Chapter Seven

 

“Before we go home today,” Mr. Ware began, “we have time to check on how some of you are coming with your community service project.”

Emery’s hand shot up, and Mr. Ware said, “Yes, Emery?”

“We’re finished. Philip and me.”

Mr. Ware raised his eyebrows. “So soon? What was your project?”

Emery said proudly, “We beautified the neighborhood.”

The class giggled, and Philip slunk down in his seat.

“And how did you beautify the neighborhood? Give us a preview of your report. We have a little time now,” Mr. Ware said with a smile.

Emery told their story, leaving out any suggestion about the house being haunted and about the disappearing lunches. He ended, “And we’ll be getting the before and after pictures tonight. Philip’s dad is bringing them home after his work.”

“Well, very impressive, Emery, Philip. The rest of you, class, still have time, though. And you two boys can still try to add to yours, improve it if you can think of a way, but it sounds very good as it is. Anyone have any questions?”

Since the hands of the clock showed three o’clock, no one was dumb enough to prolong the school day by asking a question, so Mr. Ware dismissed the class.

Emery asked his mother’s permission to have dinner at Philip’s house so he would be there when Philip’s father got home from work with the photographs. On their way home they peeked down Pratt Street toward the haunted house, but nothing unusual met their cautious eyes.

“What’s your mom cooking tonight?” Emery asked as the two boys opened their book bags and got right to their homework.

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you two going out to play?” Philip’s mom asked when she saw them.

Even though Pratt Street had looked like any normal street, and even though the weather outside made for a very lovely November day, the boys decided to stay inside.

“No, we have homework, Mom. What’s for dinner?”

“Well, since your father had to stop by the mall to pick up your photos, we decided he’d bring home some Chinese food for dinner. Mom’s night off.”

“Fortune cookies, too?” Philip asked. “And those crispy noodles with the sweet sauce?”

“I think your father’s lived with you long enough, Philip, to know. Don’t worry.”

Philip and Emery slapped hands and got to work. They took a break at four-thirty to watch The Three Stooges on TCM for half-an-hour, but by the time Philip’s dad walked in at five forty-five, they’d finished with their homework.

“Did you get the pictures, Dad? Let me see,” said Philip.

“Here they are,” Mr. Felton said, putting down the big bag of Chinese food and reaching into his briefcase. He tossed the bag of photographs to Philip, who curled up on the sofa with Emery to look them over. Mr. Felton hung up his coat, and carried the wonderful smelling bag of food to the kitchen.

“Wow,” said Emery. “They look good. You look stupid in this one with your foot on the bag of grass. You look like you’re Tarzan, and you killed it or something.”

Philip felt silly when he looked at the picture, but Emery was right. The pictures did look good. “We’re getting an A for sure.”

“Did you write up our report?” Emery asked.

“Most of it. I can write the rest now we have the pictures. You know, put those words at the bottom of the pictures.”

“Captions,” Emery explained.

“What?”

“Captions. They’re called captions.”

“Oh.” Philip thought a moment. “If you know what they’re called, why don’t you write them?”

Emery thought a moment. “I know what a rocket ship is, but I can’t build one. I know what a home run is, but I can’t hit one. I know what a poem is, but I can’t write one. I know what Chinese food is...”

“All right. All right. I get it.”

Philip’s mom called that dinner would be ready in five minutes.

Philip looked over the pictures again and began to arrange them for the report.

“These two go together,” said Emery when he saw Philip matching the photos.

“I know. I know. And this one...” Philip stopped. He picked up one of the photos from the sofa cushion and held it close to his eyes. He took the companion picture and studied it even more closely. He picked up two more and put them aside. He picked up another two and after them another two. After he’d inspected all the photos, he kept one pair in his hand and put another pair down in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” Emery asked.

“Emery...” Philip began.

“Philip, what?”

“Look at these two pictures.”

Emery took them and studied them. “Yeah, so?”

“You know those puzzles? Like in the Sunday comics. Find six things different from one picture to another?”

“Yeah.”

“Find one thing different from this picture to this one.”

“The grass is cut.”

“Don’t be stupid. Would I ask you if it was that easy?”

Emery tried again.

“We’re standing in a little different spot?”

Philip glared at his friend.

Emery defended himself and said, “Well, in those comic puzzles some of the things are only changed real little. A finger moved and stuff like that.”

“Look at the porch.”

“The porch. Okay, I’ll look at the porch.”

Philip waited.

“Yeah. There’s something. A piece of paper.”

“Right. Look close. I think it’s a Happy Pie paper.”

Emery looked close.

“Maybe, but it’s just a regular piece of paper.”

“You see the color?”

“Mmmm,” said Emery, concentrating on the picture. “It’s Happy Pie colors.”

“My mom put Happy Pies in our missing lunches. Remember?”

“So the…whatever ate the pie and threw away the paper?”

“You think I’m kidding? The whatever ate the pie the second time when we tried to catch it, didn’t it?”

“Don’t call it an ‘it.’ I don’t like…it.”

Philip frowned at Emery. “Now look at this.” He handed Emery two more pictures.

Emery looked at them carefully. He looked up at Philip, his eyes wide.

“Even you see this one, don’t you?”

“The window’s open,” said Emery softly. “It’s not open in the first picture, and it’s open in the second.” There were windows on each side of the front door, and one of the windows had opened itself very slightly in between when Philip’s father took the first picture and when he took the second picture.

“Why is the window open, Emery?”

“Maybe the whatever wanted some fresh air?”

“I think you need some fresh air. No. The window’s open because this house has to be haunted, Emery,” Philip said decisively. “Windows don’t open by themselves.”

Emery looked again at the second picture. Without doubt, someone or... something opened the window while he and Philip cut the grass.

“Dinner, boys. Come and get it,” called Philip’s mom.

Philip turned the photos upside-down on the coffee table. “We’ll figure this out later. Let’s go eat,” he said and led Emery into the kitchen.