Boogers from Beyond #3 (6 page)

“WHA!” I screamed and pointed behind Shane. “It's back!”

Shane spun around and landed in a karate pose.

“Kick its head,” I called out.

Then we heard a giggle coming from underneath the horrifying face. I took a closer look to see that Nabila's body was sticking out from under the head. Her fluorescent fanny pack was unmistakable.

She pulled off the monster head and handed it to me.

“I think this is a Balinese mask,” she said. “Perhaps with some sort of enchantment on it. There are similar masks in Egyptian tradition.”

“It's ugly,” said Ben, who grabbed the mask from my hands and sneezed again. “And heavy. Do you think this is real hair? What's up with the mirrors on the tongue?”

“I read in the
The Book of the Dead
that masks are sometimes used to protect the dead,” she said.

“This place is obviously haunted,” said Shane.

“By ‘the dead,' you mean ghosts?” Ben asked.

“The ghosts are just trying to protect themselves?” I asked. “So they're
not
trying to kill us? I think it's time we told Director Z about the vase. We need his help figuring this out, and that's when it all started.”

We found Director Z in the front foyer with Gordon.

“I've just escorted the last old parent—or should I say grandparent—out to her car,” Director Z said. “She was quite shook-up, but in the end, I think I convinced her that she had just watched a bit of performance art. I think we somehow made it through the PTA meeting without letting out any of our secrets. If anything, it may have drawn their attention away from the residents.”

“Director Z,” I said. “I have something to tell you.”

“Let me guess,” he said. “You broke something.”

“How did you know?” Gordon asked.

“A major blizzard formed over the manor, for one.” Director Z started counting things off on his fingers. “Lucinda was screaming about evil spirits all night. There was a hole in the banquet hall door thanks to an ax. You—”

“You knew?” Nabila gasped. “Why didn't you do anything?”

“I told you that if you broke anything, you'd pay,” he said. “I sensed a disgruntled nature in the spirits of this house and I could feel that they were very much upset with our presence. But I also knew that if we just kept to ourselves, and didn't bother them incessantly, they'd leave us be.”

“So the house
is
haunted!” said Shane.

“Did you have any doubt after what just happened?” Ben asked.

“I had my theories,” Shane replied.

“What was it?” asked Director Z. “What did you break?”

“A vase,” we all said at once.

“Not the vase in the North Wing?” asked Director Z.

“That's the one,” said Gordon. “Technically the werewolves broke it!”

“It doesn't matter who broke it,” Director Z said. “I believe it held the ashes of one of the matriarchs of the family. You must make peace with the spirits.”

“How?” I asked.

“You're smart kids, you'll figure it out,” he said. “I'd start with the North Wing. That's where this all started. That's where you should try to end it.”

“Hello?” Shane yelled into the North Wing hallway. “Ghosts? We're so sorry. We didn't mean to break your vase.”

“Yeah,” added Gordon. “We were stupid, and we're sorry. Please stop haunting us now.”

“We brought you your mask back,” I said, holding up the mask as an offering.

“Come out and get it,” said Ben with a sniffle.

There was silence in the North Wing hallway.

Nabila paced back and forth as we waited for some sort of reply.

“All right, I've had enough!” she yelled. “Just because we broke the vase with your old dead mother doesn't mean you have the right to kill us. She was already dead!”

An angry rumble filled the hall.

“If you have anything to say about it, come out here at ONCE!” Nabila finished with a flourish.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked. “You're just going to make them madder!”

A ghostly figure appeared in the hallway and rushed toward us, raising a short sword in the air.

“You foooools,” yelled the ghost, who, as he came closer, looked terribly old. He wore a tattered old uniform.

“I care not about that dusty old vase,” he said. “No ashes of a blood relative lay in it.”

“Okay, so what's the problem?” asked Shane.

“Those terrible old monsters you've brought into our home,” he said, moving closer to Shane, sword still raised. “They snort and snot and burp and barf. They're unclean. I don't want such filth in our house. They disgust me!”

With that, he swung his ghostly old sword at Shane's neck.

“Shane!” yelled Nabila.

It went through Shane's neck but didn't even leave a mark.

“Cool,” said Shane.

“Cool?” hissed the old ghost. “I would go so far as to say that my blade is ice-cold.”

“No, I meant ‘cool' like ‘neat' or ‘awesome,'” said Shane. “What time period are you from, anyway?”

A ghostly kid appeared and ran toward us. “1897. What year is it now?”

“2014,” I replied.

“Wow, I've been dead for one hundred seventeen years. That's thirteen times the amount of time I was alive.”

“So you're nine,” Nabila said, never failing a math quiz. “We're all eleven and twelve. What's your name?”

“I'm Quincy,” he replied. “And this is my great-grandfather, George Stratford.”

“That's Lieutenant Commander Stratford to you,” he grumbled.

“You'll have to pardon my grandfather,” said another ghost as he joined Quincy and George. “He talks so much about these old monsters that sometimes I think
he's
the old monster.”

Another ghost appeared out of nowhere. A woman. And then a little girl came into view.

“That's my mother, Mary Stratford, but she likes to be called Lady Stratford,” said Quincy. “And my three-year-old sister, Leila.”

Five ghosts in total.

“We're so sorry we frightened you,” Lady Stratford said. “But we were at our wits' end. When those werewolves destroyed the vase and left such a mess, why, we couldn't help but lash out.”

“They can't stand messes,” added Quincy.

“But we never would have hurt you,” Quincy's father said. “We were just trying to convince you to leave this house.”

“It was you in those masks?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Quincy's father.

“I collected those terrifying masks from the island of Bali during a tour with the Royal Navy,” said George. “They are said to channel the spirit of Rangda—an evil witch who eats small children. I thought they'd spook you out of the house good, but here you are now, standing right in front of me.”

“Why are you still in the house?” Shane asked.

“We were trapped in the South Wing when the fire started,” said Quincy's father. “We think it was the servants.”

“But there is no South Wing,” Gordon said.

“Exactly,” said Quincy.

“We're sorry,” I said. “But I think the old monsters are here to stay. All we can do is ask them to behave. And now that we know you're here, I'll ask them to do that.”

“You might want to cover your mouth when you sneeze,” said George, pointing at Ben. “It was such a powerful load of snot that it flew through my eyehole and directly into my eye.”

All the ghosts shuddered.

“They hate bogies, too,” said Quincy. “I once dug one out with my finger, and—”

“Quincy!” Lady Stratford scolded.

“Got it,” said Ben.

Quincy waved as the mysterious figures faded away in front of us.

“Um . . . bye?” said Shane.

Somehow, Director Z convinced us to help out the next night. I think it was punishment for breaking the vase. After we shuffled around school like zombies for the day, we found ourselves standing at the snowy entrance to Gallow Manor once again.

But something was different.

“What's that noise?” asked Ben.

We all put our ears to the massive wooden door.

“Are the monsters . . . laughing?” Gordon said, flabbergasted.

“There's something else,” said Nabila. “Scratching and whimpering. It sounds like a puppy.”

She concentrated for a moment.

“And a kitten.”

We rang the bell, and soon heard the sound of claws scraping down the hall and toward the door.

The door swung open, and a cute little brown puppy waddled out onto the welcome mat and started nibbling on Shane's shoes.

“Hey,” Shane said, leaning down and patting the dog, “what's up, dude?”

“I thought your hearing was flawless,” Gordon scolded Nabila. “Where's the kitten?”

From the feet of the Nurse who had answered the door, a small black-and-white kitten hissed at the dog.

“Friendly little thing,” said Nabila. “I'm still trying to figure out why my ancestors were so in love with cats.”

Shane shuffled the dog (and us) inside, and the Nurse closed the door.

“Where did these guys come from?” I asked the Nurse.

“Grigore,” said the Nurse.

“Why are you back in your old uniform?” Ben asked. “Your tight uniform?”

“More comfortable,” said the Nurse.

“I see,” said Shane, thinking about it as the Nurse walked away.

The kitten took off down the hallway toward the East Wing. The puppy gave a sharp bark that echoed in the foyer, and chased after the kitten.

“Careful of the zombies!” I yelled at the furballs, and turned to my friends.

“They'll be eaten alive!” I said.

“I dunno,” said Shane. “Everyone loves puppies and kittens.”

“Exactly,” said Gordon. “Sooooo tasty!”

“I wonder if Director Z knows about this yet,” Nabila said.

“Let's go talk with Grigore first,” I said.

We found the batty old vampire in the game room with the huge fireplace. He was talking with Grace, the most with-it of the zombies. She moaned in approval at something he said.

“Are you guys agreeing on who gets to eat them?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” said Grigore. “Your mother's gift is just vonderful. We vouldn't even think of eating them.”

“My mother's gift?” I asked, confused.

“The puppy and kitten,” said Grigore. “It vas so nice of them to thank us for using the space.”

“The puppy and kitten are from the PTA?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Grigore. “They vere at the door this morning. I vas the vone who heard them scratching. They came vith a nice note.”

“Oh no,” said Ben. “The PTA has no idea what it's done.”

“Where's the note?” I asked, not believing that my mother would send a puppy and kitten—at least not without talking to me first.

“I don't know,” said Grigore. “I lost it somevhere vhile ve vere playing.”

There was a bark in the hallway, and the cat rushed into the room and pounced on Ben. Ben screamed.

“Nooooo!” He grabbed the cat and tried to pull it off of himself.

“Claudine!” Grigore stood up and yelled. “Bad kitten! No, Claudine!”

“They named the cat Claudine?” Gordon asked, chuckling.

“My allergies!” Ben continued screaming as Grigore pulled the kitten off of him.

When Grigore finally got the cat off, Ben was covered in cat hair.

“Get the hair off of me!” said Ben. “Hurry! I'm gonna get hives!”

We brushed the hair off of Ben while Grigore sat down and stroked Claudine.

“Grab my inhaler, Nabila!” Ben shrieked. “Hurry!”

“I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!” she shrieked back.

She dug around furiously in her fanny pack, and when she finally found the inhaler, she shoved it into Ben's hand.

He pulled off the cap, shoved the inhaler into his mouth . . .

. . . and stopped.

“Why aren't you using it?” I asked.

“I don't think I need it,” he said. “I'm usually hacking and coughing and wheezing as soon as cat hair hits my skin, but I feel fine.”

“Maybe it's one of those hypoallergenic cats?” Nabila said.

“Hypo-what?” asked Gordon.

“Cats that are less likely to trigger your allergies,” Nabila said.

“AHHHH . . .

“AHHHHHHHHH . . .

“CHOOOOOO!” sneezed Grigore, and his dentures flew into the fireplace. They jumped out of the flames and chattered out into the hallway, most likely heading down to Grigore's coffin in the dungeon.

“Guess not,” said Shane.

Before we could come up with any more theories, there was a scream from the hallway.

“You MONSTERS,” said an otherworldly voice. “WE WILL DESTROY YOU!!!”