Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

“Any idea what’s on the other side of the second door?” Zack asked.

“Another tunnel,” said Seth. “But if you’re clever, it’ll take you down to the captain’s gold.”

“What’d they say?” asked Malik.

“We walk through that chamber, go out the door at the other end, lock the door behind us, and we’re on our way to the gold!”

“Yes!” said Malik.

“Hey, Zack?” said Seth. “If you find that gold, will you really give it to your friend’s mom?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then hurry! The teacher will be here soon!”

“Hold on,” said Zack. “We’re also looking for another friend. A girl named Azalea. Black hair. Black fingernails. Black eye makeup and lipstick. Did she come down this way?”

“Nope,” said Joseph. “We sure didn’t see no girl. Heck, there hasn’t been a girl down here in years.”

Seth nodded in agreement.

But then he winked again.

112

Zack andMalik hurried through the open door and entered a room about the size of a walk-in closet.

The walls were streaked with black, the air tinged with the scent of wood smoke.

Zack looked up. Saw the fluted end of a smokestack.

“There’s the other door!” said Malik, pointing ahead. “Hurry!”

They went out the door.

“Close it!” said Malik.

They shoved it shut.

“Lower the latch.”

Zack lowered the heavy iron bar.

“Good,” said Malik. “Now the janitor zombie and Ms. DuBois can’t come after us!”

Zack just hoped Malik was right.

113

George drapedhis jacket over as much of the corpse as he could.

Zipper slumped to the ground, his tail tucked between his legs.

“This is horrible. What’s going on down here?”

“Something unbelievably bad,” said Judy, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Why didn’t Zack tell me?”

“You? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t have believed him.”

“What?”

“This was done by some sort of supernatural beast. A werewolf or a ghoul or a …”

“Or a zombie.”

“What? You don’t believe in zombies or ghouls or ghosts. Right?”

“Sure he does,” said a kindly voice in the darkness.

Judy whipped her flashlight around. Its beam reflected off a white crossing-guard sash.

“Scary Arie?” said George.

“Hiya, George.”

“Honey?” said Judy.

“Judy, uh, meet Arie Sibirski. In 1949, he died saving a kid in a crosswalk.”

“Darn turnip truck,” groused Arie.

“He’s a ghost?” said Judy.

“Yeah.”

“And you can see him?”

“You see him, too, right?” George asked Judy.

“Yeah. So that’s where Zack gets it.…”

“Zack sees ghosts? He never told me.”

“Did you ever tell anybody?”

“Are you kidding? They would’ve thought I was …” He paused for a second. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Zack your son?” asked Arie.

“Yes.”

“He and a friend named Malik went down to the end of the tunnel and took the staircase on the left.”

“Thanks! Come on, Judy.”

Arie flipped up a handheld stop sign. “Sorry. It’s not safe down there.”

“That’s why we have to find Zack!”

“No, I mean it’s not safe for you two.”

“Sorry, Arie.” George grabbed Judy by the hand. “Our son needs us. We’re breaking the stupid rules!”

114

The eight-year-oldgirl in the yellow head scarf marched into the school, went left, toward the cafeteria, headed down a flight of steps, and entered the janitor’s closet.

She had never been in the building before.

In fact, she had never journeyed beyond the borders of Louisiana.

But she knew exactly where she was going.

“Joc-a-mo-fee-no-ah-nah-nay,” she mumbled. “Joc-a-mo-fee-nah-nay.”

115

George Jenningscould not believe he was seeing ghosts again.

It had been nearly twenty-two years since he had lost “the gift.” And he hadn’t missed it. Never told anybody he’d ever had it, either. Not his dad. Not his first wife. Not Zack. Not Judy.

“I haven’t seen Arie since I was thirteen,” he said out loud as he and Judy followed Zipper down a long tunnel. “He helped me win my first case.”

“How?” Judy asked.

“Mr. Crumpler, the assistant principal, accused my friend Stinky Seiden of stealing chocolate milk from the cafeteria. Arie led me to evidence showing that one of Mr. Crumpler’s favorites, the football captain, was the one stealing the milk, not Stinky. I stood up for my friend. He was exonerated. Mr. Crumpler was publicly humiliated.”

“No wonder he doesn’t like Zack.”

“Wow. My son sees ghosts. You do, too?”

Judy shrugged. “I see talking cats, too.…”

They reached a wall full of pocket watches and the two staircases. They followed Zipper down the steps to the left and entered a maze.

Zipper sniffed the air. Barked.

“He’s picking up Zack’s scent!” said Judy. “Run, Zip, run!”

116

Zipper’s snouthad a laser lock on his boy.

Zack’s special odor. Better than bacon.

Left, left, left.

Dogs were much better at mazes than humans were.

Especially if their special someone had already gone through it before them!

117

Breathing hard, George and Judy raced after Zipper, who was zooming through the maze.

George sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

“Yeah. Smoke.”

“Oh, boy. I hope Zack didn’t start another fire.”

118

“Careful!” saidZack.

He and Malik were in another tunnel, about ten feet away from the back door to the small chamber.

The floor seemed to shimmy and quiver.

There was a huge sinkhole dead ahead. A thick cloud of dust hovered over it.

Cautiously, Zack crept to the lip of the crater, knelt down, and shone his flashlight into the pit. To his surprise, there was another chamber under the tunnel they were in.

“There’s a lower level!” he whispered to Malik.

Zack swung his beam around the hazy room below. Its floor was littered with chunks of rocky debris. The walls were lined with wooden shelves. Now the flashlight glinted off glass. Zack could vaguely make out several rows of dusty jars. Maybe it was another root cellar.

“We need to be down there!” Zack whispered to Malik.

Then, as quietly as they could, the two boys jumped into the dark room below.

119

Judy, George, and Zipper raced around a corner and entered what looked and felt like a furnace room.

They saw a drooling man holding a revolver on Zack’s teacher, Ms. DuBois.

“Where’s my son?” George shouted.

“What are you two doing down here?” the teacher hissed.

“We’re looking for Zack!” said Judy.

“So am I,” the teacher said sweetly, batting her eyes. “But this brute took my pistol. Be a dear, Mr. Jennings, and help me retrieve it.”

“Your pistol ?” said George, who wasn’t going anywhere near the drooling man, who looked like he was dead, even though he was standing up and holding a gun.

“Don’t listen to her,” said the younger of two ghosts who suddenly materialized in front of the furnace.

“You’re Seth Donnelly, right?” said Judy very tenderly.

The boy smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I sure am.”

“Knock it off, little brother. She’s a grown-up.”

“She’s a mom.”

“So? Moms are grown-ups, too.” Joseph turned to Judy. Puffed up his chest. “Do we know you, lady?”