The Case of the Glow-in-the-Dark Ghost

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  For the three children who transformed my sister Barbara into a deliriously proud grandmother: Grace Hazuka, and Mattea & Sofia Rice.

  Chapter

  1

  In the Tree House

  My name is Jones. Jigsaw Jones. I’m a detective. I solve mysteries.

  If your socks are missing, I’m the guy to track them down. I get a dollar a day for my trouble. So here’s a free hint: Try looking under your bed first.

  But let’s face it. Missing socks aren’t very exciting. Sure, they might have holes. They might even stink like old cheese. But they won’t scare you.

  I’d rather track down a ghost than a pair of argyle socks.

  The thing is, I just did. Track down a ghost, that is.

  Go figure.

  I was sitting in my tree house just a few days ago.

  My partner and best friend, Mila Yeh, was the first one up the tree house ladder. Mila was followed by a girl I’d never seen before. She wore a baggy orange sweater, a skirt, and bulky green socks.

  Mila introduced us. “Jigsaw, this is Cassandra. She’s the girl I told you about.”

  Cassandra’s bangs were cut in a straight line across her forehead. And I mean a perfectly straight line. Her eyes were unusually large and peered out from behind extremely thick glasses. They made her look like a South American tree frog.

  Cassandra’s body was short and stout. Before I knew it, I was absentmindedly singing in a soft voice, “I’m a little teapot, short and…”

  Mila gave me a sharp look. I stopped singing.

  “Grape juice?” I offered. “Cookies?”

  Cassandra said yes to both. She took a noisy gulp of grape juice and swallowed loudly. She chomped on the cookies with all the delicacy of a Great Dane.

  “Mila tells me you’ve seen a ghost,” I murmured.

  I said this flatly. No feeling in my voice. I could have been talking about a stack of pancakes. But I wasn’t. This girl, Cassandra Something-or-Other, claimed that she had seen a ghost.

  In our school.

  At night.

  The story gets even better. This ghost, she claimed, glowed in the dark.

  Spooky, huh? Maybe.

  I did my best not to roll my eyes. I listened carefully and nodded when it seemed like a nod needed doing. I took notes in my detective journal. And I kept my doubts to myself.

  Here’s the thing: I don’t believe in ghosts. But I do believe in clients. And I believe in getting paid. So I was willing to listen to Cassandra’s story. What else was I going to do in a tree house in the middle of the afternoon? Ride a pogo stick? I don’t think so.

  Besides, Cassandra had already eaten the last of my cookies. So I shut my mouth and listened.

  Chapter

  2

  Cassandra’s Warning

  “I live across the street from school,” Cassandra began. “I first saw the ghost about two weeks ago.”

  I looked up from my journal. “You’ve seen this ghost more than once?”

  Cassandra nodded. Yes.

  “Tell me about the first time,” I said.

  “It was during the witching hour.”

  I held up a hand. “What do you mean, ‘the witching hour’?”

  Cassandra leaned forward. She croaked, “You know, the hour when all the dark things, like ghosts and wizards and monsters, come out from hiding.”

  “What time is the witching hour, exactly?” Mila asked.

  Cassandra shrugged. “It changes every night,” she replied. “At least, that’s what Roald Dahl says.”

  I was confused.

  “Rolled … doll?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Cassandra noted.

  Since it worked so well the first time, I repeated myself. “Rolled … doll?”

  I’m guessing that the look on my face said something like, “Wha—?”

  So Cassandra added: “He’s a famous author. He wrote Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, The BFG…”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “Roald Dahl! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “I thought I did.”

  Hmmm. Well, perhaps she did. “Don’t cloud the issue with facts,” I scolded, raising an eyebrow.

  Mila explained. “According to people who believe in this—stuff—there’s a time in the night when everyone is asleep.”

  Cassandra nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. That’s when the monsters come out!”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “How do you figure? You were awake at the time,” I noted.

  “I was sleeping. Then I woke up, silly,” Cassandra replied. “Once the monsters are out, they can’t simply disappear in an instant. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “I see,” I mumbled. But I didn’t see at all. And I didn’t like being called silly, either. The whole thing had me in a fog. Monsters? Ghosts? I felt like I was trapped in a bad Scooby-Doo cartoon.

  Cassandra continued. “I woke up at around ten o’clock at night. For some reason, I looked out my bedroom window. It’s on the second floor. That’s when I saw the ghost.”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmured. “The ghost.”

  “Yes,” Cassandra replied. “It was floating by the classroom windows. It moved strangely. And it was glowing.”

  I poured myself a tall glass of grape juice.

  Cassandra explained that she’s seen this ghost two other times, always on Tuesdays.

  Finally, I pushed the coin jar in front of her. “We’ll look into this mystery for you,” I said. “We get a dollar a day.”

  Cassandra quickly looked at Mila.

  “Er, Jigsaw,” Mila interrupted, “I told Cassandra that we’d do this pro bono.”

  “Say what?”

  “Pro bono,” Mila repeated. “For free.”

  Cassandra smiled. “It’s awfully nice of you guys.”

  “Yeah, awfully,” I muttered.

  But I guess Mila was right. A good detective can’t walk away from a mystery.

  Mila handed Cassandra our business card. “Call Jigsaw the next time you see anything. Anytime. Day or night.”

  “Even if it’s the witching hour?” she asked.

  “Yes, even if it’s the witching hour.”

  Chapter

  3

  The Cap’n and Me

  I woke early the next morning and slinked into the kitchen. We had my favorite cereal in the cupboard. I wanted to eat some before my brothers beat me to it.

  My sister, Hillary, was already finishing her breakfast of toast and juice. My mom sat reading the newspaper. My father stared out the kitchen window, gripping a cup of coffee as if his life depended on it.

  “Morning, Jigsaw,” my mother said. My father nodded. And Hillary, who is thirteen years old, went right on talking. She went on and on about play rehearsals. Hillary was always in one show or another.
She dreamed of becoming an actress. Hillary hoped to star in a reality television series one day. Like my older brothers Daniel, Nick, and Billy always said, if it involved Hillary getting stranded on a desert island, they were all for it.

  Hillary likes to talk. Hillary is also a teenager, so her favorite subject is … Hillary! I tried very, very hard to ignore her. After all, that’s what brothers are for.

  It was my lucky morning. There was still some Cap’n Crunch in the cereal box. My parents don’t usually let us eat sugary cereals. They would be happiest if we ate cereal that tasted like a shoe box. But sometimes, if we beg hard enough, they will break down and buy the sweet stuff.

  Get it while you can.

  My dad says:

  “That stuff will ROT your TEETH until they DROP out of your MOUTH and FALL to the FLOOR.”

  Then he says:

  “Pass me the box. I think I’ll have a bowl.”

  My mom sighs. Rolls her eyes. Frowns. Groans. Moans. Pulls her hair. (You know, the usual mom stuff.) She complains that I like Cap’n Crunch because it’s “a box full of sugar-soaked cavity bombs.” Okay, fine; I can’t argue with that. Cavity bombs are tasty. So sue me.

  But here’s the thing: I like the sound they make. Crunch, crunch, crunch! It’s like having my own private earthquake inside my mouth. I spoon in a mouthful. Then I plug my ears with my fingers. And I chew as fast and as loudly as I can.

  All I can hear is the crunch, crunch, crunch! For a few happy moments, it’s just the Cap’n and me. Sugar bombs in my mouth, exploding in my ears. Everything else falls away. No school, no worries, no ghosts. It’s especially nice when my sister is talking (which, like I said, is pretty much always). I can see her lips move, but no words reach my ears. It’s like hitting the mute button on the TV remote.

  Just the way I like Hillary. All picture, no sound.

  Chapter

  4

  Another Witness

  Happy with the last of the Cap’n Crunch in my belly, I headed out to the bus stop. It was a Monday morning in the middle of October. The autumn leaves were just beginning to drop from the trees. Mila was waiting at the bus stop, along with Joey Pignattano. Joey was already digging into his lunch box, busily stuffing Oreos into his mouth.

  “Hi, Joey.”

  “Murffp, wurffle, glub,” he replied.

  It’s hard to talk with Oreos in your cheeks. Joey looked like a chipmunk.

  Mila had more to say. “I’ve been thinking about the ghost,” she said. “We have to talk to everybody at school. We need to find out if anybody else has seen a ghost.”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Mila,” I grumbled. “Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe this Cassandra Something-or-Other was only dreaming.”

  “Jigsaw,” Mila protested, “she’s seen the ghost three times. And it’s been Tuesday night every time. It can’t be a dream.”

  Joey yanked on my sleeve. “Murfffph,” he began, then swallowed and said, “did you say ghost?”

  “Yes,” Mila answered. “Cassandra Johnson said she saw a ghost running around our school.”

  “Cassandra Johnson?” Joey repeated. “I thought Jigsaw said her name was Cassandra Something-or-Other.”

  “Never mind that, Joey,” Mila said. “Have you seen any ghosts lately?”

  “Not lately,” Joey replied. “Not ever, actually. But ghosts are invisible, aren’t they?”

  I shrugged. “Beats us, Joey. But you better back away from the curb. Buses aren’t invisible—and here comes one now.”

  We climbed into the school bus and took our seats. After a few more stops, most of the gang was on board: Ralphie Jordan, Geetha Nair, Bobby Solofsky, Eddie Becker, Kim Lewis, and others. Mila asked everyone about the glow-in-the-dark ghost. Within minutes we learned that nobody had actually seen a ghost. But everybody was sure the story was true.

  Geetha Nair looked terrified. She crawled under her seat. And I don’t think it was because she dropped a pencil.

  “The ghost could be an old student,” Eddie said.

  “Yeah,” Solofsky chimed in. “Somebody who died and now wanders the halls, rattling chains and flushing toilets.”

  Oh, brother.

  Ralphie Jordan, who sat in front of me, spun around. “Earl Bartholemew told me that he saw a ghost the other day. He was riding his bike past the school at night and said he heard screams.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” I asked.

  “No way, Jigsaw,” Ralphie answered. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “No,” I replied, “but Earl Bartholemew might.”

  Earl was an eighth-grader who lived across the street from Ralphie. He was famous for his tall tales. Earl was not a witness I could trust.

  Mila rocked back and forth. She pulled on her long black hair. That was how Mila got her thinking machine started. “I’ll check out Earl’s story,” she said. “We have to follow every clue.”

  Mila was right, of course. She often was.

  I turned to Ralphie. “Did Earl notice anything … unusual … about this ghost?” I asked.

  Ralphie blinked. “You mean, besides that it was a ghost?”

  “Yeah, besides that,” I said.

  “Sure,” Ralphie said. “Earl said that it was dancing.”

  “Dancing?!” I said with disbelief. “A dancing ghost?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Ralphie protested. “Talk to Earl. But there was one more thing that was a little weird.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  Ralphie smiled. “Earl said that the ghost glowed.”

  Mila nudged me in the ribs. I hated when she did that. She had elbows like spears. Ouch.

  “OK, OK,” I told her. “We’ll snoop around. I don’t believe in ghosts. But a good detective knows that anything is possible.”

  Oh, brother. A glow-in-the-dark ghost. Weird witnesses. Strange shapes moving by classroom windows. It was enough to make me want a Scooby Snack.

  Chapter

  5

  Footprints

  Jingle, jangle. “Coming through! Out of the way, pip-squeaks, or I’ll sweep you up with the dust bunnies!”

  Mila and I jumped aside as our janitor, Mr. Copabianco, swept through the halls. A huge set of keys dangled from his belt, jingling and jangling as he walked along.

  “Good morning, Mr. Copabianco!” Mila called. “How are you doing today?”

  “Busy, busy! Just the way I like it!!” Mr. Copabianco answered. Then he moved on down the hall, loudly humming a bouncy tune I didn’t recognize. Da-da-da-DUM, da-da-da-DEE-da-DUM.

  That was Mr. Copabianco in a nutshell. Always smiling and happy.

  We hurried to our class in room 201. Our teacher, Ms. Gleason, is really nice. She doesn’t give too much homework. I like her hair best of all. It is orangey-yellow and reminds me of the autumn leaves outside our window.

  Ms. Gleason is big on reading. We have to read every day in class and at home, too. I don’t mind. I like books. And Mila practically eats books. Early in the year, Ms. Gleason decided to turn reading into a game, so she created the Amazing Author Adventure. She hung up a big game board with twenty spaces on it. You move one space every time you read a book. Once you read twenty books, you become a member of the Triple A Club. That means one very good thing: a special prize at our class pizza party!

  Most spaces on the board are blank. That means you can read any book you want. Sometimes a space says, “Read a book by Judy Blume, Jeff Kinney, or Kate DiCamillo.” Box number 17 says, “Read a book recommended by Ms. Gleason.” I can’t wait to get to box number 10. It reads, “You’ve read ten books. That’s really neat. Stop by my desk for a treat!”

  Unfortunately, Ms. Gleason likes rules. It’s a thing I’ve noticed about teachers. Go figure. The books we choose have to be chapter books at least sixty pages long. We also have to complete five bonus projects during the school year. And even though we can choose our own books, Ms. Gleason also gave us a long list of good authors. W
hew. It gets pretty complicated. Which is another thing I’ve noticed about teachers.

  Nothing is ever easy.

  Today a lot of kids picked out spooky, creepy stories. I guess we all had ghosts on the brain. After afternoon recess, Ms. Gleason read to us out loud while we lounged on the reading rug. We like that best of all. We can lie back, close our eyes, and just listen.

  But no snoring!

  Today Ms. Gleason read a couple of short stories from In a Dark, Dark Room by Alvin Schwartz. Everybody jumped at the end of the title story. Lucy Hiller shrieked so loud it hurt my ears.

  In a dark, dark house

  There’s a dark, dark room.…

  I won’t give away the ending, but it’s a scream.

  There was one other important thing that happened toward the end of the day. Ms. Gleason wanted to show us something on the projector. She asked Bigs Maloney to close the curtains. Helen Zuckerman turned out the lights.

  And that’s when we saw them.

  There were footprints all around our classroom floor.

  Footprints that glowed in the dark.

  “The ghost!” Geetha Nair exclaimed. “It’s real!”

  Chapter

  6

  A Message from Mila

  Ms. Gleason snapped on the lights. I pulled out my magnifying glass. I never left home without it. Then I began crawling around on the floor. Even Ms. Gleason got down on her hands and knees for a closer look.

  At first glance, I couldn’t see anything unusual. The footprints seemed to have completely disappeared in the light of day. But when I looked carefully, I could see the faintest blue-white shadows.

  With Ms. Gleason’s permission, I took a marker and traced an outline of the foot.

  “Well, it’s a big foot,” Ms. Gleason concluded.

  “BIGFOOT?!” Bobby Solofsky exclaimed. “BIGFOOT HAS BEEN WALKING AROUND IN OUR CLASSROOM?!”

  “Get real, Solofsky.” Bigs Maloney scowled. “Ms. Gleason said that it’s a big foot. Not Bigfoot, the hairy creature that lives in the woods.”