The Great Ghost Hoax

The elevator in the hallway dinged.

“Oh look, here comes the fuzz.” He laughed. “As if they’d arrest someone of my standing. The papers would never let them live it down.”

He moved across the floor, camouflaging himself as he went. He’d only gone a few feet before the rats couldn’t even tell where he was.

“I’ll never get over how creepy that is,” Polo muttered as Jerome disappeared.

They heard voices in the hallway and a key being inserted into the lock.

Wallace grabbed one last piece of cheese and took off toward the couch.

“Polo, run!” Marco pushed Polo in the direction of the vent. “Chad, Jerome, hide!” He shot a look into the kitchen in time to see Chad sliding into a canister on the countertop.

The door to the apartment swung open as the rats made it to the vent behind the couch. They were safe. Marco just hoped Chad and Jerome would be too.

“Yep, that’s pizza all right.”

Officer Marlowe poked the box with her foot, like she expected it to get up and scurry away. It didn’t.

Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food stood a few feet away with Madison and Butterbean, watching carefully. They looked like they might make a break for the door at any moment.

Officer Travis glanced at the pizza in disgust. “And you say it just ‘floated into the apartment,’ ” he said, waggling his fingers in a spooky way.

“You saw the video, Officer.” Mrs. Third Floor’s voice was frosty. “I didn’t make it up.” She hiked Walt up a little higher in her arms. Walt didn’t even have the heart to meow about it.

“Of course not,” Officer Travis smirked. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and looked around the apartment. “Floating pizza. There’s a new one every day.”

Mrs. Third Floor turned back to Officer Marlowe and then caught her breath.

“Is that… blood?” she asked tentatively, pointing a foot at a blob of red on the carpet.

Officer Marlowe squatted down and examined the blob. She touched it with one finger and then smelled it. “Pizza sauce, I think,” she said, wiping her finger off. “Not blood.”

“Boy, you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen last night!” Butterbean said. That little blob was nothing compared to the cocktail sauce she’d investigated.

Officer Marlowe stood up. “Officer Travis will take the rest of your statement. I’ll check the apartment for other signs of an intruder.” She headed back toward the bedrooms.

“Blarg,” Walt said, squirming uncomfortably. Mrs. Third Floor hadn’t loosened her grip once since she’d first picked her up. And one thing was clear. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t know the correct way to hold a cat.

“Do you need help, Walt?” Butterbean asked, straining to sniff at Mrs. Third Floor’s legs. (Madison was keeping a pretty tight grip on the leash.) “Blarg twice if you need help. I could go for the eyes!” She’d never tried it before, but it sounded exciting.

Walt glared at her.

“Here, let me take the cat so you can show Officer Travis the video again,” Mrs. Food said, reaching out as Walt meowed pitifully. Mrs. Third Floor frowned and clutched Walt closer.

“I’ve seen it already,” Officer Travis said quickly.

Mrs. Food tugged lightly at Walt. “Mildred…”

Butterbean wuffled softly. She’d seen something like this before, only it had been at Thanksgiving, and with a wishbone, not a cat.

“Okay, that’s… fine, I guess.” Mrs. Third Floor reluctantly loosened her grip and handed Walt off to Mrs. Food, who gave a visible sigh of relief.

Walt curled into Mrs. Food’s arms and quickly examined her midsection. She was surprised there wasn’t a mark.

“Here, see?” Mrs. Third Floor opened her handbag and took out her phone, snapping her handbag shut again with a loud click. She held the phone up for Officer Travis. “Look at this video!”

Officer Travis didn’t even look at it before pushing it away. “I’ve seen it. I know, unexplained pizza activity.” He rolled his eyes. “It flew.”

“Floated,” Mrs. Food corrected.

“Whatever. I got it,” Officer Travis said, examining his nails.

“But…” Mrs. Third Floor looked at her phone sadly. “There’s video.”

“Nothing suspicious in there,” Officer Marlowe said as she came back into the room. “No sign of an intruder. I did wonder about the water pressure, though, so I checked it out. It’s good.”

“Well, that’s something,” Mrs. Third Floor said, turning back toward her handbag to put her phone away. Her handbag was standing open.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Third Floor frowned and put her phone back inside. Then she snapped the handbag shut.

“Uh-oh,” Butterbean said, eyeing the handbag. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, and there was no rat hanging there to blame it on.

“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do at the moment,” Officer Marlowe said. “But if you’ll initial right here, we’ll file another report and let you know when we have any new information.” Officer Marlowe handed her a pad of paper.

“Right,” Officer Travis snorted.

“Yes, okay,” Mrs. Third Floor said, shooting Officer Travis a look before taking the paper. “I just need a pen.” She looked down at her handbag. It was open.

Mrs. Third Floor visibly jumped. She pointed at the handbag. “But I—I closed that!”

Officer Marlowe took a pen out of her pocket and held it out to Mrs. Third Floor. “What, the purse? Sometimes latches don’t catch.” She smiled. “Your initials?”

“Walt?” Butterbean said. Her bad feeling was getting worse.

“I know,” Walt said. They both had their eyes on the handbag.

“Right, of course.” Mrs. Third Floor closed her handbag again and took the pen.

“And I just initial…”

“Here.” Officer Marlowe pointed at the paper.

“Of course.” Mrs. Third Floor initialed the paper and then turned back to her handbag. It was standing wide open.

“AAIIIIEEEEE!” Mrs. Third Floor clutched at Officer Marlowe’s arm.

A small snickering sound came from under the coffee table.

“JEROME!” Walt yowled, struggling to get away from Mrs. Food. “I KNOW THAT’S YOU.”

“IT’S THE GHOST!” Mrs. Third Floor wailed. Officer Marlowe shot a look at Officer Travis. He was smirking.

A loud crash came from the kitchen.

Officer Travis was suddenly serious. He unhooked his flashlight and turned to Officer Marlowe. “I’ll check that out. You take care of her.”

Flashlight in hand, Officer Travis crept slowly and silently into the kitchen, followed by a slightly less silent Butterbean.

As he came through the door, he stopped short.

A small white figure hovered in the sink.

Officer Travis stood dead in his tracks and stared. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. All of the color drained from his face. Hand shaking, he pointed the flashlight beam at the sink.

The white figure raised what seemed to be a hundred arms and waggled them in the air before disappearing completely.

“URGH!” Officer Travis gurgled as he flung the flashlight at the sink, sending it clattering onto the counter. Then he raced over and looked inside. There was nothing there, just a fine powdery residue sprinkled on the countertop.

He quickly bent down, examining the cabinet under the sink.

Nothing.

“What was it?” Officer Marlowe called from the living room.

“Was it the ghost?” Mrs. Third Floor squeaked.

Officer Travis leaned against the sink for a long minute, then looked back into the living room, his eyes glazed. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He picked up the flashlight and hooked it back onto his belt.

Officer Marlowe appeared in the doorway. “But what—”

“This is a waste of time,” Officer Travis said abruptly, pushing past her into the living room. “We’ve got the report. I’m leaving. Waste of time.” He lunged for the door and slammed it hard behind him.

Walt squirmed free of Mrs. Food’s grip and streaked into the kitchen, where Butterbean was standing with her paws on the counter. Walt hopped up and examined the white powder as Officer Marlowe came in.

“I apologize for my partner. But please, ma’am, could you control your animals?” Officer Marlowe’s voice was tight.

Mrs. Third Floor peered through the doorway. “What’s that white stuff?” She gasped. “ECTOPLASM?”

Walt sniffed it. “Flour.”

“Was that Chad?” Butterbean asked softly as Madison hurried into the kitchen.

“Sorry about that.” Chad’s voice drifted up from the drain in the sink. “I picked a bad hiding place. It’s all over me.”

Madison picked the canister lid up off of the floor. “I think your flour canister exploded,” she said, turning the lid over in her hands. Then she nudged Butterbean conspiratorially.

“Look, this is all super weird, right?” Madison whispered softly. “But I’m just not getting a ghosty feeling. Are you?” She looked at Butterbean with a serious expression.

Butterbean thumped her tail. It had worked last time, and she wasn’t good at whispering.

Madison nodded. “Right.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Mrs. Third Floor. “You know, that happens with flour A LOT, from what I hear.” She shot Mrs. Food a significant look.

Mrs. Food looked puzzled for a second and then nodded like she was a bobblehead. “Oh yes, all the time,” Mrs. Food agreed. “It’s the… um… pressure. It just builds up. Right, Officer?”

Officer Marlowe sighed. “Sure. Tons of flour explosion reports. If I had a nickel,” she said stiffly, patting Mrs. Third Floor on the back. “Nothing to worry about here.” She held up the paper. “Thanks for the report. I’ll be in touch.”

Shooting a worried glance into the kitchen, she turned and hurried out of the apartment.

“It really was just a fluke,” Mrs. Food said. “Bad batch of flour.”

“Probably expired,” Madison added.

Butterbean wagged her tail. Sounded plausible to her.

Mrs. Third Floor shook her head. “I don’t care. I’ve had it. This is the last straw.” She jutted her chin out at Madison. “I’M CALLING THE GHOST MEN.”

— 10 —

MADISON COLLAPSED ONTO MRS. FOOD’S couch. “She won’t really do it, right? Call those TV guys?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Food said, sinking down onto the couch next to her. “Technically, it doesn’t qualify as a ghost sighting, so even if she did, I doubt they’d be interested. But then, I thought the police would’ve found the intruder by now, so…” She threw up her hands.

They’d spent the last few hours helping Mrs. Third Floor clean up after the police left, which meant they cleaned while Mrs. Third Floor sniffled and hugged Walt. It was a relief to be back home again.

“Sheesh,” Madison said. She was too tired to move. She never would’ve expected ghosts to be so exhausting. She looked at the clock. “Oh shoot. Butterbean needs to go out.” She didn’t move.

“She can wait a little longer,” Mrs. Food said, closing her eyes.

“It’s okay, I used Walt’s litter box,” Butterbean said, trotting in from the kitchen.

“HEY!” Walt jumped onto the armchair, her fur bristling.

“Desperate times, Walt.” Butterbean flopped onto the floor next to the rats’ aquarium. “So what are we going to do? Are those ghost guys really going to investigate the apartment?”

Wallace poked his head out from underneath the cedar chips. “I don’t want them there,” Wallace said. “Don’t I have any tenant’s rights?”

Oscar gave him a sympathetic look. “Technically, I think you’re a squatter,” he said. “So no, not really.”

“You should’ve signed a lease,” Marco said, patting Wallace on what he thought was his shoulder. It was hard to tell with all the cedar chips in the way.

Madison cleared her throat. “So you think it’s definitely an intruder?” she asked tentatively.

“Of course it’s an intruder.” Mrs. Food opened her eyes. “Nothing else makes sense. It’s not a ghost, that’s for sure. Why would a ghost order pizza?” She picked up the remote. “Let’s see if we made the news. The publicity would just kill Mildred.” She turned on the Television.

“OOOH! The News!” Oscar jumped up onto the bars of his cage to get a better view. He’d been feeling seriously News deprived. It had been almost a whole day. Anything could’ve happened.

“Look, it’s Jerome!” Polo pointed at the screen.

There, on the screen, was a candid shot of Mr. Wiggles spitting water at a crowd of squealing zoo-goers. Then the image changed to a shot of a reporter in front of an empty tank, surrounded by sniffling and depressed-looking fans.

“… and while the zoo has not found any signs of the missing octopus, officials say they have not given up the search. In addition, they are considering a wide range of options in the event that Mr. Wiggles is not found.”

“What does that mean?” Polo asked. Marco shrugged.

“Wow, I can’t believe he’s still missing! Everything seemed normal there when I saw him,” Madison said. “I wonder where he went?”

“He went with you!” Butterbean barked. “In your water bottle!”

“I’ve heard about octopuses escaping before,” Mrs. Food said thoughtfully. “They’ll probably find him hiding in another tank somewhere.”

“Or upstairs! He’s in Wallace’s apartment!” Butterbean tried again. Mrs. Food turned up the sound.

“… but without their star attraction, zoo attendance has reportedly dropped significantly. Back to you, Herb,” the reporter on the screen finished.

“That’s terrible. I hope they find him soon,” Madison said.

“UPSTAIRS! He’s in the apartment you JUST LEFT!” Butterbean made a face. She turned to Walt and shook her head. “I keep trying to tell her.”

“I know,” Walt said sympathetically.

“It’s okay, Butterbean,” Madison said, standing up. “You can stop barking now. I’ll walk you.”

“Madison, wait—look!” Mrs. Food turned up the volume on the TV. “It’s them!”

A commercial featuring low spooky music had just started. Oscar peered closely at the Television. A slick-haired man and a bald man with a mustache stood in a room filled with lots of thick mist. It would’ve been spookier if the room hadn’t looked like a condo in a sitcom. But then Oscar had discriminating tastes.

“And RIGHT HERE, in Agnes Nessman’s OWN HOME, we were able to identify and communicate with three very agitated spirits.” The two men waved their arms in ghostly ways while they talked. “And with our help, those uneasy souls have returned to their rightful place IN THE AFTERLIFE!” Thunder clapped onscreen.

Butterbean walked so close to the Television that her nose smudged the screen. The house where the ghost men were standing didn’t look like it was haunted. And she didn’t see any ghosts.

“Do the ghosts not show up for the commercials?” Butterbean asked after a second.

Oscar shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” he said disdainfully. “This is not a show I watch.”

“Tune in for a brand-new episode tonight on Channel Fifty-Seven. And don’t forget,” one of the men onscreen said. “There’s no residence too big…”

“And no ghost too small,” the other man continued.

“For the Ghost Eliminators!” they finished together. The thunder clapped again. It didn’t even sound like real thunder. (Butterbean would know. Real thunder scared the heck out of her.)

“That’s them?” Madison took the remote from Mrs. Food and ran the commercial back. “They look like they work at a bank. And what are those graphics?”

Butterbean thought she must be talking about the squiggles of fake mist in the background. They were impressive, as far as squiggles went. But that wasn’t saying much.

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I can’t imagine they’ll be interested in Mildred’s problem,” Mrs. Food said, examining the frozen grin of one of the men onscreen.

“I hope not.” Madison didn’t like the looks of those guys. She didn’t think they were serious scientists. “And you’re sure it’s not a fiction show?”

Mrs. Food turned the Television off. “Who knows? She’ll never get hold of them anyway.”

“Good. They creep me out,” Madison said, going to get Butterbean’s leash.

“I don’t want those guys here,” Butterbean said as Madison put on her shoes and jacket. “I don’t like their squiggles.”

Madison came over and clipped the leash to Butterbean’s collar. “Come on, dog, let’s get you outside before you make a mess.” She shot a look at Mrs. Food and lowered her voice. “But first, we’ll take a little side trip upstairs. We need to figure out this ghost stuff fast, before those creepy TV guys get involved.”

Butterbean shot Oscar a panicked look. “Oscar?”

“Keep tabs on her, Bean,” Oscar warned.

Butterbean nodded solemnly and trotted after Madison.

But as soon as Madison opened the front door, she took a startled step back. Because there, in the doorway, was Mrs. Third Floor. And she had a crazed grin on her face.

“Um, hi?” Madison stood for a second, unsure of what to do. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t say anything. She just stood there grinning. Madison decided to try again. “Do you want to come in?”

“Good thing I used the box,” Butterbean grumbled.

“What’s going on, Mildred?” Mrs. Food stood up, smoothing her pants. “Have you heard from the police already?”

“Better!” Mrs. Third Floor burst out excitedly, waving a piece of paper in the air. It looked like it had been torn off of a yellow notepad. “I called the ghost men!”

“Already?” Madison yelped, shooting a look at Butterbean.

Mrs. Food’s smile looked forced. “And?”

“And they’ll do it!” Mrs. Third Floor did a little dance in the doorway.

“Oh crud,” Oscar said, looking at Walt.

“Really?” Madison exchanged a worried glance with Mrs. Food. “For real?”

“For real!” Mrs. Third Floor cheered, happily clutching her paper. “I told them all about the apartment, and they were VERY interested. They’re coming tomorrow!”

“Wow, tomorrow?” Mrs. Food looked stunned. “That fast?”

“That fast. They said time was of the essence with spirits.” She looked at her watch. “Do you think there’s time to go to the bank before it closes?”

Madison twisted the leash around her hand. “The bank? Why?”

“For their deposit, silly! But don’t worry—they don’t charge the full fee unless they find something.” Mrs. Third Floor waved the paper again. “They’ll even set up an installment plan for me!”