Ann Martin - Claudia And The Phantom Phone Calls

"Oh," said Stacey.

"The Phantom Caller's gone. I just heard it on the radio."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Heading south through New Jersey. Away from us. The police are after him."

"Oh, I hope they catch him."

"Well, even if they don't, he's out of our hair. We can forget about the Phantom Caller for good."

A little while later, I hung up the phone. Then I called Kristy to tell her the news, and then I called Mary Anne.

Boy, were we relieved.

The next evening I had a sitting job for two little girls, Nina and Eleanor Marshall. On school nights I'm allowed to baby-sit until nine-thirty. The deal with my homework is that it must get done in the afternoon. I worked on it with my mother.

At seven-thirty that night, I was in the Marshalls' kitchen, pouring a glass of milk for Nina, who's three. (Eleanor, who's just a year old, was already in bed.) The radio was playing

in the background. Nina was watching TV in the den.

Then, just like the night before, a song ended, and the announcer began the evening news with a piece about the Phantom.

Oh, good! I thought. They've captured him.

But I was wrong. Very wrong.

"The man thought to be the Phantom Caller," said the newscaster, "has been captured — and is not the Phantom. The Phantom Caller is still at large."

Still at large! What a horrible way to phrase that. It sounded as if he might be anywhere . . . maybe in the Marshalls' backyard ... or peering through the kitchen window.

I turned off the radio.

Then I dared to look around to see whether the Phantom Caller was at the window. All I could see were the kitchen lights reflected in the glass.

I put the carton of milk in the refrigerator and picked up the glass. "Nina!" I called. "Here's your milk."

She scurried into the kitchen just as the phone rang. "I want to talk," she said.

I was trembling, but I tried not to let Nina know. "Only if it's your Mom," I told her. I picked her up, and lifted the receiver, dreading the voice I might hear, hoping it really was

Mrs. Marshall just calling to check on things.

"Hello?" I said lightly (for Mrs. Marshall's benefit).

Silence.

"Hello? . . . Hello?"

More silence. Then a click as the caller hung up.

Oh, my gosh. The Phantom Caller was in Stoneybrook. I just knew it.

I wondered if I should call Stacey and give her our coded message. What was I supposed to ask about? Barrettes? Ribbons.

"Claudia?"

I jumped a mile as Nina asked, "Who is it?"

"Wrong number," I said. I hung up the phone, put her down, and handed her the milk. "Well, let's go watch TV," I suggested.

"I can't anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because The Muppet Show is over. I have to go to bed." Nina was getting a milk mustache.

"So soon?"

"That's my bedtime. After The Muppet Show."

I knew what her bedtime was, but maybe just once she could stay up a little longer. "How about a special treat?" I said excitedly. "You can stay up until eight o'clock."

"But Mommy and Daddy don't let me. That's the rule."

What was I doing, anyway, trying to convince a three-year-old to keep me company? "Okay, then. Upstairs we go."

Nina handed me her empty glass. I put it in the sink and we climbed the stairs. I turned on every light I could possibly find. I wondered what kind of jewelry Mrs. Marshall had.

After Nina was in bed, I tiptoed to Eleanor's room to check on her. I stood in the doorway and let the light from the hall shine into her bedroom. I stared at her crib.

It looked empty!

Oh, my gosh! Maybe the Phantom Caller was in the Marshalls' house somewhere and he'd taken Eleanor! I dashed over to her crib. There she was, all bunched into a corner. I straightened her out and covered her up again.,

Eleanor sighed in her sleep.

I sighed, too.

I turned off the upstairs lights and went back down to the den. I turned the TV on. Then I turned it off. If the TV was on, the Phantom Caller could sneak up on me too easily. I sat in the silence and flipped through a magazine.

Crick, crick, crick.

What was that?

Just the Marshalls' cat settling down on a pile of newspapers.

Plink, plink.

What was that?

Water dripping in the sink.

All the little noises were driving me crazy. I put the TV back on. I tried to watch it, but my gaze kept traveling to the dark windows that faced the backyard. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I shut the curtains.

Then I decided to call Stacey.

"Claudia!" Stacey exclaimed when she got on the phone. "Have you been listening to the news?"

"Yes!" I said. "What do you think?"

"I was just going to call you because I know you're baby-sitting. I don't know what to think!"

"Oh, it's so spooky here. Every little noise makes me jump. And you know what? The phone rang a while ago, and the caller didn't say a word. He just hung up."

"Oooh. But you're . . . you're not asking about your hair ribbons," Stacey said cautiously.

"No," I replied. "Not yet."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"I do, but I don't want the Marshalls to come home and find you here with me. I don't want them to think I can't handle a simple job by myself."

"Well, do you want to stay on the phone awhile?"

"Yes. That would be great." I decided I didn't care whether Mrs. Marshall was trying to call.

"So what's going on with Trevor?" asked Stacey.

"Oh, the usual."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah. I wonder if he even knows about the Hallo ween Hop. Poets are sometimes off in their own worlds. Maybe he hasn't heard the announcements in school."

"Oh, I bet he has," said Stace. "How could anyone miss them?" She put her hand over the receiver to disguise her voice and did a pretty good imitation of Mr. Taylor talking on the intercom. "As you know, children, Hal-loween falls on October thirty-first this year."

I giggled. "Taylor is so dumb. He thinks we — "I broke off.

"Claudia?" asked Stacey.

"Shh." I held the phone away from my ear and listened intently. I definitely heard footsteps in the garage. "Stacey, Stacey," I said urgently. "Have you found my b— I mean, did you see my — Have you found my . . . my. . . ."

"Your red ribbon?" whispered Stacey.

"Yes!" I gasped.

"Yes, I did. I mean, no, I found — I. . . ."

"Did you find my blue — Oh, no, Stacey, someone's at the garage door. I can hear the knob rattling!"

"I'm going to call the police."

"Claudia?" called a deep voice.

It was all I could do not to shriek. "He called my name!" I yelped to Stacey.

"Claudia," said the voice again, "we've misplaced the house keys. Can you let us in, please?"

I let my breath out in one long, shaking sigh. "It's the Marshalls, Stace," I whispered. "Gotta go. I'll call you when I get home."

I ran to the back door, unlocked it, and flung it open. I have never, ever, in my whole life, been so glad to see anybody.

"Hi, Claudia," said Mrs. Marshall.

Mr. Marshall was standing behind her, patting his pockets, and muttering, "I can't figure out where those darned keys went."

I held the door open for them. "Sorry for the confusion," Mrs. Marshall went on. "The house keys may be at Mr. Marshall's office. Here, dear, use mine," said Mrs. Marshall to her husband. She took a ring of keys from a peg in the back hall and handed it to him. Then she turned to me. "How were the girls tonight?"

"Oh, just fine," I said. "Nina went to bed

as soon as The Muppet Show was over."

"Good. No problems, then?"

"None at all." I was still shaking.

Mrs. Marshall began rummaging through her purse for money.

A few minutes later, as Mr. Marshall was opening the door to walk me home, the phone rang. I heard Mrs. Marshall pick it up and say hello. Then I heard her hang up, saying, "That's strange."