10 - The Ghost Next Door (5 page)

Danny’s mother sat at the yellow kitchen table, her back to Hannah, her hair
glowing in the light of a low ceiling fixture. She had both hands wrapped around
a steaming white coffee mug.

Why doesn’t she answer the door? Hannah wondered.

She hesitated, then raised her fist and knocked loudly on the door. Several
times.

Through the window, she could see that Danny’s mother didn’t react to the
knocking at all. She lifted the white mug to her lips and took a long sip, her
back to Hannah.

“Answer the door!” Hannah cried aloud.

She knocked again. And called: “Mrs. Anderson! Mrs. Anderson! It’s me—Hannah! From next door!”

Under the cone of light, Danny’s mother set the white mug down on the yellow
table. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t move from her chair.

“Mrs. Anderson—!”

Hannah raised her hand to knock, then lowered it in defeat.

Why doesn’t she hear me? Hannah wondered, staring at the woman’s slender
shoulders, at her hair gleaming down past the collar of her blouse.

Why won’t she come to the door?

And then Hannah shivered with fear as she answered her own questions.

I know why she doesn’t hear me,
Hannah thought, backing away from the
window.

I know why she doesn’t answer the door.

Overcome with fear, Hannah uttered a low moan and backed away from the light,
off the stoop, into the safety of the darkness.

Trembling all over, Hannah wrapped her arms around her chest, as if shielding
herself from her frightening thoughts.

Mrs. Anderson doesn’t hear me because she isn’t real, Hannah realized.

She isn’t real. She’s a ghost.

Like Danny.

A ghost family has moved next door to me.

And here I am, standing in this dark back yard, trying to spy on a boy who
isn’t even alive! Here I am, trembling all over, cold with fear, trying to prove
what I’m already sure of. He’s a ghost. His mother is a ghost.

And I—I—

The kitchen light went out. The back of Danny’s house was completely dark
now.

The pale light from the crescent moon trickled onto the glistening, wet
grass. Hannah stood, listening to the silence, trying to force away the
frightening thoughts that crowded her mind until it felt as if her head were about to burst.

Where
is
Danny? she wondered.

Crossing the driveway, she headed back to her house. She could hear music and
voices from the TV in the den. She could hear the twins’ laughter floating out
from the upstairs window of their room.

Ghosts, she thought, staring at the lighted windows, like bright eyes shining
back at her.

Ghosts.

I don’t
believe
in ghosts!

The thought made her feel a little less frightened. She suddenly realized her
throat was dry. The night air felt hot and sticky against her skin.

She thought of ice-cream again. Going to Harder’s and getting a double-scoop
cone seemed an excellent idea. Cookies-and-Cream, Hannah thought. She could
already taste it.

She hurried into the house to tell her parents she was walking into town. At
the doorway to the dark-paneled den, she stopped. Her parents, bathed in the
glow of the TV screen, turned to her expectantly.

“What’s up, Hannah?”

She had a sudden impulse to tell them everything. And so she did.

“The people next door, they’re not alive,” she blurted out. “They’re ghosts.
You know Danny, the boy my age? He’s a ghost. I know he is! And his mother—”

“Hannah, please—we’re trying to watch,” her father said, pointing to the TV
with the can of diet Coke in his hand.

They don’t believe me, she thought.

And then she scolded herself: Of
course
they don’t believe me. Who
would believe such a crazy story?

In her room, she took a five-dollar bill from her wallet and shoved it into
the pocket of her shorts. Then she brushed her hair, studying her face in the
mirror.

I look okay, she thought. I don’t
look
like a crazy person.

Her hair was damp from the wet night air. Maybe I’ll let it grow, she
thought, watching it fall into shape around her face. I should have
something
to show for this summer!

As she headed toward the front door, she heard loud bumping and banging above
her head. The twins must be wrestling up in their room, she realized, shaking
her head.

She stepped back out into the warm, wet darkness, jogged down the front lawn
to the sidewalk, and headed toward town and Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor.

The tall, old-fashioned-looking streetlamps cast circles of blue-white light
along the street. The trees, trembling in soft gusts of wind, rustled over the
sidewalk as Hannah stepped beneath them.

Ghosts on the sidewalk, she thought with a shiver. They seemed to reach down
for her with their leafy arms.

As she neared town, a strange feeling of dread swept over her. She quickened
her pace as she passed the post office, its windows as black as the sky.

The town square was deserted, she saw. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and
there were no cars passing through town, no one on the streets.

“What a hick town!” she muttered under her breath.

Behind the bank, she turned onto Elm Street. Harder’s Ice-Cream Parlor stood
on the next corner, a large red neon ice-cream cone in its window, casting a red
glow onto the sidewalk.

At least Harder’s stays open past dark, Hannah thought.

As she walked closer, she could see the glass front door of the small shop
propped open invitingly.

She stopped a few feet from the door.

The feeling of dread suddenly became overpowering. Despite the heat of the
night, she felt cold all over. Her knees trembled.

What’s going on? she wondered. Why do I feel so strange?

As she stared through the red glare of the neon cone into the open doorway, a
figure burst out.

Followed by another. And another.

Into the light, they ran, their faces twisted in fear.

Staring in surprise, she recognized Danny in front, followed by Alan and
Fred.

They each held ice-cream cones in front of them.

They ran from the store, bent forward as if straining to flee as fast as
possible. Their sneakers thudded against the pavement of the sidewalk.

Hannah heard loud, angry shouts from inside the shop.

Without realizing it, she had moved close to the door.

She could still hear the three boys running away. But she could no longer see
them in the darkness.

She turned—and felt something hit her hard from behind.

“Ohh!” She cried out as she was thrown heavily onto the hard pavement.

Hannah landed hard on the sidewalk on her elbows and knees. The fall took her
breath away.

A burning pain shot through her body.

What happened?

What hit me?

Gasping for breath, she raised her head in time to see Mr. Harder barrel past
her. He was shouting at the top of his lungs for the boys to stop.

Hannah slowly pulled herself to her feet.
Whoa!
she thought. Harder is
really mad!

Standing up straight, her bare knees throbbing with pain, her heart still
thudding loudly, she glared after the store owner.

He could have at least said he was sorry he knocked me down, she thought
angrily.

She leaned over to examine her knees in the light from the ice-cream parlor.
Were they cut?

No. Just a little bruised.

Brushing off her shorts, she glanced up to see Mr. Harder hurrying back to
the store. He was a short, fat man with curls of white hair around his round, pink face. He
wore a long white apron that flapped in the wind as he walked, his fists
swinging at his sides.

Hannah ducked back out of the light, behind a wide tree trunk.

A few seconds later, she could hear him back behind the counter, complaining
loudly to his wife. “What is wrong with these kids?” he was bellowing. “They
take ice-cream and run without paying? Don’t they have parents? Don’t they have
anyone to teach them right from wrong?”

Mrs. Harder murmured something to soothe her husband. Hannah couldn’t hear
the words.

With Mr. Harder’s angry shouts filling the air, she crept out from behind the
tree and hurried away, in the direction the boys had run.

Why did Danny and his friends pull such a stupid stunt? she wondered. What if
they had been caught? Was it really worth being arrested, getting a police
record just for an ice-cream cone?

Halfway down the block, she could still hear Mr. Harder bellowing with rage
from inside his small shop. Hannah started to run, eager to get away from his
angry voice. Her left knee ached.

The air suddenly felt stifling hot, heavy and damp. Strands of hair were
matted against her forehead from sweat.

She pictured Danny running from the store, holding the ice-cream cone in one
hand. She pictured the frightened expression on his face as he fled. She pictured Alan and
Fred right behind him, their sneakers thudding against the pavement as they made
their getaway.

And now she was running, too. She wasn’t sure why.

Her left knee still ached from her fall. She was out of the town square now,
running past dark houses and lawns.

She turned a corner, the streetlamp casting a cone of white light around her.
More houses. A few porchlights lit. No one on the street.

Such a boring little town, she thought again.

She stopped short when she saw the three boys. They were halfway up the
block, huddled behind a tall, wall-like hedge.

“Hey—you guys!” Her voice came out a whisper.

Running in the street, she made her way toward them quickly. As she came
closer, she could see them laughing together, enjoying their ice-cream cones.

They hadn’t seen her. Hannah made her way into the deep shadows on the other
side of the street. Keeping in the dark, she crept closer, until she was in the
yard across the street from them, hidden by a bushy evergreen shrub.

Fred and Alan were shoving each other playfully, enjoying their triumph over
the store owner. Danny stood by himself, behind them against the tall hedge, silently licking his cone.

“Harder’s was having a special tonight,” Alan declared loudly. “Free ice-cream!”

Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan hard on the back.

Both boys turned to Danny. The light from the streetlamp made their faces
look pale and green. “You looked real scared,” Alan told Danny. “I thought you
were going to puke your guts out.”

“Hey, no way,” Danny insisted. “I was the first one out of there, you know.
You guys were so slow, I thought I’d have to come back and rescue you.”

“Yeah. For sure,” Fred replied sarcastically.

Danny’s acting tough, Hannah realized. He’s trying to be like them.

“That was kind of exciting,” Danny said, tossing the remainder of his cone
into the hedge. “But maybe we’d better be careful. You know. Not hang around
there for a while.”

“Hey, it’s not like we robbed a bank or something,” Alan said. “It was just
ice-cream.”

Fred said something to Alan that Hannah couldn’t hear, and the two boys
started wrestling around, uttering high-pitched giggles.

“Hey, guys—not so loud,” Danny warned. “I mean—”

“Let’s go back to Harder’s,” Alan suggested. “I wanted
two
scoops!”

Fred hee-hawed and slapped Alan a high-five. Danny joined in the laughter.

“Hey, guys—we should get going,” Danny said.

Before his friends could reply, the street filled with light.

Hannah turned to see two bright white lights looming toward them.

Car headlights.

The police, Hannah thought.

They’re caught. All three of them are caught.

The car stopped.

Hannah peered out from behind the shrub.

“Hey, you kids—” the driver called to the boys in a gruff voice. He poked
his head out the car window.

It isn’t the police, Hannah realized, breathing a long sigh of relief.

The boys froze against the hedge. In the dim light from the streetlamp,
Hannah could see that the driver was an elderly man, white-haired, wearing
glasses.

“We’re not doing anything. Just talking,” Fred called to the man.

“Do any of you know how to get to Route 112?” the man asked. The light went
on inside the car. Hannah could see a roadmap in the man’s hand.

Fred and Alan laughed, relieved laughter. Danny continued to stare at the
driver, his expression still frightened.

“Route 112?” the man repeated.

“Main Street turns into Route 112,” Alan told the man, pointing in the
direction the car was heading. “Go up two blocks. Then turn right.”

The light went out in the car. The man thanked them and drove off.

The boys watched until the car had disappeared in the darkness. Fred and Alan
slapped each other high-fives. Then Fred shoved Alan into the hedge. They all
laughed giddily.

“Hey, look where we are,” Alan said, surprised.

The boys turned toward the driveway. From her hiding place across the street,
Hannah followed their gaze.

At the end of the hedge stood a tall wooden mailbox on a pole. A hand-carved
swan’s head perched on top of the box, which had graceful wings jutting out from
its sides.

“It’s Chesney’s house,” Alan said, making his way along the hedge toward the
mailbox. He grabbed the wings with both hands. “Do you
believe
this
mailbox?”

“Chesney carved it himself,” Fred said, snickering. “What a dork.”

“It’s his pride and joy,” Alan sneered. He pulled open the lid and peered
inside. “Empty.”

“Who would write to
him?”
Danny declared, trying to sound as tough as
his two friends.