86
Derek Stone was starting to panic.
He was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with dust, dogs, dandelions, or dander.
He was stumbling around the piles of junk in the basement, trying to remember where he had hidden his secret script. They were supposed to meet outside the basement door for the party with the director in less than forty-five minutes.
Mr. Grimes had said he wanted this new scene memorized by tonight. His mother had said he needed to change clothes and put on his tuxedo, which she always insisted he pack, wherever they traveled, just in case somebody wanted to give him a key to their city or something.
It never happened. Nobody ever thought he was that good of an actor.
Except Mr. Grimes. He was the first person ever to believe in Derek.
Wait a second.
He was an actor!
He could fake it!
He could use his training in improvisation, all those Acting 101 classes he hated, where he had to pretend to be a strip of bacon sizzling in a frying pan or a pebble in somebody’s shoe.
“Oh, magnifying Malarkey!” Yes. The first line went something like that. “Oh, magnificent Mucus!”
He could do this. He could pull it off. The words were such phonetic mumbo jumbo, who would even know if he was saying them correctly?
Derek was feeling good again. Confident.
He heard a noise in the stairwell. Someone was coming down the set of steps that led up to everybody’s bedrooms. Fast!
Derek decided it was time for him to leave. He dashed over to the spiral staircase, grabbed hold of the banister, and raced up to the lower lobby as swiftly as he could—taking the steps two at a time.
87
Zipper chased the bouncing ghost balls into the basement.
Zack chased Zipper.
There had been five balls; now there was only one and it was sitting in front of a door with Janitor Closet stenciled on it.
When Zipper bit into the ball, it poofed into a hazy puff and disappeared. Zack laughed, because with wispy steam curling out both sides of his muzzle, Zipper looked like he’d just been caught smoking a cigar.
Zipper whimpered.
Zack went over to give him a reassuring head rub and maybe a splash of water to wash the taste of ectoplasm out of his mouth.
“Help…”
Zipper cocked his head sideways, raised an ear.
“Did you hear that?” Zack asked his dog.
Zipper barked what had to be a “Yes!” and started scratching at the closet door.
“Help…”
“It’s coming from inside the closet!” Zack banged on the heavy steel door. “Hello?”
“Help…”
“Somebody’s in there, Zip!”
Zack grabbed the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. He yanked it. It wouldn’t budge.
“Hang on! I’ll run upstairs! Get somebody to help!”
“No…”
“What?”
“No…”
“I’m going upstairs…”
“No…”
Zack lay down on the floor, put his head near the crack under the door.
“Sir, I’m going upstairs to tell them that you’re in trouble.”
“Don’t!” The voice sounded stronger. The man sounded old. Grouchy. “The children!” Okay, now he sounded like the grumpy old-fart janitor.
“Hello, Zack,” said a soft female voice.
He turned around. It was the actress. Not the bowing one. The singing one from Bats in Her Belfry. Kathleen Williams. She looked like a lot of the 1950s-style ghosts Zack had met back in North Chester: she wore a jazzy hat and a dress that swung out like a flowery bell.
“Remember me?” she said.
“Um … I saw you do the matinee yesterday.”
“Was I good?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, I owe it all to you, Demon Slayer.”
“Hunh?”
“I told Mr. Willowmeier all about you, Zack. Told him how you slay demons, because I was on the bus. The one you set free.”
“You were?”
“Sure. After my smashing success on Broadway, I became a nightclub singer. Toured the country! I was riding on that Greyhound to my next gig when we had that dreadful accident.”
“And you were stuck in North Chester?”
“That’s right. Until you came along. I owe my triumphant return to the stage to you, Zack. I owe you big!”
“Thanks. But, right now, well—there’s a man locked inside that closet.”
“Where’s the key?”
“I don’t know!”
“Gosh. That’s too bad. Of course, I can’t tell you what to do…”
“I know. The rules. But Mr. Kimble is in serious trouble!”
“You know, I remember this one time on Broadway, my dressing room door was locked and I couldn’t find my key.”
“Miss Williams, I’d love to hear the story but…”
“So, I used my hatpin. Just jiggled it in the keyhole till I hit the latch and popped open the lock. Of course, I’m not telling you what to do, Zack. You’ll have to figure that out all by yourself.” She winked.
Zack’s eyes darted around the room.
He saw a Styrofoam head wearing an old-fashioned hat. There was a big honking hatpin holding it in place.
“Thanks!” Zack said to the ghost of Kathleen Williams, who, of course, had already vanished.
Zack pulled out the hatpin, hurried back to the door, and started working at the keyhole with his makeshift lock-picking tool. After a few jerks and wiggles, the pin caught hold of something metal. Zack levered it up and felt the pin press against the hidden lock latch.
The closet door popped open.
88
“Zack? We’re invited to the party. Zack?”
Judy poked her head into her stepson’s room. It was nearly six-thirty. Time to get ready for the party with Reginald Grimes.
But Zack wasn’t in his room.
“Zipper?”
The dog was gone, too. Maybe Zack had taken Zipper out for another walk. Judy was worried about Zack. While she was in rehearsal, her husband, Zack’s dad, had left a message on her voice mail. Something about Zack discovering that his mother had once been an actress at the Hanging Hill Playhouse.
Judy had heard how cruel the first Mrs. Jennings had been to her only son. She remembered how shy and withdrawn the boy had been when she’d first started dating his father.
She also knew something Zack’s father didn’t: His son saw ghosts. Not in the metaphorical sense, either. Zack really saw them. Judy was afraid he had run off someplace to hide from the mother who might be trying to haunt him.
She saw Derek Stone heading up the hall.
“Derek?”
For some reason, the boy was wearing a tuxedo.
“Hello, Mrs. Jennings.”
“Derek, have you seen Zack?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Judy assumed Zack must’ve heard about the last-minute party invitation from the company manager or someone in the cast.
They’d meet up in the lower lobby.
Great.
Now all Judy had to do was find something decent to wear.
And figure out how to keep Susan Potter away from her son.
89
The janitor guzzled down all the water in that twenty-four-ounce sport bottle Zack had grabbed.
Rehydrated, he had the strength to ask Zack a question: “Where’s the blond boy? Derek Stone?”
“I don’t know,” said Zack. “Probably getting ready for the big party.”
“What big party?”
“With the director.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
The janitor rubbed his face. “Of course. The full moon! We don’t have much time. Are they going to a restaurant?”
Zack shook his head. “No. Apparently, there’s a banquet hall or something down in the basement. Maybe in that big storage room with the Minotaur statue.”