Beware the Pirate Ghost (4 page)

“It wasn’t anybody’s blood,” Brian said. “If we’d been closer we probably would have smelled ketchup.”

Sean wouldn’t give up. “But the pirate made a lot of noise. How come Lester didn’t hear him?”

“The pirate was standing at the entrance of the caves,” Brian said. “Lester would have had to run right into him.”

“He could have yelled for help.”

“The pirate or Lester?” Sam said.

“Look, Sean’s right. We haven’t heard a sound from Lester,” Brian said. “That worries me.”

Sean leaned against one of the boulders. “How are we going to go back to the caves without running into the pirate again?”

“Easy,” Brian answered. “The pirate thinks he’s scared us and we’ve run home. We’ll leave our bikes here and climb down the trail again.”

“He won’t see us?”

“Not if we’re careful. I saw what looks like another trail branching off the one that drops down to the beach. I don’t know how far it goes, but we can try it. That way we’ll be hidden by the rocks as we go behind the shack. Hopefully, we can stay hidden all the way to the caves’ entrance.”

Brian looked at Sean and Sam. “Are you coming with me to look for Lester?”

Sean gulped, then answered, “We have to find him. I’ll come.”

Sam didn’t seem very happy about the idea, but he said, “We haven’t got a choice. I’ll come, too.”

It was hard going. The trail grew narrow, then disappeared entirely. Brian climbed the nearest boulder to look around, then jumped down to where Sean was standing.

“No problem,” he said. “The shack’s right below us. I just saw the fisherman go inside. He was whistling and looked pleased with himself. He’s sure now that he scared us away.”

Sean looked at the boulders ahead. “Where do we go now?”

“We’ll climb over the rocks. Just a little way farther they’ll be like stepping-stones down to the mouth of the caves.”

Sean shuddered as he thought about the gaping hole in the rocks and the gaping mouth of the pirate-fisherman. “Yuck! Don’t say
mouth
,” he said. “It makes me think of being swallowed.”

Brian led the way. Carefully, he, Sean, and Sam inched their way up and over the pile of boulders.

Just as Brian had said, going down was a lot easier. Soon they reached the ledge of dark rock that stretched over the sand. A few feet away loomed the entrance to the caves.

Brian put a finger to his lips and pointed to a pocket of sand that had drifted into the entrance. At one side, where it mounded against the rock wall, were small shoe prints.

“Lester’s in here somewhere,” he whispered.

Sean, Brian, and Sam quickly slipped inside the cave. Sean cautiously poked his head out to see if there was any sign of the fisherman. “He didn’t see us, Bri,” he said and leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief.

But the wall curved inward, and Sean went with it, staggering to stay on his feet. In this hidden spot something rough and scratchy swung over his head, brushing his cheek. “Yikes!” Sean cried. He jumped back, crashing into Brian, who had followed him.

“Be quiet,” Brian said.

“But something …” He looked up to see a headless pirate swinging slowly against the wall. “Yikes!” he shouted again.

“It’s only the pirate costume,” Brian said. “It’s hanging on a piece of rock that’s jutting out.”

“I thought it was the ghost.”

“Stop scaring yourself. I told you, there aren’t any ghosts in here.”

Sean’s eyes grew accustomed to the dim light that filtered into the black stone walls of this pocket in the cave. He could clearly see the costume. “I’m glad nothing was inside it,” he said. “No pirates. No ghosts.”

A battered old sword lay on the ground. It had been wiped clean, but the rag next to it was covered with ketchup.

Sean and Brian stepped back into the main room of the cave. Sam turned on his flashlight and aimed the beam for the back wall. “It narrows there,” he said, “but I can see some kind of opening—maybe into another cavern.”

Brian studied the area. “The opening seems large enough to walk through,” he said.

“How far back does this cave go?” Sean asked.

“I don’t know,” Brian answered. “It could be quite a long way. We’ll find out.”

Sean turned on his flashlight. He swung the beam of light on the ragged pirate costume. “Good-bye, old pirate,” he said, and laughed. “No ghosts allowed in here.”

But in the stillness, from the depths of the cave, came a long, soft, mournful wail.

S
EAN GASPED AND YELLED
, “I’m outta here!”

Brian grabbed Sean’s shoulder. “Don’t panic,” he told him.

“You said there were no ghosts in here.”

“Right,” Sam said. “I heard you say it.”

“That wasn’t a ghost we heard. It was probably Lester.”

Sean stopped struggling and looked at Brian. “Lester made that awful, scary sound?”

“That’s what we have to find out. Lester may be scared or even hurt.”

“Or just trying to scare us,” Sean said.

Sam glanced into the blackness that lay behind the narrow turn in the cave. “Should we go for help?”

“Not yet. First, let’s see what’s going on.”

Brian, Sean, and Sam squeezed through the narrow passage and around the corner, their flashlights lighting the way. They found themselves in a large cavern with rough walls and an uneven floor.

Brian put out a hand to hold Sean back. “Look out,” he said. “There may be holes in the cave floor or it may be thin in places. We don’t want you to fall through.”

“How come all of a sudden you know so much about caves?” Sean asked.

“We had Mr. Caney for science last year,” Sam said.

“Yeah. He’s a spelunker,” Brian said.

“Spelunkers explore caves. Mr. Caney liked to talk about his adventures, but he also warned us about the dangers.”

Sean turned his flashlight on the rough walls, discovering holes where the rock had been worn away by the waves that had once pounded against it. On the other side of the cave were deeper holes that looked like openings into other caverns. “There must be other rooms in this cave,” Sean said. “If Lester
did
come in here, which way would he have gone?”

“I’ll see if he answers us,” Brian said. He called loudly, “Lester! Where are you?”

Again, a mournful wail rose around them. Sean grabbed Brian’s arm. “That noise came out of the ground,” he whispered.

Brian pulled away from Sean and took a cautious step forward. “Lester!” he yelled. “Answer us. We have to know where you are.”

The wail turned into a whimper, and a small voice cried, “I’m down here.”

Brian dropped to his knees. “Stay where you are,” he told Sam and Sean. The cave floor was icy cold, and the dampness seeped into Brian’s jeans. Carefully, testing the floor as he crawled, he made his way toward a dark patch that lay ahead.

“Talk to us, Lester,” he said. “Keep talking. Let us know where you are.”

Lester stopped crying. He coughed, then asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Brian Quinn. My brother Sean is with me, and Sam Miyako is here, too.”

“I want my mother,” Lester demanded. “And my father. Why aren’t they here?”

“Because they don’t know where you are,” Brian said. As he inched forward, he saw that the dark patch was a jagged hole in the cave floor.

“If they don’t know, how come
you
know?” Lester demanded.

“We’re private investigators,” Brian said. “We followed the clues.”

Sean called to Lester, “Yeah, and they believed your ransom note. We didn’t.”

“It was a good ransom note!” Lester shouted angrily. He went into a coughing fit and Brian turned to shake his head at Sean.

“Don’t make him mad,” Brian whispered to Sean. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”

Brian slid on his stomach to the edge of the hole and aimed his flashlight beam downward. He gasped as he saw that the hole was so deep that the light couldn’t break through the blackness.

Just below Brian, about ten feet down, was a narrow ledge. On this ledge, at the edge of the dark pit, lay Lester Hopper.

“I hurt my ankle!” Lester moaned. “I can’t stand up.” He wiggled impatiently. “Get me out of here! What’s taking you so long?”

Brian held his breath as a loose piece of rock crumbled from the ledge and bounced into the blackness.

“Lester, don’t move,” Brian said firmly. “You’ve got to stay quiet. You’re lying on a ledge that couldn’t be more that four feet wide.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” Lester squirmed again. “Just get me out of here.” He scowled. “And don’t think you’re going to make me take that awful medicine, because I wont.”

“We don’t even have your dumb old medicine,” Sean called.

Brian spoke firmly to Lester. “You don’t want to fall over the side like those rocks did, so do what I said—don’t move. We’re going to have to get help to get you out of there.”

“I’ll ask the fisherman to call 911,” Sam said.

Brian twisted toward Sam. “I don’t think the fisherman has a phone. You’ll have to ride back to town. Get the police, the firemen, the paramedics. And call my dad.”

“I’m on my way,” Sam said. He backed up and left the cave.

“Sean,” Brian said, “I’ll stay with Lester. You get the fisherman. Bring him in here.”

“He tried to scare us away,” Sean said. “What makes you think he’ll help us.”

“He’ll help. Tell him to bring his lantern and a lot of strong rope. And be careful! Watch for holes!”

Sean shook so hard, the beam from his flashlight wobbled ahead of him, making a wiggly light show on the walls and floor of the cave. Daylight streamed through the opening to the world outside, and Sean rushed toward it. He burst through, tripping on the rock ledge and sprawling onto the sand below.

He picked himself up, turned off his flashlight, and stuck it in his belt. As fast as possible, Sean struggled through the deep sand until he came to the fisherman’s shack. Although Sean was afraid of meeting the fisherman face-to-face, he pounded on the door of the shack.

“Help!” he yelled. “You’ve got to help us!”

Sean took a step backward and tensed, waiting for the fisherman to come storming out. But nothing happened.

Puzzled, Sean hammered on the door again.

When it didn’t open, Sean turned the handle. The door easily slid open. Stacks of old newspapers lined one wall, and dirty dishes were piled in a pan next to a small butane gas stove. But there was no sign of the fisherman. The shack was empty.

“We need you! Where are you?” Sean shouted. He knew it would take at least a half hour for other help to arrive. They couldn’t leave Lester on that narrow ledge all that time.

Sean ran down the beach and scanned the bay. In the distance, too far away to hear Sean’s yells, the fisherman sat in a tiny rowboat.

“Come back!” Sean screamed to him. But the fisherman didn’t hear. He didn’t even glance in Sean’s direction.

Sean rubbed at a tear that rolled down his cheek. He had to do something to bring the fisherman back. But what? What was he going to do?

F
IRE!
SEAN THOUGHT. THE
fisherman might not be able to hear him, but he could see him—especially if Sean attracted his attention with a fiery torch.

Sean dashed back to the shack and burst through the door. He grabbed some newspapers and rolled them together into a tight cone about six feet long. He dipped the end in a can that smelled like bacon grease. Then Sean snatched a matchbook that lay near the stove. He ran back outside to the water’s edge. His fingers trembled, but he managed to light the third match he tried. He held it to the dripping top of the newspaper cone, shielding it from the breeze until the fire caught and was blazing nicely.

Sean waved the torch in the air and shouted again at the fisherman.

Suddenly the man looked in Sean’s direction and jumped with alarm. He put down his pole and began to row quickly toward the shore.

Sean shoved what was left of the burning newspaper cone into the water’s edge, and the fire went out with a sizzle.

It seemed like forever to Sean until the rowboat pulled up on the sand and the angry fisherman leaped out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled at Sean.