Philip and the Haunted House (9781619500020) Read online

“If he does say no, we’ll have to pick one of those other things.”

  The boys said goodbye. Philip hoped the real estate man would tell them to stay away. Thinking of something else would be safer and easier than spending a whole day working around a haunted house.

  Chapter Four

  Philip knew when he went to bed Friday night this would be the first Saturday he didn’t look forward to since school started. The real estate agent had given his father permission to cut the grass in front of the haunted house. His father had given Emery and him refresher lessons on how to safely operate the lawn mowers and had bought a disposable camera for the before and after pictures. Philip thought things over and promised himself he’d never ever volunteer for any kind of community service again unless he had to—like now. What a Saturday this would be. He couldn’t wait for Sunday.

  “Time to get up, my little neighborhood improvement elf.” Philip opened his eyes and saw his father standing at the foot of his bed.

  “I think I’m sick. I have pneumonia or something.” Philip coughed as hard as he could.

  “No weaseling out. You’re about to do a good deed and get a super A+. Up. Let’s go. I called Emery. We meet him outside his house in twenty minutes.”

  Thirty minutes later they stood in front of the haunted house.

  “Now, you guys get on the front lawn in the middle... there... where the grass is the highest. There are twelve pictures on this camera I bought for you, so I’ll take six now and six when you finish and get them developed right away. Look on the bright side! You’ll be all done with your project by Monday, and the rest of your class will still be struggling.”

  Emery and Philip silently trudged to the spot on the lawn in the high grass Philip’s father had indicated.

  Emery looked down. “What’s that?”

  Philip bent down and gingerly picked up a dirty, damp white sock.

  “Put that down,” Philip’s father snapped. “I don’t want a picture of an old sock. Here, use these gardening gloves to clean things up so you can mow.” Mr. Felton reached into a large paper bag and took out two pairs of brown cloth gloves. “A pair for you; a pair for you. Anything you need to pick up use them and one of these.” A handful of large black trash bags came out of the paper bag next.

  Philip and Emery looked at each other.

  “This is getting complicated. I don’t think I’m going to like this,” said Emery.

  “I already don’t like it,” Philip grumped.

  “Okay. Smile!”

  After Philip’s father moved the boys to five other spots for five more pictures, he said, “Okay, let’s see you turn on the mowers. Turn the key and push the button.”

  The boys obeyed, and both machines roared to life.

  Philip’s father drew his finger across his throat, and the boys turned the machines off. “First, go over the lawn and pick up anything in the mower’s way. You don’t want pieces of old sock or any tin cans flying around.”

  “Suppose there’s yucky stuff on the lawn,” Philip said warily.

  His father pointed to the brown gloves Philip held. “When the lawn is clean, start the mowers and get to work. Your lunches are in this bag.” A smaller paper bag came out of the larger one. “I’ll put it here out of the sun.” Mr. Felton walked to the shady porch of the house and put the bag down. Emery and Philip both wondered which of them would be the one to go retrieve it.

  “It’s ten-thirty. I’ll be back in an hour to see how much progress you’ve made. Eat when you get hungry. Good luck.” Philip’s father walked down the street toward the corner and home, leaving the two boys standing in the high grass feeling very alone.

  Emery said, “Did I hear your dad whistling? He’s awful happy.”

  “If you were going back home, you’d be whistling, too.”

  “I guess. Pshew! Look at this place.”

  The two boys turned their eyes away from Philip’s departing father and looked over their chore. They stood in the deep grass before a two-story house in need of a lot of painting. Two broken chairs sat on the porch, along with the brown paper bag with the boys’ lunches. The front door of the house had a long, oval window in it looking like a black, shadowy mouth stretched open in a weird, scary shape.

  They inspected the lawn again. The grass was green in spots but a lot of it had turned brown and crackly. A cement walkway leading to the porch separated the plot of grass on the right from one on the left. Fortunately, whoever had lived there before paved over behind the house to park their car, so no grass at all grew there.

  “Well,” said Philip, “you take one side and I’ll do the other.”

  “There’s an awful lot of grass,” said Emery. Then both boys noticed how quiet the neighborhood had grown; no bird sounds, no people and very few cars.

  “You sure you don’t want to go visit old people?” Emery asked in a small voice. “Maybe they’ll just like fall asleep while they look out the window, and all we’ll have to do is keep them from falling out of their chairs.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s too late now. Let’s get started. I’ll start over there.” Philip walked across the concrete walkway and into the high grass. When he turned, Emery stood right behind him.

  Philip jumped. “Emery! Get over there. Get your mower and start over there.”

  “Why don’t we work together? We could both push one mower and then we could go faster.”

  “We have two mowers. We’ll finish faster if you do that side and I do this side.”

  Suddenly a noise came from somewhere the boys couldn’t locate.

  “Did you hear?” Emery said, stepping closer to Philip.

  “All right. All right. We’ll push together. The tall grass is probably hard to cut.”

  “Yeah, right. I think you’re right. Good idea. Go ahead. Turn on the mower.”

  Philip stepped up to the mower, Emery right at his elbow.

  Philip looked at him. “Could you move a little please?”

  “Move where?”

  “Away from me a little.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re breathing on me.”

  “If I stop breathing can I stay close?”

  “You can breathe, just don’t get so close. I need some room to turn the mower on.” Emery took a half step back.

  Philip turned the key and pushed the button, and suddenly they were surrounded by noise. Philip shouted at Emery, “Come on. Hold on here and push with me.”

  Emery got elbow-to-elbow with Philip, and the two friends pushed the mower through the tall grass. Their community improvement project was underway.

  Chapter Five

  The two busy boys had finished one side of the lawn, raked up the loose grass and put it into big, black trash bags and had begun the second side of the lawn when Philip’s father returned carrying a jug. Philip turned the mower off when he saw him.

  “What’s in there?” Philip asked.

  “Your mom made you some lemonade. I see you’re sweating. Why don’t you stop for lunch and have some of this lemonade to cool off?”

  “I’m hungry,” Emery said. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “I didn’t think I could sweat so much when it wasn’t summer.”

  Philip’s father laughed. “You’re doing a good day’s work, Emery. Run and get your lunch.”

  Emery looked at Philip and both boys knew without saying anything they would go to the porch together to pick up their lunch. They walked toward the porch step-by-step, shoulder-to-shoulder. When they reached the porch steps, they stared in surprise.

  “Where is it?” Emery whispered. He and Philip looked right, then left. Philip waved his hand to Emery, and they walked up the three steps onto the porch and looked right and left again. The brown paper bag wasn’t there.

  “Dad,” Philip called.

  “Shhh! Not so loud,” Emery warned, keeping his eyes on the front door and the two dark windows on each side of it.

  “Dad,” Philip called more quietly. “The lunc
hes are missing.”

  Philip’s father walked up the path and looked for the lunch bag. “I put it right there. Funny. Did you guys see a dog or something walking around up here?”

  “Something?” Emery repeated. He grabbed Philip’s elbow, and they backed slowly off the porch.

  “That’s the second time my lunch has disappeared,” Philip whispered. “You know I didn’t leave it in the kitchen this time, Emery.”

  “I know. I know,” said Emery, his eyes darting everywhere.

  “Did you?” Mr. Felton repeated.

  “Did I what?” Philip asked.

  “See a dog.”

  “Dog? No, no dog.”

  “Funny,” Mr. Felton repeated. “Well, look. Have some lemonade, and I’ll go home and make two more sandwiches. I’ll be right back.”

  “How about if we come with you?” Emery blurted, stepping closer to Philip’s father. Philip moved with him.

  “Yeah,” said Philip. “Then you won’t have to carry it back.”

  “Save you some time,” Emery added.

  “All right. Come on. And let me tell you, you’re doing a good job on this lawn. Come home, have lunch, and then get this finished up. I’ll come back with the camera and take the ‘after’ photos, and your project will be done.”

  The boys stayed close to Mr. Felton and home they went.

  Finally, at three o’clock as Philip tied up the last big garbage bag full of grass—“haunted grass”—the boys called it, Philip’s father showed up, camera in hand.

  “Wow,” he said. “What a difference. Now go stand in the same six places you stood before, and I’ll take six pictures. If this doesn’t get you an A+ I’ll be very surprised.”

  Philip and Emery hurried to one spot after another, posing once with a lawnmower in front of them; once holding rakes; three times with their arms across each other’s shoulders; and in the final photo surrounded by four big, black trash bags. They were finished.

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Emery.

  “Yeah, Dad. We’re done. Nothing left to do.”

  “Let’s put these trash bags by the curb for the trash truck and we’ll go.”

  Philip and Emery each dragged a trash bag to the curb while Philip’s father dragged the other two.

  “That’s everything, let’s go,” said Philip’s father. “Grab the mowers. I’ll get the two rakes. We’ll put this stuff back into our garages, then drive to the mall to drop the film off.”

  “Can we go to the arcade in the mall for a while?” Philip asked.

  “I think you’ve earned it,” said Mr. Felton as they transported their equipment down the street. “And my treat, five dollars each—a reward for a job well done.”

  Philip and Emery looked at each other. “All right,” they shouted and slapped hands. The haunted house slowly slipped out of their memories.

  Chapter Six

  “I’m going to bed,” Philip reported to his parents, who sat on the living room sofa watching TV.

  “So soon?” Philip’s mother asked in surprise. “It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

  “I’m tired. And everything hurts,” Philip grumbled.

  “Are you getting sick?” asked his mother, beginning to get up, but Mr. Felton put out his hand and made her sit back down.

  “Philip is suffering from what is known as a hard day’s work. Don’t you worry, Flipster. The achiness goes away, but the good job you did today will last. At least until the grass grows back.”

  “I don’t want to do it again,” said Philip in alarm.

  His father laughed. “No, you’re right. Once was enough. The weather’s changing anyway. The grass probably won’t grow any more till spring. Go on to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” said his mother.

  Philip brushed his teeth, got into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. He couldn’t remember ever being so tired. He closed his eyes. As he started to drift off to sleep, the sound of sirens floated up to him from the street, but he felt too tired to wonder why they sounded so close. He just didn’t care.

  The next morning Philip lay on the living room floor reading the Sunday comics when the phone rang. He answered and heard Emery’s voice.

  “Did you hear about the robbery last night?”

  “No, I kind of went to bed early. What robbery?”

  “The pizza store across the street from school. The two robbers took a lot of money.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My dad heard it on the radio. I even heard the sirens last night.”

  “Oh, yeah. Me, too. Is that what they were for? I heard them when I went to bed.”

  “That was only like nine o’clock. You went to bed so early?”

  “All the lawn mowing.”

  “Yeah, I went to bed at nine-thirty,” Emery confessed. “What’ll we do today? Hey, did your dad get the pictures back yet?”

  “No, not till Monday, he said.”

  “Oh. So what’ll we do today?”

  “I was thinking about the haunted house. Let’s pack another lunch and put it on the porch. Then we make believe we’re going away, but really hide across the street. Maybe we can see what happens to it.”

  “You want to see the ghost?”

  “Ghost! Don’t be dumb. It can’t be a ghost. My lunches disappeared during the day. Ghosts only come out at night, right?”

  “Maybe it’s a daytime ghost.”

  “A daytime ghost? What’s a daytime ghost?”

  “You know. If you die at night, you’re a nighttime ghost. If you die during the day, you’re a daytime ghost.”

  “Is that true? You sure?”

  Emery shrugged. “All the ghosts can’t be flying around at night. They’d bump into one another. Some must have to fly around in the daytime so it’s not so crowded.”

  “How many ghosts do you think there are, anyway?”

  “Lots.”

  “It couldn’t be a ghost though, could it?” Philip reasoned. “Ghosts don’t eat, right?”

  “This one ate our sandwiches.”

  Philip pondered the possibility. “Anyway, let’s put the sandwich on the porch, then hide and see what happens.”

  “How far away will we hide?”

  “Far enough to be safe.”

  “Where’s that? Alaska?”

  “No, not Alaska. Across the street.”

  “You sure across the street is safe?”

  “It should be. We were closer than that when the second lunches got stolen, and the ghost didn’t do anything to us.”

  “Hey, you said it wasn’t a ghost.”

  “All right, no ghost. We’ll be safe from whatever took them.”

  “Whatever took them! What kind of whatever you mean?”

  “How do I know what kind of whatever? A whatever’s just a whatever. Something took them, right?”

  “Oh, great. I’d rather it was a ghost than a whatever that took them.”

  “We’ll be far away and safe.”

  “We better be.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Pack the lunch and come by for me. I’ll be waiting. And worrying.”

  Ten minutes later the two boys walked down Pratt Street toward the haunted house.

  “It’s kind of hard to tell the house is haunted after we cut the grass,” Emery said.

  “Shhh,” whispered Philip. They’d reached the beginning of the cement walkway. “Here.” He handed the brown bag to Emery.

  “Here, what? What do you mean ‘here?’ I don’t want it. You take it.”

  “I’ll be your lookout. If I yell, you start running.”

  “How about I be your lookout and if I yell, you start running?”

  “I yell better than you,” Philip claimed.

  “Oh, no. I yell pretty good, too. Want to hear?”

  “No, no, shhhh!” Philip sighed in exasperation. “All right. We’ll both go.”

  “If we both go, who’s
going to yell so we can both start running?”

  “We’ll both yell, and we’ll both start running.”

  “Which way shall we run?”

  “Away, away! We’ll run away! Now, come on.” Shoulder-to-shoulder the two boys took tiny steps up the walkway. They looked left, right, and everywhere, ready to yell and ready to run. They saw nothing to yell about, though, and when they got near the porch Philip underhanded the lunch to the same spot as yesterday’s lunch.

  “Good throw,” said Emery. “Let’s go.” They backed down the walkway until they reached the sidewalk.

  “Now what?” Emery whispered.

  “Just act normal.”

  “Walking backwards isn’t normal.”

  “So let’s turn around.”

  “If we turn around we can’t watch the house.”

  Philip’s voice rose in exasperation. “Well, we can’t walk all the way to the corner backwards, can we? We’ll look stupid. Let’s turn together. We can hide behind the house across the street and watch what goes on. Ready?”

  The boys turned slowly and walked down the street, Emery sneaking peeks over his shoulder until Philip told him to stop. They crossed the street and went a little way down the block. When they’d gone far enough, they turned and went behind the house directly across from the haunted house.

  “Suppose the people who live here see us,” Emery said in a worried voice.

  “Be quiet and nobody will know.”

  “Peek out. Can you see it from here?” Emery asked.

  Philip moved back and forth and finally stepped out from behind the house. “Emery,” Philip said, his voice rising softly, “it’s not there.”

  “The house isn’t there! Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”

  “No dummy, not the house, the lunch. How could the house not be there? The lunch isn’t where I threw it.”

  “It has to be. I saw you throw it. Look again.”

  Philip stepped away from the house. “Nope, I don’t see it. Come on.” The boys walked alongside the house and onto the sidewalk. They crossed the street and paused at the beginning of the cement walkway. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they repeated their march along the walkway.