face fell.

“But,” Kristy rushed on, “you did a good job with the ice cream. Thank you. Let's just wipe up the drips and then we can eat.”

Kristy, Karen, and Andrew finished their ice cream. Then Kristy put Andrew to bed and helped Karen change into her pajamas.

“Let's read stories until my bedtime,” Karen suggested.

“Okay,” said Kristy. “You choose.”

Karen searched through the shelf in her room, then sat down on her bed. Kristy sat next to her. Karen handed her a book.

“What's this?” exclaimed Kristy.
“The Witch Next Door?
Where did this come from?”

“It just appeared,” said Karen mysteriously.

Kristy looked at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Well … it appeared from inside Daddy's briefcase. He bought it for me.”

“Aha!” said Kristy. “Listen, tonight we're going to read something funny.” She took a fat book from the shelf. “Has your daddy read this to you?”

Karen shook her head. “It's too long.”

“Not if you read it a little at a time, and that's what we're going to do. Every time I baby-sit, we'll read some more.”

“Okay,” agreed Karen. She settled herself against her pillow.

“Now,” said Kristy, “this story is all about a girl exactly your age whose name is Ramona Quimby.”

“Goody,” said Karen. “I like that name.”

Kristy began to read. A half an hour later, Karen was asleep. Kristy tiptoed downstairs. As soon as she reached the kitchen, the phone rang. Kristy practically jumped out of her skin.

The caller was Mary Anne. “Just checking,” she said. “I wanted to see how you're doing.”

“Fine,” Kristy replied. “Karen and Andrew are in bed. But Karen thinks Mrs. Porter has put a freckle-spell on her.” Kristy giggled nervously.

“You know,” said Mary Anne, “I'd be able to laugh, too, if only Mrs. Porter didn't look so … so …”

“So much like a witch?”

“Well, yes. I mean, she goes flapping around her yard in those horrible black robes like some kind of overgrown bat—”

“Mary Anne, stop!”

“Okay. I'm sorry. Look, I'm not supposed to be on the phone at all. I had to tell Dad this was a homework emergency. I'm glad everything's okay.”

“Thanks.”

“Lock up tight.”

“What?”

“The windows. The doors. Lock them. Lock everything—just in case.”

“All right.”

Kristy and Mary Anne hung up, and Kristy started walking through Watson's huge, silent house. All the windows seemed to be locked, but Kristy checked each one anyway. The only problem was that there were so many of them. And the locks on some were hard to reach. Kristy was perched precariously on top of a stepladder in the library when the phone rang again.

“Aughh!” Kristy stumbled down the ladder. She reached for the phone on the big leather desk. Then she drew her hand back, afraid. After three rings, she told herself it was probably just Mary Anne calling back, even though she knew that was unlikely. Mr. Spier is
so
strict about letting his daughter talk on the phone after dinner.

“Hello?” said Kristy timidly. “… Hello?”

She thought she could hear light breathing on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” Nothing. Kristy dropped the receiver into the cradle as if it were burning her hand. She ran from the library. She knew she should check the upstairs windows, but she was too afraid. I just know the Phantom Caller is going to sneak onto the second floor, she told herself. He's probably leaning a ladder against the outside of the house at this very moment. He's—

Ring!
The phone again.

Ring
…
Ring.

At last, Kristy reached for it. She knew she had to answer it. The caller could be Watson or her mother. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. But she couldn't get any words out.

“Kristy?” asked the caller.

“Claudia?” she whispered back. (The caller was me!)

“What's wrong?” I asked her.

“I just got one of those calls.”

“Oooh.”

“And Watson's house is so huge and scary.”

“Put on lots of lights,” I suggested.

“What do you think the calls mean?” Kristy asked. She couldn't stop thinking about them. I knew just how she felt.

“Well,” I said, “they could be wrong numbers. People are pretty rude when they reach the wrong person. They usually just hang up. Or they could be little kids making goof calls.”

“I guess,” said Kristy.

“In case there's any trouble, do you remember our code?” “No.”

“Kristy! You were the one who made us rehearse. Where's your sheet with the code words?”

“At home. I didn't know how it would feel
to be so nervous. I can't even remember my last name.”

“It's Thomas.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Kristy. You are the baby-sitter. You're in charge. You better act like it.”

Silence. Then, “You're right. Okay, Claud, I'm going to get off this phone and go read
The Witch of Blackbird Pond.”

“Are you sure you want to read
that?”

“I have to. It's for school. Besides, there are no such things as witches, and I'm through being scared. I'm a baby-sitter.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“See you in school tomorrow.”

“Right. Good-bye.” Kristy hung up brusquely. She marched out of the library, got her book, and curled up with it on the living room couch. But she couldn't concentrate. She kept looking outside. The branches of the trees in Watson's yard moved eerily back and forth in front of the streetlamps. They looked sort of like hands—gloved hands.

One little branch kept tap-tapping on the bay window right by Kristy's head.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Kristy could imagine all sorts of Halloweeny creatures in Watson's yard. Cackling witches,
howling goblins, silent, watching ghouls.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Then Kristy heard another sound. Or thought she did. A sort of swooshing. It was followed by an angry yowl at the front door. “Boo-Boo!” cried Kristy. She was glad he was coming in on his own. She could stop worrying about Mrs. Porter and her garden.

Kristy ran into the front hall and flung the door open.

There was Boo-Boo, all right. But he wasn't alone. He was in the black-clothed arms of … Morbidda Destiny!

It was the first time Kristy had actually seen her, although she had imagined her vividly after Mary Anne's encounter. No wonder Karen thought she was a witch. An old, whiskery face with snappish little eyes sat under a mop of frowsy gray hair. And sure enough, she was wearing a long black dress. Watson said Mrs. Porter was just eccentric, but Kristy was not at all sure.

She gasped when she saw her.

“This cat,” said Morbidda Destiny, “was on my front porch.”

“I—I'm sorry,” said Kristy. “He got out by accident. I hope he wasn't bothering you.”

Morbidda Destiny deposited Boo-Boo in an
ungraceful heap in Watson's front hall. Boo-Boo tore out of the hall, heading for the laundry room.