7

“Spaghetti anyone?” said Katie, holding up a ladle like a tennis racket.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

A couple of hours had passed and it was time for supper. I hadn’t mentioned seeing the ghost in the attic window. Katie would just think I was making it up, and there was no way to prove it to her.

Besides, I didn’t even want to think about the dumb old ghost. All this spooky stuff was making my life miserable. Haunted houses sound cool in made-up stories, but if you have to live in one it’s no fun at all.

Not when that bony hand reaches out from under the bed and grabs you in the night.

“This will be fun,” said Katie, getting down a big pot for the spaghetti.

You could tell that Katie was trying hard. This was the first time she’d ever been an overnight baby-sitter and she was taking the job seriously. The last thing she wanted was for my parents to find out she couldn’t handle it, so she wanted to make friends with me and Sally.

“We’re in this together,” she said brightly. “We might as well have fun.”

She filled the pot with water and was lugging it to the stove when she tripped.

“Look out!”

The pot tipped over, dousing her with cold water. “Ugh,” she said, looking down at her soaked Levi’s. “Well, that was my own fault. I’ll have to go up to my room and change.”

I managed to refill the pot and get it on the stove while she was gone. Mr. Helpful, that’s me. I’d just turned the burner on when I heard running feet coming from upstairs.

“Jayyyy-sonnnnnnnn!” someone screamed.

It was Katie. She came skidding into the kitchen, her eyes blazing with anger.

“You little wretch!” she said. “How could you!?”

Then she burst into tears.

I was so startled I could only stare at her.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Jason,” she said, wiping away her tears. “I want an explanation.”

“What are you talking about?” I said. “I don’t understand. Really.”

Something in my face must have convinced her at least a little bit. Her shoulders relaxed and she spun around and headed back upstairs. “Come with me,” she ordered.

With Sally tagging behind, I followed Katie upstairs, down the hall to the room Mom had given her. It was a nice room with rose-patterned wallpaper and a big four-poster bed. A girl’s room.

I stopped short in the open doorway. It had been a nice room—but now it looked like a bomb had gone off.

Her clothes were strewn all over the room, balled up on every inch of floor. Blouses and T-shirts were flung over the rocking chair and a fancy-looking sweater was mooshed up, hanging from the corner of a painting on the wall.

I shook my head. “It wasn’t me. I haven’t been up here for hours.”

“Oh? Who was it then?” she challenged. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it was the ghost.”

I nodded. “I didn’t believe it, either, at first. I don’t blame you for thinking it was me even though I would never do anything like this. But it must have been Bobby.”

“A ghost? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think Bobby’s trying to get you out of the house,” I said. “If we could only figure out why …”

I let my voice trail off. Katie didn’t believe a word I was saying. I couldn’t blame her, really. Before we came to this house, I never believed in ghosts, either—so why should she believe me?

“I don’t know what you kids have against me,” she said. “But I’m going to stick it out, whatever you do. So you might as well get used to me. I’m not so bad. Really.”

Sally just stared up at her with wondering eyes.

I mumbled a protest. “We’re not trying to get rid of you.”

Katie turned away with a shaky smile. “Forget it. Now let’s go have dinner.”

We trooped back downstairs.

The water was boiling. Steam rattled the lid and escaped in big jets out the sides. “I’ll put the spaghetti on,” I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal.

But the truth was, you never knew what might happen in this house. Sometimes it played tricks, moving things around, and I didn’t want the pot to tip over on Katie again, not when the water was boiling.

I opened the box of spaghetti, grabbed a fistful, and went to the stove.

Holding my body well back from the stove, I lifted the lid. The water was bubbling furiously and steam billowed up to the ceiling.

I dropped the spaghetti in and jumped back. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath till I let it out.

“Let me give that a stir,” said Katie.

Before I could stop her or even cry out a warning she lifted the lid and stuck in a long-handled spoon.

“There.” She set the spoon on the counter and I let myself relax. Nothing had happened. The boiling water wasn’t going to burn her.

Then Katie picked up the jar of spaghetti sauce. And as she started to tip it into a pan, the jar jerked out of her grasp.

Katie screamed. The jar landed with a crash on the floor. Glass and gloppy sauce spattered everywhere.

“It felt like it was yanked out of my hands!” cried Katie, staring at the mess.

Sally giggled.

I hushed her and grabbed fistfuls of paper towels. “It looked that way to me, too,” I said, starting to shovel the mess into a dust pan. “Like something grabbed it.”

Katie gave me a black look. “That’s crazy. I dropped it, that’s all. Must be nerves. It comes from being around you two and wondering what you’ll get up to next.”

I didn’t say anything, just finished cleaning up the mess.

“Luckily there’s another jar of sauce,” said Katie, reaching for it.

I hunched my shoulders, expecting it to go flying against the wall. It didn’t.

Katie twisted the lid but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, grunting with effort.

“Here,” I said, glad to have an excuse to offer. “Let me.” It was our last jar and I was hungry.

Katie shrugged. “I’ll set the table.

I got the lid off and the sauce safely into a pan and on the stove while Katie took down a stack of dishes. She picked up the top plate to set it on the table.

It flew out of her hand, skimmed across the kitchen like a Frisbee, and smashed into the wall.

Frowning at the shattered pieces on the floor, Katie grasped the second plate. It shot away from her and smashed into the opposite wall.

Sally watched it all happen, smiling her secret smile.

“I don’t understand this,” Katie said, staring at the broken crockery. “I’ve never been such a klutz.”

“Why don’t you sit down with Sally,” I suggested. “I’ll get the food. It’s just about ready anyway.”

Moving like a sleepwalker, Katie got the broom and began sweeping up the broken plates. “It was weird,” she said in a quiet, puzzled voice. “It was like they came alive in my hand.”

Holding everything very tightly and moving very carefully, I got the plates and our dinner to the table. Nothing wiggled in my hand or tried to get away.

My stomach was growling fiercely. I heaped spaghetti on my plate and dumped on some sauce.

Just as I was putting the bowl of sauce down, the lights went out.

The kitchen was plunged into pitch blackness.

“What’s that?” Katie whispered in the dark.

I heard a plate slither across the table. Then another.

It was starting. The house was coming alive.