Ghouls Gone Wild (7 page)

“Mom, you don't understand,” I said. “It's not because I'm afraid. I'm not making this up. Really.”

“Maxie, listen to me. Your ghost stories—”

“I'm going to prove it,” I said, jumping to my feet. “If I prove there are ghosts here, will you listen to me, Mom?”

Mom closed her book. She stared up at me.

“You're going to prove there are ghosts in the room? Is this one of your magic tricks?”

“No way,” I said. “No tricks. It's for real.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “Go ahead. I'm game. Prove it to me.”

I took a deep breath.

She really was listening this time.

I turned to Nicky and Tara. I couldn't see them. Sometimes they go invisible.

“Tara,” I said, “pick up my mom's book. Make it float around the room.”

The book sat on Mom's lap. She moved her hands away from it. We both stared down at the book.

“Nothing's happening,” Mom said.

“Go ahead, Tara,” I said. “Show my mom you're here. Make the book float up in the air.”

Mom and I both waited.

I counted to ten.

“Nicky? Tara? Where are you?” I asked, gazing around. I didn't see them anywhere.

“Max, are you
sure
this isn't some kind of magic trick?” Mom asked. “It isn't working too well.”

“It's not a trick,” I snapped. “Nicky? Tara? Stop kidding around. Pick up the couch pillows. Make them fly back and forth around the room. Come on. Hurry!”

Mom turned and stared at the pillows. “Max? I don't get it,” she said. “Is this a joke?”

“Nicky? Tara?” I cried, my voice cracking. “Show Mom you're here. Come on. Make the pillows fly.”

Nothing.

“Nicky? Tara?”

I picked up a pillow. I tossed it into the air. “Nicky—catch!”

The pillow dropped to the floor. I picked it up and tossed it high again. “The ghosts are throwing it!” I said. “Look, Mom.” I tossed the pillow again.

“Max, give it up,” Mom said.

“But—but—but—” I sputtered. “I don't understand it. They were here a minute ago. I—”

She got to her feet. She wrapped me in a hug and pressed her cheek against mine. It felt warm and soft.

“Maxie, listen to me,” she whispered. “I know moving away is a scary thing. Especially moving
far away. But you don't have to make up ghost stories to change our minds.”

“But Mom—”

“We'll all be together,” Mom said. “Think of the move as a big adventure for
all
of us.”

“Okay, Mom,” I whispered.

What else could I say? Nicky and Tara had suddenly vanished. It happened to them all the time. They said they couldn't help it. But this was the
worst
possible time.

And so Mom thought I was a big baby, making up ghost stories so she'd feel sorry for me.

I had no choice. I turned and trudged up to my room.

“Nicky? Tara?” I called, closing my bedroom door behind me. “Are you in here? Where did you go? Are you okay? Why did you disappear?”

No reply.

I sank onto my bed.
Now
what? I asked myself.

I can't move to Texas and leave my good friends all alone in the world.

But what can I do about it?

A
FTER SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY
, Quentin finally came home with me. I was really excited that he and I could finally share some tricks.

I left him in the kitchen and hurried up to my bedroom. “Nicky? Tara? Are you back?” I cried. I glanced around the room.

I still hadn't seen them since they'd disappeared in the den. I was starting to worry about them.

I sighed. No sign of them.

I hurried down to the kitchen and pulled out some snacks. “Watch this trick,” I said to Quentin. “Bet I can make this cookie disappear.”

We made a whole bunch of cookies disappear. Then we went up to my room to show each other magic tricks.

Quentin had brought over a black leather bag filled with his magic stuff. He set it down next to my desk. “You go first,” he said. “Let's see what you've got.”

I did a few simple sight tricks first. I made a quarter disappear, and I pulled it from his ear. I took scissors and cut a piece of rope into three sections. Then I made the rope appear whole again. I waved a magic wand, and the wand turned into a bouquet of flowers.

Baby stuff.

Quentin watched me the whole time with his arms crossed in front of him. His shiny blue eyes studied my tricks without blinking. He was concentrating hard.

I finished with one of my harder tricks. I borrowed Quentin's baseball cap. I poured a pitcher of water into it. Then I swung the cap over him and pulled it down onto his head.

No water. The cap was totally dry.

“Not bad,” he said. “Very cool.”

I grinned. “Thanks. I had a lot of accidents with that trick. But now I get it right
most
of the time.”

Quentin brushed back his blond hair. “Show me how to do it?” he asked.

“First show me your stuff,” I said. I dropped down on the edge of my bed to watch.

He bent down to open his black case. He turned his back to block my view. He placed a lot of stuff on the desk. When he turned around, he had an egg in his hand.

“I do a lot of card tricks,” he said. “But you
probably know them all. So I'm going to start off with my best trick.”

He held up the egg. “Keep your eye on the egg, Max. Don't let it out of your sight.”

I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands, and gazed up at the egg.

He stuck his hand out and shoved the egg toward my face. Then he pulled it back and swung his arm around twice. He closed his fist around the egg, hiding it.

“Are you watching?” he asked. “This is a trick I've been hatching for a long time.”

I stared at Quentin's fist. “Ta-daa!” he sang.

He opened his hand—and in his palm sat a live chick.

“Wow!” I cried. I jumped up from the bed and took a closer look. It really was a live chick. “Awesome!” I said. “That's outstanding!”

Quentin grinned. He took a short bow. Then he turned and carefully set the chick down inside the bag.

“Did you have it in your sleeve?” I asked. “Or did you have it in your other hand the whole time?”

Before he could answer, the bedroom door swung open and Colin came bouncing in. He grinned his perfect, toothy grin at me as he checked out Quentin's magic gear on my desk.

“Yo! Magic tricks,” he said. He turned to Quentin. “I'm into magic too.”

“No way,” Quentin said.

Colin strode up to me. “Want to see a really neat trick? I can make parts of Max's skin turn bright red.”

“No, please—” I cried. I tried to scramble away. Too late.

Pow powpow powpowpow.

Colin jerked up my T-shirt. He grinned at Quentin. “See?”

My stomach and chest were bright red.

“G-good trick,” I sputtered, when I could finally breathe again.

“Here's a better one,” Quentin told my brother.

He stepped up close to Colin and cupped a hand over his own right eye. He twisted his hand a few times.

Then Quentin pulled his hand away and raised his palm in front of Colin's face.

Resting in Quentin's palm was his
eyeba
!

“Gaaaack!”
Colin opened his mouth and let out a choking sound. His eyes bulged as he stared in horror at Quentin's runny, wet eyeball. The blue eye seemed to stare up at him.

“No way!” Colin gasped. He turned and took off, running out of the room. A few seconds later, we heard loud groans and heaves—violent vomiting sounds—coming from his room.

Quentin giggled as he pushed the eyeball back into place.

I gaped at him. “How did you do that?”

A sly smile crossed his face. “Wouldn't
you
like to know!”

Q
UENTIN REFUSED TO SHOW ME
how to do any of his tricks. He said he had to hurry home for dinner. “Next time, we'll trade secrets,” he said.

He packed up his bag and I showed him downstairs. We could still hear Colin gagging and retching in his room.

I figured any trick that could make my brother lose his lunch was a totally excellent trick. I wanted to learn it as soon as possible. It looked so totally real. But I knew it couldn't be.

“How about tomorrow?” I asked Quentin.

He shrugged. “Maybe.” He took off jogging to the street, swinging the black leather bag beside him.

I went into the kitchen, borrowed an egg from the fridge, and carried it upstairs to my room. I practiced sliding it around in my hand. I tried to figure out how Quentin had palmed it and made a chick appear in its place.

Then I realized that the chick couldn't have
been hidden in his sleeve. He'd been wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt!

I set the egg down. I couldn't figure it out. Maybe Quentin will show me how it's done tomorrow, I thought.

I heard a car rumble outside. I heard a horn. Two long blasts.

I poked my head out the window and saw Mom's car turning into the drive. I ran outside to greet her.

“Help me with these grocery bags,” she said, popping the trunk. “Oh, I'm in a state. I'm late. I can't believe this is happening.”

“Huh? What's happening?” I asked.

She dropped a bulging grocery bag into my hands. It weighed about fifty pounds and sent me staggering to my knees.

Buster began barking his head off in the garage. I guess he just wanted to be let out to say hi to Mom.

“No time. No time,” Mom said, fluttering around like a hummingbird. “Hurry. Take that bag in and come out for more.”

I started to the kitchen door. “But what's going on, Mom?” I asked from behind the bag.

“It's Mr. Grimmus,” she replied, following me inside. “Your dad's new boss from Dallas. He's surprised us. He's coming for dinner
tonight.”

“Oh, wow,” I muttered. I dropped the grocery
bag onto the kitchen counter. “He's coming to check Dad out for the job?”

“That's right,” Mom said. “He likes to surprise people. Drop in on them without any warning.”

She began walking around in fast circles, rubbing her chin almost raw, talking to herself. “What should I do first? Should we have chicken or steak? Chicken or steak?”

Buster barked and howled in the garage.

“Steak!” Mom snapped her fingers. “I'll throw the steaks on. I bought fresh steaks the other day. We have a freezer full of them.” She flashed me a tense smile. “Mr. Grimmus is from Texas, right? He'll like a good steak.”

“I guess,” I said weakly. I wasn't thinking about steaks. I was thinking about Nicky and Tara.

“Yes. Steaks. Good old steaks!” Mom said. “So easy. So quick. And perfect for a Texan.”

She pulled open the freezer door—and let out a groan.

I sniffed the air. “Oh, gross!” I moaned. “What's that pukey smell? It smells like a
skunk!”

Mom gripped the freezer door and peered inside. Her chin was trembling. Her eyes watered. “Broken,” she whispered. “The freezer is broken.”

She let go of the door and began pounding her fists against the side of the fridge. “Spoiled! All the
steaks—they're spoiled!” she screamed. She pounded the fridge like a crazy person.

“Mom—stop!” I cried, holding my nose against the heavy putrid odor. I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the fridge.

“The steaks are rotten,” she moaned. “Rotten! They turned green. Do you believe it? They're
green!”
She tried to beat the fridge again, but I held her away.

She rubbed her chin again, thinking hard. “What am I going to serve Mr. Grimmus?” she asked. “If we don't make a good impression, your dad will lose the job!”

In the garage, Buster howled and barked. Maybe he smelled the rotten meat.

Mom grabbed the car keys and ran to the kitchen door. “When your dad gets home, tell him I'm at the butcher shop!”

The door slammed behind her.

Nicky and Tara were waiting in my bedroom. Nicky was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. Tara was stretched out on my bed with the old spell book open on her lap.

“You're back!” I cried. “Where were you? Why did you leave me there in the den?”

“Sorry, Max,” Tara said, looking up from the book. “We keep fading away. We can't control it.” She sighed. “Everything just goes black.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” I asked. “Did you hear my mom? Did you hear what's happening?”

“We heard everything,” Nicky said, shaking his head.

“That's why I'm looking up spells,” Tara said, turning the page in her book. “There
has
to be a spell for keeping Texans out of the house.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, frowning at her. “Remind me to laugh later.” I sighed and dropped down on the edge of the bed. “I repeat my question. What are we going to do?”

Tara's eyes flashed. “Maybe we should bring back those two ghouls.”

“No way!” I said. “My parents would
kill
me. You know I'd get blamed. I'd be a ghost like you. Really.”

“Just kidding,” Tara said. “The ghouls are gone.”

My throat felt tight. It was hard to swallow, hard to breathe. “I…don't want to leave you guys,” I said. “But if Mr. Grimmus likes us, I…I'm gone.”

Before they could reply, the front doorbell rang.

“That's him!” I cried. “That's Mr. Grimmus.”

Colin poked his head into my room. “Let's go, loser face,” he said. “That's Dad's new boss. We've gotta go make nice. I know
you
won't make a
good impression. But at least he'll see that
I'm
a winner.”

I checked my hair in the mirror. A bouncy mess, as always. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I'm coming,” I said.

I turned and saw Colin staring at my bed. His eyes bulged. “Max,” he said, pointing. “That big book…it's floating in midair.”

“Yes, I know,” I said. “It's such a good book. I can't put it down!”

I
FOLLOWED
C
OLIN DOWN
the stairs. Dad was shaking hands with Mr. Grimmus at the front door.

He was a big red-faced man with long wavy white hair and a bushy white mustache. He wore a tight-fitting brown suit and a vest that barely covered his big belly. He had a black string tie around the collar of his white shirt, and he wore high-heeled black cowboy boots.