Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

Funeral services for Joseph and Seth Donnelly will be held this weekend at Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Church, North Chester.

Mr. Cooper’s body will be transported by railcar to Georgia for interment in the family plot.

Judy sat back in her chair and shook her head.

“How could those two boys be so stupid? An indoor campfire? They were scouts, for goodness’ sake.”

Mrs. Emerson nodded. “Perhaps this Sons of Daniel Boone organization no longer exists because their handbook failed to point out the obvious hazards of such foolish behavior!”

“Is that hallway still such a firetrap?”

“No, thank goodness. They rebuilt it completely. Put in a fire exit. Used brick instead of wood. Replaced one classroom, put in newfangled bathrooms—indoor plumbing being quite the rage in 1910. It’s very safe back there now. Unless, of course, the two Donnelly boys turn out to be ghosts of the more dangerous sort.”

“We need to dig a little deeper into this scout group,” said Judy. “I’d like to find out what all that ‘Kit Carson’ and ‘Johnny Appleseed’ talk means. Why do they want Zack to join them?”

“We’ll keep digging. But, Judy?”

“Yes?”

“If I were you, I’d advise Zack to steer clear of the Donnelly brothers.”

“You’re right. Zack doesn’t need any more trouble from fires, indoors or out!”

31

Zack wasstarving.

He went to his locker (nobody was inside it waiting for him) to retrieve his lunch box and followed a swarm of hungry sixth graders toward the tantalizing aroma of tacos wafting up from the cafeteria’s steam tables. Mexican Fiesta Day!

Girls were giggling. Guys were goofing around, slugging each other in the arms.

And Zack saw another ghost. One he recognized.

The ghost was leaning against a wall near the tray rack, wearing tights, a tunic, and a Robin Hood hat.

“What ho, Zachary!”

It was Bartholomew Buckingham, a dead actor Zack had met at the Hanging Hill Playhouse.

“How fare thee, lad?”

“Fine,” Zack muttered as he bent down and pretended to tie his shoe so nobody would see him talking to a stack of plastic cafeteria trays.

“My, what a merry and motley crew is this!” said Buckingham, placing his hands on his hips and taking in the cafeteria scene. “Are these your new school chums?”

“No. Not really. It’s my first day and—”

“Tut-tut. I trust you shall soon be as popular amongst your peers as I was.” Buckingham struck another pose. This one involved jutting out his chin.

“Why are you here?”

“Ah! An excellent question, most excellent, indeed! I was recently anointed guardian ghost of my great-great-grandson Charles Buckingham.”

The ghost gestured at a boy in the food line.

“Unfortunately, being deceased, I can do little to help the poor child.…” The hammy actor took off his feathered cap and held it over his heart. He sobbed some.

Zack sighed. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Huzzah! Glad you asked!” He sounded all bright and cheery again. “Here, then, is the situation: I fear young Charles may have inherited my heart condition—the one that did me in during my final performance as Hamlet. I’m told the critics called it ‘the best death scene ever done by any Hamlet anywhere’—even if it did come one act early.”

“I’m not a doctor.…”

“No, but perhaps you could have a word with his gym teacher? If Charles exerts himself too much, say shinnying up a rope or doing too many jumping jacks, I fear there might be complications.”

“You want me to tell a gym teacher that your great-great-grandson should be excused from phys ed?”

“Huzzah! What a brilliant idea! Thank you, Zachary!”

Buckingham disappeared before Zack could tell him he’d only said what he’d said so the actor could hear how ridiculous it sounded.

And then he saw something more bizarre than a swashbuckling Shakespearean actor: Malik Sherman standing on top of a chair at the far end of the dining room, flailing his arms above his head and whistling like a maniac.

32

“Over here, Zack! Over here!”

Most of the other tables were already crowded.

Malik’s table, on the other hand, was almost empty. Malik sat at one end, Azalea Torres at the other. Zack went over to join them. He sat in the middle.

“So, what did you bring for lunch?” Malik asked eagerly.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It’s the only thing my stepmom knows how to make.”

“Well, it’s an excellent choice, seeing how Pettimore Middle School has not yet been declared ‘nut free.’”

Zack nodded. If ghosts like Bartholomew Buckingham kept popping in, it never would be, either.

“A bit heavy on fat content, perhaps, at eighteen grams,” Malik continued, “but it will also provide sixteen percent of your daily recommended protein! To control your sugar intake, you might suggest to your mother that she use fruit preserves instead of jelly.”

“She already does.”

“Excellent.”

“And, actually, she’s my stepmother.”

Azalea looked up from the book she’d been reading while nibbling nacho chips. “What happened to your real mother? Did she die?”

Zack nodded. “Yeah. Cancer.”

Azalea nodded back. “Sorry.”

“What’s that?” Zack asked, pointing at her three-sectioned cafeteria plate. Salsa. Chips. More chips.

“My very own Mexican fiesta.”

“Smart,” said Zack. “I saw those tacos they were serving. They said they were beef but the meat looked kind of gray and goopy.”

“Yeah,” said Azalea. “They probably boiled somebody’s shoe.”

Zack and Malik laughed. Azalea actually smiled.

“You ever wish you could talk to her?” she asked Zack.

“Who?”

“Your mom.”

Zack looked at the Goth girl. Beneath all that black makeup, she seemed pretty nice—despite how tough she pretended to be. But they’d known each other for only ten seconds. Zack hadn’t even told Judy how horrible his real mother had been until they’d been together a pretty long time.

So, like he did when discussing this particular subject, he lied.

“Yeah. I wish I could talk to my mom.”

“I think it’d be neat to talk to dead people,” Azalea said thoughtfully.

Zack nodded. It could be. Every now and then.

“So, Zack,” said Malik, “are you fascinated with the afterlife as well?”

He shrugged.

“I think it would be cool to start a séance club,” said Azalea.

“Whom would you seek to converse with?” asked Malik.

“I dunno. Maybe those Donnelly brothers. I’d like to hear their side of the story.”

Zack was tempted to say, Hey, I’ll give you their number . He bit into his sandwich instead.

Benny, his friend from the neighborhood, came over to the table, holding a tray loaded down with Mexican food. Charles Buckingham was with him.

“Hey, Zack. This is my buddy Chuck. Can we sit with you guys?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome!”

The two boys eagerly climbed into their seats but Benny was too excited to eat his mystery-meat taco. “Hey, Zack, I was telling Chuck about how you’re going to blow up the principal’s office.…”

“I’m not gonna blow up the principal’s office, Benny!”

“Great. Because Chuck thinks maybe you should take out the cafeteria first!”

“Or the gym,” said Chuck. “I hate phys ed. I’m so glad I don’t have to take it until tomorrow!”

Great. Zack had one day to figure out how he could convince a gym teacher to go easy on the guy.

“So, Chuck,” Zack said as casually as he could, “you ever think about seeing a cardiologist?”