All the Lovely Bad Ones (3 page)

After she left, I went to my room and put on my pajamas. When I tapped on Corey's door, she said, "Come in."

Still wearing her shorts and T-shirt, she was rummaging through her suitcase, scattering clothes everywhere. At last she found what she was looking for.

She held up a white nightgown and swirled it in front of me. "At breakfast, I'll tell the Jenningses I saw a ghost in a long white dress, flitting around under the trees—like the ghost in the haunted inns book."

"How do you know they'll believe you?"

"They believed the granny story, didn't they?" Corey smoothed the gown. "People like the Jenningses are easy to fool because they
want
to see ghosts. You don't have to convince them—they already believe. All I have to do is go outside tomorrow night wearing this and they'll think they're seeing a real ghost."

"But won't they recognize you?"

Corey sighed the way she always did when she thought I was too stupid to be her brother.

"We'll ride bikes to Middlebury and buy white makeup and that black stuff teenagers use on their eyes. Maybe we can find a long filmy scarf to hide my hair. After Grandmother goes to bed tomorrow night, I'll smear my face dead white and make big dark circles under my eyes, like empty eye sockets. I'll put on my nightgown and dance around under the trees in a scary way, moaning and groaning. Maybe I'll even shriek." She frowned. "Too bad I didn't bring my Vampira costume from last Halloween. It would've been perfect, but who knew I'd need it up here?"

"So that's the plan—you impersonate a ghost and scare the Jenningses, and they go home and spread the word?"

Corey grinned. "It's a start. We can think of more stuff, like footsteps and moans and groans and crying babies."

"And howling dogs and rappings and tappings and strange blue lights."

By the time I went back to my own room and climbed into bed, I was too excited to sleep. I lay awake a long time, my mind racing with ideas. With Corey's and my help, Grandmother would be a rich woman by the end of the summer.

The next morning, Corey and I found the Jenningses on the patio, drinking coffee. I leaned against the trellis, slightly embarrassed, but Corey sat down between them. Without hesitating, she whispered, "Did you see it last night?"

"See what, dear?" Mrs. Jennings nibbled at her croissant, her eyes fixed on my sister.

Corey drew a deep breath and somehow managed to look pale. "The ghost."

"Ghost?" Croissant in midair, Mrs. Jennings gasped. "You saw a
ghost
last night?"

"Shh," Corey hissed. "Grandmother told me not to tell anyone. She insists I imagined it, but I swear I saw it."

"After that story you told, I knew you were sensitive to the spirit world." Mr. Jennings looked at Corey with awe.

"Tell us everything. Don't leave out a single detail." Mrs. Jennings kept her voice so low I had to move closer to hear her.

"Something woke me around three
A.M.
," Corey said. "That's the demons' hour, you know—halfway between midnight and dawn."

"Yes, yes." Mrs. Jennings patted Corey's hand. "Go on."

"Well, I went to my window," Corey said. "At first, I didn't see anything, but I heard sort of a low moaning sound." As she spoke, a gust of wind skittered across the table, blowing the paper napkins onto the lawn. Mrs. Jennings shivered.

"Then I saw this woman in white," Corey went on, "flitting about under the trees. For a moment, she looked toward the house, straight at me, and I ducked behind the curtain. When I got the nerve to look again, she was gone."

Mrs. Jennings leaned toward Corey. "What did she look like?"

"She was wearing a long white dress, and her face was really hideous—white as a skull with dark circles where her eyes should be." Corey shuddered. "She moaned and groaned and then shrieked, like a banshee or something."

"I heard it, too!" Mrs. Jennings whispered. "But I didn't know what it was."

"You must have been terrified," Mr. Jennings said.

"I'm still shaking." Corey held out her trembling hands as proof. "It was definitely evil. Not sweet like Julie's grandmother. Wicked."

"Oh, my goodness." Mrs. Jennings stared at my sister. "Oh, my dear, how absolutely dreadful."

The breeze danced in the flower bed, shaking the blossoms. Wind chimes clinked like someone laughing. For a moment, I thought I saw something move in the shifting shadows under the trees.

Mr. Jennings turned to me. "Did you see it, too, Travis?"

This was my sister's show, so I shook my head. "Corey ran into my room and woke me up. I've never seen her so scared. In fact, she scared
me.
She's really psychic, you know." Psycho was more like it, but why spoil things with the truth?

"Do you think the ghost walks ... every night?" Mr. Jennings asked, voice low, practically quivering with excitement.

"Ghosts usually do the same thing over and over again," Corey said. "Like they're atoning for something they did—or didn't do—while they were alive."

Mrs. Jennings sighed with envy. "Sometimes I get feelings, sensations, a sort of shiver. But I've never actually seen anything."

"Nor have I," Mr. Jennings admitted sadly. "We've gone to many so-called haunted inns, but we've been disappointed every time."

To keep from laughing, Corey avoided looking at me. "Get up at three
A.M.
tomorrow and watch those trees." She pointed at a grove of oaks. Even in the morning sun, the shadows they cast seemed denser and darker than anywhere else. "
That's
where I saw the ghost," she said.

The Jenningses stared at the grove as if they hoped to catch a glimpse of the ghost in broad daylight. "We'll be watching," Mrs. Jennings promised.

Mr. Jennings set his coffee mug down with a clink and got to his feet. "In the meantime, Louise and I have sightseeing plans."

"And some shopping to do," Mrs. Jennings put in. "I want to visit the glass factory near Quechee and browse in a few antique shops on the way. There's a cheese store, too, and an artist's studio...." We watched them get into their car and drive away. Corey grinned at me. "They won't be disappointed tonight."

A couple of hours later, we parked our bikes in front of a tourist-bait shop on Middlebury's main drag and went inside. We found white and green face makeup, black stuff for Corey's eyes, dark purple lipstick, and a bunch of other junk—rubber eyeballs that glowed in the dark, plastic spiders and rubber snakes, spray-on cobwebs, a haunted-house sound-effects CD, a lantern, candles, and flashlights that cast a blue beam. In a secondhand store, Corey bought a long white filmy scarf.

By the time we'd eaten a couple of slices of pizza and washed them down with bottles of soda, we'd spent about a quarter of our entire summer's allowance. And we had a fifteen-mile ride back to Fox Hill, mostly uphill this time. Balancing our shopping bags on the handlebars, we set off for the inn.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the pool. We'd swim for a while, then lie in the sun and plan our ghost act, then dive back into the water. We had the place to ourselves. The bike riders had pedaled off to add more muscle to their legs, the Jenningses were still touring the countryside, and Grandmother was sitting on the patio dozing over a novel. Every now and then, Mr. Brewster cruised past on a riding mower, pretty much ruining the peace and quiet. He never looked our way.

At dinner, a new guest joined us. Mr. Nelson was short and skinny. He reminded me of a really strict math teacher who gave me a C and ruined my report card in sixth grade. He sat at a table by himself, reading a science book propped open with his saltshaker—
Global Warming in Our Lifetime: Fact or Myth?
It was clear he had no wish to be sociable. Why make friends when the world is about to end?

The Jenningses talked Tracy's ear off with tales of their day of shopping, the lovely lunch they'd eaten, the bargains they'd found. Cheese! Barn-board paintings! Pure Vermont maple syrup! A rusty child's wagon for the garden back home!

While they chattered, the bike riders discussed their ride—seventy-five miles in five hours, a near miss with a logging truck, an eagle sighting, a flat tire. Tim was making a major effort to stay awake, but Robert looked ready to hop on his bike and ride another fifty miles before bedtime.

After we'd eaten, everyone congregated on the porch again. Mr. Nelson sat at the end of the row of rocking chairs and kept his nose in his book. While Tim dozed, Robert studied his map, obviously planning another grueling ride. The Jenningses darted little looks at Corey and me, probably eager to talk to us alone.

When it was too dark to see the map, Robert woke Tim up. Mr. Nelson closed his book. They said good night and went to their rooms. A few minutes later, Grandmother excused herself.

As soon as she left, the Jenningses parked themselves in rockers next to ours.

"What a perfect night for a sighting." Mr. Jennings pointed to the full moon rising above the mountains. "Bright light, no clouds. If the ghost comes, we'll get a good look at it."

"I'm not sure I want to see her again," Corey said. "She was pretty scary."

"I plan to sleep like a log," I put in. "No ghosts for me."

"Not us," Mr. Jennings said. "We'll be wide awake."

A cool breeze swept across the porch, rocking the empty chairs as it passed. The shadows of the morning glory draping the porch trellis quivered and shifted, and the wind chimes laughed on the dark lawn.

Mrs. Jennings pulled her sweater tighter and stood up. "It's getting cold."

"We're in Vermont," Mr. Jennings said.

Giving his wife a little hug, he said good night to us, and the two of them went up to bed.

By two thirty
A.M.
, Corey had caked her face with white makeup, hollowed out her cheeks with green eye shadow, circled her eyes with black, and coated her mouth with purple lipstick. The scarf hid her hair.

"Do I look horrible enough?" she asked.

"If you looked any worse,
I'd
be scared of you."

We sneaked out the back door and ran across the lawn. Taking care not to be seen, we darted into the inky blackness of the oak grove. Anchored to earth with its shadow, the inn was dark. Everyone was asleep—except the Jenningses. Although we couldn't see them, we knew they were peering out their window, waiting to see the ghost.

Corey stepped onto the moonlit grass. Waving her arms slowly and dramatically, she glided along, sleeves and scarf fluttering. She dipped and swayed, she moaned and groaned, and then turned to stare at the inn. Stretching both arms, she pointed her fingers, threw back her head, and screamed.

Over my head, the leaves on the trees rustled and shook, as if Corey had awakened sleeping squirrels and birds. Something twittered softly, and the bushes swayed.

With goosebumps racing across my skin, I watched Corey run toward me. "Quick!" she hissed. "We have to get back to bed before anyone comes looking for us."

As she spoke, lights went on in the inn and the carriage house, and someone shouted.

Fearing we'd be caught, I ran after Corey. At the back door, she dragged me inside and we dashed to our rooms. I jumped into bed and burrowed under the covers.

Moments later, Grandmother called, "Travis? Are you awake?"

I pushed back the blanket and sat up, blinking at her. "Wha'?" I croaked, trying to sound as if she'd waked me from deep sleep. "Hunh?"

"I heard a noise." She went to my window and peered out. "It sounded like it came from that grove of trees."

"Didn't hear it," I muttered and lay back down.

Grandmother went to my sister's door. "Corey?"

"Asleep," she murmured. "Didn't hear."

"It must have been a screech owl." Grandmother sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. "I'm sorry I woke you." The door closed, and the inn was silent again.

I curled up under the covers and tried not to laugh out loud. We'd done it—ghosts had returned to Fox Hill.

After a while, I heard Corey tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom. She was in there a long time, but before she went back to her room, she stopped to see me.

"Boy, was that stuff hard to get off. My whole face stings." She touched her cheek and winced. "If I hadn't found some cold cream, I'd still be scrubbing."

"You were great," I told her.

She bounced on the bed and laughed. "I think I woke up
everybody
with that scream."

"People for miles around heard you," I told her. "The cows won't give milk tomorrow, the chickens won't lay eggs, and the corn will wither on the stalks."

"Black dogs will turn white overnight." Corey laughed. "Flowers will drop their petals."

"Barns will collapse," I shouted. "Chimneys will topple!"

"Shh," Corey hushed me. "You'll wake Grandmother."

I clapped my hand over my mouth and tried to stop laughing.

Corey hugged herself in delight. "I can't wait to hear what everybody says tomorrow!"

The next morning, Corey and I found the Jenningses waiting for us in the dining room.

"We saw it!" Mr. Jennings whispered. "We actually saw it. And
heard
it."

"It pointed at us and screamed." Mrs. Jennings pressed a hand against her heart. "It was terrifying."

Corey feigned disappointment. "Oh, no, I must have slept right through it." She glanced at me. "Did you see it?"

I shook my head, trying to look as bummed as Corey. "I guess I was really tired."

By then, the bike riders had joined us. "Are you talking about that noise last night?" Tim asked.

"What was it?" Robert wanted to know. "A cougar or something?"

Mrs. Jennings stared at him. "You didn't see it?"

Robert shook his head. "It woke us up, but by the time we got to the window, it was gone."

"If it was a cougar, we should stay off the trails," Tim said. "A few years ago, one of those big cats killed a bike rider in California."

At that moment, Mr. Brewster walked past on his way to the kitchen. "That was no cougar," he muttered.

"Are you sure?" Robert asked.

"Of course I'm sure." Mr. Brewster stopped and scowled as if Robert had called him a liar. "I've lived in Vermont all my life, so I ought to know what a cougar sounds like."