The Odds Get Even (12 page)

T
he three boys jumped on their bikes and pedalled quickly down the street. They crested the hill toward the mill, the full moon rising red and round over the trees.

“It’s going to be totally dark soon,” Itchy said as they approached the ruins.

Squeak squinted at the sky. “The moon should provide some light. I hope Rufus remembers we’re coming.”

Itchy looked nervously over his shoulder. “Me too.”

When they reached the mill, Boney slowed to a stop and jumped from his bike. Squeak and Itchy did the same. They peered into the ruins. It was deathly quiet.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Itchy announced. “I guess we can go home.”

He turned to leave but was stopped by Boney.

“Come on, Itchy. We told Rufus we’d be here.”

“But
he’s
not here,” Itchy protested.

“He’s probably hiding somewhere,” Squeak said.

Boney rolled his bike toward the bushes. “We’d better stash our bikes, just in case.”

Itchy shot him a look. “In case what?”

“Well…we don’t want the prisoner and his convicts sabotaging our bikes or anything.”

Itchy pointed to his bike. “This is my mom’s bike. If anything happens to it, I’m dead.”

Boney waved him off. “Quit worrying. Your mom can just knit you a new one,” he joked.

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Nothing will happen,” Boney said. “It’s just a precautionary measure.”

“Yeah, sure,” Itchy groused under his breath as the boys wheeled their bikes into the bushes. He tucked his bike behind a yew bush, then quickly pulled it back out again. He did this several times until Boney stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure I can get to my bike quickly if I have to.”

Boney rolled his eyes. “Come on. Rufus will wonder where we are.”

The boys stepped quietly over the rubble into the
mill. They stood on the periphery, staring into the dark space. The moon stared back. Squeak adjusted the Polaroid on the strap around his neck, finger poised for ghostly action.

“Rufus,” Boney quietly called. “Are you here?”

The moon disappeared behind some clouds. The boys shifted in their sneakers.

“Rufus,” Boney called out again.

“
Rufus…
” the mill echoed eerily.

The Odds exchanged nervous looks.

“Rufus,” Boney called out again.

Again the name called back to him. And then a rustling sound rose from the wall behind them.

“Rufus…is that you?” Boney asked.

“
Rufus, is that you?
” the voice said.

The boys stood, listening. All at once there was a horrible shriek and Larry Harry and his twin sidekicks ran hollering into the Old Mill.

The Odds screamed at the top of their lungs, staggering backward into the ruins.

Larry pointed mockingly. “Hah! Look at the sissies. They were really scared! What’s the matter, babies? Thought you saw a ghost?”

“We weren’t scared,” Boney retorted.

“Yes we were,” Itchy said.

“Well, you should be scared,” Larry sneered, “‘cause
Jones and Jones are gonna make hamburger outta you.”

Jones and Jones grinned menacingly, punching their fists into their palms. Boney drew the Blaster from his waistband.

“Stay back or I’ll shoot.”

Larry drew the Apparator from behind his back, brandishing it wildly.

Squeak gasped. “Don’t shoot, Boney!”

Boney dropped the Blaster to the ground.

“I would’ve smashed it earlier,” Larry taunted, “but I wanted you to see me do it.”

“Where’s Rufus?” Itchy hissed.

Larry flipped the switch on the Apparator. The rod began to hum, the green light pulsing softly. “What a brilliant invention,” Larry scoffed. “A stupid green tube.”

“It’s not stupid,” Squeak said.

“Yes it is,” Larry snarled.

“No it isn’t!” Squeak insisted.

Larry raised the Apparator in the air. “Yes, it is. It doesn’t do anything.”

Just as he said this, the Apparator began to crackle, and the light pulsed from green to yellow to orange.

“Oh look, boys, now it’s orange. Isn’t that special,” Larry mocked.

“There are still a few bugs to iron out,” Squeak said, defending his invention.

Larry laughed derisively. “The only bugs that need ironing out are you three.”

He drew back his hand, threatening to smash the Apparator to the ground. But he was stopped mid-swing by a low moan rising from the rubble across the mill.

“What was that?”

The Odds looked at each other.

“Rufus,” Boney whispered.

Another moan sounded from the rubble, this time deeper and louder.

“Who’s doing that?” Larry demanded.

“Uh…guys…” Squeak said, tapping on his friends’ arms. “Look at the Apparator.”

The Apparator began to whine, and the tube changed colour from orange to a fiery red as sparks sizzled along the copper wire.

Larry held the Apparator out in horror. “What’s wrong with this stupid thing?”

All of a sudden, the firepit roared to life. The Odds jumped, staring at the flames in disbelief.

“How’d they d-d-do that?” Jones and Jones stuttered.

“Ha, ha! Very funny, nerds,” Larry said. “It’s just a stupid science trick. Anyone can do it.”

Itchy stared at Boney. “Did you do that?”

Boney shook his head, then looked at Squeak, who shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

“Must be Rufus,” Boney said.

Just as he said this, the moans filled the air and the ghost appeared, rising slowly from behind the stones, its diaphanous form shimmering hauntingly in the blood-red moonlight. The Apparator began to shriek like a kettle on the boil, the bulb burning hot as coals.

“A g-ghost!” Jones and Jones shouted.

“Get your camera ready,” Boney told Squeak.

“It’s not a ghost,” Larry said, staring anxiously at the Apparator. “It’s just a stupid guy in a sheet.” He turned and pointed at the Odds. “You’re gonna regret this, nerds! Come on, let’s get ’em, guys!”

Jones and Jones stood frozen, pointing at the ghost in terror.

“It’s just a stupid guy in a sheet!” Larry insisted.

But Jones and Jones wouldn’t budge.

Larry stomped his foot in rage. “I’ll prove it to you!” He charged the ghost, grabbing one corner of the sheet and yanking with all his might. “See? I told you it was just a fake!” he shouted.

All at once, there was an ear-splitting boom and a brilliant white light exploded from beneath the sheet like a nuclear bomb. It blasted the boys across the ruins, drowning their screams in a roaring wind. Squeak hurtled to
the ground with a horrible thud, his camera snapping wildly. Above the mill the clouds gathered like a whirling flock of ravens, twisting in the sky. Lightning flashed like a giant strobe. And then the demon appeared, as huge as a zeppelin, its face a terrifying skull, its eye sockets raging with fire. It streaked past the moon, skeletal hands outstretched as it torpedoed toward Larry Harry, who screamed hysterically on the ground. The demon swooped over him, flying instead toward Jones and Jones. The twins tried to run but were snatched up by the spectre’s claws, carried through the air, and dropped like stones in the river.

The demon turned its fiery eyes upon Larry, who stumbled toward the bushes. The ghoul dove again, screeching through the air as it caught Larry by the back of his shirt and tore up into the clouds. It arced over the trees, hanging against the clouds for just a moment, with Larry kicking and screaming, before it launched the bully into the mill pond. Larry howled as he fell, and he hit the water like a bag of wet cement. Thrashing wildly, he flailed to the edge of the pond and scrabbled up the bank, slipping and sliding in the mud. He ran into the woods, with Jones and Jones running frantically behind him. The demon shrieked in hot pursuit, shooting bolts of lightning at their feet as they ran. And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the ghost corkscrewed
into the sky like a missile and vaporized in an explosion of light. It took the fire in the pit with it, leaving only a puff of smoke in its place.

“Wow!” Squeak said, his goggles askew on his face. Polaroid pictures littered the ground.

“Rufus,” Boney whispered.

“Is it gone?” Itchy moaned, his eyes scrunched shut.

The boys rose cautiously, peering around the mill in shock. Boney searched through the dust to one side of the fire. He bent down and pulled something from the dirt.

“The glasses!” He held them up, moonlight glinting off the lenses. “I wonder who Rufus really was…”

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Itchy asked.

Boney shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing for sure: we’ll never have to worry about Larry Harry again.”

“Hey!” Squeak shouted, pointing across the yard. “The Apparator!” He ran to retrieve the device and dusted the dirt from the handle. The tube was dark once again, with wisps of smoke steaming from the coils. Squeak considered his invention thoughtfully. “I guess it worked after all.”

“Yeah,” Boney said. “You can congratulate yourself on that.” He kicked at what was left of the Triplex Blaster on the ground. It was shattered in a hundred pieces.

“That’s why I insisted on using Bakelite for the Apparator handle,” Squeak said, knowingly.

Itchy collected the Polaroid snapshots. “Oh, boys…we have some amazing stuff here.”

The Odds gathered around the photos.

“You can see the ghost perfectly!” Boney said. “And Larry looks scared out of his mind!”

“These will be great for our convention display!” Squeak said.

Itchy stared at the photos, beaming. “We have the best invention ever.”

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with ghosts,” Squeak said.

“I don’t,” Itchy replied. “But I really want to win that prize money!”

T
he next morning at school, Colonel R. blew on his whistle. “Take your positions!” he yelled.

Itchy stood in goal, lacrosse stick held in front of his face. Boney grabbed his stick and jogged to centre field. The boys waited for the game to start, but Larry Harry refused to leave the bench.

“What seems to be the problem, here?” Colonel R. shouted. He marched over to where Larry was sitting and blasted his whistle in his ear. “Come on, Harry, get on the field!”

“I’m not playing against him,” Larry said, ducking his head as he gestured toward Boney.

“And why not?” Colonel R. demanded.

Larry lowered his voice to a whisper. “He scares me.”

“What?” Colonel R. cupped his hand around his ear.

“He scares me,” Larry whimpered again.

Colonel R. looked over to where Boney stood. “Are you kidding me, Harry? Get off this bench and play!”

Larry shook his head. “No. You can’t make me.”

Colonel R. glared at Jones and Jones, who sat quivering next to Larry. They shook their heads in refusal.

“We’re not playing either.”

“Has everyone gone soft around here?”

Colonel R. clenched his whistle in his teeth. He snatched Larry’s stick from his hand and tossed it to Wormer. “You’re up, Filbert!” he shouted.

“It’s Wormer, sir.”

Colonel R.’s whistle pierced the air. “Play ball!”

BACK IN THE LOCKER ROOM, Itchy happily changed into his jeans. “You know, I think I might actually enjoy lacrosse,” he confessed, pulling on a new blue sweater vest.

“It’s a great game,” Boney agreed. “Now that Larry Harry is out of the picture.”

“Did you see his face?” Itchy gloated. “He was scared silly.”

“I wonder what got into him,” Boney said, laughing.

“We have to find Squeak and tell him. He’ll love it.”

Just then, the change room door burst open and Squeak rushed in.

“We won!” he squealed, jumping around like a monkey.

Boney grabbed his friend. “Whoa whoa whoa…what are you talking about?”

“The Invention Convention!” Squeak shouted. “We won!”

The boys raced from the change room to the gymnasium. Flying through the doors, they could see the giant blue ribbon pinned to the top of their display. They clung to each other, jumping up and down with excitement.

“I knew we’d win!” Boney said. “I just knew it! San Diego, here we come!”

BY 7:00 THAT NIGHT, the gymnasium was crowded with students and their parents, milling around, admiring the Invention Convention displays. Itchy and Boney stood proudly in front of their table, while a journalist from the local newspaper furiously snapped photos.

“Now…one with the whole family,” the man said, gathering everyone together.

Itchy’s father and mother huddled next to Boney’s aunt and uncle.

“That’s my boy,” Itchy’s father said. “A chip off the old block.”

“We’re so proud of you, William,” Boney’s aunt cooed.

“Very proud,” Boney’s uncle echoed.

“But where’s Squeak?” Boney asked Itchy. “He said he’d meet us here.”

“There he is!” Itchy said, pointing across the gym.

Squeak scurried up, a huge book under his arm, his face lit with excitement. “I found him!” he said, heaving the book onto the display table.

“Who?” Boney and Itchy asked.

“I looked everywhere and I thought I’d never find him, but I did, eventually, in the
Encyclopedia of Rural History
.”

“There’s an
Encyclopedia of Rural History?
” Itchy asked.

Squeak thumped the book open, pushed his goggles to the top of his head, and pointed to a black-and-white photo on the page. “Look! It’s him—it’s Charlie!”

Boney and Itchy peered at the old photo. Staring back at them was picture of a man, clad in blue coveralls, wearing thin wire-rimmed glasses.

Boney looked at Squeak with surprise. “It’s Rufus!”

“Not Rufus,” Squeak said. “Charlie. His real name is Charlie—just like it said on his coveralls. His name was
Charlie O’Reilly, and he died in an accident at the mill in 1897. One of the beams gave way and he was trapped without food and water in a room beneath the mill. He died of thirst and hunger, the book says.”

“That would explain why he eats so much,” Itchy said, pulling a chocolate bar from his pants pocket.

Boney scratched his head. “But why did he tell us his name was Rufus?”

Squeak turned around and pointed to the logo on his messenger bag. “He took the name off my bag.”

“I don’t get it,” Itchy mumbled, his mouth full of chocolate.

“It’s quite simple. He saw the name Rufus on my bag and he borrowed it to disguise his identity.”

“What for?” Itchy asked.

“If we’d known his real identity, we’d have never talked to him in the first place, would we?” Squeak explained.

Itchy mulled this over. “I guess not.”

“Of course we wouldn’t have,” Boney jumped in.

“There’s more,” Squeak said, quickly flipping the page of the book. “Charlie was survived by three sons: Carson, Frederick, and Garret.”

Boney rubbed his chin. “Maybe that’s why he agreed to help us—we really did remind him of his sons.”

Itchy furrowed his brow, chewing on the last of his
chocolate bar. “So…Charlie was a ghost pretending to be a man who was pretending to be a ghost…”

Squeak nodded.

“Once again, I’m totally confused.”

Boney suddenly pointed to the door of the gymnasium. “Hey, Squeak, your dad’s here!”

Squeak’s father strode up, an adult version of Squeak, with his round face and big blue eyes. He smiled proudly, a big gap showing in his front teeth. “This is my boy,” he said, throwing his arm around his son.

“Smile!” the journalist called out, his camera popping with a great big flash.