The Great Ghost Hoax

Butterbean slumped. “Yeah, I know. But maybe. OR WE CAN BE SECRET INVESTIGATORS! BEHIND THE SCENES.”

“I really appreciate this, guys,” Wallace sniffled. “I really liked having an apartment. I was going to invite you over for a sleepover and everything.” His chin started to quiver.

Walt patted Wallace on the head, her whiskers trembling. She’d never been on a sleepover.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat. “Now, first things first. As soon as Madison gets back, we’ll take a look at this haunted apartment, and then we’ll figure this all out.” She patted Mrs. Third Floor briskly on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Beulah.” Mrs. Third Floor gave Mrs. Food a watery smile. Mrs. Food smiled back brightly. But when she turned away, Mrs. Food’s smile disappeared completely.

“Got that, guys?” Walt looked up at the clock. “Madison will be back any minute. When they leave, we can check in with Chad. He might have heard something about ghosts.”

Chad was the last member of their heisting gang, known by his nickname “the Octopus.” (A nickname he’d gotten because he was, in fact, an octopus.)

“Good plan,” Oscar agreed. “And while you do that, I can hold down the fort here.” He eyed the clock. If Madison got home soon, he might be able to catch the second half of the News.

The waiting was agony.

Walt watched the door. Marco and Polo shot encouraging looks and thumbs-ups to Wallace. Mrs. Food and Mrs. Third Floor sipped tea and nibbled awkwardly on cookies. Butterbean focused on looking cute and watching for stray cookie crumbs. (She kind of forgot about the whole ghost thing once the cookies came out.) And Oscar watched the clock. He was going to miss the rest of the News. He just knew it.

They were so focused on waiting that it came as a shock when Madison finally burst into the room.

“Mrs. Fudeker! Did you hear about Mr. Wiggles? He’s disappeared!” She dumped her book bag on the floor next to the front door and then checked the kitchen quickly before rushing into the living room. “I saw him during my field trip the other day. I bet I was one of the last people to see him before he—”

She stopped short when she saw Mrs. Third Floor on the couch, sniffling.

“Oh. Um. Hi, Mrs.…”

“Third Floor,” Butterbean barked. “Mrs. Third Floor.”

“Mildred, you know Madison. She’s Ruby Park’s niece. She’s living here temporarily, and I thought she might like to go up with us to check out the… um… activity in your apartment.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Mrs. Third Floor said bleakly. She sounded like she’d given up all hope.

Madison shifted from one foot to the other. “Sure. So, what kind of activity?”

“Paranormal,” Mrs. Third Floor sniffled.

“Mildred thinks she has a ghost,” Mrs. Food said matter-of-factly. She didn’t meet Madison’s eyes.

“Oh, wow.” Madison’s eyebrows shot up. “Um, okay. I can help,” she said, nodding slowly. “Ghosts stink.”

“We’ll just take a look, real quick.” Mrs. Food nodded. “Just to see what there is to see.”

“Um. Okay,” Madison said. “I’m up for it, I guess.” Ghosts sounded weird, but she’d been in some pretty weird situations before. She glanced over at the rat aquarium. There were some things she didn’t even try to understand.

Butterbean dragged her eyes away from the cookies and hurried over to Madison. “I’ve got to try,” she muttered to Oscar as she went. “We could be an International Investigator Syndicate! Famous detectives!”

Butterbean leaned hard against Madison’s leg and looked up significantly. She really wished Madison had learned to speak Dog.

When Madison looked down, Butterbean shot another significant look at the door and then looked back up at Madison expectantly. It was the best she could do.

“Sorry, Butterbean, I’ll take you out afterward,” Madison said, patting Butterbean on the head. Butterbean wuffled in frustration.

“NO!” Mrs. Third Floor snapped. She jumped up and pointed at Butterbean like she’d seen a snake. Butterbean was a little offended, to be honest. “Take her, too!”

“What?” Madison jerked up in surprise.

“Take the dog. And the cat. All the animals. The bird? Maybe not the bird. But maybe?” She leaned over to Mrs. Food. “I’ve heard that animals are very sensitive to THE OTHER SIDE.”

Mrs. Food took a deep breath. “Sure. Take the animals. Why not?” She had not expected her day to go quite this way, but she might as well go all in.

Then she hesitated. “But you’re right, maybe not the bird. Just the dog and cat.” She shot Oscar an apologetic look. He tried not to feel offended. Taking his cage along would’ve been impractical, he could see that. They didn’t realize that he was perfectly capable of flying himself.

“Madison, get Butterbean’s leash. And, I don’t know, carry Walt, I guess. We’re going up to five to check things out.”

“Ookay.” Madison squinted at Mrs. Food like she was hoping an explanation would be on Mrs. Food’s face. But there was nothing—the only sign that something was up was a slight twitch near Mrs. Food’s left eye. Madison turned and went to get Butterbean’s leash.

Butterbean did a happy little dance. “It worked!”

“So, new plan,” Walt said dryly. “Got it.”

Butterbean danced over to the edge of the sofa where Wallace was hiding. “Wallace, climb on,” she said under her breath as she danced past.

“Really?” Wallace said uncertainly. “I don’t know.…”

“You need to show us what you saw, right? I got us in on Mrs. Food’s investigation! Hurry!” Butterbean could only dance for so long.

Wallace clenched his fists. “Right. You’re right.” As Butterbean did another dance-by, he grabbed hold of the fur under her tummy and pulled himself up.

“Okay, this plan works too, I guess,” Walt said in a strangled voice as Madison scooped her up by the middle.

“No fair!” Marco squealed.

“I can’t believe we have to stay behind!” Polo grumbled as she watched them gather by the door.

“Yes, so unfair,” Oscar said, eyeing the remote.

“Hold on tight, Wallace! Butterbean has slippery hair!” Polo yelled as they left.

“Go get ’em, guys! Good luck, Walt!” Marco shouted.

Walt could only nod as she was carried out. No matter what they found upstairs, she knew one thing. There were some things worse than ghosts.

— 3 —

THE DOOR TO APARTMENT 5B looked like any other door in the Strathmore Building, except that it had been recently painted.

“It doesn’t look haunted,” Butterbean said, examining it. She sniffed it tentatively, but the paint fumes were too strong for her to get a sense of what was inside. Besides, she didn’t know what ghosts smelled like.

“Anything, Bean?” Walt asked, dangling from Madison’s arms. She would’ve preferred to ride on her shoulders, but apparently it wasn’t her decision.

“Nothing. Just paint. And I don’t hear any scary noises, either.”

“Interesting.” From what Wallace had said, Walt had been expecting rattling chains and horrible wails.

Mrs. Food turned to Mrs. Third Floor, who was still hanging back by the elevator. “Mildred?”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded and walked slowly over to the door, like she was afraid it was going to jump out and bite her. Then she carefully leaned down and unlocked it.

“There! Done.” She clenched her hands tightly in front of her. “And I know what you’re thinking—I changed the locks after the last tenant moved out. All the keys are accounted for.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Butterbean whispered to Wallace.

“That was going to be my first question,” Mrs. Food said. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Mrs. Third Floor said.

“Ready,” Madison said.

“Ready,” Wallace said, clinging tightly to Butterbean’s tummy hair.

Mrs. Food opened the door.

The door to Apartment 5B creaked ominously as it swung open.

Mrs. Third Floor winced. “I’ll have to get maintenance to fix that,” she said nervously. With a quick glance at Mrs. Food, she stepped into the apartment. She’d barely set foot inside before she gasped and jumped back into Madison.

“Whoa!” Madison stumbled back to get out of her way. “You okay?”

Mrs. Third Floor pointed a quivering finger in the direction of the living room.

“There!” she wailed. “Don’t you see? The ghost!”

Butterbean scrambled to get inside. Walt turned her bones to jelly and slid down onto the floor, escaping Madison’s grip. Then she peered around Mrs. Third Floor’s legs to get a better look. But unless the ghost was covered with floral upholstery, he wasn’t making himself obvious.

The apartment was a lot like Mrs. Food’s apartment, but with much newer and fancier furniture. It looked like something out of a catalog, or a furniture commercial on the Television. It didn’t look like someplace a ghost would hang out. It totally looked like someplace Wallace would hang out, though.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat as she looked around. “Um, where is the ghost, exactly?”

Mrs. Third Floor made a strangled sound. “Not the ghost HIMSELF, but you can see he’s been here. Look! The remote is sitting in the middle of the couch. IT’S ON THE COUCH! I WOULD NEVER LEAVE IT LIKE THAT.”

“I know, I know.” Mrs. Food patted Mrs. Third Floor on the shoulder.

“Oh shoot. Yeah, that’s me,” Wallace said from underneath Butterbean’s stomach. “I did that one.”

Walt rolled her eyes.

“What can I say, I like my shows.” Wallace attempted to shrug, but he only managed to slide down closer to Butterbean’s legs.

“Watch it, Wallace,” Butterbean grumbled.

“SEE? Even the dog can sense the presence!” Mrs. Third Floor said. She went over to the haunted remote and poked it with one finger. “Do you think it’s cursed?”

Mrs. Food walked over carefully and picked up the remote. Mrs. Third Floor gasped. “Don’t touch it!”

“It seems fine to me, Mildred.” She pointed it at the Television and clicked it on.

It was a home shopping channel. The salespeople onscreen were very excited about a new line of cookware. Butterbean sniffed. She wasn’t interested in cookware.

“YOU SEE?” Mrs. Third Floor screeched. “I WOULD NEVER WATCH THAT.”

“Home shopping?” Walt said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh that… um. Not me, that’s for sure,” Wallace stammered. “That… um… Wow, that’s some ghost. Spooky.”

Walt shook her head.

“A rat can dream, okay?” Wallace blurted out. “Sheesh.”

Mrs. Third Floor grabbed the remote and changed the channel. “See! THAT’s where it should be!”

It was the Hallmark Channel. It seemed to be showing some kind of Christmas movie, even though it wasn’t anywhere near Christmas.

“Wow, it IS haunted,” Butterbean said, examining the twinkling Christmas tree lights on the screen. “The Television doesn’t even know what time of year it is!”

“Butterbean,” Walt started, but she was cut off by a shriek from Mrs. Third Floor.

“AND THERE!” Mrs. Third Floor pointed a trembling finger at the kitchen island, where an elaborate tiered cupcake display was set up. They were all beautifully frosted, except for the bottom row of cupcakes, which had the frosting almost completely licked off. “THE GHOST RUINED MY CUPCAKES!”

Wallace shifted uncomfortably. “Um, yeah. That would be me again.”

Walt let her breath out in a huff. “Wallace, are we sure you’re not the ghost?”

“It’s not me, I swear! I SAW THINGS.”

Mrs. Food inspected one of the licked cupcakes. “It does look strange, but I don’t know if it looks paranormal.…”

Madison took the cupcake and examined it. Then she shot a suspicious look at Butterbean.

Butterbean gasped. “WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT ME?”

“You do seem like a likely suspect,” Walt said smugly. “Even if you are innocent.”

“But that’s not all.” Mrs. Third Floor grabbed Mrs. Food’s arm and dragged her away from the cupcakes. “That’s just what’s new. I haven’t even shown you the worst of it. How do you explain THAT?”

She pointed at a large fish tank partly obscured by leafy ferns in the corner of the room. It had obviously been just as fancy as the rest of the apartment at one time, with lots of brightly colored rocks and plants. It even had a little diver and treasure chest in the middle. But the lid to the tank had been shoved to the side and was half submerged in what was left of the water. The rest had been sloshed onto the floor and spread like a stain on the carpet. But that wasn’t the worst part. There were no fish.

“Um.” Mrs. Food frowned.

“Not me,” Wallace squeaked. “I swear, not me at all.”

“My beautiful tropical fish display! WHERE ARE THEY?” Mrs. Third Floor demanded. “They’re all GONE.”

“That’s… um…” Madison said, examining the tank. Walt sniffed at it too. Her stomach started to growl.

“And look!” Mrs. Third Floor dragged Mrs. Food down the hallway and pushed her into the bathroom. Butterbean and Walt had to scramble to keep up with them.

This time it was Mrs. Food who gasped. “But everything’s wet!” She picked up a dripping bath towel and held it carefully away from herself. The bath mat squelched under their feet, and there were pools of water all around it. The tub was half-filled with leftover cloudy water. There were dribbles of water half dried on the walls.

“THOSE WERE DECORATIVE,” Mrs. Third Floor wailed, pointing at the hand towels, which lay in a wet pile on the floor. “AND JUST LOOK AT MY TINY SOAPS!”

The remains of tiny soaps that once probably looked like little shells or bows or something fancy lay in a mushy mass in the soap dishes. They were definitely not decorative anymore.

“This is terrible,” Mrs. Food said, ushering Mrs. Third Floor out of the bathroom. “But do ghosts usually do this kind of thing?”

“Poltergeists do, right?” Madison said softly. She shivered, looking around like a poltergeist was going to creep up behind her. “Aren’t poltergeists the kind of ghosts that break things?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Third Floor said triumphantly. “Poltergeists! I have a poltergeist!”

“That may be true, but I’m still not convinced,” Mrs. Food said. “Why don’t you sit while Madison and I look around.”

“Mrs. Food may be right,” Butterbean said, sniffing the soggy towel. “I’m not getting a ghost feeling.”

“Do you know what a ghost feeling is?” Wallace asked.

“No,” Butterbean admitted.

Mrs. Food helped Mrs. Third Floor over to the sofa and then went through the apartment room by room. Butterbean stood in the middle of the living room, head up to catch any stray smells. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to look for ghosts.

“That fish tank’s what did it for me. It scared the heck out of me.” Wallace’s voice floated up from her tummy area. “Water was everywhere. I was in the kitchen when it happened. Water exploded out of the tank, and I ran.”

“How did you even get in here, Wallace?” Walt asked. “You can’t fit through the vent cover.”

Wallace blew a piece of Butterbean’s hair out of his mouth before answering. “There’s a behind-the-sofa vent here, too. I used that. I got the screws out with a piece of metal from the loading dock.”

“Smart,” Walt said. “And nobody else has used it?”

“No, definitely not. I put a whisker over the entrance to see if anyone else came in. It was always still there when I came back.”

“Hmm.” Walt looked around the room again, deep in thought.

Mrs. Food and Madison finished their inspections and came back to Mrs. Third Floor, who was staring blankly at a gingerbread house competition on the Television.

“Well, I didn’t find anything. I can’t see how this happened,” Mrs. Food said, wiping her hands on her pants.

“Poltergeist,” Mrs. Third Floor said. “Like Madison said.”

Madison folded her arms in front of her chest. “Maybe? But maybe not.” She frowned at the licked cupcakes. “This is creepy, but I’m not sure it’s ghost creepy. In any case…” She looked at Mrs. Food.

Mrs. Food put her hand on Mrs. Third Floor’s shoulder. “Whatever happened here is a crime. We need to call the police.”

— 4 —

IT DIDN’T TAKE THE POLICE long to get there. And it took even less time for them to realize that their biggest problem was Mrs. Third Floor herself.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” she grumbled as she let the two police officers in. “I don’t see what the police can do about a ghost.”

“Poltergeist,” Madison corrected helpfully.

“RIGHT. Poltergeist,” Mrs. Third Floor agreed, crossing her arms. “But since you’re here, go ahead, take a look. The apartment has been DESTROYED. By SUPERNATURAL FORCES.”

“Or by an intruder,” Mrs. Food said apologetically. “We’re thinking it’s probably just an intruder, Officer…”

“Marlowe.” The first police officer introduced herself, giving Mrs. Third Floor an appraising look. “And this is Officer Travis.” Officer Travis nodded. He looked almost as grumpy as Mrs. Third Floor.

Officer Marlowe took out a notebook. “Why don’t you show me what we’ve got here?”

“Well—” Mrs. Food started.

“EVIL SPIRITS,” Mrs. Third Floor interrupted, waving her arms to indicate invisible spirits, “ATE MY CUPCAKES.”

“Just the frosting,” Wallace muttered under his breath.

Mrs. Food took a step forward, smiling tightly. “As I said, there was an intruder. They destroyed a fish tank, vandalized the bathroom, and ate food in the kitchen. We just don’t know how they got in.”

“This may be an unearthly portal.” Mrs. Third Floor’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Maybe in the bathroom?” she added thoughtfully. “I don’t even know how you list an unearthly portal,” she said to herself.

“So… intruder. Got it.” Officer Marlowe wrote it down in her notebook. “And this is your apartment?” she asked Mrs. Third Floor.

“Oh, heavens no. I mean, yes, of course. I mean, not really,” Mrs. Third Floor said. Officer Travis sighed and folded his arms in front of his chest.

Mrs. Third Floor cleared her throat. Her ears were turning red. “It’s a rental unit. I’m the landlady. I’m getting it ready to rent. My old tenant moved to Tulsa.”

“Man Who Smells Like Onions,” Butterbean whispered knowingly to Walt and Wallace. “I did NOT like sharing an elevator with him, let me tell you.”