Experience all the chills of the Mostly Ghostly series!
Mostly Ghostly #1: Who Let the Ghosts Out?
Mostly Ghostly #2: Have You Met My Ghoulfriend?
AND COMING SOON:
Mostly Ghostly #3: One Night in Doom House
Mostly Ghostly #4: Little Camp of Horrors
For George and Marian Kirby
1
Dear Diary,
Hi, it's me, Max Doyle. My teacher, Ms. McDonald, is making us all keep journals this year, so that's why I'm writing this.
Ms. McDonald says we should write about what happens to us every day. We should take our time and be thoughtful. And we should be honest and write down our real feelings about what we did that day.
So here's my problem.
If I write down what's really happening to me, no one will believe it. If I tell the truth, Ms. McDonald will say I'm writing fiction, and she'll give me an F on my journal.
How embarrassing would that be? To flunk your life!
But how can I write the truth? Let's say I start out on page one here, and I write that two ghosts are haunting me.
Will Ms. McDonald buy that? I don't think so.
I would already flunk on page one.
Be sure to give details, Ms. McDonald said. Okay. Here are some details.
The two ghosts are named Nicky and Tara Roland. Nicky is my age, eleven, and Tara is nine. They say that I'm living in their house. They keep appearing and disappearing all the time. They don't seem to be able to control when they're here and when they're not.
At first I was terrified of them. I mean, who wants ghosts haunting you in your room? But now I feel a little sorry for them. They don't remember how they died. And they don't know where their parents are. Are their parents dead too? They don't know.
It's very sad, right? I tried to tell Mom and Dad about Nicky and Tara. But they didn't believe me. Mom said I'm too old to have invisible friends. And Dad keeps threatening to send me to the Plover School. It's a really tough boarding school where you have to wear uniforms and march around in the sun all day till you puke. Dad went there, and he says it will make a man of me and make me forget my stupid ghost stories.
My older brother, Colin, was no help either. He laughed at me and gave me a few punches in the stomach that made me walk on all fours for a few hours.
Colin doesn't know his own strength. Well, actually, he does. He thinks he's perfect, and he thinks I'm a total geek because I'm not perfect like him.
You see, the problem is, I'm the only one in my family who can see or hear the two ghosts.
Why is that? Beats me.
Nicky and Tara want me to help them. They're desperate to find their parents. Here's the deal: They say if I help them find their parents, they'll help make me braver and cooler. They'll help me impress my dad so he won't send me to the Plover School.
I don't really want to make a deal with ghosts. I wish they would go haunt someone else. But what can I do?
You see why I can't write any of this, Diary? I don't want Ms. McDonald to think I made up a bunch of crazy stuff to put in this journal. And I don't want to get an F.
So I can't be honest or thoughtful. And I can't write my true feelings in here. And I totally can't write what's happening to me. Sorry.
I have to tear this page out and start all over.
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning and looked out the window. I saw that it was a beautiful November day. It made me kind of happy to see the ground all shiny with frost. But since it was a school day, I couldn't look out the window for very long.
At breakfast, my brother, Colin, shoved a poached egg down the back of my sweatshirt. Then he slapped my back really hard to make sure the egg oozed right down to my waist. Sweet guy, huh?
I changed my sweatshirt but I didn't have time to shower. So I smelled kind of eggy all day, and a few people held their noses when I walked by and asked, “What's that smell?”
I did a bunch of interesting stuff at school, and some crazy things happened to me, which I don't want to go into.
After school, I came home and walked my dog, Buster. And then I started writing in this journal, and that's all that happened so far.
More tomorrow.
Max
2
HERE'S WHAT REALLY HAPPENED this morning….
The waking-up-and-looking-out-the-window part was true. And the thing about Jerk Face Colin putting an egg down my back was true too. Colin is big and strong and very fast. That means when Mom turns her back, he can do a lot of damage.
If I complain to Mom and tell on Colin, that just makes me a whiny baby who has to be sent to the Plover School to toughen up. So I kept my mouth shut, changed my sweatshirt, and hurried off to Jefferson Elementary School smelling like a stale Egg McMuffin.
But here's the part I left out of my journal. When I ran up to my room to change my sweatshirt, I heard a cat meowing. The meowing was very nearby. Like in my room.
This was kinda creepy because we don't have a cat.
Mom is allergic. I mean, really allergic. If a cat comes anywhere near her, Mom's head turns bright red and swells up like a Thanksgiving Parade balloon. No joke.
I pulled down the sleeves of my FRODO LIVES! sweatshirt and listened. I heard a long howl, close and very sad. “Cat? Where are you?” I called.
I dropped to my knees and searched under the bed. I pulled open the closet door and searched in all the clothes I had dumped on the floor.
No. No cat.
But again I heard a long, mournful howl.
And then a chill tightened the back of my neck. Is there such a thing as a ghost cat?
You see, I can't stop thinking about ghosts.
I had to get out of my room. I grabbed my jacket and flung my backpack over my shoulder and ran out of the house.
My shoes crunched over the frosty ground as I jogged toward school. I didn't see any other kids. I knew I was going to be late.
I stopped at the corner as Mrs. Murray, one of our neighbors, zoomed past in her car. I waved, but I don't think she saw me.
I wondered if my best friend, Aaron, would be in school today. Monday is phys ed day, and Aaron usually manages to be sick on phys ed day. He's not a weakling or anything. He just hates to run or jump or do anything that might make him sweat.
Okay. Aaron is a little weird. But that doesn't mean he isn't a great best friend.
I turned the corner, jogging hard, and the school came into view. It's an old-fashioned-looking three-story brick building with a big playground and a soccer field behind it. A few years ago, a movie company came and used our school in their movie because they said it looked like a typical school.
Aaron and I got really psyched. Because someone said that Jennifer Garner was in the movie, and we were really into Alias big-time. We hung around watching them film for days. A couple of times, they had to send security guards to chase us away. But we never saw Jennifer Garner or anyone else who looked like a movie star. Bummer.
The flag on the flagpole in front of school was flapping really hard. It was a breezy, cool day. I crossed the street and began to run across the front lawn.
I stopped when I heard the buzzing sound.
It was so close and loud, at first I thought it was guys doing roadwork. I glanced around. No construction crew in sight. I felt a rush of wind in my face—and then I saw the wasp.
A large black and yellow wasp with a sharp brown stinger. It circled me rapidly, wings buzzing like crazy. I swung my arm and tried to bat it away.
It darted high, dodging my hand. Then, buzzing like a buzz saw, it dove at me.
“Ow—hey!”
It flew into my forehead. Darted up again. A
nd then started circling me—so close I could feel the wind off its wings.
What's up with this? I wondered. Isn't November a little late in the year for wasps? Did this wasp forget to die?
I swiped at it again. And again.
The wasp shot out of reach, then dove for me again, hitting the front of my jacket, then buzzing away.
“Go away!” I shouted. I covered my face with my backpack as the wasp soared high, then hit the top of my head hard and shot back up.
Why was it attacking me like this? Was it some kind of killer wasp?
I'm not afraid of bees or wasps—as long as they stay away from me!
But I suddenly realized my heart was fluttering as fast as the wasp's wings. I dodged and ducked and tried to swat the thing away. A big SUV rumbled past. The driver probably wondered why I was doing such a crazy dance.
“Go away. Go away!” I shouted, swinging my backpack at the buzzing insect.
Swooping away, the wasp rose high, then dropped fast—and landed on my nose. Its furry legs prickled my skin.
Don't sting me!
I gave my nose a hard slap. Pain shot over my face and my eyes watered.
Did I hit the wasp?
No. I heard the buzzing again. I tried to search for it, but my vision was still blurred.
“Ohhhh.” I uttered a low moan as I felt something tickle the outside of my ear.
And then I felt the sticky, prickly wasp body climb inside. Into my ear. The buzzing became a roar. It clogged my ear. I couldn't hear anything else.
“No—please—!”
A wasp in my ear! Inside my head! The insect had crawled inside my head.
I dropped to my knees. I shook my head frantically. I shook my whole body.
But the wasp had burrowed deep into my ear canal.
Please don't sting me! Please!
I could feel it in there, stuffed tightly, pushing deeper, deeper … vibrating my ear, making my whole head buzz. I shut my eyes. I let out a hoarse scream of panic.
And as I twisted and shuddered and shook, the buzzing stopped.
Silence.
And then I heard a low whispered voice: “I'll sting you, Max. I'll sting you!”
3
“I'LL STING YOU, MAX—if you don't help me.”
The raspy voice inside my ear made my whole head rattle and vibrate. I grabbed the sides of my face, trying to keep my head from exploding.
The furry wasp scratched me as it pushed deeper inside my ear. And the whispered voice made my whole body shudder in terror.
I knew who it was. I didn't have to think about it.
Phears!
Phears, the evil ghost. He had tortured me before!
Phears! Even his name made my teeth chatter and sent chills down my back.
He called himself the Animal Traveler. And he always appeared inside some kind of animal or insect.
I thought I'd gotten rid of him for good last Halloween. But here he was, inside my ear— stinger poised, ready to dig deep and send pain shooting through my brain.
What did he want from me?
I knew the answer to that question. He was desperate to capture Nicky and Tara. Why did he want them? Why was he so eager to get them?
I didn't have a clue.
“Max, you know what I want,” he whispered. His croaky voice rattled from deep inside my ear.
“Please … don't sting me,” I begged. I was shaking so hard, I could barely talk. My ear throbbed with pain. What if the wasp got stuck in there? What if it couldn't get out?
“You know I want those two Roland kids,” Phears said. “I haven't had much luck rounding them up. They go invisible every time I come near.”
“Please …,” I whispered. “Could you back out of m-my ear? I … I know it's odd. But I have a thing about wasps in my ears.”
“Shut up, fool!”
His scream sent pain shooting through my brain. My head vibrated hard. Again, I shut my eyes tight, trying to fight the dizziness.
“Nicky and Tara trust you, Max,” Phears continued, whispering again. “They'll follow you anywhere, won't they?”
“I … I don't know,” I said, blinking hard, still dizzy.
“Guess what, Max. You're going to bring them to me. You're going to lead them right to me. You're working for me now, Max.”
“No—!” I protested. “No way!”
The pain started slowly, just a pinch at first. Then the pinch became a stab. And the pain washed over me like a thousand stab wounds.
I opened my mouth in a long howl as I realized the wasp had stung me. I shut my eyes tight and pressed my hands against my head as wave after wave of pain rolled over me. It felt as if my brain was on fire!
The wasp flew out of my ear and fluttered above my head. I raised my hand to my ear—but quickly pulled it away. The pain was too sharp. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear. Carefully, I raised my hand to my ear again and realized it was swelling, swelling fast, tingling and throbbing with pain.
On my knees in the damp grass, I held my swelling ear—and stared at the wasp as it started to grow. As big as a squirrel … and then as big as Buster, my dog. The wasp made gross squeaking and groaning sounds as it expanded, giant wings raised behind its swollen body.
And then with a loud pop, the wasp exploded. Wings and body parts and spindly legs flew in all directions. And Phears floated in front of me.
Tall and dark, covered in a long gray cloak, his face hidden behind wisps of black fog, only his empty white eyes showed through the mist. He floated close.
“You seem to have hurt your ear,” he said. “Poor boy.”
“Luckily, I have two of them,” I said, trying to sound brave. But my voice came out high and trembling.
“I had to show you who is boss,” he said, the mist swirling around him now, hiding even his eyes from view.
“You're not my boss,” I whispered. “I know you can hurt me. But I won't work for you. Nicky and Tara are my friends.”
He laughed, an ugly tinkling laugh that sounded like glass shattering. “I see I'm going to have to break you, Max,” he boomed. “Maybe I'm your friend. Maybe you'll be in so much trouble real soon, you'll need me to be your friend.”
A car turned the corner, its headlights on. They washed over Phears, cutting through his blanket of fog.
I saw him flinch and cover his face with his cloak. And I remembered that he was afraid of light. He appeared to shrink until he was half his full height.
The car sped past. He lowered his cloak. “I'll be back soon, Max, and I'm bringing a friend to convince you to help me.”
“A f-friend?” I stammered. “A Berserker Ghoul,” he rasped. “Have you ever met a Berserker Ghoul?”
“No,” I said. “Most of my friends are human.”
My ear throbbed with pain. I touched it carefully. “Owww!” It had swelled to the size of a softball.
“Well, I think my ghoul friend will convince you to cooperate,” Phears said. “I think he will become very close to you. Very close.”
I didn't know what he was talking about. But I didn't like the sound of it.
“Take care of that ear, Max,” Phears whispered. “It looks very nasty.”
Phears faded into the fog that swirled around him. I saw a chipmunk scampering toward us. The fog swept over the little creature and disappeared inside it.
Phears, the Animal Traveler. Inside a chipmunk now.
I watched the chipmunk run away. Then, still trembling, I picked up my backpack and started walking slowly to school on shaky legs. No hurry. I was already late. And what excuse could I give Ms. McDonald?
I heard a sound. “Nicky? Tara? Are you here?” I glanced around. “Were you here the whole time? We need to talk.”
No. Not them. Just the flag high on the flagpole, flapping in the wind.
Where were they? They were always appearing and disappearing. They never seemed to be around when I needed them. And I really needed them now, with P
hears sending one of his friends to “break” me.
Yikes!
I felt my ear again. Pain shot through my head. My ear had swelled even bigger. It hurt so much, I couldn't even touch it.
Hope no one notices, I thought.
I pulled open the front door and stepped inside. The hall was empty. The other kids were all in their classrooms.
I headed up the stairs to Ms. McDonald's class on the second floor. I suddenly thought about the journal she was making us keep. How would I write in the journal about my morning?
If I wrote the truth, I knew what Ms. McDonald would do. She would call in my parents for a conference. She'd tell them I had serious mental problems. She'd tell them I was imagining all kinds of frightening things.
And then I knew what Dad would do. Buy me a one-way ticket to the Plover School.
I crept into the classroom. My ear throbbed. I staggered from dizziness. I just wanted to sneak over to my seat in the back row and hide.
But I saw Traci Wayne turn around. She stared at me for a moment. Then her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. She pointed at me and let out a long, shrill scream of horror.
4
I DROPPED MY BACKPACK and stumbled backward into the wall. I heard loud gasps as everyone turned to see where Traci was pointing.
“Sorry I screamed,” Traci said to Ms. McDonald. “I … I thought it was some kind of creature.”
Ms. McDonald frowned at me. “Max, please remove that huge bubblegum bubble from the side of your head. It isn't funny.”
“It's not bubblegum,” I said. “It's my ear.”
Ms. McDonald put down the chalk and started walking toward me. “Max, why is your ear the size of a soccer ball?”
Because a terrifying ghost inside a wasp flew deep into my ear and stung me?
“A … a wasp stung me,” I said. I felt my ear. A stab of pain ran through my whole body. My knees buckled. I nearly collapsed to the floor. The ear was nearly as big as my head!
No wonder Traci Wayne screamed. No wonder she thought I was a monster.
Ms. McDonald came close and lowered her head to examine my ear. She raised her hand to touch it but changed her mind. “You'd better see the nurse,” she said, pushing me toward the door. “That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life.”