Kristy and the Haunted Mansion

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  “Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along —”

  “Row, row, row your boat —”

  “Jingle bells, Santa smells, a million miles away —”

  My head was pounding. I felt as if I were trapped in a hot, tiny room with nine munchkins who were all singing different songs. And in a way, I was. The tiny room was a van, which my big brother Charlie was driving along the highway. It was hot because — well, because it was a hot, muggy day. The munchkins were nine little kids who make up a softball team that I co-coach. And those kids were singing nine different songs, all at the same time.

  “Comet, it makes your mouth turn green —”

  “Doe, a deer, a female deer —”

  “Boys are made of greasy, grimy gopher guts —”

  I looked over at Bart Taylor, the other coach. He had pressed his hands over his ears. He grinned at me and shrugged.

  “A hundred bottles of pop on the wall —”

  “The wheels on the bus go round and round —”

  “The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout —”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. But what could I do? The kids were just bursting with energy. They were probably also a little nervous about the game they were going to be playing that afternoon: They would be facing the Redfield Raiders for the first time. I realized that singing was probably just the kids’ way of working out some of their heebie-jeebies. (I love that term! It’s much more fun than “anxiety,” or “apprehension.”) But even though I knew it was good for them, I couldn’t stand the racket they were making. Suddenly, I had an idea. It was a good one, too, and I acted on it right away. I whistled loudly to get their attention. “Hey, kids,” I said. “Let’s play chorus. We can take turns being the conductor, okay? I’ll go first to show you how.”

  They looked up at me expectantly. I raised my arms. “First of all, we’re going to sing the same song,” I said. “And not ‘Jingle Bells.’ It’s too hot and muggy to sing Christmas carols. All right, let’s try something simple, like —”

  Bart raised his hand. “How about ‘We’re Off to See the Wizard’?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Ready, everyone?” I got them started, and then after two verses I tapped my little brother David Michael on the shoulder. “You conduct now,” I whispered to him. He took over, and I leaned back in my seat and sighed. Listening to nine voices singing the same song was about a hundred times better than listening to nine different songs.

  “Nice going, Kristy,” said Bart.

  “Yeah,” said Charlie from the driver’s seat. “Thanks!”

  Whew. Once again, I’d had an idea that saved the day. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but that happens to me a lot. Getting ideas, I mean. I don’t know where they come from; they just pop into my brain all by themselves. My stepfather, Watson Brewer, calls it “the eternal mystery of the creative process.” I call it luck.

  I guess I should introduce myself. My name’s Kristy Thomas (Kristin Amanda Thomas, if you want to be formal), and I’m thirteen and in the eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School, which is in the little town of Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I have medium-length brown hair, brown eyes, and I’m short for my age. I’m not one of those girls you sometimes see who look like they stepped out of a fashion magazine. In fact, I’m the opposite of that. I don’t care much about how clothes look. I just want them to be comfortable. That’s why I usually wear jeans and turtlenecks and running shoes.

  That Saturday, in the van, it was way too hot for jeans and a turtleneck. I was really glad I’d worn shorts and a T-shirt instead. On my T-shirt was written the name of my softball team; it said Krushers, in red. Bart was wearing a shirt that looked a lot like it, except his said Bashers. That’s the name of his team. Some of the kids in the van — Jerry, Joey, Chris, and Patty — are Bashers. The others — David Michael, Buddy, Karen, Jackie, and Nicky — are Krushers. But for that day, all nine kids were Krashers. That’s right, Krashers. Bart and I had combined some of the players on each of our teams to make an “all-star” squad that could play teams from other towns. That’s why we were traveling the thirty miles to Redfield.

  This wasn’t the Krashers’ first game together. But it was the first one with a new line-up. Bart and I had made some changes and substitutions since the last time the Krashers played. Still, I thought we had a good, strong team. I looked around the crowded van and smiled at the kids as they sang.

  Suddenly, I thought of something kind of funny. Twelve people were in that van, and a third of them were in my family! There was Charlie, who’s seventeen, and the oldest kid in my family. And there was me. And there was David Michael, my seven-year-old brother. And finally there was Karen Brewer, my stepsister. (She’s the one who had been singing “Doe, a deer, a female deer.”) She’s seven, and a lot of fun. She doesn’t live at my house full-time; she and her little brother, Andrew, live with us only on alternate weekends and for two weeks in the summer. The rest of the time they live with their mother, Watson Brewer’s first wife. She’s married again, too, to a man named Seth.

  I forgot to mention that my family is kind of complicated.

  See, my father walked out on my family soon after David Michael was born. He left my mom with four kids to take care of! (I have another brother, named Sam, who’s fifteen. He wasn’t in the van that day.) My mom’s a strong woman, and she hung in there and kept the family going. I really admire her for that. Then, not too long ago, she met Watson Brewer. A nice guy (even though I didn’t exactly love him at first sight), with a station wagon and a bald spot on his head. He also happened to be a millionaire! Truth. And so, when they ended up getting married, my family moved into Watson’s mansion. It’s across town from where I used to live, which is too bad, but it’s huge and really comfortable, which is nice.

  If the house weren’t as big as it is, I don’t know what we’d do, because our family just seems to keep growing. First of all, my mom and Watson decided they wanted to bring a baby into our lives, so they adopted a little Vietnamese girl named Emily Michelle. She’s two and a half, and incredibly cute. Then, my grandmother Nannie came to live with us, in order to help out with Emily.

  We also have a puppy named Shannon, an ancient cat named Boo-Boo, and assorted gold-fish. It’s a full house, believe me. And you know what? I love it! I like how the house is always full of life, and how we all seem to get along without even trying very hard. It’s kind of awesome, really. I also like having lots of little kids around, since taking care of kids is one of my favorite things to do. I love to baby-sit. In fact, I started a club that’s all about baby-sitting. It’s called the Baby-sitters Club (what else could you call it?) and I’m the president. I’ll tell you more about the BSC later on.

  “Almost there!” sang out Charlie.

  “Great,” said Bart. “Are you guys ready to play ball?” he asked the kids.

  “Yes!” everybody shouted.

  “Okay,” said Bart. “Kristy and I have worked out the line-up for today. I want you to listen up while she announces it.”

  I smiled at Bart. It was thoughtfu
l of him to let me read the line-up. And it was nice of him to get the kids’ attention for me. Not that I needed his help. I have never had trouble with public speaking. In fact, I’m known for my big mouth and sometimes bossy attitude. I don’t love being thought of as bossy, so I try to tone it down, but the good side of it is that I do know how to motivate people so that things get done. Luckily, Bart’s the kind of guy who isn’t intimidated by a person like me. In fact, he thinks I’m special. And I think he’s pretty special himself. Uh-oh, am I getting mushy here? I didn’t mean to.

  As I was saying, I smiled at Bart. Then I picked up my clipboard. “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the line-up: Buddy at second base, where Matt usually plays.” (Buddy Barrett, a Krusher, was substituting for Matt Braddock, who has played second for the Krashers before. Matt’s family was away for the weekend.) “David Michael will catch. Jackie, you’ll be at shortstop.” (Jackie Rodowsky, another Krusher, is known as the Walking Disaster. He’s accident-prone, to put it kindly.) “Karen will be in right field, and Nicky will be pitching.” (Nicky Pike’s a Krusher, and his older sister Mallory is in the BSC.)

  I went on to tell the Bashers where they’d be playing. I don’t know the kids from Bart’s team the way I know the Krushers. I baby-sit all the time for most of the kids on my team, so I know them pretty well. But the Bashers seem like good kids. “Jerry,” I said, “you’ll be at third. Patty’s in center field. Joey’s at first, and Chris is in left field.” I smiled at everyone. “Got that?” I asked.

  They nodded, and just then Charlie called out, “Here we are!” He swung the van into a parking space, and soon we were busy unloading equipment. I led the way to the field, carrying one of our big duffel bags full of bats, balls, and bases.

  “Hi, Kristy!” I heard someone calling to me from the sidelines. It was Mary Anne Spier, my best friend and the secretary of the BSC. She was sitting with the other club members, who had come to see the game. I’m lucky to have loyal friends. I waved and smiled, but I was too busy to talk to them just then.

  “Kristy, I’m here if you need me!” someone else called. I looked around and saw Jake Kuhn, who had promised to be on hand if we needed a substitute. He was dressed in his Krushers T-shirt, and he looked ready to play. So did Linny and Hannie Papadakis. I also saw a few Bashers in the stands: Dave and Robbie, I think their names were. It was good to know that we’d be covered in case one of our players needed a break.

  Our cheerleaders were on hand, too. Or at least two out of three of them were. Vanessa Pike, Nicky and Mallory’s sister, was there. So was Charlotte Johanssen, someone we baby-sit for often. But Haley Braddock, Matt’s sister, was missing, since she was away with the rest of her family.

  I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Pike in the stands, and also Karen and Andrew’s mother and stepfather. Andrew was sitting on his mom’s lap, and he looked ready to cheer for his big sister.

  Soon the game began. I won’t bore you with the details, but it turned into a very close and exciting game. The Raiders were a tough team, and they were ahead for the first five innings. I have to say that it didn’t look good for the Krashers. I kept glancing at the sky, almost wishing it would rain so that we could avoid losing. A rain-out is better than losing. But even though the skies were as heavy as lead and the humidity level was about 99.9 percent, the rain held off. And it was just as well, since we ended up coming from behind to win the game. (I think it’s good to be the underdog sometimes. Winning feels even better when you really have to fight for it.)

  After the game, our fans ran onto the field to congratulate us. A few drops of rain had begun to fall, but I didn’t mind the sprinkles since I was so hot. “Nice job, Kristy,” said Mary Anne, trotting over to me. She was surrounded by the other BSC members: Mallory Pike, Jessi Ramsey, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, and Dawn Schafer.

  “Thanks!” I said. “I’m glad you guys were here. Your support really helped.” I smiled at my friends. “So, what’s everybody doing tonight?”

  It turned out that almost everyone had a sitting job. Mary Anne and Mal would be sitting for Mal’s sisters and brothers. Claudia was sitting for Jamie and Lucy Newton. And Dawn was sitting for Suzi, Buddy, and Marnie Barrett. Only Stacey and Jessi had the night off. And me? Well, Bart had asked if I’d like to “grab a burger” with him. I don’t know if you could call that a date, exactly, but I was looking forward to it. Especially now that we could celebrate another Krashers’ victory!

  Before I go on, maybe I better tell you more about the BSC and its members. First of all, the BSC is more than a club; it’s a business, really. A very successful business. The original idea for it was mine, which is why I’m president. I came up with the idea one evening when my mom was trying to find a sitter for David Michael. This was quite awhile ago, before she married Watson. She made, like, a million calls, but nobody was free (including me). Suddenly I thought, why not have one number parents could call and get in touch with a whole group of sitters?

  Simple idea, right? Well, as Watson says, simple ideas are often the best ones. And the club was a big success from the start. At first we advertised with fliers and the occasional ad in the paper, but now we have plenty of clients. We meet in our vice-president Claudia’s room three afternoons a week — Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays — from five-thirty to six. During those times, parents can call to set up sitting appointments. Our secretary, Mary Anne, keeps a record book so that we know right away which of us is free. The record book was my idea, too.

  So was the club notebook, in which each of us writes up every job we go on. Then we read it every week, and that way we keep up with what’s going on with our clients. The notebook is not one of my more popular ideas, since hardly anybody likes to spend her time writing up jobs, but everyone admits that it’s very helpful. I, personally, think it’s one of the things that contributes to the club’s success. Parents know we care when we show up on a job already informed about their children.

  What else? Well, we have a treasury which we pay dues into. Dues day is Monday, and Stacey, the treasurer, is the one who collects the money. We use the money to pay Charlie to drive me to meetings (now that I live all the way across town), for special projects, and for our Kid-Kits. What are Kid-Kits? Well, they’re these boxes we sometimes bring on jobs. We decorated them, and they’re full of toys and games that kids love to play with. The things aren’t all new, but they’re new to the kids we sit for, so Kid-Kits are always a hit. I hate to tell you who had the idea for them, since you might think I’m starting to sound conceited, but I’ll admit that her initials are K.T.

  Now that you know a little bit about how the club works, let me tell you more about the members.

  Mary Anne Spier, who is, as I mentioned, the club’s secretary, is also my best friend in the whole world. She and I have been friends as long as I can remember, and somehow I know that we always will be friends. I can just picture us at eighty-five, sitting in rockers on a porch somewhere and exchanging memories of the good old days. At eighty-five, I’ll still be a loudmouth, and Mary Anne will probably still be her shy, sensitive self. Friendships are funny, aren’t they? You’d never guess that Mary Anne and I would be friends, because we’re so different on the surface. Mary Anne doesn’t offer her opinion until it’s asked for; I never wait to be asked. Mary Anne will break into tears if she hears about a lost puppy; I can hardly remember the last time I cried. And Mary Anne always knows the right thing to say to someone who’s feeling down, while I might not even notice that she’s sad in the first place.

  However, we are similar in looks. Mary Anne has brown hair and brown eyes, just like me. Plus, she’s on the short side. She cares a little more about clothes and stuff, though, so she dresses differently than I do.

  Mary Anne is an only child. She was brought up by her father, since her mother died when Mary Anne was just a baby. I guess there weren’t as many single parents around back then, and Mr. Spier had to learn for himself how to raise a child on his own. For a long time, I th
ink he tried too hard. He was very strict with Mary Anne. He controlled how she wore her hair (in braids) and how she dressed (in young-looking outfits) and basically, how she lived her life. But finally, just in the last year or so, he’s begun to let her take responsibility for herself. Now Mary Anne chooses her own clothes, and fixes her hair the way she likes to. In fact, she recently had it cut short. Plus, she got a kitten named Tigger, and a boyfriend named Logan Bruno.

  Mary Anne got something else recently, too. A bigger family! Her father met up with an ex-girlfriend from his high school days, fell in love with her again, and married her. Mary Anne acquired a stepmother, a stepbrother, and a stepsister. And the best thing was this: the new stepsister was Dawn Schafer, another member of the BSC and Mary Anne’s other best friend.

  Dawn grew up in California, and only moved to Stoneybrook when her parents got divorced and her mother decided to return to her hometown. The move wasn’t easy for Dawn, but I think meeting Mary Anne and becoming a member of the BSC made it nicer for her. Unfortunately, her little brother Jeff never really made the transition. He ended up moving back to California to live with his dad.

  Dawn is a pretty cool person, and I really admire her. She’s very self-assured. She doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind, yet she manages to do so without putting her foot in her mouth the way I so often do. Dawn is pretty, too, with long blonde hair so light it’s almost white, and big blue eyes, and a way of dressing that looks comfortable and elegant at the same time. She has a healthy glow about her, which is probably due to the fact that she doesn’t eat red meat and she’s a health-food nut.

  Dawn is also nutty about ghosts. She can talk forever on the subject of ectoplasm and strange footsteps. And she’s convinced that the old, old farmhouse where she and her mom live (and where Mary Anne and her dad now live, too) is haunted. She may be right, since there is a secret passage left over from the days of the Underground Railroad. I could easily imagine that ghosts would love that passage.