The Howler (9 page)

We made our way up to the attic. Outside, the sun had lowered behind the trees. The attic stood in darkness.

I expected to see them—the ghost family—floating toward us, shimmering in the gray-blue dark. Howling. Their skeletal faces glowing with their anger.

But the attic was empty and silent.

Keeping close together, Vanessa and I crossed the room to the Howler on the carton where we had left it. We knelt down in front of it.

I turned the power button and watched the yellow dial flash on. I gave it a few seconds to warm up.

Would it work? It was a crazy idea. But our friends had all disappeared. Vanessa and I were next. I was desperate.

I brought my face close to the speaker. I pushed the red button.

“Hello?” My voice came out tiny and weak.
“Hello?” I tried again. “Ian? It’s me—Spencer. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

Silence.

I felt Vanessa’s icy hand on my shoulder. “This is so crazy,” she murmured.

I leaned back toward the Howler and called into it. “Hello? Ian? Please! Ian—are you there?”

Vanessa and I stared into the glowing yellow dial, waiting for a reply. Waiting…

This isn’t going to work, I realized. I’m just wasting time.

We’re doomed. Doomed.

That was my last thought—my last, gloomy thought—before the Howler exploded.

The Howler exploded without warning.

I didn’t hear the blast until after I had been shot backward—lifted off my feet—and thrown against the attic wall.

I let out a weak groan as the crash took my breath away.

The flash of flame was so bright, I could see it through my closed eyelids.

And then, as the pain raced over my body, swallowing me, devouring me—I heard the explosion. A blast of sound that rattled my bones, that made my teeth vibrate.

The attic rocked from side to side. I saw another tall burst of flames. And then everything went black.

I opened my eyes to a shimmering wall of yellow and orange flames.

I sucked in a deep breath and started to cough. Thick black smoke choked the attic.

“I’m…alive,” I murmured. My back and shoulders ached. But I felt my strength returning.

I had fallen into a sitting position against the wall. I pulled myself to my feet.

Flames crackled and danced, leaping to the attic ceiling.

“Vanessa?” I called, my voice hoarse from the smoke. “Vanessa—are you okay?”

She came staggering toward me through the swirling smoke. Black cinders clung to her hair. Her sweater was ripped, and I saw a deep cut on her right shoulder.

“Out. Have to get out,” she whispered, holding her throat.

Flames. Dancing flames all around. Behind them, the walls appeared to be melting, like wax on a burning candle.

I felt dizzy. I turned, searching for the stairway.

And as I turned, I saw the faces. The faces of the ghost family in the melting wall.

The brother and sister, their parents, the grandmother. I could see them so clearly through the flames. Laughing. Laughing and howling. The ugly sounds rose up over the crackle of the flames.

And then the howling ghosts floated off the wall. And came rushing toward Vanessa and me.

We didn’t say a word. We turned and, choking on the thick, bitter smoke, started to run.

Vanessa reached the stairs first. We both hurtled ourselves down.

The howls and laughter followed us as we ran.

We reached the second-floor landing and dove for the stairs.

Cackling, howling like wolves, the ghost family chased after us.

Vanessa and I staggered into the living room—and were greeted by another explosion. The walls shook. The curtains flew up. The front window shattered. Glass flew in all directions.

Behind us, I saw the ghost family float down the stairs. They were covered in flames. The red and orange flames leaped off their bodies.

The five ghosts stared at us as they moved across the room. Stared at us with empty eyes. Dark holes where their eyes should be. As they came closer, I could see flames flickering in their empty eye sockets.

I turned back to Vanessa and pointed. “The window. We can get out now.”

We dove out through the shattered front window, toppling into the snow.

The cold shocked my body. I jumped up, shivering.

Vanessa was already on her feet. She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the street.

We ran over the hardened snow, our shoes slipping and sliding. My wheezing breaths steamed up in front of me.

Were the ghosts chasing after us?

Yes.

I glanced back and saw them burst out of the window—an explosion of howling flames. They rolled over the snow, clamoring after us on all fours like wild animals. And as they ran, the flames died, and their bodies turned blue.

I gaped at the five glowing blue figures, howling, cackling, wailing, as they galloped over the snow.

I spun away and ran to catch up to Vanessa. She was halfway up the block and picking up speed, her red hair flapping wildly behind her.

We reached the lake and kept running. It was as if an invisible force had pulled us here. We didn’t stop to think. We raced over the icy surface.

And then it was too late.

The ghosts didn’t hesitate at the shore. They rolled onto the ice, pulling themselves up onto two legs. Gliding so easily, their empty eyes on us.

“Wh-where can we go?” Vanessa cried, pressing her hands to her face. “We made a terrible mistake.”

We ran farther out, our shoes kicking up snow from the hard, gray ice.

“Maybe we can outrun them,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “If we can get past them…get back to shore…” My voice trailed off.

It’s hopeless
, I thought.
We were so stupid
.

Glowing a cold, frozen blue, the ghosts circled us. Their laughter rang out over the ice and echoed off the trees at the shore.

They knew they had us trapped.

They floated in on us, howling, shaking their fists.

And as they moved in, they circled us faster. Faster…

They whirled around us, a cold blue cyclone.

I heard the
craack
of the ice.

The ghosts circled faster and began to twirl.

“They’re—they’re heating the ice!” I cried.

Another ripping
craaaack
.

The ice buckled and cracked. I could see it split beneath us.

“We’re—we’re going under!” I screamed.

I tried to move. But I could feel the ice give way beneath me.

The ghosts kept circling, twirling faster and faster.

The ice cracked again. A deep crack this time. I could feel it splitting, shifting, about to fall away.

I sucked in a deep breath and prepared to sink.

Craaaaack
.

A slab of ice tilted straight up. I saw tossing, dark water underneath it.

And then I saw…

I saw…

A boy come floating over the broken ice. A boy bathed in a blue glow.

His arms were crossed in front of his down vest. His body rose stiffly, his back straight, every muscle tensed.

I recognized him at once.

“Ian!” I cried. “Ian! It was you! It was you I saw skating that night on the ice!”

I suddenly felt so happy, so glad to see him—until I caught the cold, angry expression on his face. Through the blue glow, I could see his eyes narrowed in fury, his mouth twisted in an angry scowl.

He raised his arms stiffly and staggered toward me, ready to strangle me.

“No, Ian! Please!” I screamed. “Ian! Don’t!”

The ghost family stopped twirling. They huddled in a line now, their vacant eyes on Ian.

Ian’s hands were balled into tight fists. He took another step over the ice, and I realized he was wearing ice skates.

My brother’s ice skates. The ones Ian drowned in.

“Ian—please!” I begged, staring at his wet blue face. “I tried to save you. I really did!”

He took another stiff, menacing step.

Finally, he spoke. “I know you tried, Spencer.” His voice was muffled, a faint whisper, as if from far away. “You risked your life for me. You nearly drowned too.”

He took another step forward. “That’s why I stayed around,” he said. “I’ve been here all along. I wanted to thank you for trying to save me. But I was so weak…too weak to contact you.”

“You—you’ve been here all year?” I whispered.

He nodded. “But I was too weak. Too weak…
Finally, I felt strong enough to reach you. I tried to let you know I was here.”

“I—I don’t understand,” I said.

“That night on the frozen lake. I found a glove on the ice. I put it on and tried to grab you. But I was so weak….”

“That was you!” I gasped.

“And the red paint,” Ian continued. “I tried to paint my name on your wall. But I grew too tired after I painted the I. And then at dinner, I tried to call to you. But I could only whisper. I couldn’t make you hear me.”

“It was YOU!” I cried again. “It was you all along! I thought—”

“Last night, I tried to put on your suit,” Ian said. “I thought maybe then you could see me better. But I only frightened you.”

“Ian, I’m so sorry—” I started.

But his eyes were on the five ghosts. “I’m here to help you now,” he said softly. And then he stepped past me and began to skate.

The five ghosts tried to back away. They tilted back their heads and roared. I covered my ears. The roar sounded like a hundred angry lions. The sound made the trees shake and bend.

Ian bent forward and skated so fast, he was a blue blur. His blades scraped and sliced, cutting deeply into the ice.

He circled the roaring ghosts. Circled them again.

As Vanessa and I stared in amazement, Ian cut a deep circle in the ice. The ice cracked and split. And the circle slid down…down…until it bobbed under the water.

Roaring, howling, clawing the air, the ghost family plunged into the water.

It happened so fast. A tall splash of dark water. Just one splash.

And the ghosts were gone. The roars, the howls—cut off.

I could see the blue glow under the water. And then steam began to rise up from the hole Ian had cut.

White steam shot up like a geyser. Thicker. Thicker. The steam spread out. Washed over the lake. Swept over Vanessa and me.

Thick, choking steam. So hot…sizzling over the ice…

When it finally cleared, I blinked several times and rubbed my eyes. I looked down to see that the ice was solid again.

The ghosts were gone.

“Ian?” I called. “Ian—are you still here?”

No.

Ian had also vanished.

The evergreens stood tall and silent on the shore. Two large birds circled overhead. The wind blew waves of powdery snow over the ice.

Normal. Everything seemed normal again.

Vanessa and I began to run to shore. A few minutes later, we reached the street and kept running.

“Normal.” I kept repeating the word in my mind. Repeating it until it became a prayer. Please—let everything be normal again.

And it was.

Scott’s house stood, as always, next door to mine. No exploded window. No sign of a fire.

As Vanessa and I raced up the driveway, Scott, Ed, and Justin came running out. “Where did you two go?” Scott demanded. “What’s up with you guys?”

Scott didn’t remember anything that had happened. None of them did.

I tore up to the attic. Dark and silent. No fire. No ghosts. The Howler stood on the carton where I’d left it. I picked it up and examined it. No sign that it had exploded.

Everyone seemed eager to get home. We all said goodbye. Vanessa and I exchanged glances. We were the only ones who remembered the horror, who knew that we had all just barely survived.

I carried the Howler home and up to my room. I promised myself that my adventures with ghosts were over.

I had seen Ian. Ian had forgiven me. And he had saved my life. I hoped he could rest now.

I wrapped the cord tightly around the Howler. The little box was dangerous. Deadly dangerous. I
planned to hide it away in the basement, where no one could find it.

But before I could step out of my room, Nick barged in. “Hey, punk—” he greeted me. “Is that your face, or were you hit by a truck?”

“Ha-ha,” I muttered. “Funny. Real funny.”

“Give me that thing,” Nick said, grabbing for the Howler.

“No way,” I replied, jerking it away.

“No. Give it to me,” Nick insisted. “Remember that joke I played on you with it? When I made you scream like a stupid baby? I want to play that same trick on some girls I know.”

I hesitated. I opened my mouth to explain to my brother just how dangerous the Howler could be.

“Hand it over, punk,” he growled. “Or I’ll pound you till your face looks like coleslaw.”

After that, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading over my face.

“Okay, here,” I said, giving the Howler to Nick. “Take it. Have fun. Have a lot of fun.”

I pulled open the door. The room behind it was totally dark.

I took a step inside and swept my hand over the wall, searching for a light switch.

Stan stepped in behind me. He huddled so close, he bumped into me.

“Okay!” I found the switch and clicked it on. A ceiling light flashed on, sending bright yellow light over us.

Blinking against the sudden light, I glanced around.

The room was not much bigger than a closet. It was completely bare, no furniture at all. The ratty, brown carpet had a long tear in it. The gray paint on the walls was peeling.

A window on the wall across from us was covered by a wide, black shade. A single, wooden shelf was built into the wall next to the window. It appeared to have something resting on it.

Stan pulled off his ski cap and shoved it into his coat pocket. His brown hair was matted wetly to his forehead.

“Why would Jada come in
here?
” he asked. “It’s just an empty closet.”

I shrugged. “Beats me. I’m totally confused. I thought we’d find something really interesting.”

I stepped past Stan and crossed to the shelf on the wall. I saw a dark pile of cloth folded neatly on the shelf.

No. Not cloth.

I pulled part of it down and unfolded it. A long, blue-black cloak.

I held it out in front of me. “Check this out, Stan. It’s like a cape with a hood.”

“Weird,” he said, studying it. He pulled the rest of the stuff off the shelf. “Look.” He held up a pair of black tights. Long, silky black gloves. An oval-shaped, blue pendant on a chain. And then a mask. A black mask with two cat-eye holes cut into the front.

“Must be some kind of Halloween costume,” he said.

I took the mask from him and rolled it around in my hands. “Why would anyone leave a Halloween costume back here in a hidden room?” I asked.

I slid the mask under the hood of the cloak. And then another idea struck me. “It looks like some kind of superhero costume,” I said. “
The Masked Cape Person
!”

Stan still had the black tights in his hand. “Yeah. Well, I guess that’s what superheroes wear, right? Tights and a cape?”

I raised the cloak in front of me. “Do you think this is Jada’s? Think she wears this stuff?”

Stan shook his head. His face was knotted in confusion.

I laughed. “Maybe Jada has a secret life that no one knows about. Maybe she sneaks in here at night, and put on this costume, and
pretends
to be The Masked Cape Person!”

Stan shook his head. “This is just too weird,” he said again.

And then his expression changed. His eyes went wide. He suddenly turned pale. “Selena—” he whispered, staring at the mask in my hand.

“What? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“What if—what if that’s a
burglar
costume?”

I let out a gasp. “Excuse me?”

“It looks like something a burglar might wear,” Stan said. “And didn’t they say on the news—”

“That the person who has been robbing houses in Elmwood wore a mask and a cape?” I cut in.

Stan nodded excitedly.

“But that’s totally insane!” I cried. “Jada a burglar? That’s too stupid, Stan. She’s a twelve-year-old girl, like me, She doesn’t put on a costume and sneak out in the middle of the night to rob houses.”

I moved to the window and tugged on the shade until it slid up. Gray light washed into the room. The window had been left open a crack.

I peered outside. A high tree branch rested right
outside. It would be easy for someone to climb out this window, onto the tree branch—and then climb down to the ground.

What was I thinking?

“You are
so
not right,” I told Stan. No way my cousin is a burglar!”

Stan nodded. “Yeah. It’s a stupid idea. Don’t ever tell Jada I said it.”

He started to fold up the tights. “I don’t think we solved the mystery, Selena.”

“We made the mystery even more mysterious,” I said. I tugged down the shade. Then I started to fold the cloak.

“Hey—is anybody home?” a voice called.

Stan and I both gasped.

Jada’s voice. From downstairs.

We were caught.