Why I'm Not Afraid of Ghosts (8 page)

“Well, you do. Ghosts this, ghosts that. Get a life!”

Oliver glanced toward the school yard. He waved to a few kids from class. One or two waved back. Mostly they just stared.

They must have heard about the pencils. And the spinning, Oliver thought.

Together, he and Shawn headed for Shadyside Elementary.

“Oliver?” Shawn began.

“Huh?” Oliver grunted. He had nearly forgotten about Shawn. He was distracted, wondering what tomorrow would be like in school.

“I have to tell you about the ghosts,” Shawn
insisted as they reached Nell's school. “This isn't just some dumb story. I have to warn you!”

“Hey!” Nell jumped up from the bottom step, twirling her pink umbrella. “Where have you been? I've been waiting. You promised to walk me to Tracy's house!”

Oliver clapped a hand to his forehead. “I forgot,” he said.

“Yeah, well, remember it now,” Nell insisted. “Come on!”

“Nell, Shawn and I were—”

“Shawn can come too, but he's got to come now. Tracy said we'd have ice cream. Let's go!” Nell tugged on Oliver's arm.

“For Pete's sake! Why didn't you just go home with Tracy?”

“You
promised
you'd walk me! Mom said you
have
to walk me! And you have to come back to Tracy's house at five and walk me home!”

“Oh, brother,” Oliver muttered.

Nell grabbed his hand, something she almost never did unless she really wanted him to do something, or she wanted to embarrass him. “Come
on.
She lives on Melinda Lane. Hurry up.”

Oliver glanced at Shawn.

Shawn looked terminally depressed. He shrugged and walked away. “Later,” he called over his shoulder.

Oliver let Nell pull him toward the street, but he
still watched Shawn fading into the shadows of the dark day.

What was so important?

What did Shawn want to tell him about ghosts that he hadn't already said?

What was going on?

R
ain poured down for real now.

Robbie sat by the attic window and watched the street. He was still worn out from his trick with the Bunsen burner, but Dora was pretty perky now that they were back in the attic.

Robbie gazed at Oliver trudging up the street through the rain. His hair was plastered to his head, and his jacket looked sopping wet.

The front door slammed as Oliver entered the house.

Robbie drifted downstairs. He watched Oliver take off his jacket and get a towel to dry his hair with.

No one else was home. Mr. Bowen usually worked at home, but today he had a meeting.

The doorbell rang. Grumbling, Oliver went to the door.

Shawn shivered in the rain on the front steps.

How did Shawn always know exactly when Oliver was home? Robbie wondered. Did he keep track of Oliver from his window or something?

“Oh, good!” Oliver smiled at Shawn. “Come on in. You can help me move my desk up to the attic. I've got most of my stuff up there now. Well, except for the bed.”

It was true. Oliver had been messing around with their attic a lot in the last few days. Cleaning out the cobwebs, washing away dust, moving furniture around, storing some of it in the crawl space. It was clear to Robbie that Oliver planned to stay.

Shawn blinked behind his glasses. “Is the desk heavy? I don't feel too strong today.”

What a weird thing to say, Robbie thought.

“Oh,” Oliver replied. “Well, I guess I can wait till Dad gets home. Want to play checkers?”

“Sure.” Shawn hung his wet raincoat on one of the hooks by the door.

“I'm going to make hot chocolate first. I'm freezing. You want some?”

“No thanks,” Shawn replied.

“You sure? It's the kind with little marshmallows.”

“No, really. I'm not thirsty.” Shawn followed Oliver into the kitchen.

“Oh yessss,” Dora whispered in Robbie's ear, startling
him. She rubbed her hands together. “I'm going to get that Oliver. I'll make him believe. There's no way I can fail
this
time!”

* * *

Oliver carried a mug of hot chocolate into the living room. He set it down on the coffee table. Chocolate-scented steam curled up past his nose, making his mouth water.

“Oliver, I have to talk to you,” Shawn said in a serious tone.

Again? Oliver thought. He pulled the coffee table away from the couch and got down the board and the box of checkers from the game shelf.

“Okay, go ahead,” he said, opening the checkerboard. He plopped down on the opposite side of the coffee table from Shawn and took a sip of chocolate.

Mmmm! He squished a mini-marshmallow on his tongue.

Shawn took the red checkers and started putting them in the black squares on one side of the board. “I know it isn't safe here, but I have to say something anyway.”

“Not safe?” Oliver repeated, mystified. Shawn sounded like someone from one of those dumb old black-and-white spy movies. “What do you mean?”

“No, it's not—not safe here,” Shawn stammered. “The ghosts—they . . .”

But Oliver stopped listening. The mug on the coffee
table was shaking. Puzzled, he stared at it. What was going on? An earthquake?

Checkers slid in slow motion toward Shawn. Something bumped Oliver's elbows.

The coffee table was rising off the floor!

It floated slowly up past his eyes.

Oliver stared, his mouth dropping open. Fear pumped through him.

His hot chocolate mug still sat there, steaming gently, on the flying coffee table!

Oliver slapped his palms on the tabletop and tried to push it down. The table began to tilt. He grabbed for the checkers and his mug, but everything slipped away from him.

A second later,
Oliver
rose from the floor.

“Hey!” he yelled. He grabbed frantically at the air.

He was already three feet off the ground. It felt
so
weird! He flapped his arms over his head, trying to force himself down.

It only made things worse. Oliver lost his balance completely. He began to turn slow cartwheels in the air.

This was much worse than spinning on a chair. He was totally out of control!

“The—the—” Shawn stammered. “Oh, no! Nooooooo!” And he rose off the ground too!

Shawn's mouth opened wide in a silent yell. His eyes were huge behind his glasses.

The checkers lifted from the board and twirled around the room.

The table started spinning faster and faster. Oliver and Shawn spun around it in the other direction.

“Whoa!” Oliver cried, trying to reach something—anything! His heart pounded. “No! Stop!”

He couldn't reach the floor!

He couldn't even grab the table!

“Oh, man!” Oliver moaned. The room whirled by him.

He ducked as Shawn's foot nearly caught him on the chin. He glimpsed Shawn's terrified face.

Spinning . . . spinning. . . . He was getting dizzy.

I'm going to lose it, Oliver thought. Toss my cookies.

Then—wham! He fell. He slammed to the floor. He landed right on his rear end.

“Yeeowch!” he yelped. That hurt!

Shawn thudded down right next to him.

A shadow loomed over Oliver.

He glanced up.

Oh, no!
His heart stopped beating.

The coffee table!

It was falling right toward him!

“N
o!”
Robbie shrieked. Horrified, he watched the table plunge toward the boys. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. But there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” Oliver screamed. He quickly rolled toward the couch. The table clonked him on the side of his head.

Robbie squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't stand it!

Crash!!!

Dora let out a bone-shattering howl.

Then—silence.

Oh, no, Robbie thought. I don't even want to know what happened.

But he had to find out. Slowly, so slowly, he forced his eyes open.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

Dora hovered beside him, her hands covering her mouth. She was trembling.

Robbie glanced at the floor.

Oh, no!

The table must have crushed Shawn! Flattened him! Robbie couldn't even see Shawn's feet poking out. He must have been smashed right into the floor!

This was terrible. Terrible!

They never meant to
kill
anyone!

Especially someone they weren't even trying to haunt!

“What have you done?” Robbie yelled at Dora. “Why didn't you stop?”

“Why didn't you help me?” Dora wailed.

“Help you!” Robbie cried. “You never want me to help you! You always think you can do everything!”

“I know,” Dora whimpered. “I thought—but I couldn't—it was just too much all of a sudden—

“All of a sudden,” Robbie moaned. “Why did you drop the boys and
then
the table? Why didn't you drop the table first?”

“Don't you think I wish I thought of that?” Dora cried, her hands shaking. “Oh, Robbie. This is so horrible!”

Robbie hovered over Oliver. Oliver lay crumpled on the floor, his eyes closed. Robbie floated down beside Oliver and knelt next to him.

Was he dead too?

What were they going to do now?

Neither Robbie nor Dora had enough energy left to lift a feather.

What if Oliver were still alive but needed a doctor?

They couldn't even call an ambulance!

And Shawn—no! Robbie didn't even want to
think
about that.

Robbie sat back on his heels and shook his hands.

He was so panicked, he didn't know what to do!

Oliver groaned.

He
was
alive!

Robbie heaved a huge sigh of relief.

At least one of them was alive!

* * *

“Oh, my head!” Oliver groaned, and sat up. His brain felt scrambled. He peered around.

Rain streaked down the windowpanes. The house was dark except for a couple of living room lights.

Why was the coffee table upside down on the floor?

Oliver rubbed the back of his head. He felt a bump swelling up like an egg just in back of his right ear.

“Ouch,” he muttered.

Checkers littered the rug near him. A big pottery mug lay on its side, with a long splash of hot chocolate leading from its mouth across the carpet toward the fireplace.

And the stupid coffee table was upside down!

What happened here? His brain felt slow and sticky.

“Shawn?” Oliver called. Where was Shawn?

He stared at the coffee table.

His stomach clenched.

A foggy wisp of white showed above the bottom of the upside-down table.

Oliver swallowed.

The wisp drifted higher. It solidified into the top of someone's head.

White-blond hair.

The head rose slowly out of the wood of the table.

Pale blue eyes behind red-framed glasses stared right at Oliver.

Oliver clutched his stomach with both hands.

Oh, no. This was bad.

The head rose even higher, followed by shoulders . . . and arms . . . and a torso . . . and the rest of a body.

Oliver bit his lip. He couldn't look away.

This was really bad!

Shawn sat there on the upside-down table, his legs crossed, his hands gripping his knees. He gazed at Oliver.

Oliver stared back. Speechless.

Whoa. No question about it.

Shawn was a ghost.