I stood on my toes and grasped blindly. My fingers fluttered overhead.
Mason was so close to me.
The end of the cord tickled my fingertips. I yanked it, flooding the closet with light.
“That’s better.” Mason inspected the knob, then threw his side against the door. The door still didn’t move. “This makes no sense. Buddy didn’t do this.”
“Where’s your cell?” I asked.
“In my bag. In your kitchen.” He groaned. “What about you?”
“In my bag. Also in the kitchen.”
“We’ll have to scream for your great-grandmother,” he suggested, still pushing at the door.
“Lady Azura will never hear us. Her hearing is bad. Even if she did, she can’t make it up all the stairs.” I leaned my back against the shelves. “We’re trapped.”
“No, we’re not!” He suddenly sounded frantic. He kicked at the door.
Buddy barked. He was still here. That meant Henry hadn’t left.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Mason kept kicking. His frustration made the small space grow even smaller. The sleeve of his green T-shirt brushed my arm. His black sneaker stepped on my sandal.
“There’s not enough room,” he mumbled. The air grew stale and hot. His breathing grew faster as he pounded. “I hate small spaces.” I saw beads of perspiration pop out on his forehead.
The supplies on the shelves rattled with his movements. Containers fell over. The air swirled with feathers, cotton balls, and dust.
“Just stop moving so much,” I cried. My heart was hammering now.
“Why can’t we get out?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”
Buddy barked crazily on the other side.
Mason began wheezing.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Asthma,” he managed. Desperately he struggled to fill his lungs.
I pushed aside a pile of feathers and pulled him to the floor. “You need to sit. Where’s your inhaler?”
“Backpack.” He kept wheezing. Short, ragged sounds. “There’s no room in here.”
He was panicking. Was this causing his asthma? “You have to relax.”
Mason dropped his head into his hands. “Back away,” he rasped.
I slid onto the ground and pulled my knees tightly to my chest, trying to take up the least amount of space possible. I was scared. What would happen if Mason didn’t get his inhaler?
I have to get him out of here. He’s not going to be okay without his inhaler. Sweat trickled down my neck. It was too warm in here. My skin crackled with a strange current. I needed to get out too.
“Henry!” I bellowed. “I know it was you! Let us out! Henry!”
Buddy barked.
“Henry!” I screamed again.
Mason lifted his head. “Who’s . . . Henry?” Every breath he sucked in sounded painful, but I was glad he could still talk.
Keep him talking. Keep him calm. I had no idea where the thoughts came from, but they were the only ideas I had.
“You’re not going to believe it,” I said quietly, leaning my head back, trying to open as much space as I could. I wanted to make him feel better. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Instead I just talked.
“Henry is a boy. A young boy. He’s dead.” I barreled forward, not waiting for Mason to respond. “He died back in the 1920s, I think. It’s his spirit that’s still here. Spirits do that sometimes. Get trapped. Henry lives in this house. Actually, he lives in this closet.”
Mason said nothing, just wheezed. But his eyes were fixed on mine. He was listening.
“Henry was put in this closet because he’s mischievous. He does pranks mostly. Makes messes and scares people. But before I came here, he found some matches and almost set the house on fire. Lady Azura couldn’t control him, so she put him in the closet.”
Mason’s breathing was so labored I could barely look at him. I didn’t want him to see the panic on my face. I stared at the brass doorknob. I kept talking. Calmly. Slowly. As if talking about ghosts was the most natural thing in the world.
“Henry went crazy for your dog when Lily brought him over last week,” I continued. Was his breathing slowing now? Sounding less ragged? I talked more. There was a lot to tell about Henry. How he’d almost flattened Jayden with a bookcase at my Mischief Night party last fall. How he loved to make a mess in my craft room. When I was done telling stories about Henry, I realized that Mason’s breathing was almost normal again. “He thinks Buddy belongs to him. He got upset when Buddy was so attached to you just now. That’s why he put us in here. So he can be with Buddy. At least, I think that’s why.”
Mason nodded.
“I can see ghosts. Hear and talk to them too.” The history of my seeing ghosts and coming to live with Lady Azura tumbled out. My brain couldn’t keep up with my mouth. I told Mason everything.
“There are spirits everywhere. Most don’t bother me, but others want help moving on. They’re stuck here, because of unfinished business.” I pointed to the door. “Not Henry, though. He’s just here because he’s having fun.”
Mason didn’t say anything. I realized I couldn’t hear his breathing, which meant he was now breathing normally. And staring at me with the strangest look on his face.
“You must think I’m crazy,” I said softly.
“No crazier than bending a spoon with your mind or toppling a milk bottle.”
He’d seen that, too. How to begin to explain that? It was too new. Too confusing. We sat in silence for a very long time, listening to his wheezing.
“Do you believe me?” I asked.
“See that bottle of glue?” Mason pointed toward a white bottle on a shelf directly above our heads.
I nodded.
“Watch.”
Slowly the plastic bottle inched its way along the edge of the shelf. It glided along, moved by unseen forces.
I turned to Mason. He was staring at the bottle. Really staring at it. Intensely staring at it.
“It’s you!” I cried.