The Great Ghost Hoax

“Sleeping bags,” Walt corrected, blocking Butterbean’s path. Butterbean had a thing for socks. Walt didn’t blame her. “Tonight they’re rat sleeping bags.”

“Are they your compression socks?” Butterbean whispered. Walt had stashed away a pair of Mrs. Food’s compression socks a while ago. She was very attached to them.

Walt snorted. “Of course not. Those are too valuable. I got these out of the laundry.”

“Nice!” Wallace held up a white sock with a pom-pom on the end. “This one comes with a pillow!”

“These are perfect!” Marco said, climbing into his own pom-pom sock. “And we’ve got my snacks. This is going to be great sleepover.” He caught sight of Oscar flying back into the room. “Er. Stakeout. As long as we don’t get killed by the ghost,” he added.

“Sheesh, Marco,” Polo said, climbing into her sock. “We’ll get that ghost first. Just you wait.”

Oscar landed on the couch. “Everything looks secure. I saw no signs of paranormal activity. Also no intruders. But I have an idea. Wait here.” He took off and flew in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later he came back, his feet clutching various types of cutlery. “Just in case, we have weapons.”

He landed on the couch with a thud. His wings felt weak with relief. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he had found an intruder. Or a ghost, for that matter. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. But if it comes back, we’re prepared.”

“Dibs on the spoon,” Polo said, reaching out and grabbing a teaspoon. Once everyone had grabbed a utensil, they settled back to wait.

Walt curled up with her fork on one of the couch cushions. Butterbean set her butter knife down and started turning around in circles to make a nest. Then they all lay there in silence.

Well, almost.

“Sunflower seed, anyone?” Marco whispered. “I have extra.”

No one wanted any sunflower seeds.

“Now that I’ve got my spoon,” Polo finally said, the edge of the sock pulled up to her chin. “It doesn’t feel as scary.”

“I just wish we knew…” Walt trailed off, her ears pricking up. “SHHH.” Her ears swiveled toward the sound. “Did you hear that?”

Six pairs of ears strained in the semidarkness. And then they heard it. It was an eerie dripping sound, so soft you almost couldn’t hear it. It was followed by a low humming noise that started and stopped without warning.

“I thought you said it was all clear,” Walt whispered.

Oscar’s eyes were wide. “It was. I swear it was.”

“The not-a-ghost cat next door?” asked Butterbean hopefully.

Walt shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She picked up her fork in her mouth. “Come on.”

Slinking slowly, she tracked the noise into the heart of the apartment. The others followed as quietly as they could. (The rats had trouble controlling their utensils.)

When they got to the bathroom door, they stopped. “It’s in there,” Walt said. “The ghost.”

Oscar braced himself. “Ghost hunters, this is what we came for. On the count of three, let’s get him. One… two… THREE!”

Oscar threw the door open, and the animals rushed into the bathroom and skidded to a stop. Forks and spoons clattered to the floor.

Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw.

Oscar gasped and reeled back. “MR. WIGGLES!”

— 7 —

A STRANGE OCTOPUS WAS SITTING in a tub filled with bubbling water. Two of his tentacles were stretched along the back of the tub. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, wonderful. FANS,” he groaned, sloshing water out of the tub. He flicked water at Oscar. “Be a good little birdie and leave me alone, and maybe I’ll have my assistant send you a photo.”

“That’s Mr. Wiggles,” Oscar whispered. His eyes looked slightly glazed, and his beak was hanging open.

“How’d he get here?” Walt muttered.

“Who’s his assistant?” Butterbean whispered.

“Who is HE?” Wallace asked.

Oscar collected himself and bowed slightly in the direction of the tub. Then he turned to Wallace. “Wallace, this is Mr. Wiggles, the octopus currently missing from the City Zoo.”

Mr. Wiggles was the star attraction at the City Zoo, or he had been until he disappeared. He was famous across the country for his crowd-pleasing antics—squirting water, doing clever tricks for visitors, performing daring escapes, that kind of thing. But he was most famous for his talent for picking winners in sporting events. He’d successfully predicted winners in the Super Bowl, World Cup, and Kentucky Derby for the last two years. He worked for herring snacks.

“CELEBRITY octopus,” Mr. Wiggles corrected, stretching and flicking more water at Oscar.

“Celebrity octopus. Forgive me.” Oscar didn’t even seem to notice the droplets of water on his head. “World-renowned celebrity octopus.” He bowed again. “Mr. Wiggles, it’s an honor.”

Mr. Wiggles shrugged all of his tentacles. “Of course. But if you’re a true fan, then you know my name is actually Jerome. ‘Mr. Wiggles’ is a stage name,” he said, making air quotes. “It’s just a character I play.”

Butterbean bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. If Jerome was anything like Chad, he probably didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She was totally going to try to get him to do more air quotes, though.

Oscar giggled. All of the other animals turned to look at him in shock. Oscar wasn’t a giggler. “I can call you Jerome? Again, an honor.”

Wallace sat down hard on the floor. “I’m very confused.”

“Me too.” Walt walked closer to the tub. “So, Jerome, what are you doing here?”

Jerome’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you? I thought you were fans. Are you press?”

“We’re not press,” Walt said.

“I KNEW IT! What network are you with?” Jerome put a tentacle up in front of his face like he was blocking a camera. “Talk to my assistant. I’m not doing interviews.”

“We’re NOT PRESS,” Walt said louder.

“We’re residents,” Butterbean said.

“And I’m a rat,” Wallace said.

“Um, yes. That’s all true. But it is a valid question,” Oscar said apologetically, hopping up onto the toilet. “What brings you to 5B?” Oscar couldn’t imagine how such a famous octopus could’ve ended up in the Strathmore Building. It just didn’t make sense, logistically or otherwise. Things like that didn’t happen.

Jerome shrugged and examined one of his tentacles. “You didn’t happen to bring any shrimp with you, did you? Sardines? Herring snacks?”

“Um, no,” Oscar said. “I apologize for the question, but have you been here long?”

“Weren’t you scared to stay here?” Butterbean asked, peering into the tub. There were so many bubbles. “Were you afraid of the ghost?”

“Ghost?” Jerome gave a bubbly laugh.

“I think he is the ghost,” Walt said in a low voice.

“HE’S A GHOST?” Butterbean yelped, scrambling back. “Are you the ghost?”

Oscar frowned. “Jerome is not a ghost. But did you cause the… untidiness in the apartment?” he asked. “We need to know.”

“I helped myself to a few snacks, made myself at home. What’s the harm?” Jerome said, waving a tentacle nonchalantly.

“What’s the harm? You trashed the place!” Wallace was shaking. “WAS THAT YOU IN THE FISH TANK?”

“Delicious.” Jerome made loud lip-smacky noises. Butterbean wasn’t sure how he did it, since as far as she could tell, he didn’t have lips. “When will that be restocked, do you think?”

Wallace clenched his fists. “You took my apartment!” Marco and Polo each put a hand on Wallace’s shoulder, partly to comfort him and partly to hold him back in case he decided to charge.

“You freaked out Mrs. Third Floor!” Butterbean said.

“And you’re kind of messing up our sleepover,” Polo muttered under her breath. She didn’t think this was how sleepovers usually went.

Jerome shrugged, making waves that threatened to overflow the tub. “I had to get away. Fans can be so demanding,” he said, shooting a look at Oscar, who blushed.

“But how did you even get here?” Walt asked again.

Jerome leaned forward and looked at Walt carefully. “Are you sure you’re not with the press?” He sighed. “My assistant helped with the accommodations. He can tell you— Oh, there he is!”

The animals turned to the door, but there was no one there.

“Ahem.” A voice came from the sink. A voice they recognized. Chad.

“Chad’s your assistant?” Butterbean yelped.

“I’m not your assistant. Stop saying that, Jerome.” Chad looked a little stressed out. His tentacles were clenched, and he was turning darker and lighter randomly.

He chucked a package of shrimp over to Jerome. “I found some shrimp.” He turned to Oscar. “Got it from some guy on three. Looks like he’s planning a party.”

“Man With Stinky Sweat Socks,” Butterbean said knowingly.

“Wait, YOU KNEW?” Polo said, pointing at Chad. “WE SPECIFICALLY ASKED YOU!”

Chad rolled his eyes. “You asked about a ghost. You didn’t ask if I knew about an octopus on the fifth floor.”

Marco considered. “He’s right, we didn’t.”

“Well, STILL,” Polo huffed. “You should’ve said something.”

“Sorry, rats,” Chad said. He didn’t sound that sorry, though. “Jerome is a buddy from back in my egg days. We keep in touch.”

“Social media,” Jerome said.

“He needed a place to stay, so I told him about this place.” Chad shot a look at Jerome. “It’s short-term.”

“My stay is open-ended,” Jerome said, shooting a look back at Chad.

“What was wrong with the zoo?” Oscar asked. “They love you there!”

“THAT’S what’s wrong,” Jerome said, absentmindedly squeaking a rubber duckie. “I’m sick of all the paparazzi. All those people, gawking at me. I can’t take it anymore.” He opened the bag of shrimp and guzzled it in one gulp. “Do you know what they make me do? I have to pick football winners! And horse races! What, do they think I’m psychic?”

“Well, you do have an impressive streak going,” Oscar said.

“Sure, but it’s OBVIOUS who’s going to win. Some of those horses have ridiculous names.”

Butterbean frowned. She didn’t see how that made it obvious.

“Yeah, not like ‘Mr. Wiggles,’ ” Marco said, snickering.

Jerome shot him a frosty look.

“So you just what, took a cab? Came through the pipes?” Walt frowned. “Is this building connected to the zoo somehow?”

Jerome rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. I told you—I keep in touch with Chad on social media. I’ve seen the pictures of that human girl he rescued singlehandedly a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry, what?” That wasn’t quite how Butterbean remembered it.

“So when I saw her next to my tank, I recognized her immediately and took my chance. I’m very good with faces.” Jerome turned to Chad. “You should really remind her not to leave her water bottle unattended that way. It only took a second for me to slip inside.”

“You stowed away in a WATER BOTTLE?” Polo gasped.

“How did you DO that?” Marco examined Jerome critically. He definitely looked bigger than a water bottle.

“Talent,” Jerome said, and shrugged again (with less tentacle action this time). “Once I got into this building, it was only a matter of finding Chad.”

“I told him this apartment was empty,” Chad said. “My apartment was not an option.”

Wallace looked around helplessly. “But… are you going to keep doing that stuff? Mrs. Third Floor is really upset. And I was living here,” he said. “At least I was a tidy tenant.”

“She’ll deal with it,” Jerome said dismissively. “Can you imagine how thrilled she’d be if she knew MR. WIGGLES was staying here? She’s lucky to have me here. She could do worse. I’m obviously a step up from her last tenant.”

“But…” Wallace frowned. “HEY!”

Jerome flicked water at Oscar again. Oscar flinched. “Now, you be a good little birdie and hand me that remote.” He waved a tentacle in the direction of the sink. A remote control was lying on the countertop.

Oscar blinked in surprise, then hopped over to the remote and handed it to him. “Remote for wha—”

Jerome clicked the remote, and a television screen appeared in the bathroom mirror.

“THERE’S A TELEVISION IN THE MIRROR?” Marco gasped. “Wallace, you didn’t say your apartment had a TV in a MIRROR.”

Wallace looked dumbstruck. “I DIDN’T KNOW!” He scrambled up onto the counter and pressed his face to the mirror.

Butterbean stood up and peered into the tub. There were way more bubbles than there should’ve been. “Is this a Jacuzzi?”

“WHAT?” Wallace said, looking wildly between the mirror TV and the tub. And he thought he’d been living it up by watching movies on the couch.

“It’s the News!” Oscar said, staring at the mirror in awe. “In the BATHROOM.”

Jerome turned up the volume. “… no ransom demands have been made. Zoo officials say that while it’s true that Mr. Wiggles has escaped before, this time there have been no signs of him. And with the mayor’s ceremony and Mr. Wiggles’s next big prediction scheduled for just days from now, time is running out. I’m Cathleen Carlson, Channel Seven News.”

Jerome clicked the remote off and tossed it into the sink with a clatter. “Let them worry.”

“What’s the mayor’s ceremony?” Butterbean asked.

Jerome floated on his back. “Some stupid thing. I’m supposed to pick the winner of something or other. Who can remember? They can manage without me.” He glared at them all. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to take a bath.”

“Of course.” Oscar bowed again at Jerome. Butterbean had never seen him bob up and down so much. “Forgive the intrusion.”

Walt cleared her throat and shot Oscar a significant look. “Except…”

Oscar blushed and looked uncomfortable. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

“Oscar?” Walt lashed her tail. “Except…”

Oscar stared at the floor. “Except one tiny thing.” He spoke slowly, like each word was painful to say. “We’re really not set up for celebrity octopuses here. This is Mrs. Third Floor’s apartment. She’s… well, she’s a tad bit upset.”

“She’s FREAKING OUT,” Wallace said.

“You need to leave,” Walt said firmly.

Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Chad lives upstairs,” Walt started. “Why don’t you—”

“He can’t stay with me,” Chad said.

“Nope, no can do,” Jerome said at almost the same time.

“You heard the News. They really miss you at the zoo. The whole city is worried sick,” Oscar said. “It might be a good idea for you to go back.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. The one time he’d met a real life celebrity and he was telling him to go away. “Something to consider.”

Jerome shook his head. “Nope, sorry. I’m staying right here.” He patted Oscar on the foot. “But look, since it’s so important to you, I’ll be good. No more messes, okay? I promise.”

Oscar looked doubtful. “Really?”

“Sure,” Jerome said. “Why not?”

Oscar shifted and looked to Walt, who shrugged. It’s not like they could make him leave. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said to Walt. “He promised.”

Walt snorted.

“We should let him take his bath. Give him privacy,” Oscar said. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he turned and hopped out of the bathroom.

“I’ll have my assistant get you a signed photo. Love you!” Jerome called as the others followed.

“STOP CALLING ME YOUR ASSISTANT.” They could hear Chad’s voice as they trudged off down the hallway.

“I think the sleepover is over,” Walt said. “Any objections?”

No one objected.

Oscar nudged Walt. “You don’t understand. That was MR. WIGGLES.”

Walt bumped his side with her head (almost knocking him over in the process). “I get it. And it’ll be fine. He’ll probably keep a low profile from now on.”

As they opened the door to head back to Mrs. Food’s apartment, a burst of music blared from the direction of the bathroom.

“Low profile starting tomorrow,” Walt corrected herself.

Oscar just hoped she was right. He didn’t want to think of what would happen if she wasn’t.

— 8 —

GETTING BACK TO MRS. FOOD’S apartment was a lot easier than they had expected. The hard part was waking up the next morning. At least, Butterbean thought it was morning.

“Come ON, Butterbean!” Madison whispered. “Wake UP!”

Butterbean opened one eye. It was dark. She shut it again. Definitely still time for sleep.

“Come on, dog! Don’t you want to go ghost hunting?” Madison asked, shaking Butterbean again. “It’s a secret adventure!”

“WHAT?” Butterbean’s eyes snapped open.

“WHAT?” Oscar fell off his perch. He’d had a hard time getting to sleep after all the excitement and couldn’t help but listen in.

It was definitely still nighttime, but Madison was dressed and moving around quietly in the dark. A secret ghost-hunting adventure could only mean one thing.

“Oh no!” Butterbean yelped, sitting bolt upright. “JEROME!”

“Good girl!” Madison said, patting Butterbean on the head. “We’re going to check out that apartment for ourselves. Find out the truth!”

“OSCAR!” Butterbean yipped. She didn’t know what to do. Madison wasn’t supposed to be a ghost hunter too.

“Walt!” Oscar croaked, shakily climbing back up onto his perch. “Alert! Help!”

Madison felt around on Butterbean’s collar to find the place to clip the leash. “You heard what they said. Animals are good protection against evil spirits. So you need to come too, just in case.”

“WALT!” Oscar jumped onto the bars of his cage. “Butterbean needs backup!”

“SHH!” Madison hissed, freezing in place. She stared anxiously down the dark hallway toward Mrs. Food’s bedroom door. “Quiet, Oscar!”

“Calm down, I’m on it,” Walt grumbled from her bed. She hadn’t had a hard time getting to sleep. She stretched and shook her back leg. “Apartment key?”

“I put it back. Thank goodness I put it back!” Oscar felt a wave of relief wash over him. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to forgetting to put back the key.

Walt nodded and slunk over to Madison, rubbing significantly against her legs. “I’m coming too.”