Ann Martin - Stacey And The Mystery Of Stoneybrook

so we headed off to Stoneybrook Manor.

It took us awhile to get there — it was a longer walk than I'd thought. We didn't talk much along the way. I guess we were each busy with our own thoughts. Finally we stood on the sidewalk in front of the nursing home. It was a new-ish building, but it had a nice homey feeling about it. It was all on one story, and there were lots of pretty plants and flowers along the front and bordering the path to the main entrance. A few elderly men sat in wheelchairs on a patio area to the left, playing checkers.

After a few minutes passed with all of us just standing there, Kristy took the lead. "C'mon, you guys, let's go in," she said, and she walked up the path. The rest of us followed her. She stopped and waited for us at the front door. We walked in together, looking around the lobby. How were we supposed to find Mr. Hennessey? Then a young man stood up from the desk where he'd been sitting. "How may I help you?" he asked.

That was when I noticed the sign that a trailing plant had hidden:reception desk. None of us said anything for a moment. I thought the man might tell us to get lost when we told him what we wanted. After all, we

were just a bunch of kids. Finally, Claud spoke up.

"We're here to see a Mr. Ronald Hennessey. I understand that he is a resident here," she said. I think she was trying to sound like her heroine, Nancy Drew. The "girl detective" usually talks like that when she's on a case.

The man behind the desk gave us a big smile. "Why, how nice for Mr. Hennessey to have some young visitors," he said. He turned to a woman who was working at the desk next to his. "Ruth, can you bring Mr. Hennessey to the lounge?"

Well, this was easier than I'd thought. I looked at my fellow "detectives." Kristy seemed relieved, but Claud and Charlotte still looked nervous.

"Would you girls sign the guest register?" asked the receptionist. He gestured to a large book on a stand next to his desk. We signed in, each of us filling in our name, address, and phone number. Claud used her pink neon pen that she loves. For some reason that made me want to giggle, but I held it in. Then we walked over to the lounge area and sat down to wait. We didn't talk much. Claud fiddled with her charm bracelet, Kristy twirled her hair around a finger, and Charlotte sat and stared

at the other people in the lounge until I signaled to her to stop.

After about ten minutes, Ruth reappeared, pushing an old man in a wheelchair. And when I say old, I mean old. He was all shriveled up — he looked about the size of a ten-year-old — and hunched over. He had a blanket over his legs, and he wore a heavy sweater, even though it didn't seem all that cool in the building. I saw hearing aids in both of his ears. His hands, the papery skin covered with brown spots, lay on his lap, picking at the blanket. But his eyes looked bright as he focused on each of us in turn. .He cleared his throat and looked straight at me.

"What's your name, young lady? And what do you want with Ronald Hennessey?" His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn't used it much lately.

"I ... I'm ... Stacey McGill." I finally got it out. "And these are my friends Claudia, Kristy, and Charlotte."

He nodded at each of them, but he didn't smile. He didn't seem all that delighted with his "young visitors." He looked back at me. I realized that I hadn't told him yet why we were there.

"Mr. Hennessey, we came to ask you about an old house on Elm Street. Didn't you once

own it?" I asked. I figured we might as well keep on going, as long as we were there.

"Own it? Yes, I owned it. Lived there all my life. Born in the east bedroom," he said shortly. "What about it?"

"Well, we've been noticing some strange things happening there lately," I said. "Ever since they started to tear the house down."

"Oh?" he said. He was still acting grumpy, but I thought I could see a spark in his eyes all of a sudden. We'd gotten him interested. "Strange things? Like what?"

"We've heard odd noises," I said.

"And we've seen some scary things, too!" added Charlotte.

We started to tell him the story from the beginning, and I could see him perk up as he listened.

"And Charlotte and I both had awful nightmares about the house, on the same night," I told him, and then Claud chipped in her story about feeling a hand on her arm.

"I have to tell you girls that none of this surprises me," said Mr. Hennessey. "I lived in that house for almost eighty years, and I couldn't begin to tell you all the things that happened there. But I loved the house just the same. I'd never have sold it but for the fact that I know I'll never be able to live there again

by myself. I'm just not able to get up and down those stairs anymore."

Looking at him, we could see that it was more than just stairs that kept him from living alone. He didn't look capable of taking care of himself any longer. He was frail and tired and very, very old. But what kinds of things was he remembering about the house? I asked him to tell us more.

"Well," he said, "the very first thing I remember was when I was just a lad in short pants. I was seven or eight years old, I suppose. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of heavy footsteps. Someone was pacing in the corridor outside my room. I crept out of my bed and peeked through the door, which was open a crack. What a funny-looking man! He wore the strangest old-fashioned clothes, and his nose . . . well, his nose looked like it was made of rubber! I stifled a giggle, and he turned and glared at me. I drew back. I was very afraid.

"Later I learned that this man was a ghost, a ghost who went by the name of Old Rubbernose. When he was living, a horse had bitten off his nose, and the town doctor had fashioned a new one of rubber. Children laughed at Old Rubbernose, and women spurned him. He died a lonely, sad, and bitter

man, and it was said that he would never rest until he found a mortal woman who would love him despite his disfigurement. He may be pacing still!"

We were all leaning forward to hear every word of his story. I was fascinated and terrified, all at the same time. Could he be telling the truth? Old Rubbernose? I looked at Claud. She raised her eyebrows. Mr. Hennessey started another story.

"And then there was the time my Uncle James came to visit. One morning he told us about a beautiful woman with red hair who was wearing a green velvet dress. She came into his room with a lit candle and bade him follow her. He got out of bed, but as he followed her out the door and down the hall, she became more and more transparent and finally disappeared. The rest of us never saw her, but every time Uncle James came to visit she would turn up. I guess she'd taken a liking to him."

That story sounded like it was out of one of those books Dawn likes to read all the time. One was called Stones NOT to Be Read After Dark. Was Mr. Hennessey for real?

He told us a few other stories about the house, one involving a man who carried his own head around and another about an attic

door that wouldn't stay shut until a spirit was put to rest. His eyes were really sparkling now. It was obvious that he was enjoying his "young visitors" after all. Kristy caught my eye and shrugged. I knew that the others were as doubtful as I was about some of these stories. But then Mr. Hennessey said something that really grabbed our attention.

"I suppose that all of these events had a single cause," he said. "All those restless spirits ... they were all justly unhappy because a town had been built over their graves. And if Old Rubbernose had ever killed us all in our beds, it would have been because he was angry at us for building a house right on top of his grave."