All the Lovely Bad Ones Page 11

  "Corey's not lying," I said. "It was Seth."

  "Seth." Grandmother drummed her fingers on her desk top. "Seth."

  "Yes'm?" Seth came as if in answer to his name. "What is it you want?" He drummed on the desk, too.

  Grandmother jerked her hands back, but the drumming went on. She looked right through Seth at Corey and me. We held up our hands to show we weren't—couldn't be—responsible. Thanks to the shadow children, the sound had gotten much louder.

  "Stop making that noise!" Grandmother raised her voice to be heard above the drumming. She was plainly frightened but trying hard not to be.

  "It's not us," I said.

  "It's Seth," Corey said, "and the others."

  "I'm going to call your parents right now and tell them to come and get you," Grandmother shouted. "I cannot allow you to destroy the inn's reputation. Not to mention my sanity!"

  As she reached for the phone, Seth picked up an eraser and threw it across the room, followed by a handful of pens and pencils. A stapler rose into the air and floated a few inches from Grandmother's nose. The printer churned out a stream of blank paper, the computer flickered on and off, and the radio suddenly changed from classical music to loud rock. Doors and windows opened and shut with loud bangs, and a swivel chair spun as it rolled around the room, banging into walls.

  Grandmother just sat there, watching the office dim and brighten as the shadow children filled the air with a blizzard of spinning paperclips and thumbtacks.

  "It's true," she whispered. "The inn really is haunted ... everything I've believed is wrong." With that she put her head down on her folded arms and closed her eyes.

  "Now look what you've done!" Corey yelled. "You've upset Grandmother!"

  The shadow children giggled and retreated, but Seth plopped down on the edge of Grandmother's desk. Regarding her sadly, he touched her hair.

  Grandmother shuddered and looked up. "You must be Seth." Her voice was weak, but she seemed to be back in control.

  "You can see me now." He looked pleased.

  "Yes."

  "That's 'cause you believe in me." He grinned. "Sorry I had to scare you into it, but you was a hard nut to crack."

  Ira and Caleb appeared on either side of Seth. "Sorry, ma'am," Caleb said. "But we couldn't let you send Corey and Travis away."

  "We need them to help us, you see," Ira added.

  "Even though they're none too smart," Seth put in. "But we ain't found nobody else. Most folks just run off, like them silly old ladies."

  "Or they try to trap us with machines of one sort or another," Ira said. "Cameras and the like."

  "Those psychos got no business messing with us," Seth said. "If we wanted our pictures took, we'd pose."

  "Psychics," Caleb corrected him. "That's what they call themselves nowadays."

  Grandmother just sat there staring at the boys as if she was too stunned to say a word. Finally, she said, "What do you want my grandchildren to do?

  "Just three things," Caleb told her.

  "Truth to tell," Seth piped up, "they's a hard three things."

  "First, they have to find Miss Ada's secret account book," Caleb went on, "the one that has the names of the dead who are buried here." "Then they have to mark the graves with proper stones," Ira said, "the kind with names, not numbers, wrote on them."

  "And last, they got to exercise Miss Ada," Seth said.

  "Exorcise," Corey said.

  Seth frowned. "That's what I said."

  "No, you didn't," Corey said. "You—"

  I gave her a little sideways kick. "Drop it."

  "Yes," Seth said. "Drop it or I'll drop you."

  "Stop squabbling," Grandmother said as if she were in her fourth-grade classroom. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair. She looked very tired. "I don't understand any of this," she said.

  "We'll explain it to you," I said.

  Grandmother closed her eyes. "I'm listening."

  Helped here and there by the bad ones, Corey and I told Grandmother everything we knew about the poor farm; Miss Ada Jaggs and her brother, Cornelius; the burial ground; the secret account book; and so on. By the time we were done, it was almost five o'clock.

  Wearily, Grandmother got to her feet. "I don't know what to think," she murmured. "I just don't know."

  Mrs. Brewster chose that moment to appear in the doorway. "Time for dinner," she said, and then gasped when she noticed the mess the bad ones had made. "It's them again, ain't it?"

  Without hesitating, she plunged her hand into a particularly dark corner and hauled Seth out by his shirt front. "Naughty boy," she said. "Why can't you stay where you belong and stop causing trouble?"

  Seth squirmed and wiggled, but he couldn't break away from her. "Let me go, Aunt Martha!" he yelled. "I don't need you looking after me. I can take care of my own self!"

  While we stared at her, Mrs. Brewster shrugged. "You might say me and Henry inherited this here boy. He's my great-great-great-grandfather's nephew. The care of him's been passed down from generation to generation. We try to protect him, like his mama wished, but he sleeps light. Don't take much to wake him up."

  Without releasing the struggling Seth, she gave Corey and me a dark look. "You and your thoughtless ghost games," she muttered. "This here boy is suffering on account of you. Why didn't you leave him be?"

  "Don't go blaming them," Seth said. "They didn't know no better."

  "You know who's to blame, Mrs. Brewster," Caleb said. "But you're scared to face her."

  With a final jerk, Seth pulled away from Mrs. Brewster. Shielding himself with Caleb, he stuck out his tongue. "I don't need no aunties looking after me."

  Then they were gone.

  "So you knew all about this, Martha?" Grandmother asked.

  "Small chance you'd have believed me even if I'd told you."

  "Too true." Grandmother sighed. "I used to believe the dead rested in peace. After my husband died, it was a consolation of sorts." She turned her head and looked out the window. 'Fear no more the heat o' the sun,'" she murmured, "'Nor the furious winter's rages.'"

  The bad ones had quoted the same lines. Like them, like Corey and me, Grandmother was learning there might be plenty to fear after death.

  "Most do rest in peace," Mrs. Brewster said softly. "Live a good life and die a good death—that's all you got to do. Those two things." She rubbed her hands together and added, "I came to tell you dinner is served."

  With that, she strode out of the office.

  "'Live a good life and die a good death,'" Grandmother said. "If only it were that simple."

  After we'd finished eating the best steak I'd ever sunk my teeth into, the inn's only guests stopped at our table.

  "Did Miss Baynes and Miss Edwards leave early?" Mrs. Kowalski asked. "We'd planned an afternoon at Lake Bomoseen tomorrow."

  "Unfortunately, they had ... a change of plans," Grandmother said.

  "It would have been nice if they'd told us." Mrs. Kowalski patted her frosted hair, showing off her perfectly polished nails. "George and I were looking forward to getting to know them better. Such dears."

  Grandmother regarded the woman over the rim of her coffee cup. "They left in a hurry."

  "Oh, dear." Mrs. Kowalski pressed a stray strand of hair more firmly into place. "It wasn't an emergency, was it?"

  "I don't think so." Grandmother set her cup in its saucer. Clink.

  Mrs. Kowalski lingered a moment. When it became clear that Grandmother wasn't going to tell her anything else, she said, "I guess George and I will drive to Bomoseen without them."

  With her husband trailing behind, like a dog trained to heel, Mrs. Kowalski headed for the porch and the rocking chairs.

  Grandmother looked at Corey and me. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she said with a sigh, "but something must be done about the ghosts. We're completely booked next week. I can't afford to lose my guests."

  Mrs. Brewster appeared at Grandmother's elbow. "More coffee?"

  "Yes, pl
ease," Grandmother said. "And do join us, Martha. I need all the help I can get with this ghost business."

  Almost on cue, the light dimmed slightly as the shadow children filled the corners. Caleb, Ira, and Seth pulled extra chairs over and sat down, their faces hopeful.

  "I wish I could have some of that there coffee." Seth sniffed so deeply his nose wrinkled. "It sure smells good."

  "Coffee's not for boys," Grandmother said. "When you grow up, you can drink all you want."

  "Grow up?" Seth stared at Grandmother. "When do you think I'll do that, Granny?"

  Grandmother actually blushed. "I'm sorry," she said, "I wasn't thinking." She poured a cup from Mrs. Brewster's pot and held it toward him.

  Seth didn't take it. "I reckon you forgot I'm dead and I can't drink nothing. Nor can I eat."

  "Oh, dear." Grandmother's face turned even redder.

  Seth touched her hand. "It's all right, Granny. It's plain you ain't used to dining with the likes of us." Mrs. Brewster leaned toward Seth. "We've got important matters to discuss, so sit still and be quiet or I'll call Henry. He'll fix your wagon."

  "Uncle Henry can't do nothing to me." But Seth sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, the very model of a good boy.

  Grandmother turned to Martha. "The boys here say they want three things done: First, Miss Ada's account book must be found. It contains the names of the people buried here. With it, we can match the numbers on the grave markers with the names of the dead."

  Mrs. Brewster nodded. "She kept two books, but the one you want, the true one, was never found. Me and Henry have looked, and so have all our kin before us."

  "We'll find it." Grandmother looked at Corey and me as if she expected us to solve the problem by pulling the book out of thin air.

  "Secondly," she went on, "we must erect proper headstones for the graves."

  "It would comfort the poor souls," Mrs. Brewster said with another nod, "to know they've not been forgot."

  "And thirdly..." Grandmother hesitated as if she dreaded saying the last one. "Thirdly, Miss Ada must be exorcised."

  Mr. Brewster spoke up from the doorway. "She won't go willingly. Not that one."

  The shadow children twittered like scared baby birds, and all three bad ones folded their arms tightly across their chests and looked grim.

  "She's got to go," Caleb said. "Or there'll be no peace for us—or you, either."

  "What can we do?" Grandmother asked.

  "You can't do anything," Ira said in his deepest and most serious voice. "The ones who started this must be the ones who finish it."

  Corey grabbed my hand and stared at the bad ones. "Do you mean us?"

  "Granny wasn't the one flitting around the grove in her nightie," Seth said. "Nor was Aunt Martha."

  "If I recollect rightly," Caleb put in, "it was you, Corey—with Travis helping."

  Grandmother frowned at us. "I always suspected it was you two."

  "Me and Henry knew all along," Mrs. Brewster said. "They're a pair of bad ones themselves, full of sass and mischief just like Seth here."

  I bit my lip to keep from grinning. There was no denying it. We were bad ones, always in trouble—but not wicked. Like to like, the lovely bad ones—Corey and me and Seth, Caleb, and Ira. I glanced at Corey but failed to catch her eye. She sat beside Grandmother playing with a strand of her hair, thinking her own thoughts.

  "Even if this is Corey and Travis's fault," Grandmother said, "I can't allow them to endanger themselves. Good or bad or just plain mischievous, they're my grandchildren. I'm responsible for their well-being—and I love them."

  "I agree with Caleb," Mr. Brewster said. "Your grandchildren got us into this mess. It's only fair they get us out of it."

  "After all," Mrs. Brewster put in, "Miss Ada can't kill them or hurt them. The worst she can do is scare them."

  "But how can we get rid of her?" Corey whispered.

  And how do you know she can't hurt us, I wondered.

  "After the first two things are done," Caleb said, "we'll come up with a way to send Miss Ada wherever she must go next."

  I hoped Caleb was right, but for now I didn't want to think about facing Miss Ada. Not with darkness coming on.

  16

  The night passed quietly. No visits from the bad ones. No visits from Miss Ada. I slept dreamlessly and woke to a morning full of sunshine and bird song. Not that I expected it to stay that way for long. Miss Ada was sure to cause problems before the day was over.

  As soon as we'd eaten breakfast, Corey and I borrowed a couple of shovels from Mr. Brewster (without telling him, because we didn't want him asking questions) and went in search of the bad ones. We found them exactly where we'd expected them to be, stretched out on tree limbs in the grove, waiting for us.

  Seth dropped down from a limb at least three stories above the ground. Ira and Caleb landed on either side of him like apples falling from a tree.

  "Where should we start digging?" I asked.

  "That's where she hanged herself." Seth pointed to a twisted tree that cast an especially dark shadow. "And this here's the very branch." Like a monkey, he jumped up and grabbed a long limb. Swinging back and forth, he said, "She turned and she twisted and she—"

  "Hush!" Ira grabbed Seth and pulled him back to earth. "What do you think you're doing?"

  As he spoke, Miss Ada's tree shook, as if a gust of wind were blowing through it. Its leaves rustled, and its branches creaked. A dozen or so crows shot out of their roosting places and flew away, almost deafening us with their loud cries.

  At the same moment, the shade under the tree deepened and darkened, and the temperature dropped so low I shivered. On the ground, a shadow swung back and forth, as if cast by a body hanging from a rope.

  Suddenly, Miss Ada was there, twisting on her rope, her distorted face a hideous shade of purple. "You won't find it," she said with an evil smile. "It's hidden where no one dares look."

  The bad ones began to sob and tremble and cry out, as if remembering beatings and hunger and cold winter winds, the deaths of loved ones, things lost and gone forever, babies' cries and mothers' prayers.

  Terrified of Miss Ada's power, Corey and I dropped our shovels and grabbed the bad ones' hands. Pulling them along with us, we fled from the cold grove. Our ears rang with their cries, our eyes burned with their tears. Like them, we felt again every pain and loss we'd ever suffered.

  On the sunlit lawn, we fell to earth in a heap, aching with misery and shaking with fear.

  "See what you did?" Caleb yelled at Seth, who was still crying for his mother. "You woke Miss Ada with your foolish shenanigans!"

  "Didn't I warn you?" Ira cried. "Didn't I tell you—"

  "I'm sorry." Seth kept on weeping. "I forgot, I was just funning, I didn't mean—"

  "Oh, stop your crying," Caleb said more gently. "I shouldn't have shouted at you. When she brings the old pains back, they hurt so bad I can't hardly think straight."

  Seth wiped his eyes with his dirty fists. "I want my mama, I want my pa. I hate this place."

  "All of us hate being here," Caleb murmured.

  "We were unlucky," Ira said. "You and Caleb and me and everyone else who ever lived and died on this poor farm."

  While the bad ones talked among themselves, I stole a quick look at the grove. In my mind's eye, I saw Miss Ada hanging from the tree, her feet dancing in the air, her face contorted. My stomach heaved, and I thought I was going to throw up.

  But there was no sign of her now. One by one, the crows flew back and settled themselves noisily in the trees.

  With a shudder, I touched Caleb's shoulder. "What did Miss Ada mean when she said the book was hidden where no one would dare to look?"

  He frowned, his forehead as wrinkled as an old man's. "Maybe it's buried with her."

  "That's impossible," Corey said. "Dead people can't take things with them."

  "Mr. Jaggs could have put it there," Ira said.

  "But he ran away," I said.r />
  Ira nodded. "But he sneaked back after Miss Ada hanged herself."

  "She was laid out in the parlor," Caleb explained, "the guest lounge you call it now. He came to see her in the dead of night."

  Ira looked up from the clover chain he was making. "We were scared to go near the house with her lying there, but we saw the old codger steal away before daybreak. He had plenty of time to leave the book with her."

  Pausing to knot another clover stem, he added, "As she said, who'd dare look for it there?"

  "Not me!" Corey glanced across the sunny lawn at the grove and shuddered. At the same time, I shook my head.

  The bad ones fixed us with their mournful stares. "You promised," Caleb reminded us.

  Ira nodded, his dark eyes solemn. "It's the first thing, remember?"

  "Find the names and make the proper gravestones," Seth said in case we'd forgotten.

  "No one can rest in peace if you don't," Caleb added.

  "Even if the book is there," Corey put in, "it's rotted away by now."

  "Not if it's in the metal box where she always kept it," Caleb pointed out.

  I shook my head again. "No way. Impossible. Forget it. I'm not doing it." Expecting Corey to follow me, I jumped up and started to walk away, but when I looked back, she was still sitting on the grass with the bad ones.

  "Where are you going?" she called.

  I stopped, unsure what to do. I was ashamed to admit it, but part of me (a big part) wanted to call Mom and Dad and tell them I was coming home. I'd hitchhike if I had to. Anything to get away from this place.

  Trailed by the bad ones, Corey ran to my side. "Don't you dare walk out now, Travis. We promised to help them."

  "But we can't dig up—"

  "You big yellow belly," Seth said. "Don't you go and skedaddle."

  "Listen here," Caleb put in. "She's not in her grave anyway. She's over yonder." He pointed at the grove.

  "She doesn't always stay there," I reminded him.

  He didn't have an answer for that.

  "She's naught but rags and bones if that's what scaring you," Seth said.

  Frankly, that was plenty scary.