“Andrew!” cried Kristy.
“I helped,” he said proudly. “I let Boo-Boo out, too.”
Kristy turned pale. “You—you let Boo-Boo out? Andrew, I—”
“I guess he wasn’t paying attention,” said Karen quickly.
Kristy calmed down. “I guess not…. Andrew, thank you very much for helping. But from now on, maybe you should tell me before you help with Boo-Boo, okay? Sometimes we don’t let him outside.”
Andrew’s face fell.
“But,” Kristy rushed on, “you did a good job with the ice cream. Thank you. Let’s just wipe up the drips and then we can eat.”
Kristy, Karen, and Andrew finished their ice cream. Then Kristy put Andrew to bed and helped Karen change into her pajamas.
“Let’s read stories until my bedtime,” Karen suggested.
“Okay,” said Kristy. “You choose.”
Karen searched through the shelf in her room, then sat down on her bed. Kristy sat next to her. Karen handed her a book.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Kristy. “The Witch Next Door? Where did this come from?”
“It just appeared,” said Karen mysteriously.
Kristy looked at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“Well … it appeared from inside Daddy’s briefcase. He bought it for me.”
“Aha!” said Kristy. “Listen, tonight we’re going to read something funny.” She took a fat book from the shelf. “Has your daddy read this to you?”
Karen shook her head. “It’s too long.”
“Not if you read it a little at a time, and that’s what we’re going to do. Every time I baby-sit, we’ll read some more.”
“Okay,” agreed Karen. She settled herself against her pillow.
“Now,” said Kristy, “this story is all about a girl exactly your age whose name is Ramona Quimby.”
“Goody,” said Karen. “I like that name.”
Kristy began to read. A half an hour later, Karen was asleep. Kristy tiptoed downstairs. As soon as she reached the kitchen, the phone rang. Kristy practically jumped out of her skin.
The caller was Mary Anne. “Just checking,” she said. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” Kristy replied. “Karen and Andrew are in bed. But Karen thinks Mrs. Porter has put a freckle-spell on her.” Kristy giggled nervously.
“You know,” said Mary Anne, “I’d be able to laugh, too, if only Mrs. Porter didn’t look so … so …”
“So much like a witch?”
“Well, yes. I mean, she goes flapping around her yard in those horrible black robes like some kind of overgrown bat—”
“Mary Anne, stop!”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Look, I’m not supposed to be on the phone at all. I had to tell Dad this was a homework emergency. I’m glad everything’s okay.”
“Thanks.”
“Lock up tight.”
“What?”
“The windows. The doors. Lock them. Lock everything—just in case.”
“All right.”
Kristy and Mary Anne hung up, and Kristy started walking through Watson’s huge, silent house. All the windows seemed to be locked, but Kristy checked each one anyway. The only problem was that there were so many of them. And the locks on some were hard to reach. Kristy was perched precariously on top of a stepladder in the library when the phone rang again.
“Aughh!” Kristy stumbled down the ladder. She reached for the phone on the big leather desk. Then she drew her hand back, afraid. After three rings, she told herself it was probably just Mary Anne calling back, even though she knew that was unlikely. Mr. Spier is so strict about letting his daughter talk on the phone after dinner.
“Hello?” said Kristy timidly. “… Hello?”
She thought she could hear light breathing on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” Nothing. Kristy dropped the receiver into the cradle as if it were burning her hand. She ran from the library. She knew she should check the upstairs windows, but she was too afraid. I just know the Phantom Caller is going to sneak onto the second floor, she told herself. He’s probably leaning a ladder against the outside of the house at this very moment. He’s—
Ring! The phone again.
Ring … Ring.
At last, Kristy reached for it. She knew she had to answer it. The caller could be Watson or her mother. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. But she couldn’t get any words out.
“Kristy?” asked the caller.
“Claudia?” she whispered back. (The caller was me!)
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“I just got one of those calls.”
“Oooh.”
“And Watson’s house is so huge and scary.”
“Put on lots of lights,” I suggested.
“What do you think the calls mean?” Kristy asked. She couldn’t stop thinking about them. I knew just how she felt.
“Well,” I said, “they could be wrong numbers. People are pretty rude when they reach the wrong person. They usually just hang up. Or they could be little kids making goof calls.”
“I guess,” said Kristy.
“In case there’s any trouble, do you remember our code?” “No.”
“Kristy! You were the one who made us rehearse. Where’s your sheet with the code words?”
“At home. I didn’t know how it would feel to be so nervous. I can’t even remember my last name.”
“It’s Thomas.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Kristy. You are the baby-sitter. You’re in charge. You better act like it.”
Silence. Then, “You’re right. Okay, Claud, I’m going to get off this phone and go read The Witch of Blackbird Pond.”
“Are you sure you want to read that?”
“I have to. It’s for school. Besides, there are no such things as witches, and I’m through being scared. I’m a baby-sitter.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“See you in school tomorrow.”
“Right. Good-bye.” Kristy hung up brusquely. She marched out of the library, got her book, and curled up with it on the living room couch. But she couldn’t concentrate. She kept looking outside. The branches of the trees in Watson’s yard moved eerily back and forth in front of the streetlamps. They looked sort of like hands—gloved hands.
One little branch kept tap-tapping on the bay window right by Kristy’s head. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Kristy could imagine all sorts of Halloweeny creatures in Watson’s yard. Cackling witches, howling goblins, silent, watching ghouls.
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Then Kristy heard another sound. Or thought she did. A sort of swooshing. It was followed by an angry yowl at the front door. “Boo-Boo!” cried Kristy. She was glad he was coming in on his own. She could stop worrying about Mrs. Porter and her garden.
Kristy ran into the front hall and flung the door open.
There was Boo-Boo, all right. But he wasn’t alone. He was in the black-clothed arms of … Morbidda Destiny!
It was the first time Kristy had actually seen her, although she had imagined her vividly after Mary Anne’s encounter. No wonder Karen thought she was a witch. An old, whiskery face with snappish little eyes sat under a mop of frowsy gray hair. And sure enough, she was wearing a long black dress. Watson said Mrs. Porter was just eccentric, but Kristy was not at all sure.
She gasped when she saw her.
“This cat,” said Morbidda Destiny, “was on my front porch.”
“I—I’m sorry,” said Kristy. “He got out by accident. I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”
Morbidda Destiny deposited Boo-Boo in an ungraceful heap in Watson’s front hall. Boo-Boo tore out of the hall, heading for the laundry room.
“Wasn’t bothering me?” cried Morbidda Destiny. “Do you know what he was doing on my porch, girlie?”
Kristy shook her head.
“He was eating a field mouse, that’s what. A
nd do you know what’s left on my porch now?”
Kristy shook her head again, shuddering.
“A bit of fur, a bit of tail, and—”
“I’m so sorry, Mor—Mrs. Porter,” Kristy interrupted. “I’d like to come over and clean it up, but I’m baby-sitting here and I can’t leave the—”
“Never you mind. I’ve taken care of it.” Morbidda Destiny reached into her robes, pulled out a small paper bag, and thrust it at Kristy. “These are the remains. You get rid of them.”
She turned and flapped into the night.
Now, I’ll prove to you just how smart Kristy is. Kristy said that right then, when Mrs. Porter shoved that bag into her hands, she was really scared. And she was really disgusted by what was in the bag. But you know what her first thought was? It was that if Mrs. Porter were a true witch, she would have kept the bag for herself because she could have used the mouse fur and mouse tail in her spells. So even though Kristy was shaking all over, she was relieved, too.
She checked on Boo-Boo and found him curled up in a laundry basket in front of the washing machine. He wasn’t asleep—he was just resting and staring—which was a little creepy, but he seemed fine.
When Watson got home, Kristy told him about Boo-Boo and the field mouse and the paper bag. Watson said he would speak to Mrs. Porter the next morning. Then Kristy told him about Karen and the freckle-spell.
“I can’t tell whether she believes in the spell or whether it’s all a big game, but I thought you should know,” she said.
“Thank you, Kristy. I appreciate your concern. It seems that she’s been talking about witches at school, too.”
“Well, I better call Mom,” said Kristy.
She had to wait fifteen minutes for her mother to pick her up, and even though Watson was there with her, Kristy said that the whole time she kept waiting for the phone to ring again.
Saturday, October 25th
Last night, I sat for Charlotte Johanssen. She’s a nice little kid, an only child, and absolutely no problem. In fact, she’s kind of timid and shy, which bothers me sometimes. It makes me feel like I have to be brave and protective when I’m around her. And sometimes I don’t feel brave at all. Like last night. I was already worried about the phantom phone calls. I mean, after the experiences Kristy and Claudia have had, who wouldn’t be? So when the storm came, I nearly fell apart. Luckily, though, I’m a good baby-sitter, and when you’re a good baby-sitter, baby-sitting comes first. So somehow, I managed to keep my head.
Hmphh. If that’s what Stacey calls keeping her head, I wouldn’t want to see her lose it.
Stacey left for the Johanssens’ after an early supper. She was going to be sitting until ten, the latest she’s allowed out. If you cut through Stacey’s backyard and turn right, the Johanssens’ house is just two doors down—a three-minute walk. If you use the streets and go around the long way, it takes about ten minutes. Stacey used the shortcut, even though the night seemed darker than usual and she had to carry a flashlight.
Mr. Johanssen met her at the front door. (His wife is hardly ever around. She’s a doctor and spends a lot of time at Stoneybrook General Hospital.) “Hi, Stacey,” he greeted her. “I’m glad you could come. I’ll be meeting Dr. Johanssen at the theater. The number is there by the phone. We’re going to see an early movie and then have a bite to eat at Renwick’s. That number is posted, too. I know you need to be home by ten.
“Charlotte has finished her dinner and ought to be in bed by nine-thirty, okay?”
Stacey nodded.
“I guess you know everything else.”
Stacey nodded again and smiled as Charlotte came into the kitchen. “Charlotte and I will have lots of fun, won’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Charlotte uncertainly. “Daddy, do you have to go?”
Mr. Johanssen put his arm around Charlotte. “Mommy and I have been looking forward to this movie. It’s a treat for us. But you’ll have a treat when you wake up tomorrow.”
“What?” asked Charlotte excitedly.
“Mommy will be here, and she’s not working this weekend.”
“Goody!”
Now, all the time Stacey and Charlotte and Mr. Johanssen were talking, Stacey had been noticing something. If the evening had seemed dark on her way over to the Johanssens’, it was positively black just ten minutes later. And it was only six-thirty. It seemed rather windy, too. The branches of the trees, already half bare, were being tossed back and forth. Stacey thought she heard thunder in the distance, but she tried not to worry about it. We’d had a lot of late-season storms, and most of them didn’t last long.
Mr. Johanssen left a few moments later, taking an umbrella with him. Stacey and Charlotte stood at the front window and watched his car back slowly down the driveway and turn onto the street. Just as the headlights disappeared from view, the rain started. It came pouring down, as if someone had overturned a huge pail of water in the sky.
“Close all the windows!” cried Charlotte.
“Turn on the lights!” cried Stacey, already spooked.
Stacey and Charlotte ran through the house, closing windows (there weren’t many open) and turning on lights.
“What do you want to do now?” asked Stacey when they were finished.
“Watch TV,” replied Charlotte.
Crash! A huge clap of thunder sounded, and Charlotte raced to Stacey’s side. “I hate thunder,” she confessed.
“You, too?” asked Stacey. “You know what I used to do during a thunderstorm?”
“What?”
“Hide in the linen closet. It was the smallest closet in our apartment in New York City. I’d run in, slide under the bottom shelf, and close the door after me, pulling it from the bottom. Sometimes I’d take my doll with me.”
Charlotte giggled. “Once,” she said, “I hid under my bed during a storm. The storm lasted so long I fell asleep, and Mommy and Daddy didn’t know where I was. They almost called the police!”
Crash! Ba-room! More thunder. Lightning flashed and zigzagged through the sky.
“Quick, let’s put on the TV,” said Stacey.
She and Charlotte ran into the family room. Charlotte flicked on the TV, and Stacey found the remote control. They started switching from channel to channel. They found an interview, a cooking show, and two news programs.
“Boring,” said Stacey. “Let’s put on MTV. At least we could hear some good music.”
“What’s MTV?” asked Charlotte.
“Music television. Why can’t I find the channel?”
“Mommy and Daddy block things I’m not old enough to watch,” said Charlotte.
“Rats,” said Stacey. She went back to the remote control.
Flick, flick, flick. “Boring, boring, boring,” said Stacey.
“Double rats,” said Charlotte.
“Hey,” said Stacey. “Here’s something.” She had tuned into Channel 47. A large ghostly hand was walking around in a cemetery all by itself. At the top of the screen were the words SPOOK THEATRE and under them WATCH AT YOUR OWN RISK.
“Ooh, spooky!” said Charlotte. She edged closer to Stacey on the couch.
“Shall we try it?” asked Stacey. “It’s better than anything else that’s on.”
“Okay,” agreed Charlotte.
Stacey and Charlotte watched a commercial that showed a can of cleanser dancing around a bathroom. Then SPOOK THEATRE appeared on the screen again, and finally the movie began. It started with a nighttime shot of a huge, gloomy mansion sitting alone on a rise of land. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.
“Kind of like our weather,” Charlotte remarked as a clap of real thunder sounded, followed by a streak of lightning. The lamps flickered.
Charlotte moved as close to Stacey as she could get without sitting in her lap. Stacey put her arm around her. They looked at each other and giggled.
“I have goose bumps!” exclaimed Charlotte.
On the television, the scene changed to a bedroom inside the mansion.
It was lit only by two candles. A young woman with long, dark hair glided into the room. She was wearing a white dressing gown and carrying another candle.
She walked across the room to a set of French doors that opened onto a balcony and began to close them, the wind from the storm making her gown billow softly around her. Just when she had almost pulled the doors closed, she gasped and let out a small cry.
“What?” whispered Charlotte.
On the lawn below the woman, Stacey and Charlotte could make out a dark figure.
“Lenora,” wailed the figure, “I’ve come back. Back from beyond the grave.”
Lenora moaned and dropped her candle. Thunder crashed. Then thunder from the real storm outside crashed even more loudly. For a moment, the room Stacey and Charlotte were in seemed to glow brightly. A second later, it was plunged into darkness.
The girls screamed. Charlotte clutched Stacey. Everything had gone off—the lights, the TV, all the electricity. It was so quiet they could hear their own hearts pounding. But worse than the silence was the utter blackness.
“Power failure,” whispered Stacey.
“I want my mommy,” murmured Charlotte. “Or my daddy.”
Stacey tried to pull herself together. “There’s really nothing to be afraid of,” she told Charlotte. “So the electricity went off. So what? The Pilgrims lived their whole lives without electricity. You should be in New York when there’s a power failure. The entire city practically stops running. We lived on the seventeenth floor of an apartment building, and when the power went out, so did the elevators. Imagine having to walk up seventeen flights of stairs just to get home.”
“Yuck,” said Charlotte.
“I’ll say. Now,” Stacey went on, feeling a bit better, “what we have to do is get some candles.”
“Like Lenora’s?” asked Charlotte.
“Well, yes. Where do your parents keep them?”
“I don’t know. I’m not allowed to light matches.”
“Don’t you have any idea?”
“Maybe in the chest of drawers in the dining room.”
“Good. All right, now we’ll just find my flashlight, and we can use it to light our way into the dining room.”
Stacey stood up, holding tightly to Charlotte’s hand. They began edging toward the front hall, where Stacey had left her jacket and the flashlight.