Ghost Stories (15 page)

Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: Ghost Stories

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“No, just crazy dreams,” Joe replied.

By three o'clock that afternoon, it started to rain. A storm began to build and an hour later was in full swing. Mr. Hardy and Frank had not returned yet. Joe and his mother were worried, and Joe tried to call the marina from the hotel lobby. He found that the telephone lines were down.

“Why don't you go into town and call the Coast Guard,” the manager suggested. “That's probably faster than driving there. They're about twelve miles away.”

“Right!” Joe hurried outside and started off. He found a working telephone in a restaurant and called the Coast Guard, alerting them to the fact that there might be a disabled motorboat on the lake and the the phones at the inn were not working.

The firm voice on the other end of the line sounded reassuring. “We'll start looking right away. Don't worry, we'll find it. We'll let you know by shortwave radio as soon as we do.”

When Joe returned to the inn, he found his mother in the Sheridans' suite. Everyone was nervously waiting for news. But none came, and the afternoon got darker and darker. Joe was feeling cold with fear. He listened to the foghorn, the crashing of the surf, and the howling of the wind. Any moment he expected to hear the sound of a flute amid the din.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Josiah stood outside, his Yankee face smiling broadly. “I
just got a message from the Coast Guard,” he said. “They found Frank and Mr. Hardy. Both are safe and sound at the station.”

“Thank God!” Mrs. Hardy cried out, and Joe hugged his mother in relief.

“Their rudder had broken,” Josiah went on. “A Coast Guard copter that managed to brave the storm picked them up. Anyway, because of the terrible weather they've decided to spend the night at the station and return in the morning.”

Everyone cheered his words, and at dinnertime all the guests at the inn held a celebration in honor of the rescued sailors. Then the Sheridans, Mrs. Hardy, Joe, and some other people sat down for a game of cards.

Finally, about ten-thirty, everyone went upstairs to go to bed. Joe did not realize until he said good night to his mother that he would be spending the night without Frank in his room. The thought made him nervous.

He read for a while, but eventually he turned off the light and rolled over to sleep. He had just drifted off when he heard something banging. It seemed to come from the window. He leaned over to turn on the light, but there was no electricity. When Joe looked toward the window again, he saw the little boy standing in front of it. This time, the child was not crying. Instead, it was beckoning to him.

Joe bit his lip. As quietly as possible, he got out of bed, his eyes trained on the apparition. The little boy moved slowly toward the door, which opened all by
itself. Then Joe went after the ghost to the second-floor landing.

There the child stopped in front of the camphor-wood chest; he motioned to Joe to open it, and the young detective obeyed. I suppose it's too heavy for him, he thought.

Then he stared in surprise. Inside the chest lay a flute! The little boy bent down and took the instrument. He looked at Joe and smiled. Joe was just about to say something when the apparition faded away.

Joe stared after his strange visitor in consternation. Then he closed the camphor-wood chest and returned to his room. He saw that the window shutter had become unlatched and was causing the noise that had awakened him. He stared out the window for a few minutes, then fastened the shutter and went back to bed. But before he could climb under the covers, he heard a loud
crash!

Again, Joe bent over to try the light. This time it came on. He looked around the room until his eyes focused on a picture that had fallen off the wall.

It was a photograph which had been hanging amid a cluster of small pictures. Joe had not paid much attention to any of them. Now he got out of bed and picked it up. He gave a yelp of recognition. The photo showed the little boy, dressed as a miniature sea captain! From the brown sepia tone of the paper, the young detective could tell the photograph was quite old.

“That's him,” Joe said out loud. “No doubt about it. It even shows the little birthmark on his cheek!”

He put the picture on his night table, then sat up in bed for a long time. Finally, he fell asleep and did not wake up until the door to his room burst open.

Frank stood in the doorway. “Hey, Joe! Don't you ever want to get up? If you don't hurry, you won't get any breakfast!”

“Frank! Are you all right?” Joe cried out.

“I'm fine. They put us up on a couple of cots at the Coast Guard station and even gave us doughnuts in the morning. And look at that beautiful sunshine today! The storm has disappeared without a trace!”

Joe looked at the picture on his night table. “Not quite,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“If you promise not to make fun of me, I'll tell you.”

Frank sat down on Joe's bed. “Go ahead, tell me about your ghost. I won't say a word.”

Quickly, Joe filled his brother in on the night's events. Frank took the picture into his hands and studied it. “Well, perhaps Josiah will be able to give us a clue as to who this child is,” he said. “Come on, get dressed, and we'll ask him.”

Ten minutes later, the boys showed the innkeeper the photograph. “Can you tell us who this child is?” Joe asked point-blank.

The man put down his coffee cup and looked at the boys in silence for a moment. “So you've seen him,” he said finally.

“Seen who?” Frank demanded.

“Eh, yep. Suppose you tell me.”

Frank looked at his brother. “Suppose you tell him, Joe.”

“I heard a little boy crying the past two nights,” Joe said. “Same boy as in the picture. He came to our room. Last night, he didn't cry. He beckoned me to follow him to the camphor-wood chest and open it for him. Inside lay a flute. He took it and disappeared.”

“Maybe that's the end of it!” Josiah burst out.

“The end of what?”

“Well, you see, there was a part of the story I didn't tell you. The captain who owned this house had a son. Your room was his room.”

“And it was closed off for many years,” Frank said. “Jacob said so.”

Josiah nodded. “When I bought the place, I was told the room was haunted. The little boy came every once in a while and cried. But I've had the inn for quite a few years now, and no one ever heard anything, so we decided to finally open the room up.”

“You could have warned us,” Joe said. At the same time he thought of Jacob and Elizabeth, and how concerned they had been about the Hardys.

“I suppose I should have,” Josiah admitted.

“I never heard a thing,” Frank said. “I thought Joe was dreaming!”

Joe poked his brother in the ribs. “You're just not as sensitive as I am to the voices from the past.”

“I guess not,” Frank admitted.

Next time the boys passed the second-floor landing,
Frank could not help but open the camphorwood chest and cast a curious look inside.

“Joe!” he cried out in surprise. “The odor is gone!”

Joe shrugged. “Now that the little boy got his father's flute, even the chest isn't haunted anymore,” he replied. “I'm glad I was able to help him, even though I have to admit he scared me half to death!”

She's sharp.