The Gross Ghost Mystery

  1

  Ghosts, Ghouls, and Eyeballs

  Finished!” Joe Hardy yelled, charging out of his new room. “I unpacked everything, Frank. It was easy!”

  Joe almost crashed into his brother, Frank, who came puffing up the stairs. He gave Joe a dirty look over the big box in his arms. “Sure it was. You only unpacked one box.”

  Joe shrugged. “Big deal. I got out all the good stuff. Check it out.”

  The best thing about their new house was that each brother had his own room. They wouldn’t have to draw chalk lines down the middle of the floor anymore.

  When Frank looked into Joe’s room, he nearly dropped the box. “Mom is going to kill you,” he said. “This place is crawling with your dumb monster toys!”

  “They’re not toys,” Joe said. “It’s my collection of the grossest stuff on earth.”

  Joe’s slimy worms, jellied eyeballs, and slippery slugs were strewn all over his room.

  His favorite figure sat on the night table beside his bed. It was a wiggly ghost made of milky white plastic, and it had fangs, claws, and two extra arms that looked like snakes. Joe picked it up and stuck it in Frank’s face.

  “Mwah-ha, ha.” Joe gave an evil laugh.

  Frank pretended to shiver. “Ooooh—I’m soooo scared!” he said.

  Joe frowned. Frank was always making fun of his stuff.

  Frank dumped the box he was carrying on Joe’s bed. “Hurry up and finish so we can go out and explore.”

  “Hey, watch it! You almost stepped on my Super Slimer.” Joe carefully picked up the figure that Frank had knocked over. “I was just about to put it up there.”

  Joe pointed to the top shelf of his bookcase. He jumped up on the bed. Even when he stood on tiptoe, the shelf was too high for him to reach. The slimer slipped out of his hands, and Frank caught it in midair.

  “Move over, shrimp,” Frank said. He climbed up, stretched, and put the figure in place.

  Frank was nine, only a year older than Joe. And only a little taller.

  “Show-off!”

  “Race you down the stairs,” Frank yelled. He jumped off the bed and ran. Joe followed him.

  “Rotten egg,” Frank said when he reached the bottom first.

  Mrs. Hardy was hanging a shade on one of the kitchen windows.

  “Mom, can we go outside?” Frank asked.

  “That depends,” Mrs. Hardy said. “Did you finish unpacking your boxes?”

  “Just about,” Joe said quickly.

  Frank rolled his eyes.

  “Okay, have fun,” Mrs. Hardy said. “But be home in an hour for dinner.”

  Outside, Joe peered up and down the street. “So where are the stores?”

  When they lived in New York City, they never had to walk more than a block to find a store. There were all sorts of shops—delis, dry cleaners, fruit stands. Here in Bayport, there was nothing but houses and trees.

  “Let’s try this way,” Frank said, pointing to the right.

  They walked for a while but saw only houses and lawns and cars parked in driveways. It was the end of the summer, two weeks before school started. The whole neighborhood was quiet.

  “I just had a scary thought, Frank,” Joe said. “What if we’re the only kids in this whole town?”

  Frank thought for a moment. “If we are the only kids, think of all the candy we’ll get on Halloween.”

  Then Frank heard laughter from down the street. Several boys had turned a corner and were running ahead of them.

  “Look, there are some kids! I guess we’ll have to share the candy after all,” Frank said.

  But Joe wasn’t listening. He was busy staring at a huge mansion across the street.

  “Hey, Frank,” Joe said, nudging his brother with his elbow. “Speaking of Halloween, look at that house!”

  The old house must have been two times the size of the Hardys’ house. It was brownish gray, and its paint was peeling.

  It had lots of windows, but most of them were broken or boarded up. The run-down mansion was surrounded by a black iron fence with spikes on top.

  Frank whistled. “Wow.”

  “I bet it’s haunted,” Joe whispered.

  “No way,” Frank said.

  “Yes way!” Joe insisted. “And it’s probably filled with ghosts!”

  Frank shook his head. “Look at this place, Joe. No one has lived here for years.”

  “Who said anything about living? Ghosts are supposed to be dead, Frank, remember?” Joe said.

  “Give me a break!” Frank said.

  Joe crossed the street and walked over to the gate. When he pushed, the gate opened with a creak. Then it fell off.

  Joe glanced at his brother. “You coming?”

  Frank looked unhappily at the house. I don’t know—”

  “You’re scared,” Joe said. He walked through the gate. “I may be younger than you, but I’m braver.”

  “Who said I was scared?” Frank demanded. He followed Joe.

  “Prove that you’re not,” Joe dared his older brother. “Go up and ring the bell.”

  For a second Frank stood, not sure. But he wasn’t going to let Joe think he was afraid.

  “Out of my way,” Frank said. He marched right up to the door. Then he pressed his finger against the bell, hard.

  The bell sounded like an organ in an old monster movie.

  Frank and Joe held their breath.

  Then came the sound—a horrible bloodcurdling scream!

  2

  No Such Thing

  Frank gulped. He took his finger off the bell. But the screaming got louder!

  He glanced back at Joe, who looked ready to run. Frank knew how he felt. He was ready to run, too.

  Suddenly the front door flew open. A chubby blond kid about their age came barreling out, screaming at the top of his lungs. He knocked Frank down and rammed into Joe.

  “What’s the big idea?” Frank shouted, getting to his feet.

  “You could have flattened me, too,” Joe added.

  The boy apologized. “S-sorry about that. It’s just that I was in a hurry.”

  The boy’s face was completely white, except for his freckles.

  “Wow! You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Joe said. He grabbed the boy by the arm. “Did you?”

  “Not exactly. But this house is haunted. Everybody in Bayport knows that.”

  Joe glanced at Frank. “See? I told you.”

  Frank turned to the boy.

  “We just moved here,” Frank explained. “I’m Frank Hardy. This is my brother, Joe.”

  “I’m Chet—Chet Morton,” the boy said, introducing himself.

  “If that house is haunted, what were you doing in there?” Joe wanted to know.

  “Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Chet said. “I was having a snack at the playground—a tuna fish sandwich. Some guys grabbed my baseball glove and started throwing it back and forth. Then they ran off with it.”

  “Did you go after them?” Frank asked.

  “I started to,” Chet continued. “But then I dropped my potato chips. When I bent down to pick them up, my candy bar fell out of my jacket pocket.”

  “Wow, all that for a snack?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah, you must love to eat,” Frank said.

  Chet shrugged. “It’s not that much.”

  “What happened to the guys who took your glove?” Frank wanted to know.

  “After I picked up the candy bar, I couldn’t see where they went.”

  “That still doesn’t tell us why you were in the house,” Frank said.

  “After a while they came back to the playground. They told me they threw my glove into this haunted house.” Chet jammed his hands into his
pockets.

  “Bummer,” Joe said.

  “They said I was too chicken to go inside. But I wasn’t scared. So I came over here and I went in.”

  “Then what happened?” Frank asked.

  Joe’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah. Then what happened?”

  “It was really dark in there. I tripped and hit my head on the wall. Then I heard something.”

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “A sort of scraping noise. When I turned toward the sound, I saw—”

  “A slimy-looking guy with fangs and claws? And arms that look like snakes?” Joe said.

  Frank jabbed Joe with his elbow. Did Joe really expect to find ghosts in there?

  “I didn’t see anything—except a pair of eyes,” Chet said. “Glowing red eyes. They were staring at me.”

  Joe’s mouth fell open. “What did you do?”

  “I screamed,” Chet said. “Then I ran. Then I bumped into you guys.”

  “But you told us you weren’t scared,” Joe said.

  “I wasn’t,” Chet insisted. “Well, not totally.”

  Chet sat down on the doorstep. He rested his chin in his hands. “But my glove is still in there, and it’s brand-new. I just got it for my birthday.”

  Frank looked at Joe. Joe looked at Frank. “Maybe we should go in and check it out,” Frank offered.

  “W-we?” Chet asked with a gulp.

  “Joe and I will go in,” Frank explained. “You stay outside and keep watch.”

  Chet nodded gratefully. “Good idea.” He pulled a candy bar from his pocket, ripped off the paper, and took a bite.

  Frank stepped up to the open door. Joe was right behind him.

  “Cool!” Joe said. “We’re going to see a ghost.”

  “Shhh,” Frank said. “If there are ghosts in there, your voice will scare them away. Anyway, we’re not going to see any ghosts because there’s no such thing.”

  “What about the glowing red eyes that Chet saw?” Joe asked. “Sounds pretty creepy to me.”

  “Joe, remember when you were a little kid?” Frank said. “You thought you saw a big snake with glowing red eyes in the living room. But it was just the VCR.”

  Joe could feel his face turn bright red. “That never happened!”

  “Did, too!”

  “Did not!”

  As the boys moved away from the door, the hallway got darker and darker. Frank wished he had a flashlight. He squinted into the darkness. There had to be a doorway to another room somewhere.

  “Stay in front of me, Joe. That way we won’t get lost.”

  The boys inched their way down the dark hallway.

  “Frank! Frank! Something is breathing down my neck!” Joe cried.

  “It’s me, dweeb. Keep walking.”

  The boys stepped carefully, slowly. “It looks like there’s a doorway over here,” Frank said.

  There was. They stepped into what seemed like a big room. Dim light came from a broken, partly boarded-up window.

  Crunch!

  Joe jumped. “Frank, I think I stepped on a pile of bones!”

  “It’s probably glass from the broken window. Be careful,” Frank said.

  Frank wrinkled his nose as he headed for the window. “Gross!” he said. “This place smells worse than your feet.”

  Thick, heavy curtains covered most of the window. Frank pulled them aside to let in more light.

  Joe blinked. When he could see, he pointed to a clean spot on the dusty floor. “Something was here,” he said.

  Frank looked at the spot. Then he looked around the large room. It was full of furniture covered with dusty white sheets.

  Joe whistled. “Let’s check for ghosts.”

  Frank peeked under some of the sheets. “No ghosts here. Just an old chair, a lumpy sofa. And a—a—a—”

  “Frank, what is it?” Joe asked.

  “A skeleton!” Frank shouted.

  3

  No Bones About It

  Joe yanked at the sheet. It fluttered to the floor. Swinging on an iron stand was a gleaming white skeleton with a toothy grin. Its bony arms flapped as it swayed back and forth.

  Joe turned to run. “I’m out of here!” he shouted.

  “Wait for me!” Frank yelled.

  This time Frank and Joe almost knocked Chet down as they ran from the house.

  “What did you find?” Chet asked.

  “Oh, not much,” Frank said, gasping for air. “Just some broken glass, a lot of dust—and a skeleton.”

  “A skeleton?” Chet’s eyes opened wide. “Was it wearing my baseball glove?”

  Frank shook his head quickly.

  “I knew this place was haunted,” Joe said. “Why else would a skeleton be hanging around in there?”

  “Chill out,” Frank said. “Just because there’s a skeleton in the house doesn’t mean it’s haunted.”

  “How do you know?” Chet asked.

  “My teacher in New York kept a skeleton in our classroom,” Frank explained.

  “So what?” Joe said.

  “All I’m saying is that there might be a reason for the skeleton to be in there.”

  Chet frowned. “Yeah. Like maybe Zack planted him there.”

  “Who’s Zack?” Frank asked.

  “The leader of the guys who ran off with my glove,” Chet explained. “Zack Jackson is a big-time bully. He always gets other kids to do his dirty work, just like he did this time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Frank spoke up. “We’ll help you find your glove.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said.

  “How?” Chet asked.

  “Well, our dad is a detective. He used to work for the New York City Police Department.”

  “Cool. Your dad’s a cop? Can he help, too?” Chet asked.

  “Well, he’s not a cop anymore, but we can ask him for advice,” Frank said.

  “But we don’t really need his help,” Joe bragged. “Frank and I are pretty good detectives ourselves.”

  “We are?” Frank said.

  “Yeah, we work as a team.”

  “We do?” Frank said.

  “Sure,” Joe answered. “This’ll be our first real case, though. Come on, Frank, we can solve it.”

  Frank nodded. “Of course we can.”

  Chet was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Why not?”

  “We can ask Dad for some ideas when we get home,” Frank said. He looked at his watch. “We’d better get going.”

  Chet told the Hardys how to get to the playground, and they agreed to meet him there the next morning. Then the brothers headed home.

  The boys were just starting to set the table for dinner when their father came in carrying a big bag. “See what a great detective I am?” He laughed. “I found a Chinese restaurant two blocks from my new office.”

  “Way to go, Dad!” Joe said. He loved Chinese food as much as his father did.

  “Did you boys meet any kids in the neighborhood?” Mrs. Hardy asked once they had all helped themselves.

  “Just one,” Joe announced. He speared a piece of broccoli with a chopstick. “But something even better happened. We went into a haunted house and saw a skeleton!”

  “A skeleton?” Mrs. Hardy repeated.

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  Frank kicked Joe lightly under the table. He didn’t want their mom and dad to keep them from solving the case.

  “That house was really dark,” Frank said. “The skeleton could have been a hat rack.”

  “Made out of bones,” Joe added quietly.

  Fenton Hardy listened as Frank told the story of Chet’s baseball mitt. Joe added some details.

  “So you boys think someone took the glove out of the house?” Mr. Hardy said.

  “Stole it, you mean,” Joe said.

  “What would you do, Dad?” Frank asked.

  “I’d start with basic detective work,” Mr. Hardy said. “That means checking the scene for clues. I’d also make a list of suspects—people who
might have wanted the glove.”

  Joe nodded. He grabbed a fortune cookie and cracked it open.

  “What does it say?” Frank asked.

  Joe read his fortune. He looked up and stared at Frank. “It says, ‘Where there is curiosity, there is danger.’ ”

  “Uh-oh,” Frank said.

  • • •

  Later that evening Frank turned on the family computer. He typed the word “Clues” on the empty screen.

  “We don’t have any clues,” Joe said.

  Frank ignored him. He was busy labeling another screen “Suspects.”

  “How can we have suspects when we don’t know anybody here?” Joe asked, standing at Frank’s elbow.

  “We have one suspect,” Frank said, carefully typing in the name Zack. He frowned. “A good mystery story usually has three suspects.”

  “But this isn’t a story—it’s real life,” Joe said. “What if whoever stole the glove isn’t even alive? What if it’s a ghost?”

  “Will you quit it already?” Frank wailed. “We’re going to limit this list to real-live people, okay? And tomorrow we might find more suspects at the playground.”

  But Joe leaned over the keyboard and typed “The ghost.”

  “Now we have two suspects,” he said.

  Frank sighed, then saved the file and turned off the power. “Till tomorrow,” he said.

  • • •

  The next morning Mrs. Hardy dropped the boys off at the playground. Chet stood waiting for them at the gate.

  “Wow!” Joe said after waving goodbye to his mother. “This is great!”

  The playground was part of a park that took up several blocks. From the car Frank and Joe had seen a baseball field, basketball courts, even a path for skating.

  “This place is excellent,” Chet agreed. “But look who’s coming—Zack and his pals Mark and Brett. I don’t know who the other guy is.”

  Four boys walked toward them. The leader was shorter than Joe, but he looked mean. As he came closer, Joe saw that he had wild black hair and a skinny, pointy face. The other guys were bigger.

  “Hi, Zack,” Chet muttered to the small kid.

  Zack Jackson had a big voice and a loud laugh. “Hey, is that Chet Morton, or did the elephant escape from the zoo? Ha-ha-ha!”

  Frank realized he had heard that laughter before. It had come from one of the boys running past the haunted house.