Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

Couldn’t find him.

So he looked around for Azalea.

Couldn’t find her, either.

He stuck his head into Ms. DuBois’s room. She was at her desk, rummaging through a stack of yellowed envelopes.

“Hi,” he said.

“Whaaa?” Her knees banged the bottom of her desk when she nearly jumped out of her seat.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ms. DuBois touched her hair. Adjusted her blouse. “Can I help you with something, Zack?”

“I was kind of looking for Azalea and Malik.”

“Sorry. I haven’t seen them.” Now the teacher narrowed her eyes and gave Zack the most peculiar look. It reminded Zack of the way ladies at the supermarket study a piece of fruit they want to thump to see if it’s fresh. “Have you seen anyone else today, Zack?”

“Sure. Lots of people.”

“Any, perhaps, that I did not, or, more specifically, could not see?”

Zack had no idea what Ms. DuBois was talking about or why her sky blue eyes suddenly looked like they had thunderclouds in them.

“Um, I don’t think so.…”

Ms. DuBois’s bright red lips curled up into a grin. “No. Of course not. Silly me for asking.” Then she winked.

“Oh-kay, then. See you tomorrow, Ms. DuBois.”

“Yes. Nine a.m. Sharp. Your house. I’ll toot my horn.”

“Right.”

And Zack walked out the door, wondering if the field trip to the Civil War cemetery was really such a hot idea.

By the time he got to his locker, the hallways were empty. He’d have to hurry to catch the last bus home.

When he popped up the latch, there was Mr. Willoughby.

“Good afternoon, Zachary.”

“Hi.” Zack grabbed his jacket and backpack. “Sorry, can’t really chat right now. I’m late for the bus.…”

“Indeed, well, I suppose this can wait … well, no, actually it can’t.…”

“What is it now?” said Zack, somewhat sarcastically. “Are the two zombies on the prowl all of a sudden?”

“Well, now that you mention it, yes.”

“What?”

“The game’s afoot!”

“Huh?”

“Er, the troops are on the move?”

And then the most bizarre thing happened: Mr. Willoughby turned into Mary Jane Hopkins.

“Stop him! Stop him!”

“Who?”

“My brother! Captain Pettimore! He is coming for—”

Zack didn’t get to hear the rest.

Someone grabbed him by the collar and yanked him away from the locker.

“Who you talking to, wacko?”

Kurt Snertz stood in front of his three toughest friends.

“Where are all your little buddies? All those nerds from the nerd table?”

“Guess they went home.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “And you know what else?”

“What?”

“The teachers go home fast on Fridays, too. Looks like you and me are finally all alone.”

“What about these other guys?”

Kurt’s brow knitted in confusion. “Huh?”

“Your three friends. We can’t be alone if they’re here.”

Zack heard a laugh. And it didn’t come from Kurt or the three goons.

Wherever it came from, the laugh kept Zack feeling brave.

“I mean, how can we ever be alone, Kurt, if you always need three or four guys to make you feel tough?”

Another laugh. Someone different.

“See, ‘alone’ would mean just you and me. So if you were, I don’t know, waiting until we were alone to ask me to dance or something …”

A gale of laughs greeted that line.

“Shut up!” said Kurt.

And then Zack saw who was doing all the laughing: A whole host of guardian ghosts materialized in the hallway, at least two dozen of them. All the spirits he had done favors for had clustered together to become his cheering section.

Zack felt bold.

Kurt balled up his fist.

“Wait for it,” said the ghost who used to play football without a helmet. From the looks of his bent nose, he also used to box without a face mask.

So Zack stood in front of his locker and waited.

Snertz’s face turned purple.

“I’m gonna cream you, Jennings!”

“Wait for it!” the ghost coached from the wings.

Zack stood stock-still.

Snertz cocked back his arm.

“Aaaaaaand … duck!” the ghost said.

Zack ducked.

Snertz’s fist smashed into the locker’s steel door.

“Ooowwwww!!!”

The ghosts applauded.

“Well played!” “Good ducking!” “Nicely done, Zack!”

And now the laughs were coming from Kurt’s friends, too.

Kurt kept shaking out his fist, trying to make the pain go away.

Zack casually strolled toward the exit. The guardian ghosts escorted him down the hall.

Behind him, he could hear Kurt Snertz bellowing at his bullies.

“Shut up, you guys! Quit laughing!”

“But,” said one of them, “it’s funny, man. When you slugged that door, you dented it!”

“Shut up!” And then Snertz started screaming at Zack. “You’re dead, Jennings! You hear me? Dead!”

Zack didn’t look back. He calmly stepped outside and, when he saw the last bus home to Stonebriar Road, said a quick thanks to his ghost pals.

Then he ran faster than he had run when he’d snuck Zipper out of the building.

Because if he missed the last bus, Snertz’s prediction would undoubtedly come true: Zack Jennings would be a dead man.

70

“Sounds likefun,” Zack’s dad said when he heard about the Saturday-morning history crawl through the old cemetery. “Can Judy and I tag along?”

They were sitting around the dinner table, eating fried chicken. Judy didn’t cook it. The Colonel did.

“That would be fun,” said Judy. “You guys need extra adults?”

“Not really. Ms. DuBois wants to keep this first trip small. Just me, Azalea, Malik, and her. She probably thinks it might get boring, just looking at gravestones and junk.”

“Boring?” said his dad. “Maybe some of the spirits will rise up out of their graves and wail at you for cutting across their lawns! Moo-ha-ha!”

Both Zack and Judy pretended to find that funny. Gave him a weak “heh-heh-ha”-style laugh.

Poor Dad. He didn’t have a clue.

After dinner, Zack and Zipper were playing fetch in the backyard.

That was when Davy showed up.

“Howdy, pardner. Hey there, Zip!”

Zipper wagged his tail. Davy was probably his second-favorite boy in the world, even though Davy was from some otherworldly world.

“So, Davy, what’s going on?” Zack asked. “Mr. Willoughby started babbling in my locker and then Mary Jane Hopkins took his place and then Kurt Snertz …”

“Yep. Things are all in a jumble. But you were smart not to invite your pops and Judy to join you tomorrow.…”

“Well, Ms. DuBois …”

“Pardner?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to have us a little chat about Ms. Daphne DuBois.”

Zack nodded. “She had a real peculiar look on her face this afternoon.”

“Boy, howdy, did she ever.”

“You saw it?”

“Yep. Folks upstairs asked me to keep an eye on Ms. D today.”

“And?”

“Zack, let’s just say you can’t judge a book by its cover, especially if it’s a phony one.”

“Really? But she seems so nice.…”

“Yep, she sure seems that way, don’t she? She wants you to lead her to some kind of treasure tunnel. Don’t do it, hear?”

“Don’t worry. That’s where the zombie is. Said so on the warning stone!”

“That’s the other thing I need to talk to you about.”

“The zombies?”

“Yep. Like I said before, we can’t see much of what they’re up to, on account of all the voodoo hoodoo spells, but at least one of them zombies started movin’ around today, goin’ places he ain’t been in years.”