The Great Ghost Hoax

“Sure,” Wallace said. He grabbed on to Butterbean’s hair and held on under her tummy. He didn’t think he’d be comfortable being exposed like Marco and Polo were. He’d been a wild rat too long now.

Oscar flew over to the countertop and picked up a bright orange flyer from the local pizza place. Then he flew over to the front door and pushed down on the handle with his feet. It swung open just enough for Walt and Butterbean to squeeze through.

Walt and Butterbean held the door open while Oscar flew through the crack. Then, as he slipped the flyer in between the door and the latch, they let it close. “It can’t lock if that flyer’s in there,” Oscar explained. “We can get back in this way.”

“You’ve obviously been thinking about this,” Walt said approvingly. “Nice trick.”

“Save the congratulations until we see if it works,” Oscar said, looking around the hallway nervously. “Maybe the vents would have been better.”

“Too late now,” Walt said. “Of course, somebody could see that piece of paper. It’s pretty obvious.”

Oscar cringed. He should’ve gone for something in a nice white or beige. But it was too late to worry about that now. Besides, the paper was the least of their concerns. He didn’t think anyone would be up at this time of night, but if someone did see them, their whole plan would fall apart. He didn’t know how they would explain being in the hallway. Oscar puffed up his feathers and sniffed. “Not a problem. We’ll be back before that happens.” He just hoped it was true.

Walt stalked over to the elevator. “Butterbean, would you do the honors?”

“Oh boy!” Butterbean squealed, jumping up and pressing the elevator button with her nose. She was an expert at elevator button pushing.

Oscar flew over and landed on her head, his feet clutching tightly to her ears. He’d never been in an elevator without his cage before. He didn’t know what to expect.

“Remember, we don’t go until it’s empty,” Walt said, her whiskers twitching nervously. This whole plan was wrong. They were too exposed. The last thing they needed was for Butterbean to be reckless.

Butterbean rolled her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night! Who would be in the elevator in the middle of the night?”

The elevator bell sounded. The doors opened.

It wasn’t empty.

An elderly woman wearing a housedress was standing in the elevator, holding a laundry basket. Mrs. Power Walker.

“Perfect!” Butterbean barked. “Hi, Mrs. Power Walker!”

“Butterbean, no!” Walt started, but it was too late. Butterbean didn’t hesitate. With Oscar still clinging tightly to the top of her head, Butterbean marched into the elevator, pressed the button for five, and sat down. She wagged her tail at Mrs. Power Walker.

Walt cursed slightly under her breath. Mrs. Power Walker had been pretty accepting of Walt and Butterbean in the past, but there was no way she was going to be able to overlook three rats and a bird. The last thing Walt wanted was Marco and Polo waving their arms and screaming like they were on a roller coaster.

“Not a word,” she hissed at the rats. She darted into the elevator and sat down just as the doors closed.

The rats didn’t need to be told. As soon as they’d seen Mrs. Power Walker, Marco and Polo had flattened themselves to Walt’s back in their best attempt to turn invisible. It didn’t work.

Mrs. Power Walker smiled at Butterbean sympathetically. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Butterbean thumped her tail and lolled her tongue out of her mouth.

Mrs. Power Walker winked. “I couldn’t either. Thought I’d get a little laundry done since I was up.” She nodded toward her laundry basket.

Oscar fidgeted in place and stared straight ahead. He didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything back. He wasn’t up on his elevator etiquette.

“A nice walk before bed will be just the thing for you,” Mrs. Power Walker said. Then she frowned, seeming to notice Oscar and the rats for the first time. “And your… friends.”

Oscar attempted a smile, but his beak wasn’t really made that way.

Marco and Polo blinked up at her, their eyes huge. Mrs. Power Walker blinked back.

“Fifth floor,” the elevator voice said. The doors opened.

Butterbean wagged her tail at Mrs. Power Walker and then trotted out, with Walt slinking behind her like a shadow. Mrs. Power Walker looked at them thoughtfully as the doors closed.

“Holy cow, that was CRAZY!” Marco’s eyes were huge. “Did you see? She looked RIGHT AT US! And she didn’t say a THING!”

“Mrs. Power Walker’s nice,” Butterbean said. “Not like Mrs. Hates Dogs on six.”

Oscar closed his eyes. He was never great in social situations. He’d learned his lesson. He should’ve definitely gone with the vents, haunted or not.

“Never mind Mrs. Power Walker,” he said, hopping off Butterbean’s head. “We’re here.”

They turned to look at Apartment 5B. The hallway suddenly felt colder.

Oscar shuddered.

“Maybe we could just go back?” Butterbean whispered. “We can leave the investigating to Mrs. Food.”

“It’s now or never, Bean,” Walt said, trying to keep her voice level. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. And she didn’t even believe in ghosts.

Nobody moved. The freshly painted door looked much more ominous than it had earlier in the day.

Finally, Wallace cleared his throat. “I can’t live in your aquarium forever,” he said from his place on Butterbean’s tummy.

Oscar sighed. “Wallace is right. If there’s a ghost, we need to get rid of it,” he said. “We can’t do that if we don’t go in.”

“And there’s a pretty good chance we won’t die,” Marco said, clutching Walt’s hair so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Right?”

“Right,” Polo said, swallowing hard.

“Unless we die of fright. Or it sucks the breath out of us,” Marco went on. “Ghosts do that, right?”

“MARCO, sheesh!” Polo said, smacking him on the arm.

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, stop!” Polo glared at him and climbed up onto Walt’s head, her jaw set. She held the key in the air. “We’re going in.”

— 6 —

POLO TURNED THE KEY, THEN froze, listening.

“Whew!” she said. “I was afraid something was going to—”

A thin wail filled the hallway.

Polo squeaked and pulled the key out of the keyhole, clutching it to her chest. “What is that?” she squealed.

The wail turned into a low, eerie moan. It echoed throughout the hallway and surrounded them. Butterbean felt the urge to howl along with it.

“GHOST!” Marco buried his face in Walt’s fur.

“That’s it! That’s what I heard,” Wallace shrieked, grabbing tightly to Butterbean’s tummy hair. “It’s the ghost!” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Walt stood wide-eyed, scanning the hallway. But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t see anything suspicious. No ghostly apparition, no fog, no floating woman in a white nightgown, nothing. “Is it coming from inside the apartment?”

“It started when she turned the key,” Marco sobbed. “It’s the ghost.”

“Bean? Anything?” Walt said quietly.

Butterbean sniffed the air, but it didn’t help. She still hadn’t figured out what a ghost was supposed to smell like. “I’m not sure.”

Polo grabbed Walt’s ears like they were game controllers and tried to turn her toward the elevator. “That’s it. We’re out of here. Wallace, you can live with us. Let’s go.” When the game controller move didn’t work, she tried digging her heels into the sides of Walt’s head, like she was riding a horse. That didn’t work either.

“Wait, what?” Marco said, peeking up through Walt’s fur. “Wallace is living where?”

“Sorry, Marco, executive decision,” Polo said. “We’ve got a roommate now.”

“Polo. Stop.” Walt tried not to cringe, but Polo had sharp little heels.

“Okay, sure,” Wallace agreed. Anything was better than living in a haunted apartment or vent. “Let’s get out of here.” He let go of Butterbean’s tummy and landed on the floor with a thump. Then he raced over to Walt, vaulting up onto her back in one jump.

Walt gritted her teeth. “Guys. Not a horse.”

Oscar cocked his head. “Butterbean. Quick. Who lives on this floor?”

Butterbean looked around, her ears pressed back against her head. The wailing had turned into a shrieky cry that went straight through her skull and hurt her teeth. “Man Who Smells Like Onions, but he’s gone. Next door is the Potpourri Couple, and the other two are Mechanic Guy and High Heel Woman.”

Oscar frowned. None of them sounded likely to be making spooky ghost noises. “And do you smell anything helpful?”

Butterbean shook her head. She tried to block out the sounds and focus on the smells. But it wasn’t easy. “Nothing ghosty, I don’t think.” Butterbean leaned down and scanned the hallway. “Just hair spray smells from High Heel Woman. And potpourri, of course. And, wait—” Butterbean zigzagged across the hallway, muttering as she went. “Wait wait wait wait wait.”

“WE CAN’T WAIT, BEAN! IT’S A GHOST!” Polo wailed.

“Okay, but I think…” Butterbean zigzagged over to the Potpourri Couple’s apartment and sniffed a few times. “I think…” She glanced back over her shoulder at Oscar, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

The unearthly shrieks instantly stopped.

There was silence.

“Um. Yes?” A tiny voice came from inside the apartment.

“Ask if it’s a ghost,” Marco whispered, peeking through Walt’s fur.

Butterbean took a deep breath. “Are you a ghost?”

“Who is this?” the voice asked. It didn’t sound very ghostly. It didn’t sound anything like Polo’s impression from before.

“Butterbean,” Butterbean answered.

There was no answer.

But then, just as Butterbean was giving up, the handle jiggled a few times, and the door swung open.

In the doorway stood a small white cat. “Can I help you?”

Butterbean shifted uncomfortably. “Are you a ghost?” She hadn’t heard of ghosts answering doors, but she had to be sure.

“Do I look like a ghost?” The white cat looked irritated.

“Um…” Butterbean hesitated. The white cat sighed and then posed in a variety of prancey poses, like she was on a fashion runway.

Butterbean considered. “Kind of?”

“EXCUSE ME?” The white cat looked offended.

Walt narrowed her eyes and stalked forward.

“NOOOOO!” Marco, Polo, and Wallace shrieked simultaneously, jumping off Walt’s back and huddling around Oscar’s feet.

Walt ignored them. She walked up to the white cat and poked it in the head with her paw.

“Ow!” The white cat reeled back a few steps.

“Solid,” Walt said to Oscar. “Not a ghost.” She turned back to the cat. “Okay, cat. What’s with the noise?”

The little cat suddenly looked guilty. “Did my vocal exercises disturb you?”

“Vocal exercises?” Walt bristled. “VOCAL EXERCISES?”

The cat looked sulky. “Well, when my owners are away, I have to amuse myself, don’t I?”

“But who are you?” Butterbean yelped. “The Potpourri Couple doesn’t have a cat!”

The cat’s fur puffed out a little. “They do now. I’M NEW. And you need to keep it down too. I could hear you talking all the way in my apartment.” The cat turned, tail held high, and marched back inside, slamming the door with a kick of her foot.

“Well, there’s your ghost, Wallace,” Walt sniffed. “That explains the noises.”

Wallace peeked out between Oscar’s legs. “It doesn’t explain the salt shaker.”

Polo nodded. “Or the bathroom.”

“Or the cupcakes,” Marco added.

“THAT WAS ME, OKAY?” Wallace said. “I’M SORRY.”

Walt frowned. “That’s true. Maybe we should still check the place out?”

Oscar sighed. He could be in his cage right now, dreaming about the News. But the camera would be installed in the morning. “Yes. Our stakeout will continue.”

“Sleepover,” Polo said in a small voice.

“Stakeout, sleepover, whichever,” Marco said, shooting a nervous look back at the cat’s apartment. “Let’s just get inside.”

Butterbean stood up and pushed on the handle to Apartment 5B. The door swung open.

The animals peeked inside. Ominous shadows filled the room. “Or maybe we could just set up the sleeping bags in the hallway,” Marco said, looking around anxiously.

The overstuffed floral furniture and knickknacks that had seemed homey during the day loomed menacingly in the moonlight, with dark shadows that didn’t seem to be quite the right shapes, somehow.

Walt shuddered. Suddenly a sleepover seemed like the worst idea she’d ever had. And she’d had some bad ones.

Oscar clicked his beak. “Well, let’s get this over with.” He tried to get his bearings. He’d never loved flying at night, and that was even without ghosts to deal with. “I’ll inspect the perimeter. Once we’ve established a secure zone, we can start the stakeout.”

“Sleepover,” Polo said in a tiny voice. “And about that. One quick question. Do sleepovers have lights?”

Oscar frowned. “I don’t think so.” He hadn’t seen many sleepovers on the Television, so he wouldn’t consider himself an expert. But since sleep was involved, it would stand to reason that the lights would be out.

“Okay,” Polo said thoughtfully.

Silence descended on the room once again.

Polo cleared her throat hesitantly. “So another question. What about stakeouts? Do they have lights?”

Oscar fluffed his feathers. He’d definitely seen more stakeouts on the Television. He was back on secure ground. “I don’t know if I’d say they have lights, per se—” Oscar started.

“Can we please turn on the lights?” Marco interrupted him. “This place is freaking me out!” He could swear that a shadow in the kitchen had just moved. And he didn’t even want to know what that thing over by the sofa was.

“Yes, lights!” Polo squealed.

“Maybe lights will help us see the ghosts better,” Butterbean added helpfully. If they were going to be taking sides, she was going to be on Team Lights. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she’d spotted someone large and silent hovering just a few feet away. If she was right, this was going to be the shortest ghost hunt ever in the history of ghost hunts, because she’d totally found one.

Oscar sighed. “I don’t think the ghost would mind lights, do you, Walt?”

Walt shook her head. “That should be fine.” Walt tried to sound casual, but it wasn’t easy. She was just glad the rats had been the ones to ask. The last thing she wanted to do was to play into the whole “scaredy-cat” stereotype.

Oscar flew over to the table by the door and switched on the light. It wasn’t much, but it helped.

“Oh, ha-ha!” Butterbean barked in embarrassment, looking over at the looming figure nearby, which had turned out to be a not-a-ghost. “Nice coat rack. I knew it. Ha.” She nudged Walt in the side. “See that? That’s a coat rack.”

Walt nodded. She’d seen coat racks before. She patted Butterbean on the back and turned toward the living room. Then she gasped.

There was a reason the shadows had seemed wrong.

Nothing was the way they had left it.

The silver tray of fruit had been tossed on the floor.

One lemon had been partially eaten and then thrown so that it splatted against the wall.

And a trail of something red and sticky led from the kitchen to the living room, ending in a thick pool in the middle of the carpet.

Oscar flew to the edge of the coffee table and eyed it carefully, his heart racing. Ghost stories were supposed to be fun. They weren’t supposed to involve dark red trails of…

“Is it?” Walt cleared her throat. “I mean, that liquid. Is that—”

Butterbean trotted over, sniffed it carefully, and then licked it.

“EEEEWWWWW!” the rats screamed.

“Cocktail sauce,” Butterbean said, licking her lips. “It’s cocktail sauce.”

“What?” Walt followed the trail into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was gaping open, and there was a plastic tray on the floor.

“SHE LICKED IT WITH HER TONGUE!” Polo shrieked. Marco made gagging noises.

Oscar flew over and picked up a bit of plastic wrap with a label on it. “Shrimp cocktail with sauce. Tail on. Butterbean’s right.”

“Found one!” Butterbean said, nosing a shrimp tail on the floor. The rest of the shrimp was nowhere to be seen. “Look, there are tails all over!”

“I don’t think the cat did this, Oscar,” Walt said. “She’s not the ghost.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t look like it.” Oscar cocked his head and listened. “But the question is: Is whatever did this still here?”

The animals froze, afraid to look into the shadows.

“Weren’t you going to do a perimeter search?” Walt said, not meeting Oscar’s eye. She didn’t want to be the one to check out the other rooms, that was for sure.

“Yes.” Oscar clicked his beak grimly. “I’ll do the search. If it’s safe, we should set up in the living room, I guess. If we’re still doing the stakeout. Just keep away from the um…” He cringed, eyeing the red pool. “Stay on the couch.”

Walt lashed her tail nervously. “Nobody touch anything,” she said to the others. “We need to preserve the scene just as is for Mrs. Food.”

“Urk, sorry,” Butterbean said, spitting a half-chewed shrimp tail back out onto the floor.

“I’ll do my sweep now,” Oscar said, hopping from one foot to another. “I’m going. Sweep of the perimeter. Right now.” He didn’t move.

“Good plan,” Walt said. Her whiskers hadn’t stopped trembling since they’d been inside. She hoped no one had noticed. “Oscar?”

Oscar sighed. “Going now.” He took off and flew out of the kitchen.

Walt ducked her head down so the bag around her neck fell on the floor. “There you go,” she said to Marco and Polo. “Sleeping bags. If you can sleep.”

“Really?” Polo perked up. She scrambled over and grabbed the bag. “Marco, Wallace! Help me get this to the couch.”

They dragged the bag to the edge of the couch, and then Polo opened it, sticking the top half of her body inside to rummage around. “OH, WALT!” she said in a muffled voice. “THESE ARE PERFECT!”

She emerged from the bag, tugging the edge of a sock.

Butterbean’s nostrils quivered. “SOCKS?”