The Great Ghost Hoax

Mrs. Food frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this. “How big a fee?”

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE? MY RENTAL IS HAUNTED!” Mrs. Third Floor screeched. Then she bent down and took some deep breaths. When she stood up again, the manic smile was back on her face.

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Third Floor laughed. “I’ll just go in the morning.”

Mrs. Food took a step forward. “Mildred. You’re under a lot of stress—”

“Just have the animals ready. I want you all to come with me.” Mrs. Third Floor squeezed Madison’s arm. “Moral support. Okay?”

“Okay,” Madison said uncertainly.

Mrs. Third Floor beamed at them and hurried out of the apartment.

“Um…” Madison looked at Mrs. Food, who marched into her office without another word. Madison looked down at Butterbean and unclipped her leash. “No point going now. We’re too late,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.

“Um. Walk?” Butterbean said as Madison disappeared down the hall. Butterbean looked up at Oscar. “Oscar? This is bad.”

“I know,” Oscar said, clicking his beak. “Walt? They’re coming tomorrow.”

Walt narrowed her eyes. “No ghost means no fee, right?” She stood up. “Then we just have to make sure they don’t find anything.” She turned to Butterbean. “Cover for me. I’m going to talk to Jerome.”

— 11 —

WALT’S TALK WITH JEROME WAS not going well.

“But you can just stay with Chad! What’s the big deal? It’s for a couple of days, tops.” Walt was so frustrated, she was spitting when she talked.

“Absolutely not,” Chad said. “No.”

Jerome snorted. “Like I’d stay someplace like THAT.”

Chad glared at him.

“But don’t you understand, there are going to be ELIMINATORS coming tomorrow.” Walt tried to be calm. “They think you’re a GHOST. They’re going to charge money.”

Jerome chuckled. “I think that’s hilarious! Think of all the fun I can have with them!” He wriggled his tentacles in anticipation.

“But money!” Wallace said softly. He’d insisted on coming along, since it was his apartment (and since he wouldn’t be missed back at Mrs. Food’s place). He didn’t think Jerome was quite getting the problem.

Walt stared at Jerome for a long minute, considering. It was time for a new approach. “Think of all the terrible publicity when you get caught,” Walt said finally. “So humiliating.” She shook her head.

“You’d be in the tabloid papers,” Wallace said, taking his cue from Walt. “But in a BAD way.”

“Do you really want to get caught by those guys?” Walt added. “They’re much lower level celebrities than you are.”

Jerome drummed his tentacles on the countertop. “Hmm. True.” Then he brightened. “But that’s assuming I’ll get caught, which I obviously won’t. You saw how I handled the police!” He chuckled again. “Did you see how that one man ran away! And that woman screamed when I opened her purse!”

“That was Mrs. Third Floor!” Wallace squeaked. “Our LANDLADY.”

Walt gritted her teeth. “Okay, that? That’s exactly what you CAN’T do.” She took a deep breath. “Look, stay here all you want, okay? I don’t care what you do. But just take a break for a little while. Trust me.”

Wallace opened his mouth to object, but Walt silenced him with a glance.

Walt got up and stalked over to Jerome. “When those ghost guys are here, you have to be quiet. Because don’t you see? If you do ANYTHING to make them think there’s a ghost here, they’ll keep coming back. Again and again and again. You won’t get a minute’s peace. It’ll be worse than the paparazzi.”

Jerome shuddered. Chad rolled his eyes and examined a sardine tin on the counter near Jerome. It was empty.

“And don’t forget the money!” Wallace piped up. “It sounds like they’re going to charge Mrs. Third Floor a LOT.” He felt like that was a really important part.

Jerome waved his tentacle dismissively. “I don’t care about that,” he said. “But I do want my peace and quiet. That’s the whole point of being here!”

“Exactly!” Walt said. “So will you keep quiet? No tricks?”

“But that’s so boring!” Jerome whined.

“Please?” Wallace said. “I’ll even move out completely. The apartment will be all yours until she rents it out. Think of all the parties you and Chad can have!”

Chad snorted.

“Quiet parties,” Walt added.

Jerome changed from dark to light a few times while he considered. Then he patted Walt on the head condescendingly. “Fine. No tricks.”

“Promise?” Walt said skeptically. She didn’t trust this octopus any farther than she could throw him (and that didn’t seem like it would be far).

“Promise,” Jerome said.

“And stop freaking Mrs. Third Floor out, too!” Wallace said. “She’s been over A LOT. Think of Mrs. Food!”

Jerome made a face. “Look, I’ll do what I can. But I can only be responsible for myself.”

“What do you mean?” Walt narrowed her eyes.

“I mean this.” Jerome reached out one tentacle and thumped on the wall. After a few seconds an unearthly wail drifted through the air.

“What the heck?” Wallace squeaked. “I thought there was no ghost!”

Walt groaned. “That’s the prima donna next door, isn’t it?”

Jerome nodded smugly. “So it’s not just up to me, sweetie.”

Walt lashed her tail in frustration. “Fine. If we can make her be quiet, you’re in?”

Jerome smiled. “Of course.” Then he snickered. “If you can work magic.”

Walt stalked off without looking back. “Wallace? Time for stop number two.”

“Have you seen the cat? She’s not anywhere,” Madison said, looking around the living room for Walt. She’d already been though the apartment twice, and it wasn’t that big.

“Oh shoot. Oh shoot. Oh shoot,” Butterbean muttered as she ran in circles in the living room. She did not have a plan to handle this. Walt had said to cover for her, and distraction was Butterbean’s main covering technique. But for some reason racing around the living room was not working.

Mrs. Food waited for Butterbean to race by as she made her way to the kitchen. “Oh, you know cats. She’ll show up when she’s good and ready.” She stepped over Butterbean as the dog rounded the turn.

“I guess. It’s weird that I can’t find her, though.” Madison stood thoughtfully, stepping out of the way every time Butterbean made the circuit. “Maybe I’ll look in the office again.”

“Good plan,” Mrs. Food said.

“Thank goodness,” Butterbean said, collapsing on the floor as Madison left the room.

The rats burst out in a round of applause. “Way to go, Bean!” Polo cheered.

“Those circles were awesome!” Marco said. “I almost threw up!”

“Thanks,” Butterbean said, blushing. Maybe she’d mix things up a little more next time. Figure eights would keep them on their toes.

Oscar eyed the vent nervously. He didn’t think Madison was going to give up the search. He just hoped Walt would be back in time.

Stop number two was not going well.

“You do realize you’re interrupting my valuable rehearsal time. And can I just add how rude it is to stick your head into someone’s house uninvited?”

The white cat was sitting on a pink satin pillow in the middle of her apartment. Wallace and Walt had crept along the vents until they found the floor vent leading to her living room. And, to be fair, Wallace had stuck his head through the grate.

“Um, sorry about that,” Wallace said, ducking his head back into the vent.

The white cat sighed. “No, it’s FINE. You’ve destroyed my focus, so you might as well come in.” She stalked over to the grate and swiped at it with her paw. The grate fell down onto the carpet with a thud. “I made a few renovations when I moved in.”

Walt nodded approvingly. “I made the same renovation in our apartment.”

Wallace wrung his hands nervously. Being in between two cats was pretty much his worst nightmare, and he just wanted it to be over. He didn’t know why they were talking about decorating. He cleared his throat. “We came about your… um… singing.”

“Yeah. Cut it out,” Walt said, smiling a tight smile. “Please.”

“Walt!” Wallace squealed. He’d been wrong about his worst nightmare. Being between two angry cats was much worse than being between just regular cats. He wished they’d go back to talking about the decorating stuff.

Walt sighed and then bowed her head a little. “Please,” she said again. “At least for the next few days. We’ve got some visitors coming by next door tomorrow, and well, let’s just say they won’t appreciate your talents.”

“They’re not music lovers, I take it?” the white cat said.

“Those guys? Hardly,” Walt smirked. “What do you think, Wallace? Are they music lovers?”

“N-no?” Wallace wished he could just go home. He didn’t know why Walt was questioning him.

“No. They’re eliminators,” Walt said. “So if you could just—”

“If you don’t mind,” the white cat said, examining one paw. “I don’t have time to listen to you talk about your social schedule. As it happens, I’m fully booked for tomorrow, so I wouldn’t serenade your guests even if they begged me.” She waved a paw at them. “You can go.”

“Um, okay.” Wallace turned abruptly and marched toward the vent. Walt put a paw on his tail and stopped him short. “Or not.”

“Look, cat, this is serious. Do you promise?” Walt looked at the white cat through narrowed eyes. “No singing?”

“As if I would give a performance for free,” the white cat scoffed. “Please leave me.”

Walt started to go, but then hesitated. “That’s a promise, right?”

The white cat looked at them for a long second. “You really don’t recognize me?”

“Aw crud, another celebrity?” Wallace groaned.

The white cat laughed. “You’re funny. Does this ring a bell?” She stood up on her haunches and then waved both front paws in the air, meowing pitifully.

Walt and Wallace exchanged a confused glance. “Nooo?” Walt said slowly.

The white cat sighed. “Beautiful Buffet Cat Food?” She sighed again. “I’ve acted in almost all of their commercials. I’m retired now, though. You’re one of the lucky few to see me perform off screen.”

“Thanks?” Wallace said.

The white cat bowed her head at him slightly and then turned, tail high in the air. “Put the grate back on your way out,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked out of the room.

Walt and Wallace looked at each other. “So I guess we’re all set?” Wallace asked. “Since they promised?’

Walt had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I just hope you’re right.”

“And I had to run around the living room SEVEN THOUSAND TIMES!” Butterbean said when Walt and Wallace got back. “AT LEAST!”

“She was a great distraction!” Polo said as Wallace climbed back into the cage.

Marco nodded. “I couldn’t watch anything else.”

“You should’ve seen when she switched to figure eights,” Polo added. “She almost knocked Mrs. Food into the kitchen!”

Walt gave Butterbean a warning look. “Bean! You know she’s fragile.”

“I did NOT,” Butterbean said, shooting an icy look at Polo. “I was very careful.”

“Heads up, Walt,” Oscar squawked, watching the hallway. “Madison’s coming. She’s been looking for you.”

Walt nodded and hurried to her bed. She had just curled into a ball when Madison came back into the room.

“I still can’t find her anywhe— There you are!” Madison said, walking over to Walt’s bed. She stared at her for a moment with a puzzled expression on her face. “Have you been there the whole time?” She frowned. “I swear I looked there!”

Walt meowed at her sleepily.

“Weird.” Madison patted Walt on the head and then stood up again. “Weird,” she repeated. Then, shaking her head, she went into the kitchen.

“Is it all set?” Oscar asked quietly after Madison had gone.

“All set,” Walt said. “When those ghost men get here, we’ll be ready for them. Trust me, there will be no ghost.”

She just hoped what she said was true.

— 12 —

BUTTERBEAN HAD A BAD FEELING about the ghost men from the minute they set foot in the apartment, mostly because they almost stepped on her. And the worst part was, they didn’t even really seem to notice.

“Watch the dog, please!” Mrs. Food said, scooping Butterbean up in her arms and examining her paw. Butterbean whimpered, mostly for effect. She was always up for a little sympathy.

“Oh yeah, oops. I was just overwhelmed by the spiritual presence in this apartment. I’m not surprised you’ve had trouble,” the first ghost man said, brushing past her as he walked into the room. He had hair that was slicked back, and the smell tickled Butterbean’s nose.

“Really,” Mrs. Food said. Her voice was frosty.

“Yeah, it’s super strong,” the second man said in a bored voice, rubbing his bald head and then smoothing his mustache. He looked around the apartment like he was appraising the furniture. Polo considered hiding her button under a pile of cedar chips. She didn’t trust these guys.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Bald Guy’s head. “The common household appliance,” he muttered under his breath. He would never forgive himself for missing that News segment.

“It must be quite a presence if you can feel it down here.” Mrs. Food put Butterbean back down on the floor. “I’m Mrs. Fudeker. The apartment we told you about is upstairs. This is my apartment.”

“Sure, I sensed that.” Mr. Slick Hair nodded, shooting a look at the Bald Guy.

“No doubt,” the Bald Guy said. “The whole building is probably a portal.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Mrs. Third Floor said. She held out her hand. “I’m Mrs.—”

“Mrs. Third Floor!” Butterbean barked helpfully. “Her name’s Mrs. Third Floor!” Mr. Slick Hair shot her a nasty look.

“Oh, you don’t need to introduce yourself to me,” Mr. Slick Hair said, taking Mrs. Third Floor by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. “The pain on your beautiful face tells me just who you are. It’s your apartment that we’re here to see.”

“Oh brother,” Madison said under her breath.

Mrs. Third Floor flushed and giggled. “Oh, well! Yes. It’s my rental unit.”

“Of course it is,” the man said, patting her on the shoulder as he let her go. “Let me introduce myself. My name is—”

“You’re Johnny Sims!” Mrs. Third Floor burbled. “I watch your show every week.” She turned to the Bald Guy. “And you’re—”

“Gordon Bailey. Right, now, let’s get a move on. Wouldn’t want anyone to get possessed, now would we?” He shot a nasty look at Walt, like Walt was plotting to possess somebody. Walt peeked back over her shoulder to check, but no, he was definitely looking at her. Her fur bristled.

Mrs. Third Floor’s eyes widened. “Can that happen?”

The Bald Guy shrugged. “Happens all the time. We’ve seen it, what? Ten, twenty times?”

“At least. But we’re here now. You have nothing to fear.” Mr. Slick Hair smiled at Mrs. Third Floor.

“Good.” Mrs. Third Floor leaned over and grabbed Walt around the middle. “I’m ready.”

“URK!” Walt gagged as she was hauled up into Mrs. Third Floor’s arms. She was never prepared for a scoop lift.

Mr. Slick Hair frowned. “You’re bringing the cat?”

“Oh yes, she protects me. Madison, get Butterbean’s leash. Let’s go.” Mrs. Third Floor looked like she was bracing for a fight.

The Bald Guy shook his head. “Whatever, lady. Let’s get going.”

“So you actually saw an apparition?” Mr. Slick Hair asked Mrs. Third Floor while they waited for the elevator.

“Yes, I did!” Mrs. Third Floor said, beaming up at him. Mrs. Food caught her eye and gave a slight shake of the head.

“Well, not exactly SAW,” Mrs. Third Floor said slowly. “But there was the video—the pizza floated!”

“Yes, very intriguing,” Mr. Slick Hair said. He patted his bag. “We brought some equipment to get some initial readings. That should tell us where we stand.”

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors opened. It wasn’t empty.

Mrs. Power Walker was standing in the elevator.

“Oh, hello there!” she said, looking down at Butterbean. “Brought more friends along this time, I see.”

Butterbean wagged her tail in response.

Mrs. Third Floor looked confused. “Um, yes? There are a lot of us. Pardon me.”  There was a small stampede as everyone tried to squeeze into the elevator.

“Five?” Mrs. Power Walker’s finger hovered over the button.

Butterbean and Walt exchanged a panicked glance. The last thing they needed was for Mrs. Power Walker to blow their cover. If she did, their days of exploring the apartment building were over.

“What? Yes, five. But how…” Mrs. Third Floor looked even more confused.

Mrs. Power Walker caught Butterbean’s eye and shrugged as she pushed the button for the fifth floor. Butterbean lolled her tongue in response.

“Urk,” Walt meowed pleadingly.

Mrs. Power Walker patted her on the head. “Nice kitty.”

Then she winked.

“Oh yeah, the spiritual vibes are super strong here,” Mr. Slick Hair said when they got off the elevator. “They’re just rolling off that apartment right… there?” He pointed at the white cat’s apartment.

“There,” Madison said, pointing at 5B. “It’s that one. With the spooky ducky doormat.”

Butterbean examined the doormat. She’d never considered the duck wearing a bonnet to be spooky before, but now that Madison mentioned it, there was something unnatural about it. As far as Butterbean knew, real ducks didn’t wear bonnets.

“Of course,” Mr. Slick Hair said, barely even looking at the duck. “I can sense a real presence here.”

“Right,” Mrs. Food said, unlocking the door. Then she stood back. “Voilà.”

Mr. Slick Hair strolled inside, looking around thoughtfully. Butterbean peered in after him. It was quiet. If she didn’t know better, she would never have guessed an octopus had been living there for the past few days.

“I’m feeling a really dangerous presence here,” Mr. Slick Hair said, pressing his hand to his temple. “Super-strong vibes.”