Chris Grabenstein: The Smoky Corridor

He slurped down his cereal.

“Bus comes at seven-thirty,” he said between soggy spoonfuls.

“You want me to walk you down the block to the bus stop?”

“Nah.”

“Okay. And I promise: As soon as I get a chance, I’ll head over to the library. See if Mrs. Emerson knows anything about the two Donnelly brothers.”

“It’s no biggie,” said Zack. “I was just curious.”

“So am I. And when it comes to curiosity, I wrote the book!”

14

Judy sippedsome coffee from her mug and watched as Zack hurried down the driveway to the street, headed for his bus stop.

Zipper whined and whimpered, the way he did when he couldn’t reach his favorite squishy ball under the furniture.

“I know, Zip,” said Judy. “I miss him already, too.”

Judy had meant to tell Zack about the obituary she had just read in the weekly newspaper. Rodman Willoughby, the eighty-something-year-old chauffeur for the late Gerda Spratling (she had been one of the human demons Zack and Judy had battled when they’d first moved to North Chester), had passed away. The newspapers called him “the Spratling family’s loyal and faithful servant since 1940.”

Zack had saved Mr. Willoughby’s life back in June; now, just three months later, Mr. Willoughby was dead and buried.

Judy wondered if in his final days Mr. Willoughby had felt any remorse for all the horrible things the wealthy Spratlings had ordered him to do during his years of “faithful service.”

The unimaginable things he’d almost done to Zack and an innocent baby.

But Zack had saved the old geezer’s life anyway. Why? “Seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he had told Judy.

Remembering that made Judy smile.

She’d been pretty lucky. Her terrific husband, George, had come with a bonus: a fantastic son, a somewhat shy boy with a big imagination and even bigger heart. Sure, he was a little skinny, wore glasses, and looked like a weakling, but Judy knew the truth: Zack Jennings was a courageous young man who wasn’t afraid to do what was right or to help other people, no matter the consequences.

But he didn’t need to hear about Mr. Willoughby that morning.

He had enough ghosts to deal with for one day. The two brothers, some kind of crossing guard—not to mention all the undiscovered monsters lurking in the shadows, the school bullies always looking for a skinny kid in glasses they could pick on.

Judy hoped they’d leave Zack alone.

If they didn’t?

She smiled.

“You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, boys.”

15

Zack wasactually feeling pretty excited as he hustled down Stonebriar Road to the corner.

Judy might be right , he thought.

Not many of the kids at Pettimore Middle School had even met Zack yet, so how could they already hate him? Especially when, like Judy had said, he was a whole new Zack.

He tugged down on the straps to his backpack. Made ’em good and snug.

Yep, this year was going to be totally different. School would be cool.

Zack let his mind wander.

A bright yellow leaf fluttered off a nearby tree and Zack imagined confetti streaming from the sky. Tons of it! A whole ticker tape parade, like when someone wins the World Series or walks on the moon.

Yep, the kids at his new school had probably heard about Zack’s exploits and adventures. How, over the summer, he and his trusty dog, Zipper, had done the sort of incredibly awesome things most mere mortals and their family pets can only read about in comic books.

Zack passed a house with a Back to School banner flapping on its porch, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the huge banner waiting for him at the school: WELCOME ZACK! Printed in big block letters ten feet tall. They’d probably put blinking lights in all the letters, too—like they did on Broadway.

And then a marching band would make some kind of formation around the flagpole. Maybe they’d just do a big “Z” for “Zack” and “Zipper” and leave it at that. After all, it was the first day of school and they’d only had that morning to rehearse.

Then the principal, Mr. Scot Smith, would grab the microphone and make a major announcement: Even though the school year was just beginning, Zack Jennings had already been voted Most Popular and Coolest Kid in the Sixth Grade. He’d also been elected class president. Apparently, the votes in all three instances had been unanimous.

Judy was right.

This year was definitely going to be different.

When Zack closed his eyes, he could see it all.

Then he collided with something solid and sweaty.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, wuss!”

16

Zack openedhis eyes.

“I’m sorry.…”

He had accidentally bumped into the biggest kid waiting at the bus stop—a beefy boy with wild red hair and a sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves, the better to expose his freckled arm muscles. Three equally nasty-looking kids stood behind the giant, sniggering.

At Zack.

The neighborhood guys Zack knew, Benny and Tyler, were busy pretending they didn’t know him.

“You always walk around with your eyes closed, doofus?” the redhead asked.

“No … I—”

“Did I say you could talk?”

“No, but—”

“There you go again. Talking without asking for permission first.” He paused. Snorted some wet gunk up his nose. Stared hard at Zack. “You’re the dork who lives in the dollhouse, right?”

“It’s actually a Victorian but people—”

“Shuddup.”

“Okay.”

“You know who I am, wimp?”

Zack shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

“I have a little brother. About your age.”

“Uh-huh.” Zack was trying not to let anybody see how much his knees wanted to knock together.

“His name is Kyle.”

Uh-oh. This wasn’t good.

Kyle Snertz was the bully who had picked on Zack when he’d first moved to North Chester and had kept picking on him until Zack had finally fought back and showed the world what a big baby Kyle Snertz really was.

“You’re Kyle Snertz’s brother?”

“That’s right. Kurt Snertz. Kyle? Get over here!”

The other Snertz shuffled out of the crowd, head down. His hair was shaggy and covered his eyes.

“Yeah?” Kyle mumbled.

“Is this the punk who turned you into a crybaby?”

Kyle didn’t answer. He kept contemplating his shoelaces.

“Well, little brother, don’t you worry. I’m gonna make him pay.”

“Okay.” Kyle shuffled away.

“You see what you did to my brother, Jennings? You turned him into a wimp!”

“Well, I didn’t mean to.”

“Ah, tell it to somebody who cares.”

“Okay.” Zack could taste something metallic in his mouth. Fear.

“You ever had a toilet swirly?”

“No. Not really on my to do list.…”

Kurt Snertz didn’t like the way he said that. He moved in closer. Clutched Zack’s backpack straps.

“Well, smart mouth, now you have something to look forward to, don’t you?”

Snertz dropped Zack like a sack of marshmallows.

“I’m gonna get you, you scrawny little four-eyed geek. When you least expect it, I’m gonna sneak up behind you and get you for what you did to Kyle—only what I do to you will be worse. Because when it’s Snertz? It hurts!”

17

Early Thursdaymorning, Eddie drove past a sign proclaiming, “Welcome to Lily Dale: Home of the World’s Largest Center for the Religion of Spiritualism.”

He had driven all night to reach this far-western corner of New York State, but according to the boss, it’d be worth it: Just about every person living in the town of Lily Dale could speak to ghosts—a skill Eddie and the boss desperately required if they hoped to find Captain Pettimore’s hidden gold.