The Howler (6 page)

Carrying the Howler in front of me, I led the way up the stairs. Scott pulled down the door in the ceiling, and we marched up to the attic.

The afternoon sun was lowering in the sky. Pale light washed in from the single window. Long shadows stretched across the cluttered floor.

“Wow. Nice attic,” Ed said, glancing around. “It looks kind of haunted.”

Scott didn’t say anything.

I made my way across the room. “There’s a plug over by the closet,” I said. “We can plug the Howler in there.”

Vanessa pulled a carton up beside the closet, and I set the box down on it. Then I reached behind the carton to plug the Howler in.

I squatted down on the floor in front of it and clicked it on. Vanessa, Ed, and Scott huddled behind me.

I glanced behind me and caught the tense expression on Scott’s face.

I was enjoying our little joke already, even though it was just beginning. As I stared at the yellow dial, it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

Vanessa and Ed were also having trouble keeping straight faces. I could see they were really enjoying our little joke too.

“What’s happening?” Scott asked nervously. “Is it on? What does it do now?”

“It’s warming up,” I replied. “You just have to wait and listen carefully. If there are any ghosts nearby, and if they’re making any sounds, the Howler will pick them up.”

“But—maybe my ghosts are silent,” Scott said. “Maybe they don’t howl. I think they probably sleep during the day.”

“Do ghosts sleep?” Ed asked. “They’re not alive, right? So why do they have to sleep?”

“Shhh.” I raised a finger to my lips. I leaned closer to the gray box.

“I—I think I hear something,” Vanessa said loudly.

That was Justin’s cue to start making ghost sounds from the closet.

We all grew silent. Somewhere down the block, a car was honking its horn. The only other sounds were Scott’s wheezing, rapid breaths right behind me.

A few seconds went by. We huddled there in front of the little machine, frozen, staring straight ahead, listening. And then…

Owoooooooooooo
.

Soft. So very faint. Almost like a breath.

Scott gasped. “Did you hear that?”

I nodded solemnly. “The Howler is picking up something.” I raised my finger to my lips again.

Vanessa dropped to her knees beside me. “Wow,” she muttered, pretending to be amazed. She and I exchanged glances.

Oooooooowooooo
. Another howl, louder this time.

“The ghost seems so sad,” I whispered. I turned to Scott. “That’s why they howl. They can’t stand the pain.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. His eyes were bulging. His mouth kept twitching.

“I…I don’t believe this!” Ed whispered.

“
Help us…Help us out of here…
.”

The raspy, whispered words made Scott cry out. “Turn it off!” he shrieked. “I—I don’t want to disturb them!”

“Shhhh. Listen,” I said, pointing to the speaker.

I pressed the red button. “Where are you?” I asked. “Are you in this room with us?”

Silence. A long, tense silence.

“
Help us…. The snow is so high….
”

Vanessa covered her mouth. I could see she was about to laugh.

I turned and saw that Scott wasn’t laughing. He was buying it.

He believed he was hearing a real ghost.

I pressed the red button. “Can you hear me?” I asked. “Where are you? Who are you? Please—tell us.”

“
The snow is so high
,” came the whisper. “
We’ve been snowed in for days. And we’re so hungry…so hungry
.”

“But where are you?” I called into the Howler. I turned to the others. “I don’t think he can hear me.”

“Maybe he’s very far away,” Scott said. He kept swallowing. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and stared at the gray box.

“
Can you help us?
” came the whisper. “
We’ve been trapped here for so long. We’d be so happy…so grateful…. Please…
”

I pressed my face close to the Howler. “We can help you,” I said. “You have to tell us where you are.”

“But—maybe we don’t want to help them,” Scott said softly.

Ed laughed. “You’re chicken—aren’t you!”

Scott didn’t reply.

“The ghost sounds so sad,” Vanessa said. “We have to help him.”

“
Please…let us out of here. Let us out!
” came the cry, so faint, so far away.

Justin is doing an awesome job, I thought. Look at Scott. He’s shaking like a leaf. Excellent! This is excellent!

I pressed the red button. “We will try to help
you,” I shouted. “But you have to tell us where you are.”

“
In the closet
,” came the reply. “
Please…we’ve been in the closet for so long…. It’s so dark, so cold. And we’re very hungry. Please…
”

I jumped to my feet and turned to the closet.

This was the big moment. Time for Scott to get the scare of his life.

My heart was pounding. I couldn’t wait. I caught the excited expressions on Vanessa’s and Ed’s faces.

“Wait—” Scott cried. “Spencer, where are you going?”

“To the closet,” I said, pointing. “We have to open the closet.”

“But—but—” Scott sputtered.

“You’ve told us all about the ghosts in this house,” Vanessa said. “Don’t you want to see them?”

“Don’t you want to help them?” Ed added.

I didn’t wait for Scott to answer. I pushed him up to the closet door. “Open it,” I said.

He tried to back away, but we had him surrounded. He was trembling. Large beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face.

“Open it, Scott,” Vanessa urged.

“Just open it,” I said.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. He grabbed the door handle. He took a deep breath.

Vanessa, Ed, and I braced ourselves. We were ready for the big moment.

Scott hesitated…hesitated…. Then he pulled open the closet door.

All four of us stared—stared into the shallow, dark closet.

THERE WAS NO ONE INSIDE.

“Oh, wow.” I stared into the empty closet.

Vanessa grabbed my arm. “Where’s Justin?” she whispered.

Before I could answer, I heard a clumping sound on the stairs. I turned and saw Justin step up into the attic.

“Hey, guys—sorry I’m late,” he called. “My mom beeped me, and I had to see what it was about.”

Scott still had his hand on the closet doorknob. He turned to me, his expression puzzled. “What’s going on, Spencer?”

Ed’s eyes were wide with fear. “I—I don’t get it,” he murmured.

“Ohhhhh!” I let out a startled cry as a blast of freezing air shot out of the closet.

Scott’s hand flew off the door handle, and he stumbled back. Another powerful blast sent Vanessa, Ed, and me staggering back across the attic.

“Ohhh, the smell!” I moaned. The cold air smelled like rotting meat.

Justin had stopped in the middle of the room. “What’s up?” he called. “Did you start without me?”

And then his expression changed, and he started to gag as the cold, putrid air swirled around him.

“Shut the door!” Scott shouted. “Hurry! Shut the closet door!”

I pinched two fingers over my nose to keep the disgusting odor out. Then I lowered my head into the swirling wind and took a few steps toward the closet.

But a high, shrill scream made me stop.

The scream rose up from the closet like a police siren. And rose and rose—until it became a deafening screech.

My eardrums felt about to burst. I slapped my hands over my ears. But I couldn’t keep out the horrifying, painfully shrill wail.

Holding my head, I struggled toward the closet. But the putrid wind swirled, pushing me back…back.

I stumbled. Fell to my knees. The wind raged over me.

And over its howl, I heard voices. Chattering, excited whispers.

“
Free…
”

“
We are free…At last we have been set free!
”

“
Make them pay! Make them pay!
”

I raised my head and saw Vanessa down on her knees too. Bent under the rushing blasts of wind.

Ed lay flat on the floor. He didn’t move.

Scott hunched in a corner, holding his head.

Another siren cry tore through me. The crushing pain shot over me. Violent streaks of yellow lightning exploded across the attic. I shut my eyes tight but couldn’t close out the blinding light.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Justin bent over, puking his guts out near the stairs. Vanessa sprawled facedown on the floor, her head buried beneath her hands.

The sickening wind spun around us. Held us in place.

The raspy, ugly voices hissed and whispered and laughed. And another long, high shriek made me cry out in agony.

“Oh, no!” I wailed. “What have we done? What have we done?”

“
Pay them back! Pay them back!
”

The voices rasped on the swirling, freezing winds.

“
A hundred years—but now we’re FREE!
”

I uttered a terrified moan. My stomach churned from the thick, sour odor. Pushing against the wind, I forced myself to my feet.

Shut the closet door.

I’ve got to shut the door.

The howling wind roared over me. I lowered my shoulder into it. I shut my eyes. And pushed forward with all my strength.

Pushed…

It felt as if I were trying to shove my way through a solid wall.

The thick, sour odor made my stomach churn. I held my breath, but I couldn’t shut out the smell.

One step forward…another…

I can’t get there, I realized. The wind is too strong.

Can’t…can’t…

“Ohhhh!” I cried out as I fell. Fell forward.

I staggered into the closet door. Raised both hands—and slammed it shut.

Yes!

The roaring wind stopped. Silence now. A heavy, eerie silence. The sour smell lingered in my nose. I could taste it when I swallowed.

I blinked, gazing at the closet door, feeling dizzy and dazed.

Did I do it? Did I lock those ghosts in?

The room spinning, I turned to my friends. “Hurry! We’ve got to get out of here!”

I grabbed Vanessa’s hand and tried to pull her to her feet. “Come on! Move!” I dragged her up. I pulled her toward the attic stairs.

Justin sat up, shaking his head, blinking, looking very confused. Ed lay beside him, on his back on the floor, groaning, holding his stomach.

“Hurry!” I shouted. “Get downstairs! We’ve got to get away from here!”

I pulled Vanessa another few steps, stumbling over small cartons and piles of newspapers. Scott was already running down the stairs. Vanessa and I followed close behind him.

“Hurry!” I shouted up to Ed and Justin. “Move!”

They came stumbling down the stairs. Scott grabbed the ceiling door with both hands. He hoisted it to the ceiling and shoved the metal bolt shut.

Panting like animals, we huddled on the floor. I
could still hear the siren howls ringing in my ears. The putrid smell of death, of decay, clung to my skin and my clothes.

“L-let’s go,” I stammered. I started toward the front door.

“Don’t leave me here!” Scott tugged me back. “I—I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know there were real ghosts up there, Spencer. I made up all the stories.”

I raised my eyes to the ceiling door. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s quiet now. We locked them in. We locked them back in the closet. You’ll be okay.”

Scott’s chin was trembling. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. “I’m never going up there again. Never!” he said.

“I’ve tried to contact ghosts for a year. I had no idea it would be so terrifying. I’m never going to try again,” I declared. “Never.”

Little did I realize that I’d be risking my life back in Scott’s attic a few days later.

The next few days whirred past in a blur. I was in a total daze. I couldn’t shut the ghosts from my mind.

Will I ever forget that terrifying scene? I wondered.

I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork. I could barely think straight!

After school on Tuesday, I was down on the floor of my room, frantically painting a poster. The poster was due on Wednesday. I had completely forgotten I’d entered the school poster art contest.

I knew that most kids would be doing a lot of fancy graphics on their computers. I decided to do my poster the old-fashioned way.

I had cans of red and black paint and three different-sized brushes spread out on the floor beside my sheet of poster board. I planned to write “ROAR, TIGERS!” in bold black letters at the top. Tigers is the name of our school sports teams.

I had already sketched a very angry, roaring tiger head in pencil. I planned to give it red-and-black
stripes. Make it really jump off the poster.

Leaning over the poster board, I had just started to paint the black outline of the head, when I heard footsteps. And someone calling me.

I glanced up to see Scott step into my room. I hadn’t seen him in school that day. But I really didn’t have time to talk.

“Hey, Spencer—” He stopped a few inches from the poster. “You’re still working on your poster? I finished mine last week. I did some really cool things on my computer.”

“I forgot all about the poster contest,” I said. “So now I’m in a rush.” I didn’t look up. I kept moving the brush, filling in my sketch.

“Is that a dog?” Scott asked.

I groaned. “No. A tiger.” I dropped the brush onto the newspaper I’d spread. “What’s up, Scott? Are you okay? Have you seen any ghosts?”

His smile faded. He shook his head. “No. It’s been quiet. I think we locked them up.”

“Good,” I muttered. A chill ran down my back, thinking about those ghosts.

“I told my parents the whole story,” Scott said. “I told them everything.”

“And what did they say?” I asked.

He frowned. “They told me to save the ghost stories for Halloween.”

My mouth dropped open. “You mean…they didn’t believe you?”

He shook his head. “No. They didn’t. And there was
no way
I’d take them up to the attic and open the closet door to prove it to them.”

“Good move,” I said. I knew his parents wouldn’t believe him. My parents wouldn’t believe it either. I guess that’s why I didn’t tell them about it.

“I’m still kind of scared,” Scott admitted. “I jump every time I hear a creak or any noise. I think those ghosts are going to come jumping out at me.”

I nodded my head. “I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking about them too. But I think we locked them up. You’re safe as long as no one opens that closet.”

I could see him thinking hard about that. A few minutes later, he left. I grabbed my paintbrush, leaned over the poster, and went back to work.

“What’s that mess you’re making, punk?” Nick came bursting into my room a few minutes later.

“I have to paint a poster,” I said.

“A poster? It looks more like you puked up your lunch.”

“Thanks, Nick. You’re a nice guy,” I said.

He moved closer until he blocked out the light. I couldn’t see what I was painting.

“What does ‘I’ stand for?” he asked.

“‘I’?”

“Yeah. ‘I,’” he repeated. “What does it stand for?”

I thought hard. “Uh…idiot?”

“At least you know your name,” Nick said, grin
ning. “But you got it wrong. ‘I’ stands for ice cream.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because we don’t have any good ice cream in the freezer.” He nudged me softly in the side with one of his big boots. “Get going, punk. Buy two pints, okay? Use your own money. I’m a little broke this week.”

“No way, Nick!” I shouted. “I’m not doing it! I’m not!”

“Hurry back,” Nick said. “It’s almost dinnertime. You don’t want to be late.”

“No!” I shouted. “No! No! NO!”

He raised his boot and held it over my poster. “Do you think your poster will look better before or after I step on it?” He started to lower the boot.

“No! No way!” I insisted. I shoved his foot away. “I have to get this poster done! I’m not going for ice cream, Nick! Now, beat it! BEAT IT!”

He backed up a step. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Don’t have a hissy fit.” To my surprise, he turned and stomped out of the room.

“Wow! I won!” I exclaimed.

What a victory! I had never stood up to Nick before. Never. And the first time I did—I won!

I leaned over the poster and started to paint again.

But I didn’t have long to paint. A few minutes later, I heard Mom calling from downstairs. “Spencer,
your dad is back from the supermarket. Come help him put away the groceries.”

“But, Mom, I’m busy,” I protested. “Why can’t Nick do it this week?”

“Because it’s your job!” Mom shouted. “Hurry. I’ve almost got dinner ready.”

I had no choice. I dropped the paintbrush into the can of red paint and hurried downstairs to help my dad.

It didn’t take long. I set the world record for emptying shopping bags. Then I hurried back upstairs.

I stepped into my room—and let out a sharp cry. “Oh, NO!”

A thick red stripe. Someone had painted a thick red stripe down my bedroom wall.

No. Not a stripe.

The letter I! A long red I!

“NICK! YOU JERK!” I screamed. “YOU JERK! YOU JERK!”