Ann Martin: Kristy And The Haunted Mansion

Kristy And The Haunted Mansion

Ann M. Martin

Chapter 1.

"Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along — "

"Row, row, row your boat — " "Jingle bells, Santa smells, a million miles away — "

My head was pounding. I felt as if I were trapped in a hot, tiny room with nine munchkins who were all singing different songs. And in a way, I was. The tiny room was a van, which my big brother Charlie was driving along the highway. It was hot because — well, because it was a hot, muggy day. The munchkins were nine little kids who make up a soft-ball team that I co-coach. And those kids were singing nine different songs, all at the same time.

"Comet, it makes your mouth turn green — " "Doe, a deer, a female deer — " "Boys are made of greasy, grimy gopher guts - "

I looked over at Bart Taylor, the other coach. He had pressed his hands over his ears. He grinned at me and shrugged. "A hundred bottles of pop on the wall —” "The wheels on the bus go round and round — "

"The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout — "

I couldn't take it anymore. But what could I do? The kids were just bursting with energy. They were probably also a little nervous about the game they were going to be playing that afternoon: They would be facing the Redfield Raiders for the first time. I realized that singing was probably just the kids' way of working out some of their heebie-jeebies. (I love that term! It's much more fun than "anxiety," or "apprehension.") But even though I knew it was good for them, I couldn't stand the racket they were making. Suddenly, I had an idea. It was a good one, too, and I acted on it right away. I whistled loudly to get their attention. "Hey, kids," I said. "Let's play chorus. We can take turns being the conductor, okay? I'll go first to show you how."

They looked up at me expectantly. I raised my arms. "First of all, we're going to sing the same song," I said. "And not 'Jingle Bells.' It's too hot and muggy to sing Christmas carols. All right, let's try something simple, like — "

Bart raised his hand, "How about 'We're Off To See the Wizard'?" he asked.

"Perfect," I said. "Ready, everyone?" I got them started, and then after two verses I tapped my little brother David Michael on the shoulder. "You conduct now," I whispered to him. He took over, and I leaned back in my seat and sighed. Listening to nine voices singing the same song was about a hundred times better than listening to nine different songs. "Nice going, Kristy," said Bart. "Yeah," said Charlie from the driver's seat. "Thanks!"

Whew. Once again, I'd had an idea that saved the day. I don't mean to sound conceited, but that happens to me a lot. Getting ideas, I mean. I don't know where they come from; they just pop into my brain all by themselves. My stepfather, Watson Brewer, calls it "the eternal mystery of the creative process." I call it luck.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name's Kristy Thomas (Kristin Amanda Thomas, if you want to be formal), and I'm thirteen and in the eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School, which is in the little town of Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I have medium-length brown hair, brown eyes, and I'm short for my age. I'm not one of those girls you sometimes see who look like they stepped

out of a fashion magazine. In fact, I'm the opposite of that. I don't care much about how clothes look. I just want them to be comfortable. that’s why I usually wear jeans and turtlenecks and running shoes.

That Saturday, in the van, it was way too hot for jeans and a turtleneck. I was really glad I'd worn shorts and a T-shirt instead. On my T-shirt was written the name of my softball team; it said Krushers, in red. Bart was wearing a shirt that looked a lot like it, except his said Bashers. that’s the name of his team. Some of the kids in the van — Jerry, Joey, Chris, and Patty — are Bashers. The others — David Michael, Buddy, Karen, Jackie, and Nicky — are Krushers. But for that day, all nine kids were Krashers. That's right, Krashers. Bart and I had combined some of the players on each of our teams to make an "all-star" squad that could play teams from other towns. That's why we were traveling the thirty miles to Redfield.

This wasn't the Krashers' first game together. But it was the first one with a new line-up. Bart and I had made some changes and substitutions since the last time the Krashers played. Still, I thought we had a good, strong team. I looked around the crowded van and smiled at the kids as they sang. Suddenly, I thought of something kind of

funny. Twelve people were in that van, and a third of them were in my family! There was Charlie, who's seventeen, and the oldest kid in my family. And there was me. And there was David Michael, my seven-year-old brother. And finally there was Karen Brewer, my stepsister. (She's the one who had been singing "Doe, a deer, a female deer.") She's seven, and a lot of fun. She doesn't live at my house full-time; she and her little brother Andrew live with us only on alternate weekends and for two weeks in the summer. The rest of die time they live with their mother, Watson Brewer's first wife. She's married again, too, to a man named Seth.

I forgot to mention that my family is kind of complicated.

See, my father walked out on my family soon after David Michael was born. He left my mom with four kids to take care of! (I have another brother, named Sam, who's fifteen. He wasn't in the van that day.) My mom's a strong woman, and she hung in there and kept the family going. I really admire her for that. Then, not too long ago, she met Watson Brewer. A nice guy (even though I didn't exactly love him at first sight), with a station wagon and a bald spot on his head. He also happened to be a millionaire! Truth. And so, when they ended up getting married, my family moved into Watson's mansion. it’s across town from where I used to live, which is too bad, but it's huge and really comfortable, which is nice.

If the house weren't as big as it is, I don't know what we'd do, because our family just seems to keep growing. First of all, my mom and Watson decided they wanted to bring a baby into our lives, so they adopted a little Vietnamese girl named Emily Michelle. She's two and a half, and incredibly cute. Then, my grandmother Nannie came to live with us, in order to help out with Emily.

We also have a puppy named Shannon, an ancient cat named Boo-Boo, and assorted goldfish. It's a full house, believe me. And you know what? I love it! I like how the house is always full of life, and how we all seem to get along without even trying very hard. it’s kind of awesome, really. I also like having lots of little kids around, since taking care of kids is one of my favorite things to do. I love to babysit. In fact, I started a club that's all about babysitting. it’s called the Baby-sitters Club (what else could you call it?) and I'm the president. I'll tell you more about the BSC later on. "Almost there!" sang out Charlie. "Great," said Bart. "Are you guys ready to play ball?" he asked the kids.

"Yes!" everybody shouted.

"Okay," said Bart. "Kristy and I have worked out the line-up for today. I want you to listen up while she announces it."

I smiled at Bart. It was thoughtful of him to let me read the line-up. And it was nice of him to get the kids' attention for me. Not that I needed his help. I have never had trouble with public speaking. In fact, I'm known for my big mouth and sometimes bossy attitude. I don't love being thought of as bossy, so I try to tone it down, but the good side of it is that I do know how to motivate people so that things get done. Luckily, Bart's the kind of guy who isn't intimidated by a person like me. In fact, he thinks I'm special. And I think he's pretty special himself. Uh-oh, am I getting mushy here? I didn't mean to.

As I was saying, I smiled at Bart. Then I picked up my clipboard. "Okay," I said. "Here's the line-up: Buddy at second base, where Matt usually plays." (Buddy Barrett, a Krusher, was substituting for Matt Braddock, who has played second for the Krashers before. Mart's family was away for the weekend.) "David Michael will catch. Jackie, you'll be at shortstop." (Jackie Rodowsky, another Krusher, is known as the Walking Disaster. He's accident-prone, to put it kindly.) "Karen