The Great Ghost Hoax

Madison looked down at her, frowning. “Not now, cat…”

“Protection!” Butterbean wuffled softly. Oscar was right. She definitely needed backup.

“Hmm. Okay,” Madison said, scooping Walt up in her arms. “This is probably kind of silly, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s really a ghost, right?” She laughed a little too loudly. “Well, we’ll prove it either way,” Madison said before Butterbean could answer. She picked the key up off of the counter. “It’s all up to us.” Then she slipped silently into the hallway.

“This is going to be bad, Butterbean,” Walt said, blinking in the bright lights on the elevator ride up. “When Madison sees that cocktail sauce, she is going to FREAK OUT.”

Butterbean swallowed hard. Eating all of those shrimp tails had been a bad idea. “Forget the cocktail sauce. When she sees JEROME, she’s going to freak out.”

Walt narrowed her eyes. “He said he’d hide.”

“No, he said he’d be good.” Butterbean looked up at her. “Do you think he will?”

Walt snorted. “Nope. No chance.” She wished the rats had woken up. They could’ve tried to warn Jerome, at least. But it was too late now. Mr. Wiggles was on his own.

“Fifth floor,” the elevator lady voice said.

The doors opened. Madison took a step out of the elevator and then hung back. “You don’t think it’s really a ghost, do you?” she asked in a low voice. She stared uneasily at the door to Apartment 5B.

“No. It’s an octopus named Jerome. He’s Mr. Wiggles,” Butterbean said, wagging her tail in her most reassuring way.

Madison didn’t pay any attention. Typical.

“I mean, there’s got to be some explanation, right? Some non-ghostly explanation?” Madison said softly. She didn’t sound convinced, though.

“It’s an octopus. Mr. Wiggles,” Butterbean said again. “You saw him at the zoo. You need to keep a closer watch on your water bottle, Madison.”

Madison smiled weakly and patted Butterbean on the head. “Don’t be scared, Butterbean,” she said. “I’m sure it’s not a ghost. We’re going to prove it. We’ll go in, solve the mystery, and be heroes. Got it?”

“Okay,” Butterbean said. This was going to be a disaster.

Madison put Walt down and marched over to the door, dragging Butterbean behind her.

“I can’t look,” Butterbean moaned as the door opened. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the screams.

There was silence. Then Walt cleared her throat. “Butterbean, open your eyes.”

Butterbean opened her eyes. The apartment looked perfect. No cocktail sauce. No shrimp tails (although Butterbean thought she deserved the credit for that). No sign of Jerome or Chad.

“What the heck?” Butterbean barked as she looked around. “Were we dreaming?”

“I know, right?” Madison clicked on a lamp. “It doesn’t feel haunted to me. Not even a little.” She put her hands on her hips and scanned the room. “Huh. You guys wait here.” She walked down the hallway and disappeared into the bedroom.

“WHERE’S THE COCKTAIL SAUCE?” Butterbean said, her eyes huge.

Walt shook her head. “It was definitely here before. Maybe Jerome cleaned it up?”

“You mean maybe CHAD cleaned it up. CHAD. NOT JEROME.” A grouchy voice came from the kitchen. Chad was sitting on the countertop angrily waggling his tentacles in the air. “CHAD must’ve worked his tentacles to the BONE!”

“Do tentacles have bones?” Butterbean whispered to Walt, cocking her head to the side.

“NOT THE POINT!” Chad said, waving his tentacles wildly. “Look at this. JUST LOOK. DISHPAN HANDS!”

“But he doesn’t have hands,” Butterbean whispered under her breath.

“AGAIN, NOT THE POINT!” Chad snapped. He flung a soggy sponge at the wall, where it slid onto the countertop. “I am DONE. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to BED!”

Walt shot a look behind them. Madison came out of the bedroom for a second before disappearing into the office. “Thank you, Chad,” Walt said softly. “We appreciate it, we really do. But where’s…”

“Where’s MR. WIGGLES? The CELEBRITY?” Chad folded his tentacles in front of him. They really did look a little red. “He’s just where you’d expect him to be. NAPPING. In the TOILET.” He snorted. “And don’t worry. I put the lid down.”

Chad gave one last huffy snort and slipped down into the sink without another word.

“I guess that’s… good?” Butterbean said, standing up at the sink to see where Chad had gone.

“Maybe we really can trust Jerome,” Walt said thoughtfully as Madison came back out into the living room.

Madison put her hands on her hips again and stared around with a puzzled expression. Then after a long moment, her face crumpled. “Well, guys, I guess this was a dumb idea?” She sighed and sat down on a footstool. “It doesn’t feel haunted at all! I didn’t see anything—no ghosts, nothing. And no intruder, either. And look!” She held her arm out for Butterbean to inspect. “Not even any goose bumps!” Butterbean looked. Madison was right. No goose bumps.

“So, I don’t know,” Madison said. “I guess we should just… leave?”

“Unless you want to look in the toilet,” Butterbean said, wagging her tail sleepily. It had been a long night. “The toilet’s a good bet.”

Madison ignored her. She picked up Butterbean’s leash and opened the front door.

“If there’s a ghost, you’d think it would want to scare me, right?” Madison said as she locked the door and then pushed the elevator button. “I’m a prime target. So there must not be one. I just don’t know how to prove it.”

“You’ll think of something,” Walt said reassuringly. Madison ignored her, too.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

It wasn’t empty.

Butterbean wasn’t sure who looked more surprised, Mrs. Power Walker or Madison.

“Oh, hello again! Can you believe I forgot these?” Mrs. Power Walker laughed and held up a box of dryer sheets. “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t stapled on,” she chuckled.

“Um. Right?” Madison got into the elevator, a confused look on her face.

Mrs. Power Walker gave Butterbean a sympathetic smile. “Long night?”

Butterbean sighed. “You have no idea.”

Butterbean felt like she had just closed her eyes when it was time to get up the next morning. And staying awake was even harder—especially once Mrs. Third Floor showed up.

“And Bob came right over and installed the camera. I don’t even have to be there—I can see everything just using my phone!” Mrs. Third Floor explained for the third time. She looked at her phone like it was the most amazing thing in the world. Then, with a loving pat, she put it back into her handbag.

“Madison? You okay?” Mrs. Food leaned over and shook Madison gently. Madison was swaying a little too far to one side, and there was a little bit of drool forming at the corner of her mouth.

Madison jerked awake. “I’m fine! Wow, that’s crazy. A camera!” She blinked rapidly and forced a smile. It had been as hard for Madison to get up that morning as it had for Butterbean and Walt, but she hadn’t had the luxury of falling asleep in her breakfast bowl like Butterbean did.

“If you’re sure.” Mrs. Food frowned.

“Yes, like I said, a camera! It uses an app. It sends me alerts and everything!” Mrs. Third Floor continued happily. It didn’t look like she had any intention of going home. “I’m just feeling so much better today,” she said, clutching Madison’s arm as she talked to her. Apparently Madison wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon either. “And yesterday, everything seemed so horrible. I was even thinking of calling those ghost men I’ve seen on the TV.”

“Ghost men?” Madison said skeptically. She shot a side glance at Mrs. Food, who smiled blandly.

“Yes, the men on the TV who get rid of ghosts,” Mrs. Third Floor explained. “I was this close to calling them.” She lowered her voice. “But then, I worry about the publicity. Can you imagine if it got out? A haunted apartment would never rent!” She sat back and sipped her tea.

Madison took a cookie from the plate on the table, looking even more skeptical. “Are you talking about the movie Ghostbusters?” She looked from Mrs. Food to Mrs. Third Floor again. “I’m pretty sure that’s not real.”

Mrs. Third Floor laughed. “Not the Ghostbusters, silly. The Ghost-Finder Men. They investigate paranormal activity and measure it. They’re scientists! They do research and expel ghosts!”

“The Ghostbusters,” Madison said again. “From the movie. Who you gonna call?”

“No, these ghost men are on the TV. They communicate with spirits! They may even be psychic,” she whispered, like it was a deep, dark secret.

“Oh, wait, are they on cable? They’re plumbers or something? I know who you’re talking about.” Madison nodded.

Mrs. Third Floor frowned. “Nooo, that doesn’t ring a bell.”

Mrs. Food cleared her throat. “I think Mildred is talking about some men who have a reality television show investigating ghosts. They’re local.”

“Wait, THOSE GUYS?” Madison suppressed a snicker. “The ones who wave gadgets around and talk about spiritual vibrations or whatever? With the cheesy graphics? The public-access guys?”

“Yes! The ghost men!” Mrs. Third Floor said happily. “But I don’t think I’ll need them. I haven’t had any problems today.”

A muffled ding came from Mrs. Third Floor’s large handbag.

“Oh, there, you see?” Mrs. Third Floor grabbed her handbag and started digging around inside, finally pulling out her cell phone. “That ding means that the camera recorded an interaction. It’s motion activated.”

She smiled conspiratorially at Madison and Mrs. Food. “I’ve already had alerts twice! The nice man in 5C went to work, and it recorded him waiting for the elevator. And then that woman in 5D took her trash to the chute.” She giggled. “It’s like I’m a spy!”

She peered down at her phone. “Now, let’s see.…” She frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.…” Then she let out a small shriek and flung her phone onto the floor.

“What? What happened?” Mrs. Food asked.

Madison bent down to pick up the phone. “What is it?”

“DON’T TOUCH IT!” Mrs. Third Floor screamed, and then pointed at the phone. “I can’t— See for yourself!”

“Okay.” Madison gave her a worried look. “But I have to touch it to do that.” She picked up the phone gingerly, watching Mrs. Third Floor the whole time, like she was afraid she might explode. Then she stood up to examine the phone. “OOF! Cat!”

“Excuse me, kid,” Walt said, jumping onto Madison’s shoulder. “I need to see this.”

“Narration, please,” Oscar said.

Walt nodded and coiled around Madison’s neck to get a better view.

“What is it, Madison?” Mrs. Food asked, getting up to watch the video.

Madison hit play. The camera was set up to show the doorway of Apartment 5B and the hallway just outside the door.

When the video started, the elevator doors were opening, and a pizza delivery guy got out of the elevator. He stood for a few minutes, looking around and checking a piece of paper in his hand.

“Pizza guy,” Walt muttered.

“This early in the day?” Oscar looked puzzled.

“OOH, I want pizza!” Butterbean yelped.

“Shhh!” Walt hissed.

The pizza delivery guy in the video looked at the door of 5B and, after consulting his paper one last time, knocked on the door. Then he put the pizza on the floor, turned, and got back into the elevator.

“Pizza’s on the floor,” Walt said softly. “Pizza guy’s leaving.”

“That’s strange,” Oscar said.

“Pizza on the FLOOR?” Butterbean said wistfully. “It’s like a DREAM.”

“So that’s it?” Madison looked up at Mrs. Food. “The pizza guy?”

“No! Keep watching.” Mrs. Third Floor’s lip trembled.

Madison looked back down at the video and then gasped. She looked up at Mrs. Third Floor, her eyes wide. She started it again and handed the phone to Mrs. Food.

“Oh no,” Walt said, looking closely. “Oh no no no.”

The tiny phone video showed the elevator doors closing. And for a few seconds, nothing happened.

But as they watched, the door to Apartment 5B silently swung open. No one came into view. No one was there.

Then, so slowly you almost didn’t notice it, the pizza box drifted into the apartment, as if it were floating a few inches off the ground. Once it was inside, the door shut.

No one ever appeared in the video.

It was like the door had opened and shut itself.

“Was that…” Madison swallowed. “Who opened the door?”

“It was the GHOST!” Mrs. Third Floor sobbed. “The ghost opened the door. It’s still there!”

Oscar cocked his head and looked at Walt.

Walt narrowed her eyes. “MR. WIGGLES.”

— 9 —

WHILE MRS. FOOD WAS ON hold with the police, Madison attempted to console Mrs. Third Floor. (She was not successful.)

“It’s not a ghost,” Mrs. Food said, covering the phone with her hand. “I promise.” Mrs. Third Floor didn’t even look up. She just sobbed into Madison’s shoulder.

Madison patted her tentatively on the back. “She’s right. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a ghost.”

“Official Ghost Investigator meeting, now,” Oscar said, jerking his head toward the rats’ aquarium. Walt and Butterbean strolled casually over to the aquarium, trying not to look suspicious. Which was relatively easy, since no one was looking at them.

“We’ve got to warn Jerome,” Oscar said once everyone had gathered. “This is a disaster. The police are coming! They’ll arrest Jerome!”

Walt sniffed. “Jerome is on his own,” she said, keeping one eye on the humans. “We warned him what would happen. ORDERING A PIZZA?” she huffed in disgust.

“Do you think there’s any left?” Butterbean asked, trying to keep from drooling. Pizza was her weakness. “If there’s pizza, I could go warn him. I don’t mind.”

Walt huffed again, louder this time. It almost sounded like a hairball. “None of us can go warn him, Bean!” she said. “Mrs. Food is RIGHT THERE. She’d see us if we tried to leave!”

Butterbean sighed. Walt had a point. It wasn’t like she was the best at sneaking anyway.

Polo nudged Marco in the ribs. “We could go, maybe? We could use the vents, now that they’re not haunted.”

“It’s my apartment,” Wallace said. “I should protect it.”

“Yeah,” Marco said. “It’s Wallace’s apartment. He should go. We could just run up real quick.”

“Plus pizza,” Polo added. She didn’t think she’d ever had pizza before, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

“Not our problem,” Walt said, lashing her tail.

“But Walt, he’s a CELEBRITY! If they catch him, he’ll be in the paper for MONTHS.” Oscar hopped from his perch to the side of the cage.

Walt glared at him. “Too bad! We already did our part!” She sat down, curling her tail around her feet. “We can’t get involved. Look, once the police get there, they’ll realize it’s not a ghost and—URK!” Walt made a retching sound as she suddenly flew upward.

Mrs. Third Floor was standing over them, clutching Walt by the middle.

Butterbean reeled back a step in shock. She’d never imagined noises like that could come out of a midsized cat.

“I need this cat!” Mrs. Third Floor wailed, hugging a dangling Walt in her arms. “This cat will keep the spirits at bay. It’s the only thing that can protect me!”

“You okay, Walt?” Marco whispered. Mrs. Third Floor had come out of nowhere.

“Blurg,” Walt gurgled, struggling to get a foothold somewhere on Mrs. Third Floor’s front. Eventually she gave up.

“Meeting adjourned,” Oscar said, keeping an eye on Walt. He puffed out his feathers. If Mrs. Third Floor did anything to hurt her, Oscar was prepared to take a page from Walt’s book and “go for the eyes,” so to speak.

“So, should we go, then?” Polo whispered to Oscar. “Warn them?” It seemed like the perfect opportunity, since Walt was otherwise occupied.

“Hurry,” Oscar said. He just hoped they were doing the right thing.

“The police?” Jerome scoffed when the rats gave him the news. He was sitting in the middle of the living room, eating pizza straight from the box. “OOOOOOH I’m SOO SCARED.” He waggled his tentacles in the air when he said it. It was kind of rude.

“Well, you should be scared!” Wallace said, grumpily kicking a stray pizza crust out of his path. Celebrity or not, Jerome had made a real mess of the place. It didn’t even feel like Wallace’s apartment anymore.

“Look, we didn’t have to warn you!” Polo squeaked angrily. “They know about the pizza, okay? They saw you! They’ll be here any minute.”

“Mrs. Third Floor is pretty upset,” Wallace said seriously.

“What else is new?” Chad said, his mouth full of pizza. He was sitting in a sink full of water in the kitchen, glowering at them in between bites.

Jerome waved a tentacle airily. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I made sure I was camouflaged. There’s no way they saw me.”

“That’s the problem!” Polo stomped her foot. “You looked like a ghost!”

“We saw it. It looked like the pizza floated into the apartment,” Wallace said, surreptitiously licking a bit of cheese on the side of the box.

“They have a video,” Marco said, gnawing on a piece of crust. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle—he’d just torn the closest piece off. “It was pretty scary.”

“Marco!” Polo said, pointing an accusing finger at Marco’s piece of crust. “You too?” He froze mid-chew. “Give me that,” she said, tugging at a piece of cheese and taking an angry bite. Then she turned back to the octopuses. “Now, move it, Wiggles!”

“Fine,” Jerome said, stretching his tentacles out like he was just waking up. “I was full anyway.” He started toward the kitchen, snapping his tentacle in Chad’s direction. “Chad, take care of this mess. These rodents don’t want us to have any fun at all.”

Chad flung his pizza at Jerome, hitting him in the head. Jerome stopped short, folding his tentacles in front of him. “Really, Chad? Really? Throwing things? How mature.”

Wallace looked from Chad to Jerome and then back again. “Did we come at a bad time?”

Jerome glared at Chad. “Fine, leave the box. I don’t care. They know about the pizza anyway.”