Ghost Stories Read online

  The Walking Scarecrow

  In the moonlight Frank and Joe could see a tall figure standing between the cornstalks.

  The man wore a tall stovepipe hat, and a tattered black coat and pants. His black eyes glared at the boys over a long, curved nose, and his face was ghastly white. His mouth was twisted in a cruel grin. His long arms were extended, and the fingers were curved like the talons of a bird of prey.

  “It’s a scarecrow!” Frank exploded. “We’ve been talking to a scarecrow!”

  The boys started to walk away when they heard an eerie warning.

  “Beware! Leave this place and flee for your lives!”

  The Hardys stood rooted to the spot. Frank’s hair rose on the back of his neck. Joe felt goosebumps. The scarecrow had just spoken to them!

  The Hardy Boys Mystery Stories

  #109 The Prime-Time Crime

  #110 The Secret of Sigma Seven

  #139 The Search for the Snow Leopard

  #140 Slam Dunk Sabotage

  #141 The Desert Thieves

  #143 The Giant Rat of Sumatra

  #152 Danger in the Extreme

  #153 Eye on Crime

  #154 The Caribbean Cruise Caper

  #156 A Will to Survive

  #159 Daredevils

  #160 A Game Called Chaos

  #161 Training for Trouble

  #162 The End of the Trail

  #163 The Spy That Never Lies

  #164 Skin & Bones

  #165 Crime in the Cards

  #166 Past and Present Danger

  #167 Trouble Times Two

  #168 The Castle Conundrum

  #169 Ghost of a Chance

  #170 Kickoff to Danger

  #171 The Test Case

  #172 Trouble in Warp Space

  The Hardy Boys Ghost Stories

  Available from MINSTREL Books and ALADDIN Paperbacks

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition May 2002

  First Minstrel edition July 1987

  First Wanderer Books Edition 1984

  Copyright © 1984 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  23 22 21 20

  THE HARDY BOYS and THE HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-671-69133-2

  ISBN-10: 0-671-69133-3

  eISBN: 978-0-743-43711-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 83-16953

  CONTENTS

  The Walking Scarecrow

  The Mystery of the Voodoo Gold

  The Disappearance of Flaming Rock

  The Phantom Ship

  The Haunted Castle

  The Mystery of Room 12

  FOREWORD

  Dear Fans,

  Frank and Joe Hardy are well known as excellent detectives. They have used their sharp sleuthing skills to solve many difficult and baffling cases.

  In this book of ghost stories I have presented the Hardys with a new challenge—the supernatural! Ordinarily our young sleuths would never believe in ghosts, but the eerie happenings in these tales keep them guessing.

  I have a hunch my stories will keep you guessing, too. But beware, you just might begin to believe in ghosts yourself!

  Franklin W. Dixon

  THE WALKING SCARECROW

  “Joe, there’s something wrong with the engine!” Eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy sounded exasperated. He and his younger brother were driving home after a day of backpacking in Bayport Hills. They were still out in the countryside and night was falling. All they could see under a rising full moon were tall cornstalks on either side of the bumpy dirt road.

  Frank stepped on the gas, but the engine refused to respond.

  Joe shook his blond head. “We sure don’t need a breakdown here. We’re a zillion miles from nowhere!”

  But the motor gave a last ping-ping-ping and then stopped altogether. Frank used their momentum to guide the sports sedan into a ditch by the side of the road. With the help of a flashlight, the boys worked over the engine for some time, but to no avail.

  “It’s no use. We’ll need a tow,” Frank said at last. “But where do we get one out here in the boondocks?”

  Joe looked around. “I think we’re in luck, Frank. That must be the farmer over there. Maybe he’ll give us a tow or let us call the nearest garage.”

  Joe pointed across the road, and in the moonlight Frank could see a tall figure standing between the cornstalks.

  “Let’s catch him before he goes home,” Joe urged.

  Frank agreed. They crossed the road and tramped through rugged furrows where the ground had been plowed. Finally they arrived at the spot in the middle of the cornfield, where the farmer stood.

  The moon was about to vanish behind a cloud, but they could still see enough to be startled.

  The man wore a tall, stovepipe hat, tattered black coat and pants, and long shoes with upturned toes. His black eyes glared at the boys over a long, curved nose, and his face was ghastly white. His mouth was twisted in a cruel grin. His long arms were extended and the fingers were curved like the talons of a bird of prey.

  Joe shuddered and Frank felt cold chills run down his spine. Both boys instinctively moved back between the corn.

  Just then the moon disappeared. Darkness covered the field, and they strained their eyes to see the eerie figure. “This guy’s a weirdo,” Joe mumbled. “I bet he lives in a haunted house!”

  “He’s the only person around,” Frank whispered. “He’s got to help us!”

  He stepped forward and called out, “Sir, our car broke down. We need a tow.”

  There was no answer. A rising wind ruffled the corn tassels. Frank and Joe waited with pounding hearts and tense nerves.

  “We’d better stay where we are,” Frank warned in an undertone. “We don’t know who this guy is. Maybe he’s off his rocker! If we turn, he might jump us!”

  “But where is he?” Joe hissed. “It’s so dark, he could be behind us by now!” The boy glanced over his shoulder as he spoke.

  Suddenly the cloud drifted past. Moonlight flooded the cornfield again and the sinister figure came into clear view.

  Now the Hardys could see that it was attached to a pole thrust into the ground between two corn furrows. Wisps of straw poked out from under the hat. The fingers were made of wire. The face was painted on.

  “It’s a scarecrow!” Frank exploded. “We’ve been talking to a scarecrow!”

  “It sure looks real,” Joe responded. “I wonder who made it? It gives me the creeps!”

  “Me, too, Joe. But there should be a farmhouse around here. Let’s try there.”

  The boys started walking away when they heard an eerie warning.

  “Beware! Leave this place and flee for your lives!”

  The Hardys stood rooted to the spot. Frank’s hair rose on the back of his neck. Joe felt goose bumps. They stared sp
eechlessly at the scarecrow. It had spoken!

  The wind fluttered its clothing, and its upturned toes moved. Its grin seemed to mock the boys in the moonlight, while the talonlike fingers appeared to be reaching for them!

  “Joe, did you hear what I heard?” Frank asked hoarsely.

  “I sure did,” Joe replied. “But scarecrows don’t talk!”

  “Let’s try again. Maybe we can solve this mystery.”

  This time Frank spoke to the scarecrow. “Why do you say we should leave? What kind of danger are we in?”

  The scarecrow just glared at them.

  Frank asked a few more questions without getting a reply. Nothing broke the silence except the moaning of the wind in the corn.

  “That does it!” Frank muttered. “We’re wasting our time. Come on, Joe!”

  “I’m with you,” Joe confessed with a shudder. “But which way do we go?”

  Gazing around the area, Frank spotted a large building looming in the distance on the other side of the cornfield.

  “That must be the farmhouse,” he noted. “Let’s try there.”

  “Sure. Any place is better than here,” Joe agreed.

  The Hardys turned away from the scarecrow and began to walk across the cornfield in the direction of the house. It was slow going because the drifting clouds occasionally darkened the moon. The footing was treacherous. They stumbled over mounds of earth thrown up by the plow and stubbed their toes on fallen cornstalks.

  “This is worse than backpacking!” Joe puffed as he jumped from one furrow to another.

  “I’d rather climb Bayport Hills,” Frank agreed.

  Just then Joe heard a furtive noise. Stealthy footsteps were sneaking after them!

  He nudged Frank with his elbow. “We’re being followed,” he warned in a low voice.

  “I hear it, too,” Frank whispered. “Let’s set up an ambush!”

  The Hardys walked ten paces forward without turning their heads. They listened to the sneaky footsteps dogging them through the cornfield. On the count of ten, they spun around and went into a defensive karate stance.

  They were ready to tackle their pursuer. But they saw nothing in the semidarkness of the clouded moon. The sound of the footsteps had ceased.

  Frank grimaced. “We must be getting jumpy, Joe. We’re imagining things.”

  “Maybe it was just the wind in the corn,” Joe said halfheartedly. “Anyway, who would be out here following us?”

  He had barely spoken when a couple of large cornstalks were pushed apart violently. The moon, reappearing from behind a cloud, shone on the ghastly white face of the scarecrow, as the weird creature grinned mockingly at them in the moonlight!

  Frank and Joe were mesmerized by the sight. They stood stock-still and stared at the apparition, which was crouched down in a furrow holding the stalks apart. It kept grinning.

  Suddenly it emitted a grisly laugh—a terrifying sound in the stillness of the night. The laughter rose to a high point and broke off.

  Then the scarecrow spoke to them for a second time. “Do not go to the house!” it rasped. “Leave here or it will be the worse for you!”

  The Hardys stood there, doubting their senses. The scarecrow released the cornstalks and allowed them to snap together. The gruesome face vanished, and the sound of retreating footsteps could be heard.

  The young detectives came to with a start. They ran to the spot where the scarecrow had been and peered around. But they saw and heard nothing.

  “Let’s follow it!” Frank exclaimed.

  “Which way?”

  “Back to the place where we first saw it!”

  The boys retraced their footsteps as rapidly as possible, and soon reached the spot where they had confronted the scarecrow.

  The pole was bare and the creature was gone!

  Frank and Joe were thunderstruck. They felt their hearts pounding furiously.

  “Joe, are we seeing things?” Frank asked in a shaky voice.

  “And hearing things?” Joe wondered. He shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs.

  Rousing themselves from their momentary indecision, they scouted around the area. But they found nothing, and decided to continue on to the house for help.

  “Maybe the farmer can tell us something about his walking scarecrow.” Joe suggested hopefully.

  A long trek brought them to the building, a large, rambling wooden structure towering above a grove of trees. There was no light in any of the windows.

  Joe led the way up the steps to the porch. He pressed the doorbell, and they heard a shrill noise inside the house. But nobody answered! Joe rang a few more times. Still there was no response.

  “Sounds like no one’s home,” Frank said. “But we can’t go away without making sure.”

  “Somebody could be at the back of the house,” Joe agreed. “Let’s find out.”

  They descended from the porch to the ground and walked around the building, looking for a sign of light as they went. But there was nothing. Tangled underbrush clutched at their feet. They pushed aside brambles that pricked their hands and swatted at mosquitoes buzzing about their ears.

  “This stuff hasn’t been mowed since the year one,” Frank complained.

  Before Joe could comment, an unearthly screech made them freeze in their tracks.

  “What was that?” Joe burst out.

  “I hope it wasn’t the scarecrow,” Frank muttered.

  They heard a fluttering of wings in the nearest tree. An owl flew down and perched on a bush. Its big round eyes glared at them. Ruffling its leathers, it screeched again.

  The Hardys grinned ruefully at each other. Relaxing, they completed their tour around the house, and reached the porch again without noticing any sign of life inside. They shouted loudly and got no reply.

  “This is an emergency,” Joe declared. “We’ve got to use the phone to call a garage. Anyone would say we had a right to go in.”

  “Any port in a storm,” Frank agreed. He tried the door and found it bolted. The windows, too, refused to budge when he tried to open them.

  “The other windows are too high to get at,” he said in a disappointed tone.

  Joe shook his head. “There’s one chance, Frank. When that screech owl flew down at us, I noticed that a branch of the tree was close to the attic window. If the window’s open, we should be able to get in.”

  They went back to the tree. Joe wound his arms around the trunk and shinnied up. Testing the higher branches to be sure they would hold his weight, he climbed until he was on the branch that extended toward the window.

  Gingerly inching his way outward, he reached a point where he could press his hand against the glass. The window moved inward under the pressure, as the hinges squeaked spookily.

  “We’re in luck,” Joe called down. “It’s unlocked! Come on up.”

  Frank swarmed up the tree and joined Joe on the branch. Having got the window open all the way, the younger Hardy clambered over the sill into the attic. Frank came right after him. Once inside, they took pencil flashlights from their detective kits.

  Shining the beams around, they realized they were in a large, empty room with rafters overhead. Dust lay thick on the floor.

  “No footprints,” Frank observed. “Nobody’s been up here in a long time.”

  Joe flickered his light across the attic. “Well, there’s the door, Frank. We sure won’t find a phone up here. Let’s go downstairs.”

  As they moved across the room, a weird chattering broke out over their heads. Black forms swooped down on them from the rafters. Instinctively Frank and Joe hit the floor. The attackers veered away, returned to their perches on the rafters, and resumed their chattering.

  “Bats!” Joe exploded. Dozens of ’em. Let’s get out of here fast!”

  “Stay down and keep moving,” Frank advised.

  The Hardys slithered across the attic floor in a panther crawl. Reaching the door, they hastily opened it, crept through, and closed it behind them.
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  They went down the stairs, found another door, and went through into the hall on the upper floor of the house.

  “You know something?” Frank said. “I think this is an abandoned building. There’s no carpet on the floor, no furniture in the hall, and no light bulbs anywhere!”

  A noise in the room at the head of the hall made him break off. The Hardys flattened themselves against the wall and slipped along to the door, which they found ajar. Frank pushed it open and they played their flashlights inside. The room was empty.

  Frank turned his beam downward to the floor. “There’s the one who made the noise!” He laughed.

  A rat scurried away and escaped into a hole in one of the floorboards.

  The Hardys checked the rest of the rooms on the upper floor, each taking one side of the hall.

  “I’ve come up with nothing,” Joe declared when they met and compared notes.

  “Neither have I. I wonder what it’s like on the ground floor?”

  They went down the stairs and turned into the dining room, which was bare and dusty like the rest of the house.

  But then they spotted footprints.

  “Somebody’s been here!” Frank exclaimed in a startled tone.

  “And not long ago!” Joe gulped.

  They followed the prints with their flashlights. The marks led them into the kitchen and across to the back door, which was locked. A second set of footprints guided them into the middle of the living room.

  “Only one person made these tracks,” Joe noted. “He came in through the back door and went out the same way.”

  Frank gasped as he flicked his light across the floor. “Joe, those are bits of straw over there. Either somebody’s been pitching hay in this room or the scarecrow has been here!”

  Joe shivered. “Suppose it’s in the house right now, maybe in the basement! We’d better find out what’s going on!”

  “That’s for sure,” Frank answered grimly.

  Returning to the kitchen, they found more footprints leading to the basement door and down a flight of steps. At the bottom of the stairs the Hardys paused and looked around apprehensively. The basement was as bare as the rest of the house. Dust covered the furnace and air conditioner. Spiderwebs crisscrossed the windows. There was no door to the yard.