Читать книгу The Case of the Halloween Ghost - John R. Erickson - Страница 7

Chapter Two: The Mystery of the Talking Petunia

Slim had nibbled off half his sandwich, and now he stuffed the other half into his mouth, filled her plumb up until his cheeks puffed out. He paced the floor in front of us, chewing his supper and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Poborrow wul huff to cwee iss house up.”

Drover and I stared at him, and twisted our heads at the same time.

He chewed some more and swallered a lump of sandwich that was so big, it made his eyes bulge.

“Tomorrow, we’ll have to clean this house up. My petunia’s coming over for Halloween supper, and I’d hate for her to think I live like this all the time.” He ran a toothpick around his teeth and scowled. “I don’t understand how this place gets in such a mess. I cleaned it up . . . July, I guess it was.”

He shook his head, went back into the kitchen, and had a Twinkie for dessert.

Drover turned to me. “What’s a petunia?”

“A petunia is a variety of flower.”

“He’s having a flower over for supper?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll be derned. What would you feed a flower?”

“Water and flower food, I suppose.”

“What would you talk about with a flower?”

“You’d talk about . . . you heard what he said. He’s having a flower over for supper and he wants to clean up the house because he doesn’t want the flower to think he’s a slob.”

“I didn’t know flowers could think.”

I glared at the runt. “Flowers don’t think, and they don’t talk either. That’s part of their charm. You might try it yourself sometimes”

“But I thought you said . . .”

“Never mind what I said. It’s what I meant that matters. Now stop asking meaningless questions.”

“Oh. You mean . . .”

“Exactly. Dry up.”

He dried up for a whole fifteen seconds. Then, “How do you reckon a petunia chews its . . .”

“Drover!”

“. . . food?”

“Shhhh!”

At last, silence. I curled up beside the fire and prepared myself for a nice, long, warm sleep in front of the stove. Not only did I not know how a petunia chewed its food, but I didn’t care.

That was Slim’s problem. If he wanted to social­­ize with flowers . . . I just didn’t give a rip, is what I’m saying.

I had just drifted off into a wonderful twitching dream about my one and only True Love, the fair and lovely Miss Beulah, when I heard . . . singing? Singing in the distance?

I raised my head and glanced at Drover, who was curled up in a white furry ball and appeared to be fast asleep.

“Was that you?”

His head came up and one eye fell open. “Murgle skiffer.”

“I said, was that you?”

“When?”

“Just a second ago.”

“Well, I don’t know if it was me or not. What did I look like?”

“No, you don’t understand. I thought I heard . . . listen!” We cocked our ears and listened. There it was again!

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Ye Followers of the Lamb.

Yes, it was singing, and it appeared to be coming from outside the house.

Suddenly the hair on my bris backled up . . . the hair on my back bristled up, I should say, and a growl came from deep inside my throat. I sprang to the north window, sniffed the curtains, and . . . sneezed. They were very dusty, don’t you see, but after sneezing twice, I barked.

Slim came out of the bathroom, wearing a nightshirt that exposed his bony knees and skinny legs. He came over to the window, walking on crumpled-up toes because the floor was so cold.

“What is it, Hank?”

I barked again. Someone or something was out there in the night, prowling around and singing without permission.

Slim narrowed his eyes and tugged on his chin whiskers and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

He didn’t hear . . . well, fellers, I could hear it, plain as day! I hopped my front legs up on the window sill and barked louder than ever. I mean, this was getting serious. We had trespassers out there in the night, and you know where I stand on the issue of trespassing.

I don’t allow it, never have.

I was all set to dive through the window, ready to by George take out glass and screen, the window frame, even part of the wall if necessary. I mean, I was that stirred up. But Slim called me off.

He started down the long, dark hall that led to the back bedroom. “Come on, dogs, I’ve got a job for you.”

Drover went streaking down the hall, and I followed.

Funny thing about that house. The farther away from the stove we went, the colder it got. Slim’s bedroom was about right for hanging meat. It was so cold back there, our breath made fog in the air.

Slim turned on the light. He was hugging his arms by this time and standing on the sides of his feet, and his teeth were chattering.

He pointed towards the bed—a bare mattress laid across squeaky springs and covered with two old quilts and a cow hide. He jerked the covers back and said, “Up! Come on, dogs, jump up!”

Okay, if that’s what he . . . we jumped up and he pulled the covers over the top of us. All at once it was very dark and very COLD. Then we heard Slim’s footsteps on the floor. It sounded as if they were heading back towards the living room.

I heard Drover’s voice in the darkness. “Hank? I’m f-f-freezing! What are we doing under here?”

“I’m n-n-not sure at this point, but it probably has something to do with that noise we heard. Apparently Slim wants us to hide under here until s-s-s-something develops.”

“I think I’m developing f-f-frostbite.”

“I know what you m-mean, Drover. This may very well turn out to b-b-be the c-coldest bed I’ve experienced in my entire career.”

“I think it’s the c-coldest bed in the whole w-world.”

My teeth were chattering so badly that I couldn’t speak. For several minutes we lay there shivering in the darkness, waiting for someone to make the next move.

It was clear by this time that Slim had devised a clever trap for the trespassers. Yes, of course. It was an old trick, see. You hide your secret weapons, lure the villains into the house, and then, when they least expect it, you spring the trap on them.

Pretty smart.

We waited. My ears were perked, my entire body was poised for action. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Someone was walking . . . no, someone was running towards the bedroom!

“Get ready, Drover, I think this is it.”

“I’m so cold . . .”

“Shhhhh.”

The footsteps came closer and closer. Now they were in the bedroom. Someone switched off the lights and then . . .

I hate being used. It gives me a lousy feeling deep inside the inner receptacles of my mind. It makes me . . .

Okay, here was the deal. Very simple. Slim put me and Drover into his cold bed so that we could warm it up for him. While we lay under the covers, shivering and fighting off frostbite, he had gone back to the living room and warmed his backside on the stove.

That’s why he had been so anxious for us to go home with him. It had nothing whatever to do with lonesomeness or trespassers. If I’d known that . . . oh well.

When he was sure we had pre-heated his bed, he came loping back into the room and jumped under the covers. Right off, I got a foot in the face. You know what he said?

“Get that cold nose away from me!”

Well, there was a very good reason why my nose . . .

It turned out to be a pretty rough night. Slim did everything in his sleep but sleep. He talked, he moaned, he thrashed, he snored, and most of all, he kicked. And then there was Drover’s twitching and wheezing.

Noisiest bed I ever slept in.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I decided I’d had enough. I poked my head out of the covers and was about to go in search of a quieter place to sleep when all of a sudden . . .

I perked my ears and listened. There it was again, that same eerie music coming from outside the house.

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Oh brethern ain’t you happy?

Ye Followers of the Lamb.

Fellers, I didn’t know who that was or why they were out there singing in the cold, but I never would have guessed that it might be a bunch of ghosts.