Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

The nextthree weeks flew by.

Almost every day, Zack bumped into a new guardian ghost sent to protect a family member from the potential zombie threat. Some of the ghosts Zack knew, like Kathleen Williams, who he’d met over the summer at the crossroads and again at the Hanging Hill Playhouse. She had been a nightclub and Broadway musical star back in the 1950s. Turned out her great-great-grandniece, Laurel Jumper, was a sixth grader at Pettimore Middle School.

“I heard her singing in the shower this morning,” the ghost gushed. “She has a marvelous voice. Simply marvelous! I only wish she believed in her talent enough to try out for the school choral group! Laurel could be a star on Broadway! A star!”

So Zack found Laurel and made a few subtle suggestions. Laurel auditioned for the school chorus and was, of course, snapped up right away. She even had a solo in the upcoming fall concert.

Laurel Jumper and other kids Zack helped joined his lunch bunch in the cafeteria, which had grown so large he and Malik had had to drag two tables together to make sure everybody had a seat.

Judy volunteered as a class mom a couple of times and got to meet a few of the ghosts. Bartholomew Buckingham gave her tips on how to make Curiosity Cat more Shakespearean.

“I saw your show,” he told her. “Jolly good fun. But perhaps you might consider having a few of your cats duel each other in the final act?” He then put on a brief demonstration of feline fight choreography. There was a lot of leaping, prancing, hissing, and posing.

Judy told him she’d think about it.

Benny had new ideas every day (except when Judy was the class mom) about what Zack should blow up next.

Azalea depressed everybody with gloomy poems she wrote (but she always winked to let Zack and Malik know she was messing with their heads).

Chuck Buckingham’s irregular heartbeat turned out to be a pretty common heart murmur, so he could take gym class, which he and Zack were actually enjoying, because Coach Mike—despite the whistle, shorts, and buzz cut—wasn’t the typical P.E. teacher. More encouraging, less screaming. By the fourth week of September, when Zack flexed his arm, he could swear he saw a muscle bump.

Assistant Principal Crumpler was grouchier than usual, because Wade Muggins, the school’s custodian, had “gone AWOL”—which Zack found out from Azalea was an army term for not showing up to do your job. There was a new janitor every week. They all kept quitting. None of them could stand working for Mr. Crumpler.

Ms. DuBois ate at Zack’s table whenever she was on cafeteria duty. So did Ms. Rodgers, the school nurse.

Even Kyle Snertz, Kurt’s younger brother, was sitting at the table and he wasn’t mumbling anymore, either. In fact, he was pretty funny. Everybody swore he would be a stand-up comic on TV someday and he said, “Wow, maybe I will.”

And so far, his big brother, Kurt Snertz—who said he hated Zack even more for turning his little brother into a “nerd loser”—hadn’t made good on his multiple threats to stick Zack’s head down a toilet.

Some days, after school, almost half of the sixth grade would hang out at Zack’s house. (Well, it felt like almost half.) Everybody wanted to meet Zack’s famous stepmom, Judy Magruder, because they had all grown up reading her Curiosity Cat books. They all liked Zipper, too.

Yep, for the first time in his life, Zack Jennings was cool.

He was also popular—well, at least with all the other unpopular kids, who, come to think of it, always outnumbered the popular kids anyhow. There could be only one star quarterback, one head cheerleader. There were tons of geeks, nerds, dorks, and dweebs. That was probably why they had so many names for being different.

All in all, September was a totally awesome month.

Then, in early October, Zipper got lonely.

41

Zipper stoodon the couch, gazing out the window.

Watching Zack disappear. Again.

His tail wilted.

Where did his boy go every morning, five days in a row?

Was it more fun than staying home and throwing the squishy ball in the backyard?

More exciting than pretending they were on a safari?

More laughs than when all the other boys and girls came by the house and Zipper showed them his tricks?

Hey, where were all those other kids during the day?

Did they go to the same place Zack went?

If so, it must be a fun place.

Very fun.

More fun than the house without Zack.

Zipper sniffed.

Zack’s scent was easy to pick up, even though Judy was burning toast in the kitchen again and the neighbors had just mowed their lawn, because Zack was his extra-special person. Every dog has one. Zack was his.

Zipper tiptoed through the kitchen.

“Going out, Zip?” Judy said as his nails clacked crisply on the tile floor.

Zipper gave her a quick yap and a tail wag.

“Have fun,” she said. “Just don’t water my rosebushes for me.”

He gave her another yap, this one signaling he understood where the approved rest areas were located in the backyard. He stepped through the flapping doggy door.

Judy and George had taught him not to stray beyond the backyard when he went out to do his business. Not to bother the neighbors or venture into the street.

But that had been before Zack started disappearing every morning.

Zipper sniffed twice.

Zack’s scent was in the wind.

All Zipper had to do was follow it.

So he did.

42

Eddie strodeinto the main entrance of the school and found Assistant Principal Crumpler’s office, just like the boss had told him to.

It was upstairs in the building that had once been Horace P. Pettimore’s mansion.

He rapped his knuckles on the bald man’s half-open door.

“What?”

“I’m your new janitor, sir.”

“Humph. How long do you plan to stay on the job? A day?”

“As long as you need me, sir.”

“Humph.” Mr. Crumpler stood up from his desk and clipped a walkie-talkie to his belt, muttering the whole time: “Lousy board of education. Think I should unclog my own toilets … cafeteria tray washer flooding … lima beans on the floor … sloppy joes …”

That was enough to get them out the door and headed down the sweeping staircase to the main hall.

“Do I have an office?” Eddie asked.

“You don’t need an office! You need a mop! A bucket!”

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie was wearing a green shirt over green work pants and had a ring of keys clipped to his belt. He looked very janitorial. The boss wanted him at the school because that was where they had the best chance of finding the special child the spirit of John Lee Cooper had spoken of through the medium.

Eddie and Crumpler reached the grand foyer.

“Mighty fine oil painting,” said Eddie, admiring the large portrait of Horace Pettimore in its gilded frame.

The bald man propped his hands on his hips and sized Eddie up.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“That why you talk like you have molasses in your mouth?”

“I suppose so. I hail from Chattanooga, Tennessee, which, coincidentally, is very close to the Georgia border.”

“So?”

“Just makin’ small talk.”

“Well, knock it off! You’ve got work to do!”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Crumpler.”

Eddie wouldn’t say another word.

He wouldn’t point out that he came from a city extremely close to the Georgia home of Patrick J. Cooper, the hero teacher who had died in this very school, valiantly attempting to “save” the two Donnelly brothers in the smoky corridor.

Another terrible “accident.”