Ghost Rider (9 page)

“Guess,” Stevie repeated. “Actually, you can guess as many times as you want. It only costs you a quarter for each guess, and the more guesses you make, the better chance you have of winning the dollhouse.”

Once again Stevie pointed to the photograph of the adobe dollhouse that had been getting so much attention. The panda reached into her pocket and pulled out six tickets worth twenty-five cents each. Then she took six slips of paper, carefully wrote her name on the top of each, and wrote 2,000; 2,001; 2,002; 2,003; 2,004; and 2,005.

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than two thousand,” she told Stevie earnestly as she tucked her entry forms into the cigar box.

“I hope you win,” Stevie said. She meant it, too.

M
RS
. L
ONETREE HANDED
a clean paintbrush to Superman.

“You can paint whatever you’d like on our mural, but a lot of the children have chosen to paint themselves, in their costumes. I think a nice place for Superman would be—”

“Right here,” he said, pointing to the top of the mural. “I can fly, you know.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Lonetree. “Let me get you a
chair to stand on so you can put yourself in just the right place!” She did that. She also brought him the red, blue, and yellow paints so he’d make himself the right colors. The mural, a piece of brown wrapping paper that was eight feet tall and twenty-five feet long, was taped to one very long wall of the basement. Anybody who wanted to was invited to come and paint anything they wanted on it. It was another one of Stevie’s bright ideas, and it was working beautifully. The youngest kids weren’t very good at drawing ghosts and goblins, but to most viewers’ eyes, the scribbles of color were just as pretty as the neat ballerina next to them.

“Can I have some orange?” Superman asked.

“Sure,” Mrs. Lonetree said. “What’s going to be orange?”

“Oh, it’s the sun that Superman is melting in order to be able to fry some bad guys who are trying to steal all the television sets in Metropolis so nobody can watch cartoons.…”

He was interrupted by a little girl. “Hey! Don’t get your old sun all over my balloon that’s supposed to be taking Dorothy back to Kansas!”

Superman promised to be careful.

Mrs. Lonetree smiled. This mural will be very special, she thought to herself as she went to fetch the orange paint.

* * *

A
AAAAAAARRRHHHHHH
!

It was a bloodcurdling scream—just exactly the kind everybody wanted to hear coming out of the horror house. It was immediately followed by joyful giggles.

“Don’t do that again!” one child chided.

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

“You didn’t?”

That was the sort of conversation Lisa had been hearing ever since she’d taken her position behind the black curtain in the horror house. Her job was to reach out and tickle kids from behind after they’d passed her. They somehow always thought it had been done by whomever they were with.

“No,” the companion said.

“You did too!”

Then she’d scoot up a bit, reach out, and tickle the other person.

“What was that?”

“It wasn’t me!”

That was when Lisa would scream. It was more fun than she could remember having for a long time, and the best part of it was that the kids loved it, too. Usually by that time they’d figured out that they weren’t alone, and they’d start laughing. Some of them could hardly walk because they were laughing so hard. Their
enjoyment was a real tribute to Stevie. If Lisa had ever doubted it, she knew for sure now the truth of the notion that Stevie was a genius. Nobody else could have possibly come up with such a wonderfully scary and funny horror house as this. And that was before the kids even got to the part where the vacuum cleaners blew out at them, or where they landed on Styrofoam peanuts.

“Now follow me this way,” came a familiar voice. It was John. He had volunteered to be a guide in the horror house. Each pair of children going through the house had a guide just to be sure they didn’t get lost or too scared. Also, it was a way to guarantee that they wouldn’t
counter
attack!

Lisa reached out at just the right minute and tickled one child. Then, as the argument got going between the visitors, she tickled the other. Pretty soon they were both laughing. The headless horseman seemed to turn in her direction, and if she hadn’t been sure that she could not have possibly seen it, she would have sworn that the headless horseman had winked at her.

Once again she was struck by what an interesting mix of characteristics John Brightstar was. He had seemed so serious and distant last night, and now he was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She was so intrigued by her observations that she almost forgot to tickle a leprechaun.

* * *

I
T FILLED
S
TEVIE
’
S
heart with joy to look at the overstuffed cigar box of entries for the Kount the Kandy Korn Kontest. Mrs. Lonetree’s dollhouse had brought every single child to the table. Several of the children had spent as long looking at the photograph as they had looking at the jar. Stevie particularly recalled two girls who had invented an imaginary family and had begun playing with them in the dollhouse just as they stood at the table. Whoever won it was going to be the happiest child in Two Mile Creek. Now all Stevie had to do was be sure that everybody who wanted to enter the contest had a chance and then figure out who had won.

No, she realized with a start. That
wasn’t
all she had to do. She had to get the dollhouse as well. She felt the blood drain from her face. How could she have forgotten? Mrs. Lonetree had had to walk over this morning. Christine had ridden her horse. Neither could bring the dollhouse. Stevie had promised to call Frank and ask him to stop by the Lonetrees’ and bring it on his way, but she’d completely forgotten. Now she was about to have a winner, and she didn’t have a prize.

She’d spent too much time watching how excited the children were at the prospect of winning. After seeing those faces she couldn’t tell the winner he or
she was going to have to wait. Somehow she had to get the dollhouse back to the fair before the winner was announced—in exactly one hour.

Stevie looked around for help. Everybody was busy. Carole was still taking kids on rides. Mrs. Lonetree was up to her elbows in clay, showing a group of fascinated children how to make miniature bowls. Phyllis Devine was overseeing the cupcake decorating. Kate was turning masked kids in circles so they could pin the stem on the pumpkin, and Christine was doing something with two sugarplum fairies. Nobody could help Stevie. She was going to have to do this herself. But what was she going to do?

Stevie realized that Mr. Lonetree wasn’t there. That probably meant he was at the ranch and would be able to drive the dollhouse over to the school. It wasn’t a long distance. All she had to do was call.

She dug into her pocket, found change, and located the students’ pay phone on the first floor of the school.

I’m sorry. We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please try to place your call again later
.

She checked the number. She had it right. She tried again.

I’m sorry.…

For how long could there be technical difficulties?

I’m sor
—

She couldn’t wait. She didn’t have time to wait. She
had to do something. The only thing she could think of was to go to the Lonetrees’ house herself and hope that Mr. Lonetree would be there to bring her and the dollhouse back.

She tucked the quarter back into her pocket. She would ride Stewball there. She knew the way. It wouldn’t take long. But she had to tell somebody what she was doing.

She found Christine standing outside the girls’ bathroom.

“The sugarplum fairies had to go,” she explained. “I’m waiting for them, and then I promised to take them through the horror house.”

Stevie wasn’t sure she understood exactly how Christine had gotten to be the girls’ personal attendant at the fair, but Christine said it had something to do with a consolation prize for the costume parade. That made some sense—not much, but enough.

Stevie explained her dilemma. “Do you think your dad’s at home?” she asked.

“I’m sure he will be,” she said. “I’m also sure he’ll drive you back. Too bad about the phones, but it happens. Do you know the trail?”

“Yes,” Stevie assured her. “It’s not hard to follow. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be, too. But it’s going to be cold. Do you have a jacket?”

“No, just this sweatshirt,” Stevie said.

“Well, it’s not much, but here, take my cloak. It should help some with the breezes.”

“Thanks,” Stevie said, slipping the cloak over her shoulders. Then, when the girls’-room door opened, Stevie got a look at herself in the mirror. There she was, one blind field mouse, wearing a silvery white cloak. It seemed about right for a Halloween ride.

S
TEWBALL SHOOK HIS
head and snorted. Stevie thought that was his way of saying he was happy to be out of the corral and out on a trail. Stevie agreed. It was quite dark outside, and it was cool, but it was pleasant. She leaned forward and patted the horse on his neck just to show that she felt the same way. Then she nudged him a little, and they began trotting. Much as she was enjoying the ride, she didn’t want to be gone too long from the fair. Besides, she couldn’t wait to find out who won the adobe dollhouse.

There was a screeching sound. Stewball’s ears flicked eagerly. Stevie looked to where she’d heard the noise, but saw nothing.

“It must have been some kind of bird or something,
boy,” she told the horse. “I mean, just because it’s Halloween …” Her voice trailed off.

It
was
Halloween. That was supposed to be a night when ghosts and ghouls roamed free. Witches flew through the sky, casting spells. Vampires ruled the blood supply. Headless horsemen thundered along roadways after unwary victims. It was a night of unfettered evil.…

“Oh, stop it,” Stevie told herself. She spoke out loud as if trying to be sure she heeded her own words. “It’s just another date on the calendar. There’s nothing special about it. It’s just the end of October and … and, uh …”

She saw something. She’d definitely seen something. Stewball felt her tense up and took it as a signal. He stopped. That wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted to get out of there! She clicked her tongue and tapped him with her heels. He began walking again, very slowly. Stevie got a grip on herself and looked around cautiously.

She had left the road and was now crossing the open land. It was the same trail she’d followed with her friends just over twenty-four hours ago. But it didn’t look the same at all. Now that she was alone, it didn’t look beautiful and exciting. It looked barren and dangerous. Stevie shivered.

There was the screech again. She looked up to
where the sound had come from this time. A dark shadow passed across the full moon, which stood just above the horizon. Stevie sighed with relief. It was a bird, probably some kind of owl, since they were night hunters. It had a big wingspan to be sure, but it wasn’t big enough to be a threat to Stevie or Stewball.

“Come on, boy. Let’s just get this over with, okay?” They rode on.

There were the familiar landmarks. She spotted the promontory where they’d seen the stallion rear. It was still outlined by the bright moon. This time there was no sign of the stallion, and what had appeared as an interesting piece of landscape when she’d been with her friends now seemed to be merely stark. Her mind was flooded with an image of riding the stallion to the edge of the cliff. He reared, she held on tightly. His weight shifted. She grabbed his mane. His feet slipped.…

“Oh, stop it!” she said again.

Something grabbed her hair. She screamed, and Stewball started. Stevie managed to hold the reins, and the horse stopped. She flailed wildly to free her hair from the unearthly creature that held it, harder and tighter with every motion. The more she struggled, the harder it was—until Stewball took two steps backward. That was when the tension was released on
the branch and Stevie’s hair was freed. Still shaking, she looked over her shoulder to be sure. That’s all it was—just a branch.

“I think we’d better get going,” she said to Stewball. Without further ado, he picked up a trot. Stevie was beginning to get the feeling that this exciting solo night ride couldn’t be over fast enough.

She needed something to give her courage and decided that the best something would be a distraction. She decided to try singing. Horses liked singing. Stewball would probably get courage from it, too. Also, Stewball wasn’t likely to be much of a music critic, so he wouldn’t care if she hit a wrong note. She knew just the song to sing for him.

She smiled at her choice. Not only was it good to sing a song about her very own horse, it was also a song with dozens of verses and would keep her mind and her voice occupied for miles.