Ghost Stories (3 page)

“Am I still dreaming?” Frank gasped. “Or is it for real?”

The apparition spoke to him in a hoarse whisper. “Leave this house at once! This is your last warning!”

Suddenly the creature pulled away from the window and vanished.

Frank jumped to his feet and ran to the door. He had to struggle to force the bolt back because it was clogged with dust. Then he rushed out onto the porch and looked around.

Joe came after him a few seconds later. “You woke me up when you pushed the bolt,” he said. “What's going on?”

Quickly Frank explained what had happened. “I don't know where the scarecrow is,” he concluded.

“There it is!” Joe exploded.

He pointed toward the field, where the eerie figure was standing next to the first row of corn. The moonlight was bright enough to reveal an ugly scowl on its face.

“Come with me!” it screamed at them.

Then it plunged through the cornstalks into the field.

“We have to follow it!” Joe exclaimed. “Otherwise we may never find out what's going on here!”

“We'll corner it, don't worry,” Frank vowed.

They ran to the place where the scarecrow had disappeared. Heavy thunderclouds were building up in the night sky, and the treetops waved wildly in the wind.

The boys entered the cornfield and came to the scarecrow's pole. It was empty!

Frank shrugged in despair. “How can we follow this thing when we don't know where it has gone? The way it disappears is creepy. And then it pops up when we least expect it.”

“Let's split up and take different routes through the cornfield,” Joe advised.

“Good idea. You go to the right, and I'll move left. Yell if you see anything. And if I call, come on the double.”

“Will do,” Joe agreed.

He went down the furrow to the right, and then turned at an angle deeper into the cornfield. He walked carefully, pushing the stalks apart and surveying the area before proceeding onward.

A peal of thunder sounded in the distance, and jagged bolts of lightning flashed across the night sky. Moonlight filtering through the clouds caused shadows to flicker around the cornfield. Fantastic shapes danced before Joe's eyes.

“It's a great night for a ghost,” he muttered softly to himself. “A real witches' sabbath!”

Pushed by a strong wind, the clouds drifted away from the moon and suddenly light flooded the cornfield again.

A piece of cloth fluttering from a stalk caught Joe's attention. When he retrieved it, he saw that it was from a tattered black coat like the one worn by the scarecrow.

Our friend must have come this way, the young detective reasoned. Maybe he's hiding in the corn watching me—ready to jump me!

Joe swallowed hard and moved on. His eyes darted from side to side so he would not be taken by surprise. He kept his hands up, ready to defend himself, although he wondered what good karate would do against a supernatural assailant! But nothing happened.

Joe was beginning to feel that the scarecrow was not anywhere near when he heard a scratching noise ahead. Something was slinking toward him and jarring the bottom of the cornstalks as it came.

Joe's heart skipped a beat, and his breath came in short gasps. He stopped and waited, preparing to yell for Frank as soon as the scarecrow became visible.

The stealthy sound drew nearer. Joe opened his mouth to shout when a rabbit came bounding through, pursued by a fox. The two animals whizzed past him and disappeared.

He could tell by the noise that they were circling back. The rabbit reappeared. Veering away from Joe, it scooted along a furrow. The fox came in view and, losing the scent, took the opposite direction.

Joe regained his composure and chuckled inwardly at himself. Then he resumed his search.

Frank, meanwhile, was moving gingerly through the cornfield, making sure at each step that he was not trudging into an ambush. He came to a muddy patch where, in the moonlight, he saw footprints leading into a clump where the cornstalks grew closer together. The prints were smudged at the toes.

Frank caught his breath. “The scarecrow!” he muttered. “The upturned toes made the smudges!”

He shifted to one side and sneaked around the spot where the footprints ended. Then, step by step, he silently worked his way toward the spot from the opposite direction. He strained his eyes to see what danger lay ahead of him.

Suddenly he caught the reflection of moonlight on a figure huddled behind the cornstalks. The stovepipe hat was unmistakable. So was the rest of the figure's clothing. It was the scarecrow!

Just then, a twig snapped under Frank's foot. The scarecrow whirled around. Frank's pulse raced, and his throat felt dry.

“Joe! The scarecrow's over here!” he managed to shout.

Before the words were out of his mouth, the apparition leaped to its feet and ran deeper into the field. Frank rushed after it, guiding himself by the racket it made in forcing its way through the cornstalks. The sounds became fainter, but then grew louder again.

It's doubling back, Frank surmised. It's going to jump me. But I'll get it first!

Throwing caution to the winds, he advanced quickly in the direction of the noise. A cloud covered the moon just as a figure leaped forward and rushed at him. In the darkness, strong arms clamped themselves around his body. Frank got a headlock on his antagonist and the two fell to the ground, wrestling over and over in a furrow.

They broke free and scrambled to their feet. They were about to continue the struggle when the moon came out again, illuminating both of them.

Frank and Joe Hardy were staring at each other!

“I thought you were the scarecrow!” Joe gasped.

“I thought
you
were!” Frank panted. “I saw it, but it got away. Well, we might as well go on together, even though I doubt well see it again. It must be long gone by now.”

The Hardys traversed the cornfield, but their search was fruitless. They made their way back to the center, where the scarecrow's pole was.

The creature was back in its spot!

“I wonder if it'll talk to us this time,” Joe said.

“Ask why it's haunting us,” Frank suggested.

Joe put the question to the scarecrow. He received no answer.

Frank sighed with exasperation. “Let's return to the house and decide what to do.”

They were near the end of the cornfield when a fiery bolt of lightning shot down from the sky. It was so bright that it illuminated the entire area.

With a terrific clap of thunder, the lightning bolt plunged into the old farmhouse. There was a shattering
explosion as the roof split apart. Gigantic flames erupted inside the building and roared upward.

Horrified by the spectacle, the Hardys dashed toward the house. But by the time they got there, the structure was a raging inferno. The roof collapsed, the interior beams gave way, and burning planks fell in a heap on the ground floor.

Frank and Joe stopped in the weed-covered driveway. The heat of the fire kept them from going any closer.

“There's nothing we can do,” Joe muttered. “The house is gone.”

Frank gulped. “It's lucky we weren't inside when the lightning hit! If we hadn't chased the scarecrow, we'd be roasting like hamburgers at a barbecue.”

“Well, I suppose this is the end of the old place,” a voice suddenly said behind them.

Whirling around, they saw a stranger leaning through the window of a pickup. Neither of the boys had heard him drive up in the noise of the collapsing building. He got out and joined them.

“I'm Josh Compton,” the man continued. “I own the farm next door. When I saw the lightning hit the place, I called the fire department, then drove right over. Tell me, who are you?”

The Hardys introduced themselves and explained how their car had broken down on the road.

“We came to the house hoping to phone a garage for a tow,” Frank said. “But nobody was here.”

Compton shrugged. “Nobody's lived here for twenty years. I keep an eye on the place for a real
estate company. But they have not been able to sell it. The fire just may be a blessing in disguise. The house is no great loss; but the land is worth something.”

“We were in the house,” Joe informed Compton. “We hope it was okay.”

“No problem,” the farmer assured him. “No reason why you shouldn't use an abandoned house in an emergency.”

Frank was mulling over a particular question, which he now put to Josh Compton. “Have you gone into the house lately?”

“Sure. I have a key to the kitchen door. I was over here only yesterday.”

“That explains the footprints in the dust,” Frank surmised.

Compton chuckled. “I guess so. I never thought about it.”

“We also saw some straw in the living room.”

“I came directly here from working in the cornfield. The straw must have been on my shoes. By the way, the cornfield belongs to me. My farm is over the hill behind it.”

Dawn had broken by now and the house was a mass of cinders. Tongues of flame licked their way through the ruins. A fire truck arrived. Compton described what had happened to the man in charge, then turned back to the Hardys.

“We can't do anything to help. How about coming to my house for breakfast?” he asked.

Joe grinned. “That sounds great!”

Frank nodded. “I'm starved.”

The boys followed the farmer to his pickup, and Compton got behind the wheel. “I'll give you a tow to the nearest garage after we've eaten,” he offered.

The Hardys accepted gratefully.

“We heard a shout in the cornfield during the night,” Frank said on the way to the farmer's home. “We wondered what it was.”

“You must have heard me,” Compton stated. “I went out to call my dog. He often chases rabbits in the field, and I have to yell my head off to get him to come in again.”

“You have quite a scarecrow in that field,” Joe said casually.

Compton laughed. “I put it together myself. It's fine except that it doesn't frighten anything, not even the crows!”

Well, it sure gave us a turn, Frank thought. But I better not say it, he'd never believe me!

“The clothes are unusual,” Joe went on.

“A joke,” Compton admitted. “I found them at an auction, including the shoes with the upturned toes.”

They drove on in silence. Frank and Joe reflected on their experience that night and wondered if those events had really happened. Silently they looked at each other, realizing the question had no answer.

At the farmhouse, Mrs. Compton, a friendly, motherly woman, made them feel welcome. She served them a large platter of flapjacks and mugs of cocoa, and talked to them about their hometown of Bayport while they had their breakfast.

When they were finished, they thanked the
woman and Josh drove them to their car, which was still in the ditch where they had left it. He attached a cable to their front bumper and towed the car behind his pickup to a garage about ten miles up the road.

The boys thanked him and offered to pay him for his time and trouble, but he wouldn't hear of it. He accepted their thanks and drove off.

The garage repairman found the problem in the car's fuel pump, which he repaired. Soon the engine purred again and the Hardys were on their way in the direction of the cornfield with Joe at the wheel.

“We'll be passing right by the scarecrow again,” he said, “unless it's wandering around the field somewhere.”

Frank rubbed the back of his hand across his chin. “Joe, that scarecrow saved our lives,” he muttered.

Joe nodded. “It must have known the house would be hit by lightning. That's why it warned us to stay away. When we went in anyway, it lured us out and made us follow it!”

Frank sighed. “But why didn't it simply tell us what would happen?”

“I don't know!” Joe chuckled. “I'm not an expert on scarecrow psychology!”

They reached the point in the road from where they were able to see the weirdly dressed creature. It was on its pole.

“Shall we stop and ask?” Joe suggested, joking.

“Keep going, wise guy!” Frank ordered in the same tone of voice.

They both stared into the cornfield. The scarecrow seemed to smirk knowingly as they passed by.

 
THE MYSTERY OF THE VOODOO GOLD