I took a hot shower. Put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“Clean, clean, clean,” Mom had said. So I did my best to straighten my room. I made my bed and I picked up a lot of junk from the floor and shoved it into my closet.
I felt really tense. I couldn't stop thinking about that guy in black.
I needed to talk to somebody. “Nicky? Tara? Where are you?” I called.
No answer.
Where were they? Were they angry at me because I wanted to move and leave them behind? They'd been disappearing a lot lately. They said they couldn't control it.
I needed to talk to them. I needed to tell them I knew they were angry at me. But they had to understand—there was nothing I could do about it.
I picked up three of my six heavy milk bottles and started to juggle them. I knew the juggling would calm me down. But I was so tense, I couldn't get my rhythm going.
When the front doorbell rang, all three bottles flew from my hands.
With a wild swipe, I grabbed them all before they hit the floor. Mom wouldn't be too happy to find broken glass and pools of milk all over the rug.
I heard voices downstairs. A woman said, “What a charming place.” Then a man said, “This is just the right size.”
I set the milk bottles on my desk. I lined up all six to make them look neat.
A few minutes later, Mom led everyone into my bedroom. Mrs. Flake was a white-haired woman with flashing blue eyes and bright purple lipstick. The Marvins were blond and thin and nice-looking.
Mr. Marvin wore a red tie and a blue blazer. His wife wore a short denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt.
“This is Max,” Mom said. I nodded to them. “You'll have to excuse the messiness,” Mom said.
Messiness? I cleaned everything up!
Mrs. Marvin gave me a sweet smile. “How old are you, Max?” she asked. I hate when grown-ups ask that question.
“Eleven years, eleven months, and four days,” I said.
They all laughed. “Max likes math,” Mom said.
Mrs. Flake waved a hand around the room. “Notice the windows,” she told the Marvins. “They give a lot of light.”
The Marvins walked around my room. “Very charming,” Mrs. Marvin said. “What are those?”
She walked up to the row of milk bottles. Her husband followed her.
“Do you collect old milk bottles?” he asked.
“No. I juggle,” I said.
“You juggle bottles filled with milk?” Mrs. Flake asked.
I didn't have a chance to answer. The six bottles suddenly floated up into the air. And then, with a loud pop pop pop, the lids flew off.
Nicky and Tara! They had to be doing this!
I knew it. They're angry—and they're trying to chase the Marvins away! They think they can stop me from moving!
I let out a cry as gushers of milk flew up high— almost to the ceiling—then came pouring down over the Marvins.
They both ducked, but they weren't fast enough. The milk plopped onto their heads, their shoulders, their clothes. Thick white clots clung to their hair.
“It's sour!” Mrs. Marvin cried, her hands in her hair. “Oh, it smells. It smells!”
I held my nose. But I could still smell the putrid odor of the sour milk.
Mrs. Flake was gagging and choking. Holding her hands over her face, she staggered out into the hall.
The Marvins flapped their arms and shook their bodies. They were drenched in the thick, sour glop.
Wiping clots of milk from their eyes, moaning and choking, they staggered after Mrs. Flake.
A few seconds later, the front door slammed. The Marvins were gone.
Mom glared angrily at me, hands on her hips. She tapped one shoe on the floor. I could see she was too angry to speak.
I took my fingers off my nose. “Mom,” I said, “does this mean they won't buy the house?”
11
MOM AND I WORKED for more than an hour to clean up the mess. She kept biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. She didn't say a word to me the whole time.
She wore a scarf over her nose and mouth to keep out the smell. We both had buckets and sponges. The milk had soaked the wall, the floor, my desk—everywhere. I pulled big clots of it from my computer keyboard.
Mom didn't talk. But Dad had a lot to say when he got home.
“Max, you're part of this family. You can't pull stupid stunts like this to keep us from moving.”
Of course, Jerk Face Colin had to chime in: “There's sour milk left in one bottle. Make Max drink it, Dad. Make him drink it!”
For once, Dad ignored Colin. “You're lucky, Max,” he said. “The Marvins called. They took very long showers, and the smell has almost come off them. They're still interested in the house.”
Dad shook his huge fist at me. “I'm warning you—no more magic tricks or funny business.”
I could have explained that the sour milk explosion wasn't my fault. But whenever I tried to tell Mom and Dad about Nicky and Tara, they laughed. They said I was too old to have imaginary friends.
After dinner, I rushed to my room to have a good long talk with those two ghosts. I nearly choked when I stepped inside. How long would my room smell like puke?
“Nicky? Tara? Where are you? Are you hiding?” I called, gazing around my bedroom. “How could you do that to me? You got me into major trouble.”
My hands were balled into tight fists. I felt ready to explode. I wanted to let them know how angry I was.
But…no sign of them.
Then I felt a whoosh of cold air. And there they were, perched on the edge of my bed.
“We're back!” Tara said. She smiled at me. “Wish we could control all this coming and going.”
“We keep vanishing and we can't help it,” Nicky said.
I glared angrily at them. “Give me a break. You were here the whole time.”
Tara sniffed the air. Nicky sniffed too. “Puke!” he cried. “Did some animal die in here?”
“Ohhh—sick! Your room smells sick!” Tara said, covering her nose.
I stood with my hands on my waist. “Guys, don't act innocent,” I said. “I know you made the bottles explode. Now my parents are furious at me. And it's all your fault.”
Tara jumped up. She grabbed my arm. “Maxie, it can't be our fault. We haven't been here since this morning.”
“Oh, sure,” I said angrily. “I guess the milk bottles all popped open by themselves.”
Nicky squinted at me. “Milk bottles?” He sniffed again. “Oh, yuck. Is that sour milk?”
I jerked my arm away from Tara. She backed up, surprised.
“You got me into major trouble again!” I shouted. “Now do you understand why I can't wait to move to Texas?”
“But we really didn't do anything, dude,” Nicky said.
“No way. We weren't here,” Tara said.
They both raised their right hands. “We swear.”
“Then who did it?” I screamed.
Colin burst into my room. He glanced around. Of course, he couldn't see Nicky and Tara standing right in front of him. “Hey, loser, who are you yelling at?”
I swallowed. “Uh…myself,” I said. “I'm yelling at myself for letting those bottles explode.”
Colin sniffed. “Smells like puke,” he said. “Know what? That smell will seep into your skin tonight while you sleep. At school, your new name will be the Human Puke.”
“Go away, Colin,” I pleaded. “I want to yell at myself some more. I really deserve it.”
He grinned. “Yes, you do.” He sniffed the air a few times, made a disgusted face, and hurried out.
I turned back to my two ghost friends.
“You believe us, don't you, Max?” Nicky said. “You believe we didn't make the bottles pop open?”
I stared from one to the other. “If you two didn't do it,” I said, “who did?”
Nicky and Tara both shrugged.
I suddenly felt a little frightened. We
re they telling the truth? If they were…who had made the milk bottles explode?
Had someone else been in my room? Another ghost?
The boy in black? Again, I pictured him. His face changing from young to old. The car headlights piercing right through him …
“I'm watching…,” he had whispered. “I'm watching…”
Had he been here in my room? Did he make the bottles explode? Was another ghost out to get me?
12
I CHANGED FOR BED, but I couldn't sleep. For one thing, I couldn't get the puke smell out of my nose.
And I had a tingling feeling. My skin prickled.
I had a hunch. A frightening hunch.
I climbed out of bed and crept to the window. I pushed aside the curtains and squinted down to the front yard.
And yes. There he was.
“Oh no!” I uttered a hoarse cry.
I stared down at the figure in black. He stood half hidden in darkness beside the big birch tree near the driveway.
I couldn't see his face. But I saw his frail, thin body huddled against the tree trunk.
And then the moonlight shifted through the fluttering branches. Light washed over him.
I saw him clearly.
I saw his face. A young boy's face.
Leaning out the open window, I saw dark eyes peering up at me. Short dark hair. A long slender face, silvery in the bright moonlight.
I gripped the windowsill.
I froze in fright.
And as I stared down into the patch of moonlight, the boy's face changed. It grew longer. It stretched. His eyes pulled back. His snout slid forward.
Dark fur sprouted over his head. His hair stood on end.
Gripped with horror, I stood frozen at the window. Staring out…at the face of a growling wolf!
“Noooo …” A whispered moan escaped my throat.
The wind swirled into my open window, fluttering my pajamas.
The wolf snarled and floated off the ground. A boy in black with a wolf face, eyes glowing red, jagged teeth snapping …
He floated up, rising toward my window.
“No!” I screamed. “No—please!”
I slammed the window shut. I pulled the shade down.
I backed away, trembling. “Don't come in. Please—don't come in.”
Silence now.
The wind rattled the windowpane, as if trying to burst through.
Just the wind now.
No wolf boy shooting through the glass into my room.
Another ghost. Another creature come to haunt me.
No wonder I wanted to move away from all this. No wonder.
Did I sleep at all that night?
Three guesses.
13
MONDAY MORNING I made a new friend.
I was walking across the playground at school, searching for Aaron. I still wanted to tell him the news that my family was moving to Texas. And I wanted to tell him about the boy in black, the ghost boy who could change his face.
I had to tell someone. I was really frightened.
A bunch of fourth graders were having a soccer match on the field. Boys against girls. Not a very good game. A lot of laughing and bumping into each other and knocking each other down.
I watched for a few moments, but of course I didn't see Aaron.
Aaron would never play soccer. He never runs. He worries that if he ever ran really fast, his feet might leave the ground and he'd fly up to the sun.
I told you Aaron is weird.
When I turned back toward school, a kid I'd never seen before came hurrying up to me.
“Are you Max?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He had straight blond hair that fell over a wide forehead, and shiny blue eyes. He had dimples in both cheeks when he smiled. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt over baggy khaki cargo pants, torn at one knee.
He tugged back a strand of blond hair. “I'm the new kid in school,” he said. “Quentin Jones.” His eyes were so round and blue, they looked like they were made of glass.
“How's it going?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don't like being the new kid.”
That made me think about me moving to a new school. In a few months, I'd be the new kid.
I looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Aaron. “What grade are you in?” I asked.
“Sixth. Like you,” Quentin said.
How did he know so much about me?
“Cool,” I said.
“I hear you're into magic,” Quentin said. “So am I.”
“Who told you I'm into magic?” I asked.
He brushed back his hair again. “Ms. McDonald,” he said. “She said I should talk to you because we both do magic tricks.”
Wow. I couldn't believe another kid was into magic. Everyone else in school thought I was weird.
Quentin reached into his pocket. “Pick a card,” he said. He held a deck of cards out to me.
I picked one. The three of clubs.
Quentin took the card and didn't look at it. He slid it back into the deck. Then he shuffled the deck three times.
He handed the stack to me. “Go ahead, Max. Find your card.”
I turned the deck face up and quickly sorted through the cards. “Hey, my card isn't in here,” I said.
Quentin flashed me his dimpled smile. “I know,” he said.
I searched through the deck again.
“Check your pants pocket,” Quentin said, pointing.
I reached into my pants pocket—and pulled out the three of clubs.
“That's outstanding!” I told him. “How did you do that?”
His smile grew wider. The clear blue eyes flashed. “You like that one?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Could you teach it to me?”
He nodded. “Maybe I could come over to your house sometime and we could teach each other some new tricks.”
“Excellent!” I said. I stared at the three of clubs in my hand. “Yeah. We'll teach each other,” I said. “Excellent!”
Quentin's eyes flashed again. “I have some tricks you won't believe,” he said.
14
I BURST INTO THE KITCHEN after school. “Mom, can I invite a new friend over to practice magic tricks?”
“Not today,” she said. “We have people coming over.”
I sniffed the air. “Wow. What smells so awesome?”
“I'm baking a pie,” Mom said, turning from the oven. “A lemon meringue pie.”
“Mmmm. For dinner?” I said, tossing my backpack onto the kitchen counter. I checked through the pile of mail by the phone. My new Fear Factor Fan Club newsletter had arrived.
“No, it's for the Marvins,” Mom said. She moved to the sink and started to wash out some pans. “Mrs. Flake is bringing them back to look at the house again. I thought I'd bake a little dessert.”
“They're coming back?” I asked.
“Yes. They'll be here any minute. So pick up that backpack. Take it upstairs. Make sure your room is clean, Max. I don't want any funny business this time.”
“For sure,” I muttered.
I dragged my backpack up the stairs to my room and tossed it into the closet. “Nicky? Tara? Are you up here?” I called.
No answer.
Where were they?
It was silent upstairs. No music pounding from Colin's room. He probably had track team practice at school.
“If you're here,” I called to the ghosts, “no tricks. I'm warning you. I don't want to get in trouble again.”
I straightened my desk. Made a neat pile of my Star Trek and Lord of the Rings magazines on my bookshelf. Hid some magic equipment in the closet. Shoved a pile of dirty clothes under the bed.
There. The room looked pretty good.
I sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. I liked my room. I didn't want to leave it. And I'd finally made a new friend, a guy who also was into magic.
But I knew my life had to be better in Texas— no ghosts constantly embarras
sing me, no creepy wolf boys floating after me, terrifying me.
I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. “No funny business!” Mom shouted up. “Promise?”
She didn't wait for my answer. She pulled open the front door, and I heard her greeting Mrs. Flake and the Marvins.
Soon they were inspecting the house again. I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting for them.
When they reached my room, they all stopped in my doorway and peeked around. “No more milk bottles?” Mrs. Marvin asked.
I shook my head. “No. Sorry about that,” I said. “I put all my magic stuff away.”
“Magic is a nice hobby,” Mrs. Flake said, stepping into the room. “How did you get into it, Matt?”
“My name is Max,” I said. “I don't know. I just liked it.”
The Marvins stayed in the doorway. I think they were afraid to enter my room. “The room is a little small,” Mr. Marvin said. “Maybe we could tear that wall down and combine the two bedrooms.”
They moved to Colin's bedroom. They spent a lot of time looking at the rest of the house. They kept talking about moving doors and tearing things down.
When they were finished, I followed them to the kitchen. They all sat with my mom around our kitchen table. “Max, bring over the lemon meringue pie so I can slice it,” Mom said.
“You shouldn't have baked a pie,” Mrs. Marvin said. “That was so nice of you.”
“Lemon meringue pie is my favorite,” Mr. Marvin said.
I picked up the pie in both hands and started to carry it to the table.
“Whoa—!”
I let out a startled cry as the pie flew out of my hands. I made a wild grab for it. But it floated out of my reach—and across the room.
It picked up speed as it shot toward the kitchen table.
I gasped as the pie rose up high, turned upside down—and plopped down hard on Mr. Marvin's head.
It made a sick sploosh sound. No one moved for a moment. Gobs of meringue and yellow custard goop oozed down Mr. Marvin's face.
He jumped to his feet, sputtering. He wiped lemon custard from his eyes.
“You—you brat!” Mrs. Flake shouted at me. “You threw that pie!”
“No!” I protested. I waved my hands. “No way. I didn't—”
But no one was listening to me. The Marvins were on their feet now. Mom handed Mr. Marvin a dish towel, and he wiped big, gooey clumps of pie off his head.