Ann Martin - Kristy And The Haunted Mansion

"Thanks," I said. "I was just trying to pass the time and get everyone's minds off our problems."

"I know, but I think it did more than that. I have a feeling the Krashers will be an even better team after this." Bart gave me a gentle smile and touched my hand. "You're a pretty awesome person, Kristin Amanda Thomas," he said.

I blushed, for the second time in a half hour. Luckily, it was too dark for Bart to see my red cheeks. "Come on," I said, jumping up and grabbing a flashlight. "Let's go see what they're doing." Sometimes I still feel shy around Bart.

When we arrived in the library, we found the kids grouped around one of the big leather

chairs. The lantern was set up on a nearby table, casting a bright glow over that part of the room. The rest of the room was in shadow. Jackie, who was sitting in the chair, was holding a large book, and the rest of the kids were reading over his shoulder. "Look what we found!" he said, when he saw Bart and me. "If s a scrapbook full of newspaper clippings. It was on that shelf over there." He pointed to a bookshelf near the fireplace.

"What are the clippings about?" asked Bart. He and I joined the group by the chair.

"They're about the family, the Sawyer family," said Buddy, sounding excited.

"Mostly about what happened to Dorothy," said Karen. "On the night she eloped." She sounded sad.

"What happened?" I asked. I looked over

Jackie's shoulder and saw the headline on one

of the clippings. Local Girl Still Missing, it said.

"She disappeared," said Patty. "On the

night of June eighth."

"Oh, my lord," I said. "That was the night she was supposed to elope with Will."

Karen nodded solemnly. "Show her the first dipping," she said to Jackie.

Jackie flipped back a page. Strange Disappearance During Storm, read the headline. The story went on to tell how Dorothy Sawyer had disappeared during "the worst electrical storm

in local memory," while "torrential rains" flooded the area and the bridges on Sawyer road were washed out. I felt a chill run down my spine. The night Dorothy had disappeared had been a night just like this one.

Jackie went on paging through the clippings, and we all read eagerly. We read interviews with Owen Sawyer in which it was clear that Dorothy's disappearance had all but broken his heart. We read interviews with Will Blackburn. He revealed the secret plans that he and Dorothy had made for that night. We read police reports about the search for Dorothy, and a story about how the detective in charge had declared, finally, that Dorothy must be considered dead. Sawyer Girl Drowned During Storm, that headline said.

Dorothy's body had never been recovered, according to the articles, but through interviews and investigation, the detective had decided that Dorothy must have drowned as she tried to cross the swollen, raging creek to meet Will.

"This is so sad," said Patty. "Will was waiting for her, and she never came."

"Sad for her father, too," said Bart. "He lost his daughter because he wouldn't let her marry the man she loved. If he'd only let them get married, they wouldn't have had to elope."

"That's true," I replied. "I feel sorry for him. After all, he didn't want her to die."

"He sure didn't," said Bart. "It sounds like he never was the same after she disappeared."

"Look at this," said Jackie. "If s the last dipping in this book." We stared over his shoulder at the clipping. It was an obituary for Owen Sawyer. He had died on December eighth.

"That's six months to the day after Dorothy disappeared," said Charlie softly.

A neighbor was quoted in the article as saying that Owen Sawyer had died "of a broken heart," after his daughter had disappeared.

"Wow," said Karen. "That is just the saddest thing I ever heard about."

We all stood quietly for a moment, thinking about the tragedy that had taken place in that beautiful house. At least, I thought we were all standing there. Then I heard David Michael give a squeal. "Look what I found!" he shouted. He was standing by a big rolltop desk, shining a flashlight into an open drawer.

"David Michael, you shouldn't go snooping in people's desks — "I began, but it was too late. He was running over to us with a small, leather-bound album in his hands.

"It's pictures," he said. "Pictures of Dorothy, and Will, and Owen Sawyer —" He showed us the book.

"Why is Will in here?" asked Bart. "I mean, he wasn't part of the family."

"I bet I know," I said. "I bet Owen Sawyer put this book together after Dorothy disappeared. By then he knew that she loved Will, and maybe this was his way of trying to make up for forbidding her to marry him. He made up this album with pictures of all of them, as if they were a family."

"Nice theory, Kristy," said Charlie, grinning at me. "Who knows? You may be right." He peered closely at a picture of Will. "Hey, he looks familiar, doesn't he?"

"I think so, too," said Bart. "But how could he? I mean, he would be an old, old man by now."

I looked at the picture and agreed that Will did appear familiar. "He must look like somebody we all see in Stoneybrook," I said. "Like a guy at the gas station, or a checkout clerk at the supermarket."

David Michael closed the book and yawned. I noticed a couple of the other kids yawning, too. "I think it's about time to settle in for the night," I said. "Maybe we can sleep in this room. Where did we leave all those — "I was about to say "blankets," but just then I heard a loud bang.

"It's the ghost!" yelled Jackie. Several of the kids screamed.

Charlie grabbed a flashlight and ran in the direction of the bang. He came back a few minutes later, grinning. "No ghost," he said. "It was just the caretaker, checking to see how we're doing."

"Why didn't he come in?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Charlie. "He seems shy or something. As soon as I said we were fine, he disappeared without another word."

I looked around at the kids and saw more than one frightened face. Was Charlie right? Were we "fine"?

Chapter 10.

The kids were scared all right, but they were also tired. Soon, Karen yawned and rubbed her eyes. Then the other kids started to yawn. Have you ever noticed that yawns are catching? They are. They spread really fast. I found myself yawning, even though I didn't feel very sleepy.

I should have been tired. It was almost ten o'clock, according to my watch, and I'd had a long, hard day. But I felt keyed up. I was full of questions about the Sawyer family. I was a little nervous — okay, more than a little — about the possibility of ghosts. And, on top of it all, I was trying to figure out where and how all of us were going to sleep.

"I guess we should get out the blankets," I said to Charlie and Bart. "The kids can sleep in here on the couches and chairs."

"Why?" asked Bart.

"Why?" I repeated. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why sleep all curled up on a chair when there are plenty of beds upstairs, all made up and ready to be slept in?"

I stared at him. He was right, in a way. The beds upstairs were made up; the bedrooms had been taken care of as well as the rest of the house. There wasn't a speck of dust on any of the bedroom furniture, and the sheets and blankets looked fresh and clean. But somehow the idea of sleeping in those rooms gave me the creeps. The rooms looked almost as if they were waiting for someone, and I was pretty sure it wasn't me and a gang of three-foot-tall softball players. But how could I explain that feeling to Bart? It would sound silly. Still, there was another, more practical reason why we couldn't sleep up there. "I don't think the kids will want to be separated and put in different rooms," I said. "And anyway, I don't think that old man meant for us to sleep in the beds. Why would he have given us blankets?"