Read Online Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade by Ann M. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann M. Martin
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and in the whole school. The crowd panicked. Somebody pulled a fire alarm, which caused even more panic, and then a stampede. Several students were injured, and Mr. Brown suffered a heart attack and died before he could be taken to the hospital.
The police believed the blackout was a prank, and that the fire alarm might have been pulled as a prank as well. They questioned many of the students at the dance, and found out that several members of the SMS football team might have been involved. But the police had no proof, and it was likely that the investigation would go no further. The chief of police was quoted as saying he was positive that certain students — they weren't identified by name — knew exactly what had happened, and that he wished they would come forward.
"Wow," breathed Mary Anne.
"Wow is right," Logan said. "This is wild. I never expected to find anything quite this — quite this serious."
"Let’s see if there are any follow-up articles," I suggested, and Logan started scanning again.
But we didn't find a thing. It seemed as if the police hadn't been given any information, and the matter had been dropped.
"Now that we know this much, what next?" asked Logan. "We stall have a long way to go if we want to find out who's trying to ruin our dance."
"Yearbooks!" I said, snapping my fingers. "Let’s go to the school library at lunchtime tomorrow and look through yearbooks from back then. We might find something interesting."
"Keep turning the pages," Kristy said impatiently, as she looked over my shoulder. She'd been excited to hear what we'd found out so far, and so had the other BSC members. We had gathered in the library at lunchtime (all except Jessi and Mal, that is, since the sixth-graders eat lunch at a different time), and we'd found the old yearbook from the year of the dance.
I was holding it, and everyone else had gathered around. I was turning the pages especially slowly, making sure not to miss anything, but I turned a little faster when Kristy said that. Suddenly, I stopped and let out a gasp.
"What?" asked Mary Anne. She moved closer, so that she could see better. "Oh!" she said, echoing my gasp.
We were looking at a full-page picture of an older man in a suit. At the bottom, within a
black border, were the words, "In Memory of Mr. Brown."
"That’s him," said Mary Anne. Everyone clustered around to look at the picture.
"I bet he was strict," said Claudia. "Doesn't he look it?"
He did. His mouth was a straight line, and his eyes, behind black-framed eyeglasses, looked serious.
"What if he's the one tearing up posters and painting on the walls?" Abby said.
"He's dead!" cried Kristy.
"I know," Abby said, with a tiny smile. "But maybe he's not totally dead, if you know what I mean. Maybe he's haunting the school, because his murder was never solved." She raised her eyebrows.
"Stop!" cried Mary Anne. "You're creeping me out. Stacey, turn the page. I can't stand the way he's looking at me."
I turned the page, and we started looking at the eighth-grade pictures. Immediately, we forgot about Abby’s ghoulish idea. The pictures were hilarious. "All the boys look so geeky!" cried Kristy. "Look at those haircuts."
"And the girls have such big hair," Claudia said. "How about those cat-eye glasses, too?"
We paged through the pictures, laughing at how strange the kids looked. The funny thing was that they didn't really look like kids at all.
They looked like miniature grown-ups. The boys had short hair and wore suits and ties, and the girls looked as if they were about thirty. I kept turning pages.
"Whoa," I said suddenly, looking at one of the pictures more closely. "Check it out!" I pointed to a picture in the upper left hand corner of the page, of a relatively cute but still geeky-looking guy with black, curly hair.
"What about him?" asked Kristy.
"Look at the name," I said. Underneath the picture, the caption read "Michael Rothman." "How weird. That’s the name of the teacher
The police believed the blackout was a prank, and that the fire alarm might have been pulled as a prank as well. They questioned many of the students at the dance, and found out that several members of the SMS football team might have been involved. But the police had no proof, and it was likely that the investigation would go no further. The chief of police was quoted as saying he was positive that certain students — they weren't identified by name — knew exactly what had happened, and that he wished they would come forward.
"Wow," breathed Mary Anne.
"Wow is right," Logan said. "This is wild. I never expected to find anything quite this — quite this serious."
"Let’s see if there are any follow-up articles," I suggested, and Logan started scanning again.
But we didn't find a thing. It seemed as if the police hadn't been given any information, and the matter had been dropped.
"Now that we know this much, what next?" asked Logan. "We stall have a long way to go if we want to find out who's trying to ruin our dance."
"Yearbooks!" I said, snapping my fingers. "Let’s go to the school library at lunchtime tomorrow and look through yearbooks from back then. We might find something interesting."
"Keep turning the pages," Kristy said impatiently, as she looked over my shoulder. She'd been excited to hear what we'd found out so far, and so had the other BSC members. We had gathered in the library at lunchtime (all except Jessi and Mal, that is, since the sixth-graders eat lunch at a different time), and we'd found the old yearbook from the year of the dance.
I was holding it, and everyone else had gathered around. I was turning the pages especially slowly, making sure not to miss anything, but I turned a little faster when Kristy said that. Suddenly, I stopped and let out a gasp.
"What?" asked Mary Anne. She moved closer, so that she could see better. "Oh!" she said, echoing my gasp.
We were looking at a full-page picture of an older man in a suit. At the bottom, within a
black border, were the words, "In Memory of Mr. Brown."
"That’s him," said Mary Anne. Everyone clustered around to look at the picture.
"I bet he was strict," said Claudia. "Doesn't he look it?"
He did. His mouth was a straight line, and his eyes, behind black-framed eyeglasses, looked serious.
"What if he's the one tearing up posters and painting on the walls?" Abby said.
"He's dead!" cried Kristy.
"I know," Abby said, with a tiny smile. "But maybe he's not totally dead, if you know what I mean. Maybe he's haunting the school, because his murder was never solved." She raised her eyebrows.
"Stop!" cried Mary Anne. "You're creeping me out. Stacey, turn the page. I can't stand the way he's looking at me."
I turned the page, and we started looking at the eighth-grade pictures. Immediately, we forgot about Abby’s ghoulish idea. The pictures were hilarious. "All the boys look so geeky!" cried Kristy. "Look at those haircuts."
"And the girls have such big hair," Claudia said. "How about those cat-eye glasses, too?"
We paged through the pictures, laughing at how strange the kids looked. The funny thing was that they didn't really look like kids at all.
They looked like miniature grown-ups. The boys had short hair and wore suits and ties, and the girls looked as if they were about thirty. I kept turning pages.
"Whoa," I said suddenly, looking at one of the pictures more closely. "Check it out!" I pointed to a picture in the upper left hand corner of the page, of a relatively cute but still geeky-looking guy with black, curly hair.
"What about him?" asked Kristy.
"Look at the name," I said. Underneath the picture, the caption read "Michael Rothman." "How weird. That’s the name of the teacher
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