Our next field trip activity was in the Sculptor’s Studio. Ms. Juniper led the way. “This should be very interesting,” she said. “Especially for you kids who are also in the Art Club.”
It was like a mini-museum. There were sculptor’s tools and little models of the monument itself. Plus, since the monument was so big, some of the tools were not your typical sculptor’s tools. There were climbing gear, huge picks, and a small version of the monument that took up a lot of the room.
“Look at this!” Egg said. He was over by the window, snapping photos.
The view of the monument was amazing. Gum and I hurried over to look, but Sam grabbed my wrist.
“Guys,” she hissed. “Look!”
She was pointing at a piece of equipment behind Egg. It was like a cylinder, with a crank on each side. It was behind a rope and obviously hadn’t been touched in years. But now it was turning all on its own. Everyone gasped.
Then a low voice boomed from the copy of the monument. “Get out!” it said.
Ms. Juniper screamed. I was pretty scared too. Sam tried to get closer, of course, but the old caretaker shoved his way through the crowd.
“Out of the way,” he snapped. “Move aside.” He looked up at the sculpture. “Which of ‘em said it?” he said.
“Huh?” Sam said.
“Which president?” the caretaker asked. “Did their lips move?”
“Are you serious?” Sam asked.
The caretaker nodded. Then he looked at the cylinder. The cranks still turned.
“It’s the ghosts,” the man said. “The ghosts of the presidents. Everyone out! Now! Before they get us!”
“You heard him,” Ms. Juniper said. “Everyone out.”
We started moving toward the exit, but something was shoving the crowd from the other side.
“We want to see the ghost,” a voice said.
“You haven’t paid,” said the woman at the door. “You have to pay the entrance fee to enter the studio.”
The crowd got shoved back against me and my friends, and soon a bunch of the protestors were in the studio.
One of them stood in the middle of the room. He watched the cylinder as the crank slowed and then stopped.
“This was not the ghost of a president,” the protester said. “What reason would these men have to return?”
He walked across the floor. The crowd watched him as he paced the room.
“This ghost,” the protester finally went on, “was a Lakota spirit. You have to listen to the spirit’s warning and leave this Lakota land at once.”
Just then, several security guards came in. “Everyone out, now,” one of them said. “And you protestors, if you don’t leave right away, you’ll be taken to the police station for entering without paying the fee.”
The crowd and the protestors moved toward the exit. “I wonder if this haunting is related to Ranger Harrison being tied to his bed,” Sam whispered. Egg, Gum, and I leaned in closer as we walked slowly for the door.
“They both sound like nasty pranks,” Gum said.
“I know who you’re thinking about,” Egg said. “Anton Gutman.”
“I’m not convinced it’s that simple,” Sam said.
The crowd finally thinned out enough so we could get outside into the open air.
“So what should we do?” I asked. “Start asking questions?”
“I’ll interrogate Anton,” Gum said.
Sam shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “We need to start with the scene of the crime. We’re going back into the studio.”