Stacey And The Mystery Of Stoneybrook (5 page)

"Karen Karen bo baren Banana/ana fo faren Me mi mo maren Karen!"

The Name Game continued as Kristy made the popcorn. Running out of names didn't stop them: They just went around the kitchen, singing about everything they saw:

"Toaster toaster bo boaster Bananafana fo foaster Me mi mo moaster Toaster!"

Things got pretty silly for awhile. When the popcorn was done they trooped into the living room to play Chutes and Ladders. The game wasn't half over when Karen started up again.

"I heard Ben Brewer walking around last night. His footsteps went up and down, up and down. He was pacing. He was restless. Finally he stopped and sat down. I heard the bed creak. Then he took off his boots. The first

one dropped.
Boom.
Then the second."

And just as she said ,”second,” there was a huge clap of thunder. Everybody jumped, and Karen shrieked and leapt into Kristy's lap. She'd even scared
herself
that time. Her Ben Brewer stories are about the ghost who supposedly lives on the third floor. (Proof? Boo-Boo won't go above the second floor. Animals are sensitive to ghostly presences, according to Karen.) Karen's stories are mostly old hat by now. But the storm's timing had sure contributed to the drama of this one.

Thunder was really booming then, and the yard outside was lit up by lightning. It was pouring. Kristy had all four kids piled into her lap, and they just sat and hugged each other and watched the storm. Finally the thunder and lightning moved on, though the wind and rain didn't seem to let up much.

"Okay, time for bed, you guys," Kristy said. "David Michael, Andrew, and Karen, brush your teeth and get your pajamas on. I'll put Emily Michelle down and then come and read to all of you."

Kristy knew that the kids were a little spooked, but it had gotten late while .they waited for the storm to pass, so she figured they'd be sleepy.

No such luck. She read five chapters of
Ozma of Oz
(they were going through all the Oz books, since they'd just seen the movie), and everyone was still wide awake. Then she sang some lullabies with them. "All the Pretty Little Ponies" was Karen's favorite. The Ghostbusters song, "Who Ya Gonna Call" was David Michael's. Finally Kristy tucked them all in, sleepy or not, and told them it was bedtime. She went downstairs and sat on the couch to read.

"Kristee-e-e-e-e, I need a drink of wa-a-a-a-ter." That was David Michael. He was in a whiny mood. Kristy brought the water, and he made her stay while he drank it. She waited, then dosed the door to his room almost all the way and went back downstairs.

"Kristy?"

Karen was standing at the door of the living room. "I can hear Ben again," she said. "He's walking around."

"It's just the wind," said Kristy. "Go back to bed, Karen."

Then Emily called, and of course Andrew wanted a drink, too. Kristy thought they'd never go to sleep. But finally the house was quiet. Quiet, that is, except for the wind rattling the shutters outside.

Kristy found that she couldn't concentrate on her book. In fact, she couldn't stop thinking about the old house and the experiences Charlotte and I had there.

She wandered into the kitchen and ate the last handful of popcorn. She washed out the bowl. She opened the refrigerator door, looked inside, and closed it without having any idea of what she'd seen in there. Then she tiptoed upstairs to check on her brothers and sisters. Everybody was fast asleep. Kristy figured that that was a good thing, except that all of a sudden she felt kind of lonely. (I think she was at what my mom would call "loose ends.")

Finally, Kristy ended up downstairs in the library. (That's right. Watson's mansion is so big that there's a whole room just for his books.) The library at Watson's is a cozy place, with big red leather armchairs, lamps that look like they're made out of stained glass, and, of course, hundreds — maybe thousands — of books.

Kristy looked around and spotted a big carton in the corner. She remembered Watson telling her that he'd just bought some old books at an 'estate sale. She also remembered him saying that some of the books were about

the history of Stoneybrook. She was hoping that maybe she could find something out about that old house!

She pulled a couple of books out of the box and took a look at them. They were kind of dusty, and they smelled like they'd been in someone's basement for awhile. The covers were cracked and the edges of the pages were yellowed. She opened one of them. Right away she spotted the name Brewer. Wow! Watson's family really
had
lived in Stoneybrook for a long time.

She kept reading, just standing there by the cardboard box. There were other names she recognized, and places, too. Of course, there was no record of her old neighborhood: That whole area had just been woods and farmland at one time. But she found a chapter on the building of the library, and one on what the great blizzard of '88 had done to Stoneybrook. (That actually sounded kind of fun — people could walk out onto the snow from their second-story windows!)

Kristy took an armload of books over to one . of the armchairs. She switched on a lamp, made herself comfortable, and settled in to read. The storm still blew outside, making the doors shake. Rain splattered against the win
dows. But Kristy was lost in "Olde Stoneybrooke."

She couldn't find a thing about the old house, though. She skimmed through each of the books, looking for information on the turreted mansion. Then she went back and paged through each one again. There was absolutely nothing.

She was about to give up when a crumbly piece of paper fell out of the book she was holding. She unfolded it carefully, but even so, it ripped a little along the crease. It was very, very old. It was a map.

It looked hand-drawn, and the locations were all hand-lettered. She turned it this way and that, trying to figure out how it related to the town she knew. It was a very early map of Stoneybrook. Only a scattering of houses were shown, along with a bank and a church. The church was still there, and so was . . . the house itself. Kristy had finally located "our" old house. At first she couldn't quite make out the writing in the area in and around the house. What did it say?

"Oh, my lord," said Kristy out loud. (That's one of Claud's favorite expressions, and we've all picked it up.)

From what she could see on this incredibly

old map, Kristy figured out that the entire town of Stoneybrook had been built over ancient burial grounds. And "our" house was built on — oh, my lord — the most sacred spot of all!

Kristy noticed that the map was shaking. Then she figured out that it was her hands that were shaking. She let go of the map and it drifted to the floor. Kristy thought again about all the things that Charlotte and I had told her that day. She was scared out of her wits.

She decided not to read another word in those books. She decided to put the map away and never look at it again. She decided she wished that her mom and Watson would come home SOON.

Kristy got up and turned off the lamp she'd been using. She picked up all the books and brought them over to the carton in the corner. As she packed them away, she suddenly got the strangest feeling that she was being watched (she told me this later). There was a definite presence in the room. She didn't want to turn around, so she just kept packing the books into the box, very carefully. The presence was still there. Finally, she knew she had to turn and look. She wheeled around quickly

and saw Sam and Charlie just standing there in the doorway, grinning and making horrible faces at her. She screamed and fell into the nearest chair. Sam and Charlie didn't stop laughing for at least half an hour.

Chapter 7.

I was walking down Fifth Avenue, past Rockefeller Center. Gary Rockman was running after me, calling my name over and over.

"Stacey," he said. "Stacey, please come to me!"

I woke up with a start, back in my regular old bed in Stoneybrook. It was morning. Gary Rockman was nowhere in sight, but someone
was
calling my name. It was Charlotte, and she didn't sound too good.

I went into the guest room. Charlotte was in bed, the covers tangled around her legs. She looked flushed and hot. I put my hand on her forehead. She was burning up!

"Stacey, my throat hurts. I feel awful." Charlotte
looked
awful. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks. "I miss my mommy," she said.

"I know, Charlotte, but don't worry. We'll

take good care of you." I ran for the thermometer, and while Charlotte held it in her mouth, I went to find my mom. She came upstairs with me and we took a look at the thermometer. A hundred and two degrees. Charlotte was definitely sick. Mom and I glanced at each other. I knew she was feeling as bad as I was for the way we'd played down Charlotte's earlier symptoms. I'd been so sure it was just that Charlotte was nervous and homesick.

Charlotte's parents had left a list of emergency numbers. I checked it to see which doctor we should call, and it said she went to Dr. Dellenkamp. Mom went downstairs to call for an appointment. I helped Charlotte get up, wash her face, and get dressed. She moved slowly. Finally we all piled into the car and drove to the doctor's office.

When we walked into the waiting room, we could see right away that it was going to be awhile before we saw the doctor. There was a woman with a crying baby, another mother trying to convince her toddler to sit and play quietly with some blocks, and a girl about my age who was sitting there alone, kind of hunched over. She looked like she had a stomachache. Mom decided that she might as

well get the grocery shopping done, since I was there to wait with Charlotte, so she took off.

Charlotte and I sat down on the couch. It was kind of an ugly couch, made of that fake leather stuff that sticks to your legs when you try to get up. Why do waiting rooms always have such ugly furniture? Charlotte put her head in my lap and closed her eyes. I stroked her hair. It's the worst feeling when you're sick and you have to be anywhere but home in bed.

Charlotte seemed comfortable, so I looked at the table by the couch to see what magazines they had. Oh, boy. I had a choice between a July 1979
Reader's Digest
and this month's
Highlights for Children.
I picked up
Highlights,
just to see if it had changed any since I used to look at it in
my
pediatrician's office. Nope. There were good old Goofus and Gallant, same as ever. Even as a kid I'd thought that Gallant was kind of a goody-goody.

I was still paging through the magazine when the outer door opened and the most gorgeous guy walked in, holding the hand of a little boy who must have been his brother. I stared. Blond curly hair, blue eyes ... he

reminded me of Scott, this lifeguard I'd had a crush on once in Sea City, New Jersey. He looked back at me, and then I saw his gaze fall to the magazine I was holding. I dropped it like a hot potato. He smiled at me, as if to say he understood.

I was totally humiliated. Luckily, the receptionist called Charlotte then, and I went with her into the examining room, still blushing.

The examination didn't take long. Dr. Dellenkamp knew what it was right away.

"Tonsillitis
again?"
Charlotte wailed.

"That’s right, Charlotte. Back on the old penicillin," the doctor said. "We may have to do something about those tonsils at some point," she said to me quietly as Charlotte hopped off the table. "But for now, since her parents are away, we'll just hit the germs again with this." She wrote out a prescription.

"Charlotte has trouble taking pills, so we usually give her liquid penicillin. She should take a teaspoon of it four times a day. She'll feel better pretty quickly — in a day or so, I'd say."

The doctor put her arm around Charlotte as we walked out. "I know you must miss your parents, but you be a good patient for Stacey. She'll take care of you just fine," she said. She

winked at me as we said good-bye.

My mom was waiting for us. Fortunately, the gorgeous guy was busy keeping his little brother's hands out of the aquarium, so I was able to dash out of the waiting room without meeting his eyes again.

We stopped by the drugstore to pick up Charlotte's prescription. As soon as she saw the bottle she started to ... well, she started to whine. There's no nicer way to put it.

"I
hate
that stuff," she moaned. "It tastes so awful that I want to throw up when I take it. Do I have to take it? Oh, I want my mommy. It's not fair!"

I knew how she felt, but really. Her whining was a little hard to take, especially since she didn't let up the whole way home.

When we got to our house, I went into the kitchen for a spoon. Charlotte stayed in the living room, where she'd thrown herself on the couch. When I walked in, she turned over so that her face was buried in the pillows.

"I
won't
take it," she said. "I'd rather be sick."

I rolled my eyes. "Charlotte, look. It says 'New Cherry Flavor' on the bottle. Maybe it'll taste better than last time." I opened the bottle and sniffed the liquid inside. Oh, ew. It
did

smell vile. There's nothing worse than that fake "cherry" flavor, unless it's phony banana. Yick.

"It smells okay, Charlotte," I lied. "Come on, all you have to take is a teaspoon. If you hold your nose, you'll hardly taste it. And I'll make you an ice-cream soda with ginger ale. You can drink that to take away the bad taste." I was bribing her, and I knew it. This wasn't the right way to go about getting that medicine down her throat.