A week later the sign was up and the real-estate agent had the key. All was settled: the McLeans would stay at a hotel in Toronto until they could find a new home there.
Sam accompanied his father to the police station and listened again to the horrible story of the stupid prank that had ended two people’s lives. He watched the police officer take notes and tell his father they’d look into it. The officer said he wasn’t even sure there would be any charges, given Sam’s father’s age at the time of the accident. His father seemed so relaxed, so at peace with himself, when it was all over. The curse had been lifted.
When Sam mentioned the prank Cody and Javon had played on him, the police officer was very interested. “Great! We’ve been trying to catch a couple of local thugs who have been jacking cars, taking them for joyrides, and leaving them abandoned in fields and ditches. You’ve just provided us with a solid lead.”
Sam was all smiles as they drove back to Sleepy Hollow to pick up his mother and sister and head out of town. They were leaving for good, and he couldn’t have been happier.
The only thing Sam felt sorry about was that he was leaving AJ behind. When he’d seen her at school the last time, they’d talked. She told Sam she had no idea what Cody and Javon had been planning until it was all done. AJ had wanted to tell Sam that it was a stupid prank — even had a big fight with Cody about it. They’d broken up. She was the one who had put the note in Sam’s locker. But the note had gotten ripped when Sam pulled out his binder, and AJ’s signature and phone number were torn off.
“I don’t get it,” he said to her. “You knew about the prank from Cody’s blog.”
AJ shook her head. “I don’t go on his blog, Sam. I think his stunts are stupid. I think his whole blog is stupid.”
Sam couldn’t believe it. “But … aren’t you Homegirl?”
AJ wrinkled her nose. “Who?”
Sam sighed. He had been so sure Homegirl was AJ. Who else could it have been? AJ had put the note in his locker, but who had sent all those emails?
Anyway, it didn’t matter. It was all over now. He was leaving Ringwood and AJ and Sleepy Hollow behind. She did give him her phone number and email address so they could stay in touch.
While everyone was loading up the car, Sam took a final look around Sleepy Hollow. He noticed the old woman rocking back and forth in her chair on the verandah, and suddenly he remembered something he wanted to ask her. Sam drifted toward the old porch. “Hey there,” he began.
“What do you want?” she asked crustily.
“I was just wondering …”
“Spit it out, boy. Don’t waste my time.”
“I was just wondering … you said that lady, Hector, Heckly …”
“Hecate?”
“Yeah, that’s it. You said she was coming back to Sleepy Hollow and that she’s a witch.”
The old woman grinned. “So? What’s it to you?”
“Well, I was wondering which house she was coming back to.”
“Why her house, of course. The house she’s always lived in. The one she left empty a few years ago when she moved out west. Number five, of course.”
Number five? Sam was confused. “But Maeve and Walter live at number five. Are they moving, too?”
“Who?” The old woman laughed as if Sam had told the funniest joke. “Maeve and Walter? You can’t mean Maeve and Walter Moon?” The old woman chuckled. “You sure are one confused boy. Those people never lived at number five. They lived at number four, not five.”
The woman was nuts. Really wacko. How could Walter live at number four when he, Sam, lived at number four? The woman was definitely senile.
“I think you’re mistaken. I live at number four, not Walter.”
“Of course you do — now.” She peered directly at him as though she could see. “Walter lived there a long time ago. Before the accident.”
“A long time ago? Accident?” Sam felt as if he were falling backward down a dark elevator shaft.
“Everyone knows all about that accident, but that goes back some thirty years. Tragic. Terrible. He and that mother of his were driving to see a sick friend. Bringing ’em lasagna, I think. They were cut off the road, and the car flipped. They both died. Some say the kid lost his head in the accident. Ripped clear off his body.”
Sam felt woozy. He struggled to comprehend what the woman was saying. Impossible. It couldn’t be.
“Yup. Number four. Those two lived at number four, all right … and some say they still do …”
She winked, and Sam nearly dropped to the ground. He steadied himself and glanced at his bedroom window. For a split second he thought he saw the curtain flutter.
The Volvo station wagon left the tunnel of trees for the last time. Sam didn’t dare look back. Instead, he powered up his cellphone.
“Hey,” Sam said.
“Hey,” Mike replied.
After Sam told Mike the entire story and apologized for being such an idiot, Mike had forgiven him. And what was more, Mike believed him — or at least pretended to. Funny thing was, Mike was the one who had received the video by accident but had had no idea what it was supposed to be about. Mike was below Maniac on Sam’s email address list.
“Check this out,” Mike said. “I was telling my granddad all about your ghost-riding stunt, and you know what?”
“What?”
“He said that crap is so old. Said that some punks pulled those stunts even way back when he was a kid.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No way. He said only difference was they didn’t call it ghost riding back then.”
“Really? What did they call it?”
“Stupid.”
Sam could almost hear Mike crack a smile.
As the black Volvo rolled out of the tunnel and away from Sleepy Hollow, bright sunlight beamed through the car windows. Sam took a deep breath. It was over. They were leaving for good. The station wagon turned right and began cruising down the Tenth Line one last time. Sam gazed out the window and watched as the lazy landscape drifted past. In the distance ahead he saw the blue Mustang approach. It zipped past them as if they were standing still. Sam glanced back over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the driver for the first time. It was Ms. Wolfe, his English teacher!
Cate Wolfe. Cate … Hecate?
Her licence plate read: homegirl.
A shiver jolted up Sam’s spine, and in that very instant his father turned on the radio. Loud bass hammered against the windows, and a hollow voice sliced through the dreamy solitude:
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …