9

The Second Ghost

Being haunted wasn’t at all what David had expected it to be. Now he knew why people were so scared of ghosts. It was because ghosts were so full of fear themselves. All that fear made this ghost dangerous. What did he want? Who was he and what was his real name? Ghosts are mystery stories. Where did he come from, and why was he haunting Mahogany Villas? The clue to the whole thing seemed to be the old man, Mr. Alveston. What had the ghost to do with him, and why did he hate him so much?

Over the next few days, David thought about these questions, but he had no answers. At night, he listened for the mysterious voice or the sound of weeping in the ducts, but he heard nothing at all. Perhaps the ghost had gone to rest.

*   *   *

It was a Tuesday afternoon. David knew what was going to happen as soon as he got home from school.

I’m not going in, he told himself. Then he said it aloud. “I’m not going in!” Silence answered him, but it was a silence with someone in it.

David drank some juice and turned on the TV, but all the time he was aware of the dark space behind the wall calling him. Soon he found himself listening through the babble from the TV, trying to make out a whisper that he was sure was coming from the ducts. He couldn’t make it out, but he felt if only he got just a little closer, or perhaps if he just got a little bit inside the ducts, he’d be able to hear what the ghost boy wanted to tell him. He did his best, but it was just too tempting.

“Just … oh, all right, then!” he snapped. And he got up, pushed the sofa to the wall, and put his head close to the vent. He held his breath and listened. That whisper! It was there, it was calling him, but he still couldn’t quite make it out.…

“I’m not coming in,” he said grumpily, but there was no answer.

David went back to watch more TV, but it was no use. Within another five minutes he’d changed out of his school clothes, slid back the grille, and was inside with the ghost.

“Just for a bit, then,” he whispered.

He could feel the ghost inside there, everywhere. He couldn’t see him, but he was there—in the darkness, in the cool air, everywhere. David began to move along the duct toward Mary’s flat, but the ghost didn’t want that.

“Not here,” the air whispered to him. “Not there. Up, up. Go up!”

And although he knew there was trouble in the air, David did what the ghost wanted. He began to wriggle his way backward toward the up duct. All around him, he could feel the wicked glee of the ghost. He was scared; maybe they were going to do something really bad this time. A trap for Mr. Alveston? Trip wires, something falling on his head when he opened the door? He’d have to make sure nothing like that happened.

David had made his way up to the fifth floor and begun to creep along the duct toward Mr. Alveston’s apartment when he heard the noise behind him. It was a rattling, banging noise, far away but getting rapidly closer. David froze in fear.

“What’s that?” he hissed.

Someone else didn’t like it, either. All around him, David could feel the fear. The little ghost was terrified out of his wits.

“What is it?” David cried, but the ghost said nothing. David lifted himself up on his toes and hands and looked backward between his legs. The noise was shooting up toward them, fast as a cat running through the ducts. Then something hard suddenly struck the board that David had put over the duct on the floor below. There was a clatter as the board was knocked off, and then the rattle, louder than ever, carried up toward them.

The ghost screamed and fled. David felt it rushing up the duct ahead of him. He screamed himself and followed, but he could only go at a slow crawl, trapped on his belly as he was. The thing was coming after them and it was almost there! What was it—another ghost? Something from hell come to take the ghost back? Panting and sweating, David dragged himself along. The most awful thing was not being able to look behind, and by the time he got to the duct that led to Mr. Alveston’s apartment, he couldn’t bear it anymore. He stopped, lifted himself up on his toes and fingers, and looked back, shining the flashlight between his legs. He was just in time to see something terrible emerging from the duct down.

It was made out of something thin and hard—bone, David thought. A skeleton was coming—a horrible, thin arm bone reaching out from the duct. It was blocking the way down.

With another loud scream, David hurtled down the duct toward Mr. Alveston’s apartment. He was screaming and screaming. The grille was off, thank God. He pushed his head out and a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. He screamed again. It had him! He was dragged out of the duct and crashed down to the floor, but he was on his feet again in a flash. He ran for the door, but someone was in the way. He hurled himself at the figure, but he just bounced back.

He pointed at the vent and howled, “It’s coming! Let me out, it’s coming!”

Mr. Alveston appeared from the bedroom. “It’s all in the mind, boy—in the mind,” he said, tapping his head as if he knew all about it.

A big woman was standing over David. “Now, then—what’s been going on?” she demanded.