Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

“It could happen any day, any second,” she said softly.

Zack sat down. He could tell that Azalea needed to talk.

“I guess it’s why I do the stupid Bloody Mary bit and visit graveyards and try to look like a vampire or a ghost. I want to believe in life after death, Zack.”

He nodded.

“I want to believe that if … if the worst happens … that, I dunno, that somehow I could still maybe talk to my dad … tell him stuff. Crazy, huh?”

Zack thought long and hard before he spoke.

“You could,” he said.

“What?”

“Your father’s spirit won’t die with his body.”

“Right. Like you know.”

“Azalea, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anybody, except my stepmom.” He took a deep breath. “I see ghosts.”

Azalea’s raccoon eyes opened superwide.

“It’s true. Honest. It started over the summer. Now, everywhere I look, I see them.”

“Really?”

“Well, if they’re there. This room is empty. Although at first I thought there might be one in here, a ghost who taught himself how to play the piano.…”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t ask to be a ghost seer. It just sort of happened.”

Azalea nodded. Very slowly.

“Yesterday, when I zoned out in the bathroom? I did see somebody in the mirror and her name, believe it or not, was Mary, but she wasn’t Bloody Mary.…”

“Oh-kay. Thanks for sharing that with me, Zack. Good to know. Well, we better book. Don’t want to be late for class.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Oh, I’m feeling fine, Zack. Just fine.” She backed away from the piano bench toward the door. “See you in history class.”

The way Azalea bolted out of the music room, Zack wasn’t sure telling her the truth had been the smartest idea.

60

In historyclass, Ms. DuBois showed the class a picture of Horace P. Pettimore’s headstone.

“This is his grave marker in the cemetery out back.”

CAPTAIN HORACE PHINEAS PETTIMORE

1825–1900

ALL THAT I HAVE

I LEAVE FOR HE

WHO COMES AFTER ME

“What does it mean?” asked Benny.

“Well,” said Ms. DuBois, “the eye floating above the inscription means he was a member of a group called the Freemasons. What about the epigraph? The bit between the decorative lines? The actual words?”

Zack did not raise his hand. He glanced at Malik. There was an anxious look on his friend’s face. Maybe a wild glint in his eye. Wild? Malik? Impossible. Maybe he had gas.

But he was breathing kind of fast and sweating, too.

Then he started writing. Dots and dashes.

“I think,” said Andrew Oldewurtel, a boy who always sat in the second row, behind Azalea, “that Mr. Pettimore is, like, you know, talking about how generous he was and how he left everything he had to us, the children who would, like, come after him, and how everything he did …”

While Andrew kept prattling, Malik kept writing.

Now letters under the dots and dashes.

“Interesting, Andrew,” said Ms. DuBois. “Anyone else?”

“Well,” said Sam Maroon, a guy whose guardian ghost used to play football back in the days when they didn’t wear helmets, “I think …”

Zack didn’t pay attention to what Sam Maroon thought.

While Ms. DuBois was looking the other way, Malik handed him a slip of paper.

“Those aren’t ‘decorative lines,’” Malik whispered. “It’s Morse code. Think like a sailor! Like Captain Pettimore!”

Zack studied what Malik had written, ran the eraser end of his pencil along the line:

Zack realized that on the headstone, the lines above and below the letters were exactly the same.

He didn’t know Morse code but Malik, of course, did. In fact, he had it memorized, and this is what both lines said:

Find the second stone

Zack folded up the note so nobody else could see it.

Malik was beaming.

They had found the “second stone,” the doormat for the secret entrance to Horace Pettimore’s treasure tunnel, the hiding place for his gold! That was why there was a huge hole in the foundation wall just above the stone! It was the gateway to riches.

And, of course, zombie hell.

61

Azalea wasstaring at the clock.

History class was almost over. They’d discussed Horace P. Pettimore’s grave marker to death and talked about doing a cemetery crawl in a couple of weeks. Everybody applauded when Ms. DuBois gave Azalea credit for coming up with the idea. That was neat.

Then a couple of kids read their family tree reports out loud.

It was Malik’s turn and it was cool to see how proud he was of the heroic ancestors he had discovered.

“And my great-grandfather from Alabama was one of the Tuskegee Airmen in World War II.…”

Finally, the bell rang.

Lunch was next, so everybody bolted for the door.

“I’ll catch up with you guys in the cafeteria,” Azalea said to Zack and Malik.

“Cool,” said Zack.

Azalea waited for Zack and Malik and everybody else to leave the room.

Then she closed the door. Ms. DuBois looked up from her attendance book.

“What’s wrong?”

Azalea took in a deep breath, because this was so not like her. She’d never had friends before. She’d never had to worry about them as much as she worried about her dad.

“Azalea?” Ms. DuBois prompted.

“Okay. Here’s the thing. I’m worried about Zack.”

“Really? Whatever for?”

“Ms. DuBois.” Another deep breath. Then she just blurted it out. “This morning, Zack told me he can see dead people.”

“Really? Like that boy in the movie?”

“I guess. He called himself a ghost seer. Claims he sees spirits everywhere. He even swears he actually saw Bloody Mary yesterday when we were goofing around in front of a bathroom mirror. Nobody ever sees Bloody Mary. They just freak themselves out because it’s dark and I have a candle.”

“A ghost seer?”

“That’s what he called himself.”

“Oh, my. And he’s so young.…”

“Yeah. That was kind of my reaction, too.”

Ms. DuBois nodded. “All right. Two things. First, you are to be commended for looking out for your friends. We could all learn from your example.”

“Thanks, I guess. I sort of feel like I’m ratting him out.”

“Nonsense. You are right to be concerned. Second, that cemetery crawl you suggested …”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s do a trial run tomorrow, but with a small group. Say, you, me, Malik, and Zack. Perhaps being in the graveyard, Zack will open up more about these spirits he thinks he sees and I’ll be there to help him sort things out. They might just be figments of his imagination. His language arts instructor tells me Zack has a very vivid one.”

“Well, his stepmom writes books about talking cats who go on vacation to Paris and junk.”

“You see? Maybe he gets it from her. Anyway, we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Will you tell Zack and Malik?”