door and locked it. But I knew that wouldn’t keep them out.
The ghosts from Scott’s attic had followed me, I knew.
Why were they here? And what did they plan to do now? Haunt me forever?
25
I called Scott. I told him about the red paint smear on my wall. And the frightening whispers at dinner.
He got very quiet.
“I think it might be the ghosts,” I said. “Maybe we didn’t lock that closet in time.”
A long silence. “Everything is okay at my house,” he said finally. “Totally normal.”
Did the ghosts all move to my house? I wondered.
Later, I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed and stared across my dark room, wide awake. I listened for whispers. My eyes kept searching the shadows for signs of the ghosts.
I was finally drifting to sleep, when something caught my eye.
Something moved.
I blinked myself wide awake. I sat up quickly.
And saw the sleeve of my suit jacket move.
The suit Mom wanted me to try on. I had forgottenabout it. I had tossed it on the chair against the wall.
And now, as I gaped in silent horror, the sleeve raised itself. And then the other sleeve moved. And then the whole jacket floated up off the chair.
“Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”
Silence.
I wanted to jump out of bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. My whole body was frozen in fear.
“Hey—” I called out as the pants slowly lifted off the chair. One leg bent and lifted up. Then the other leg.
It looked as if someone was pulling on the pants.
Someone invisible.
“No—go away!” I cried, my voice choked with terror.
The suit—the jacket above the pants—floated a few inches above the floor. And then it began to move toward me.
With no one inside!
“N-noooo!” I let out another cry.
I struggled to climb out of bed. But the covers tangled around my legs. I kicked frantically as the suit floated closer.
Both jacket arms rose, as if preparing to grab me.
I finally managed to kick free of the covers. I leaped out of bed.
A cold wind swirled up from out of nowhere. The wind circled me, spun around me. The window shade began to flap. Snap snap snap . It flapped hardagainst the bedroom window.
The window slid up, then slammed back down. It shot up again, opening all the way. Then an invisible hand sent it slamming down.
Arms raised, the suit floated closer…closer….
And I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of terror.
26
“Spencer—what’s wrong?”
“What’s happening?”
The ceiling light flashed on. Mom and Dad burst in. Mom was wearing a long brown-and-white nightshirt. Dad was struggling with his bathrobe.
“We heard you scream,” Dad said. “What—”
“The suit—” I choked out, pointing.
I gasped. The jacket and pants had settled back onto the chair.
“The suit was moving!” I said. “And the window started to shoot up and down.”
Their eyes moved from the suit on the chair to the closed bedroom window.
Mom stepped up to me and placed a hand on my forehead. “Spencer, you’re sweating. Your forehead is dripping wet. Do you have fever?”
“Were you having a nightmare?” Dad asked, staring at the suit lying so still over the chair.
“Someone was in the suit,” I insisted. “Someone put it on and—”
Mom shook her head sadly. She still had her hand on my forehead. She lowered it around my shoulders. “I think something has upset you,” she whispered.
“First he goes nuts at dinner. Now this,” Dad muttered.
“Do you think we should take you to see Dr. Rausch?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m okay. It really happened. The suit—”
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. I could see they were worried about me.
And I could see they weren’t going to believe me.
“I guess it was a nightmare,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “That’s all. Just a nightmare.”
That seemed to make them happy. Mom tucked me back into bed. Dad ran to get me a drink of water.
A few minutes later, they returned to their room.
I sat up in bed,
The ghosts from Scott’s attic had followed me, I knew.
Why were they here? And what did they plan to do now? Haunt me forever?
25
I called Scott. I told him about the red paint smear on my wall. And the frightening whispers at dinner.
He got very quiet.
“I think it might be the ghosts,” I said. “Maybe we didn’t lock that closet in time.”
A long silence. “Everything is okay at my house,” he said finally. “Totally normal.”
Did the ghosts all move to my house? I wondered.
Later, I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed and stared across my dark room, wide awake. I listened for whispers. My eyes kept searching the shadows for signs of the ghosts.
I was finally drifting to sleep, when something caught my eye.
Something moved.
I blinked myself wide awake. I sat up quickly.
And saw the sleeve of my suit jacket move.
The suit Mom wanted me to try on. I had forgottenabout it. I had tossed it on the chair against the wall.
And now, as I gaped in silent horror, the sleeve raised itself. And then the other sleeve moved. And then the whole jacket floated up off the chair.
“Who’s there?” I called. “Who is it?”
Silence.
I wanted to jump out of bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. My whole body was frozen in fear.
“Hey—” I called out as the pants slowly lifted off the chair. One leg bent and lifted up. Then the other leg.
It looked as if someone was pulling on the pants.
Someone invisible.
“No—go away!” I cried, my voice choked with terror.
The suit—the jacket above the pants—floated a few inches above the floor. And then it began to move toward me.
With no one inside!
“N-noooo!” I let out another cry.
I struggled to climb out of bed. But the covers tangled around my legs. I kicked frantically as the suit floated closer.
Both jacket arms rose, as if preparing to grab me.
I finally managed to kick free of the covers. I leaped out of bed.
A cold wind swirled up from out of nowhere. The wind circled me, spun around me. The window shade began to flap. Snap snap snap . It flapped hardagainst the bedroom window.
The window slid up, then slammed back down. It shot up again, opening all the way. Then an invisible hand sent it slamming down.
Arms raised, the suit floated closer…closer….
And I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of terror.
26
“Spencer—what’s wrong?”
“What’s happening?”
The ceiling light flashed on. Mom and Dad burst in. Mom was wearing a long brown-and-white nightshirt. Dad was struggling with his bathrobe.
“We heard you scream,” Dad said. “What—”
“The suit—” I choked out, pointing.
I gasped. The jacket and pants had settled back onto the chair.
“The suit was moving!” I said. “And the window started to shoot up and down.”
Their eyes moved from the suit on the chair to the closed bedroom window.
Mom stepped up to me and placed a hand on my forehead. “Spencer, you’re sweating. Your forehead is dripping wet. Do you have fever?”
“Were you having a nightmare?” Dad asked, staring at the suit lying so still over the chair.
“Someone was in the suit,” I insisted. “Someone put it on and—”
Mom shook her head sadly. She still had her hand on my forehead. She lowered it around my shoulders. “I think something has upset you,” she whispered.
“First he goes nuts at dinner. Now this,” Dad muttered.
“Do you think we should take you to see Dr. Rausch?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m okay. It really happened. The suit—”
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. I could see they were worried about me.
And I could see they weren’t going to believe me.
“I guess it was a nightmare,” I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. “That’s all. Just a nightmare.”
That seemed to make them happy. Mom tucked me back into bed. Dad ran to get me a drink of water.
A few minutes later, they returned to their room.
I sat up in bed,
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