The Great Ghost Hoax

“You said that,” Madison said, adjusting the leash in her hand. “Vibes of who? A ghost? Someone in particular?”

“I work best with silence, kid,” Mr. Slick Hair said without looking at her. “Don’t poison the atmosphere.”

“Hush, Madison,” Mrs. Food said softly. “Let them work.”

Madison rolled her eyes.

The Bald Guy unzipped the equipment bag and took out a video camera and an elaborate-looking machine with lots of dials.

“So, do you need me to show you around? Or would that disturb the atmosphere?” Mrs. Third Floor hovered anxiously near Mr. Slick Hair.

He held out a hand at her. “Please. Let me take it all in.”

“Um, I… okay.” Mrs. Third Floor glanced nervously at Mrs. Food and pursed her mouth shut tightly, like she was afraid she’d keep talking otherwise.

“Walt!” Butterbean attempted to whisper (with limited success). “Do you see Jerome anywhere?”

“Blerg,” Walt said as she dangled from Mrs. Third Floor’s arms.

Butterbean took that for a no. Unless Walt could see something Butterbean couldn’t, it seemed like Jerome was actually going to keep his word for once.

“Someone looking for me?” A voice drifted down from the light fixture overhead.

“Oh no.” Butterbean was just in time to see a long tentacle drop down from the glass bowl covering the light. It dangled right over Mr. Slick Hair’s head.

Walt made a sputtering sound. Butterbean held her breath, but luckily, no one seemed to notice the tentacle hanging from overhead. They were all focused on the Bald Guy setting up the equipment.

“JEROME! CUT IT OUT!” Walt hissed in a strangled voice. “NOT CUTE.” Mrs. Third Floor glanced down with a puzzled expression and loosened her grip a little.

“What’s not cute? This?” Another tentacle dropped down on the side of Mr. Slick Hair’s head and then moved around in the classic “I’m not touching you” style.

“HEY!” Butterbean barked. All of the humans turned to look at her. Mr. Slick Hair came within a whisker of touching the dangling tentacle but still didn’t see it.

“JEROME!” Butterbean barked again so hard that her feet lifted off the floor. “You PROMISED!”

“You guys are no fun,” Jerome sighed from overhead. “You’re right. I promised. I’ll be good.” The tentacles shot back up into the light fixture.

Mr. Slick Hair shivered. “Did you guys feel that? It’s like a spirit just went past. I could feel its essence next to my skin.”

“YEARRRGHH,” Walt growled, scowling fiercely at the light fixture.

“See? Even the animals sense it,” Mr. Slick Hair said, glancing down at Walt. Walt hissed at him and then turned her bones to jelly and slithered onto the floor.

“No! Cat—” Mrs. Third Floor started, but it was too late. Walt had disappeared under the sofa.

“What kind of readings are you getting, Gord?” Mr. Slick Hair said. The Bald Guy fiddled with the machine and turned one of the dials. A sharp alarm sounded throughout the apartment.

“Sounds like we’ve got a ghost, Johnny,” the Bald Guy said in a flat tone. Then he turned the dial back down. Butterbean sniffed his foot. (Just dirt.)

“Oh! That’s a ghost alarm?” Mrs. Third Floor clutched her hands together.

“It sure is. You’ve got a very haunted apartment here. Verified ghost in here,” Mr. Slick Hair said, patting the machine. “These machines never lie.”

“Oh no!” Mrs. Third Floor clasped her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Can you get rid of it?”

Mr. Slick Hair nodded solemnly. “We can. But I’m afraid it won’t be cheap, right, Gord?”

Gord shook his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. “These things never are, unfortunately.”

“Wait, really?” Madison cocked her head. “I mean, really? A ghost alarm?”

Mr. Slick Hair turned and looked at her coolly. “So. You’re a skeptic, is that it?”

“Don’t believe in the other side?” The Bald Guy crossed his arms.

“It’s not that. I mean—” Madison hesitated. Butterbean leaned hard against her leg and looked up at her with her best “something is up” face on. Madison frowned and then gave a slight nod.

“I mean, I guess I am skeptical?” Madison finally said. “It doesn’t seem very haunted to me, that’s all. And I don’t see how that machine can tell if it is.”

“That’s it. Out.” Mr. Slick Hair pointed at the door. “You’re disrupting our readings.”

“You mean the readings that just said there was a ghost?” Madison asked, her eyes narrowing. “So they’re not accurate?”

“I can’t work with her here. She needs to leave.” Mr. Slick Hair turned to Mrs. Third Floor. “She needs to take that dog and go. They’re disturbing the spirits.”

“You should go, dear,” Mrs. Third Floor said apologetically. “The spirits are getting disturbed.”

“But…” Madison started, but Mrs. Third Floor was already pushing her toward the door.

“No arguments. We’ll tell you what happens,” Mrs. Third Floor said firmly.

Butterbean tried to dig her feet into the carpet, but it didn’t stop her from being dragged across the room. Not even when she flopped on her side and went limp. “NOOOOOOOOO!” Butterbean wailed as she and Madison were pushed out into the hallway. “It’s up to you, Walt!” she cried as the door closed behind them.

Walt ducked down farther under the couch. The only thing visible was her eyes.

The Bald Guy cracked his knuckles. “Actually, the spirits don’t like having this many people around,” he said. “They should all go.”

“Right.” Mr. Slick Hair made a sad face at Mrs. Third Floor. “I’m so sorry. You’ll need to leave too. Both of you,” he added, looking at Mrs. Food. “It’s not me—it’s the spirits. You understand.”

“Mildred, I don’t think…” Mrs. Food started to object, but it was no use.

Mr. Slick Hair put a hand on each of their shoulders and shepherded them toward the door, talking as he went. “We’ll get better readings that way. And we don’t want to anger the spirits. You just wait downstairs, and we’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Uh. Okay,” Mrs. Third Floor said, bending down and looking under the furniture. “I don’t know where that cat went.”

“Forget the cat,” Mr. Slick Hair said, gently pushing her out the door. “She’ll be fine.”

“If you say so. I’ll just—”

Mr. Slick Hair shut the door in her face.

He waited, listening until he heard the elevator bell ding in the hallway.

Then he laughed.

“Think she’s got anything good in the kitchen?” He sauntered into the kitchen, opening cabinets at random.

The Bald Guy snorted and flopped down onto the couch. “That type has everything. Take whatever you think the ‘ghost’ would want.” He made air quotes.

Walt felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. This was really bad. Instinct was telling her to go for the eyes. She just wasn’t sure which set of eyes to go for first.

“Are you going to go for the eyes?” The whisper came from behind her.

“AAAAAHH!” Walt jumped, slamming her head on the bottom of the couch. She whirled around. Wallace stood there with an apologetic grin on his face.

“Sorry about that. But I had to see what was happening! It’s my apartment!” He inched closer to the edge of the couch to peek out into the room. The Bald Guy had taken out a pack of cigarettes and was tapping it against his hand.

“Oh no you don’t, mister. Not in my apartment.” Wallace clenched his fists. “You’re going to stick it to those guys, right?”

Walt nodded. “I’m planning my attack.”

“Well, don’t take all day,” a voice behind them said.

“AAAHHH!” Walt and Wallace both jumped this time (but Walt was the only one who hit her head. Wallace was too short).

Walt whirled around. It was the white cat from next door. “YOU!”

“What? Did you really think I’d miss the excitement? You never explained who your mystery guests were. Scam artists, am I right?”

“They’re eliminators from Television,” Walt said.

“OOOooo, do I know them?” The white cat peered out from under the couch. “Hmm. Not familiar. What program?”

“Ghost men,” Wallace said.

“Ghost Eliminators,” Walt corrected. “They hunt ghosts.”

“Oh, LOCAL. Got it,” the white cat scoffed. “I was in national ads. I don’t know those guys.” She licked a paw as she examined the Bald Guy’s shoes. “Good quality, though,” she purred. Then her eyes grew wide. “Now HIM I know! Is that Mr. WIGGLES?” Her voice went an octave higher.

Walt looked out into the room. Jerome had lowered himself down from the light fixture and was doing what looked like an interpretive dance in the middle of the floor. Neither of the men noticed.

“Jerome!” Wallace squeaked urgently. “NO!”

Jerome gave one last wiggle and then changed his color so he faded into the carpet.

“Is HE your special visitor? I didn’t know you knew any celebrities!” the white cat said. “Besides me, of course.”

“HE is not a visitor. HE is my roommate,” Wallace said.

“SHH!” Walt hissed. “They’re doing something.” She poked her head out from under the couch and swiveled around to get a better view.

Mr. Slick Hair had finished off Mrs. Third Floor’s unlicked cupcakes and was brushing his hands off on his pants. Then he tossed the remote to the Bald Guy, who turned on the Television. He turned the volume down low, though, so you could hardly hear it.

“You got the camera ready?” Mr. Slick Hair said.

“All set.” The Bald Guy turned the camera on. It was pointed at the corner of the room where the aquarium was set up.

“What are they filming?” the white cat asked. “If they need a model…”

“SHH!” Walt hissed. Mr. Slick Hair had moved into the shot.

“The spirits are gathering here, you can feel it,” he said in a spooky voice. “Drawn for some inexplicable reason to this ordinary and shabby apartment.”

“Oohh, she’s not going to like that,” Wallace whispered.

“If you listen, you can almost hear them calling. Their voices are coming from so far away, on the other side of the veil. Listen!” He tilted his head like he was listening. In the background, voices could be heard murmuring.

“That’s the TV!” Wallace said, outraged. “Those voices are from the TV!”

Mr. Slick Hair shook his head. “The spirits are not strong enough to communicate with us yet. But their strength is growing.” He jumped in surprise. “Look! In the corner! I can almost see an apparition starting to form.” He pointed off toward the aquarium and then moved out of camera range.

“There’s nothing there,” Walt said slowly. “There aren’t even any fish. What is he doing?”

“Thank goodness Jerome is playing nice,” Wallace said. The last thing this show needed was a surprise appearance by Mr. Wiggles.

“They can’t show a ghost if there’s nothing there, right?” Wallace looked at the white cat, who shrugged.

“Beats me,” the white cat said. “The sets I worked on were much more professional.”

“HEY!” Wallace stood up indignantly. “Is he SMOKING?”

The Bald Guy had lit a cigarette, which he handed to Mr. Slick Hair.

“He’s going to RUIN the upholstery. My couch will never be the same!” Wallace’s whiskers were trembling. “MY APARTMENT ALWAYS SMELLS LEMONY FRESH!”

“Shh.” Walt held out a paw to keep Wallace from rushing into the room.

Mr. Slick Hair took the cigarette and held it just under the camera lens. Wisps of smoke drifted in front of it. “There, see? You can almost see the spirit attempting to materialize,” Mr. Slick Hair said. “Those wisps of ectoplasm are signs that the spirit is present and wants to communicate.”

“But…” Wallace frowned. “That’s smoke.”

“Trick photography,” the white cat said. “Combined with those voices from the TV? It’ll look great on film.”

“Which they’re going to show Mrs. Third Floor and Mrs. Food,” Walt growled.

“That’s IT!” Wallace punched his fist into his palm. “LET ME AT ’EM!” He raced out into the living room, heading straight for the Bald Guy. But halfway there, he seemed to reconsider. Instead he swerved around the Bald Guy’s feet and jumped up onto the couch, hopping onto one of the remote buttons. The volume immediately shot up, so that the ghostly background voices were obviously from the TV. (It was a toilet paper commercial.)

“Walt!” Wallace screamed. He suddenly felt very exposed on the couch. “Distraction!”

“I’M GOING FOR THE EYES!” Walt launched herself out from under the couch and leaped up at Mr. Slick Hair’s face.

But she wasn’t fast enough. He saw her coming.

In one swift motion, he reached up and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, so she dangled in midair.

“Get rid of that thing,” the Bald Guy said. “That cat messed up the take. Now we’ve got to do it all over again.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just double our fee.” Mr. Slick Hair shook Walt. “How do you like that, cat? Double the fee sound fair to you?”

Walt tried not to react. She had to give Wallace time to hide. And if she twisted around just right, she thought she had a good shot of biting the man’s hand off. (Or at least leaving a nasty mark.)

The man walked across the apartment, holding Walt out in front of him.

Wallace took cover under the couch.

“I’ll go tell the others, Walt! It’ll be okay, Walt!” Wallace’s voice floated across the apartment.

Walt twisted in the air, slashing with her claws, but it was no use. She couldn’t escape. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was a kitten again. It was so humiliating to be carried that way.

Mr. Slick Hair pushed open the bathroom door and, without a word, flung Walt inside. She spun around midair and landed on her feet as he slammed the door.

There was a round of applause from the sink. Two octopuses were sitting there watching her.

“She really stuck the landing, didn’t she, Chad?” Jerome said, still clapping softly.

“Eight tentacles up,” Chad said.

Walt shook herself off and glared at the door. “That man,” she sputtered. “Those men—”

“Those men,” Chad interrupted, “are even worse than you said.”

“True. And I, for one, am offended by their stagecraft,” Jerome said. “Well, you’ve convinced me. They’ve got to be stopped.”

Walt slumped. She was locked in a bathroom, after all. “But what are we going to do?”

Jerome stretched his tentacles out in front of him and cracked them like he was cracking his knuckles. “What are we going to do? It’s simple.”

He looked at the door and smiled. “We’re going to teach them a lesson.”

— 13 —

“DO YOU THINK…” MRS. THIRD Floor hesitated. They’d been waiting for a long time, and she’d started that sentence at least three times. “Do you think… the ghost did something to them?” She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Do you think it could have… I don’t know… eaten them?”

There was a silence. Madison bit her lip.

Mrs. Food cleared her throat. “I don’t think that, no.”

Mrs. Third Floor nodded and slumped in relief.

Butterbean sat bolt upright. She hadn’t even considered that possibility. “OSCAR! Do you think JEROME could’ve eaten them?”

Oscar picked through his food dish absentmindedly. “Oh please. Do you really think Mr. Wiggles would do something like that?”

“Maybe not, but JEROME…”

“Jerome is still Mr. Wiggles deep down. He wouldn’t eat them.” He flicked a piece of browning fruit onto the bottom of his cage. “Besides, would you eat those guys?”

Butterbean shuddered at the thought of it, and she ate garbage. “Good point.” She lay back down and put her head on her paws. “I’ll be glad when Walt gets back.”

“Me too.” Oscar clicked his beak. He didn’t want to say anything to Butterbean, but it made him nervous that Walt was still in the apartment. He just hoped she had something to report when she got back. And that it was soon.

“Why is it taking so long, then?” Mrs. Third Floor asked after a few minutes.

“They need to be thorough?” Mrs. Food said. “And maybe…” She patted Mrs. Third Floor on the hand. “They may be having a hard time finding a ghost.”

“It probably really is an intruder,” Madison said, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the carpet. “I mean, why would a ghost just show up now? It doesn’t make sense.”

“But the pizza…” Mrs. Third Floor started.

Mrs. Food held up her hand. “I know. But I still think there’s some other explanation. We’ll see what they say.”

“Seriously, this is a condo building,” Madison said. “Do you think a ghost would live in a condo? Like Bob would let that happen.”

Bob was the maintenance man in the building, and he had some pretty strong ideas of how things should be run.

“I think Bob would take issue with a ghost living here,” Mrs. Food said, smiling.

“You’re right, he would,” Mrs. Third Floor said, relaxing a little for the first time. “I’m probably being silly. Of course they’re not going to find a ghost!”

“Of course not.” Mrs. Food patted her on the arm again and got up to go to the kitchen.

Just as she did, the front door burst open, and the two ghost men rushed inside. (Without even knocking. Butterbean was shocked.)

“We got it!” Mr. Slick Hair patted his video camera. “Right here, we’ve got the evidence.” He pointed at Mrs. Third Floor. “Take a look. You’ve got a ghost, lady!”

“Are you planning to stay in here all day, or do you want me to let you out?” The white cat pressed her face to the vent grate and peered down at Walt and the two octopuses. “Those two weirdos with the camera left ages ago.”

Walt had been trying the door handle for half an hour. It wasn’t opening. All she’d managed to do was provide Chad and Jerome with free entertainment. They hadn’t even offered to help. They’d been laughing nonstop.

“What do you think?” Walt hissed as she slid down the door for the fiftieth time. “LET ME OUT!” She was having a hard time controlling her temper.

“No, you can’t go!” Jerome said, giggling hysterically. “You almost had it that time.”

“Try that spin maneuver again,” Chad said, struggling to keep a straight face.