Ann Martin - Kristy And The Haunted Mansion

Bart nodded. "I guess you're right," he said. He looked around the library. "But I don't think there's enough room for everyone in here. I think maybe we should go back to the living room and spread out on the floor in there. That carpet was really thick. And if

everyone's on the floor, we won't hear any squabbling about who gets what chair or couch."

Bart knows a thing or two about kids. "Good point," I said. "Okay," I called out to the kids. "Time to get ready for bed. let’s head for the living room." I led the way with a flashlight, and Charlie brought up the rear with the lantern.

Bart took another flashlight and looked for the blankets, which we had left in the front hall when we first came in.

Soon we were gathered in the living room. "Okay," I said. "Let's spread out the blankets, and then we'll take turns going to the bathroom." The kids spread the blankets all over the floor, and I noticed that the Krushers and Bashers were mixed together now, instead of forming two different groups. I was glad to see that. Joey and David Michael were near one of the couches. Karen and Patty had decided to sleep near the fireplace, even though there was no fire in it. And Jerry, Chris, Buddy, and Jackie had laid out their blankets in a pinwheel shape, with their heads at the center.

I put down a blanket near Karen and Patty for myself.

"No more blankets left," said Bart. "I guess I'll just sleep on one of these chairs."

"Me, too," said Charlie. "I don't expect to get a lot of sleep tonight anyway."

I don't think anyone got a lot of sleep. It was a rough night.

First of all, the trips to the bathroom seemed to last forever. We took each kid in turn, lighting our way with a flashlight.

David Michael was upset because he didn't have a toothbrush with him. "But I'm supposed to brush every single night," he said. "No exceptions. You know what Watson says."

"I do," I said. "But tonight you just can't. Think of it as a vacation from brushing,"

"Will Watson be mad?" asked David Michael.

"No, I promise he won't," I said, knowing that if — when — we were home again, Watson would be so happy to see us that tooth-brushing would be the last thing on his mind. The next bathroom crisis was Patty's. "I can't wash my face without my Little Mermaid washcloth," she said. "I just can't."

"Well," I said, "then you don't have to wash it tonight."

Once the kids were settled on their blankets and I had turned off the lantern and the flashlights, I thought things would quiet down. But I was wrong. "Bart?" I heard Joey call softly. "I need a drink of water." Bart got up, took

the flashlight to the bathroom and returned with a cup of water. About five minutes later, there was another soft whisper from Joey. "Bart? I need to go to the bathroom again."

I heard Bart sigh, but he got up and took Joey to the bathroom. Then there were four more trips to the bathroom, as Karen, Jerry, Patty, and Chris decided they had to go again, too.

After the second round of bathroom trips, silence fell. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Then I heard a rustle near me. "Kristy?" It was Karen. She informed me that she couldn't fall asleep without a pillow.

"Take your sneakers and roll them up in your T-shirt or stuff them under your blanket," called Charlie. "That's what we used to do when we were at camp. It makes a good pillow."

There was a flurry of activity as six out of the eight kids made themselves pillows. I noticed that David Michael and Patty had already fallen asleep. "Two down, six to go," I muttered to myself. And about five minutes later, I heard Karen's breathing become deep and regular, and I knew she was asleep, too. "That makes three," I thought, hoping the other five would soon join them.

Then I heard smothered giggles and gasps coming from behind the couch where the four

boys were sleeping in a circle. "Shhh!" I said. "Time to go to sleep now." But the giggling continued.

I stood up, walked over to them, and shone a flashlight down on them. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Jackie's teaching us this funny song," said Jerry. "It's about — "

"I don't even want to hear what it's about," I interrupted. "I want you guys to settle down and get some rest." All four boys immediately put their heads down on their pillows and pretended to snore. They snored loudly, with lots of snorts and whistles. Then they burst into giggles again.

"Okay, that's it," said Bart, getting up from his chair, "The next person who makes any noise is going to have to sleep all by himself in the attic."

Absolute silence. I smiled to myself and headed back to my blanket. The silence continued, and I began to feel my body relax. It was quiet enough to hear the rain falling outside, and I realized that the storm must have moved away from us, since I hadn't heard any thunder or lightning in awhile.

I heard some new sounds, though. As the room grew quieter, I could hear creaks and pops all over the house. I knew it was just the house settling — Watson has told me that old

houses do that — but the noises were scary anyway. There were times when they sounded exactly like footsteps on the stairs, or doors swinging shut. I closed my eyes tight and thought to myself, "There are no ghosts, there are no ghosts." But then I thought of the portrait of Dorothy, and of the small, sad smile she wore. I couldn't get her face out of my mind.

Dorothy had been eighteen when she died, only five years older than me. She had left her father's house, knowing that doing so would break his heart, and had gone to meet the man she would marry. And then she had drowned in that cold, rushing stream. It was horrible to picture how she must have tried to swim, and how the water must have carried her away. I shook my head, trying to dear away the awful images.

I tried to think about something nice. I thought about Watson's cabin up at Shadow Lake, where my friends and I had gone for vacation once. I thought about the morning sun shimmering on the water, and about walking around the lake together.

Usually, calling up favorite memories makes me relaxed and puts me right to sleep, but this time it didn't work. I was still seeing Dorothy's face in my mind. I lay awake, listening to the

breathing around me, until finally I drifted off into a light sleep.

When I woke up again, it was still dark. I groped for the flashlight and checked my watch. It was after midnight. My back was stiff from sleeping on the floor, and I couldn't find a comfortable position. Charlie, who had fallen asleep soon after the kids quieted down, was snoring loudly, and I heard David Michael muttering in his sleep. He often does that.

I stood up and stretched. Then I picked up the flashlight and started to wander around the room, checking on the kids. They all seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

I decided to go back to the library again, so I picked my way around the kids and headed down the hall. I'd become used to the noises in the house by then, and I felt pretty safe.

I shone the flashlight around the library — on the pool table, the bookshelves, and the rolltop desk. Then I crossed to the desk and started to open drawers. I knew I shouldn't. After all, hadn't I told David Michael not to? But the story of Dorothy Sawyer had begun to fascinate me. I had to know more.

In the last drawer I opened, I found another scrapbook full of newspaper clippings. These were more recent ones, from the 1940s. They seemed to be a series of stories, all by the same

reporter, about the "ghost" of Sawyer Road. The stories were more funny than scary, as if the writer had a sense of humor, and didn't really believe in ghosts. For example, he told a story about a man who had reported seeing a woman in a long, wet bridal gown, walking along the stream. The reporter suggested that the man had been out too late that Saturday night. Then he told stories about people seeing smoke rise from the chimney, but the reporter wondered whether the smoke was in the viewer's eyes. It was all lightly done, and I would have thought it was funny, except that these were the same stories Jackie had told us. If there was really nothing to them, why had they been passed around for fifty years?