"Remember to smile, honey. There are no strangers in this world, just friends we haven't had a chance to meet yet." Lynda Collins' mother said the same thing every time they moved and it was time to start in a brand new school. Hearing the familiar warm words always started Lynda's day off right. She looked forward to meeting her new teacher and making new friends.

Dad’s job meant never staying in one place for more than a year or two, but this move was different than any of those she was old enough to remember. This was the first time she’d left behind a forever friend, the kind of friend who would never laugh at you no matter what crazy thing popped out of your mouth. Lynda wished Emilie could be here.

Emilie was the only person in the whole wide world who wouldn’t laugh if Lynda dared to mention why this house was different from any they’d lived in ... it was haunted!

The red brick house where they lived the year she turned six was over sixty years old, but the floorboards there never creaked when nobody was walking around. Dad said the adobe house in Arizona where they’d celebrated Lynda’s eighth birthday was so old it hadn’t been designed for air conditioning. "The original residents probably wrapped themselves in sheets and slept outside when these thick walls couldn’t keep the house cool enough." Not a trace of off-key spirit singing to challenge his story. Everybody helped plant the garden when they lived in the rambling house in Utah. They’d all helped harvest the crops and "put up" a rainbow of fruits, vegetables and jams in carefully sterilized jars. "Just like pioneers," Lynda’s mother had said as she carefully packed jars of peaches, tomatoes and raspberry jam when they moved from there. The pioneers hadn’t said a word.

Confusing and noisy as a three ring circus, the day they’d moved into this house seemed the perfect time to curl up in the attic and read. The wood beams angled down to hug Lynda and make everything seem warm and cozy. That was the first time she heard the strange sounds, felt that she was being watched.

This was the house that never slept. Whenever Lynda woke up to get a drink or go to the bathroom, she heard creaking in the attic or footsteps on the stairs. Soft off-key singing from somewhere far away. Her mother wouldn’t laugh if she told her the house was haunted, but she’d worry. Lynda just told her she’d help with more of the unpacking after school.

By lunch, Lynda made two new friends. Jessica and Sue filled her in on the best teachers, the cutest boys, and told her about all the special places in town.

Good thing I wasn't trying to swallow, Lynda thought when Sue told her about "the haunted house on Laurel Lane," their new house!.

If only Dad hadn't tripped while carrying boxes up to the attic that first night in the new house. He’d declared the attic off-limits until there was time to fix the rickety steps attic steps.

Lynda crossed her fingers, hoping that Dad would make time to fix the steps soon and change the off-limits rule so she could do some detective work. All those strange noises might turn out to be nothing more exciting than wind or mice, the feeling of being watched might just be her overactive imagination after reading one too many mysteries. Maybe, just maybe, there would be clues in the attic to prove there really was a ghost!

Bright sunny days all week for school, but when Lynda woke up Saturday, it was dark. She took one look out the window at the licorice clouds and rain, turned over to go back to sleep.

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up! Look at this." Elaine waved the newspaper. "It's the perfect job, two days a week after school and Saturdays, leaving plenty of time for homework and chores around here. Dad had to go to work and if I wait for Mom to get back from grocery shopping, somebody else will get hired."

Lynda heard the door slam as she was zipping her jeans. "I'll bet you even forgot to feed the baby," she mumbled as she walked into the nursery.

"Morning, Timmy ... Timmy!" The crib was empty and so was the playpen. Her older sister had secured the safety gate on her way downstairs so Timmy had to be nearby.

Lynda tried to force her heart to beat slower. Nothing to worry about. Timmy could crawl better than any baby she'd ever seen. He'd probably decided to do a little exploring. But where?

Lynda searched everywhere . . . under the beds, in half open closets. Then she heard the strange noises from the attic. Almost like somebody singing far away. Almost like somebody trying to tell her something important.

"Off limits!" Dad's voice echoed in her memory, but Lynda hesitated just long enough to grab a flashlight before carefully going up the rickety stairs. Surely, this was one of those times when even Dad would agree you had to use your own judgment. Timmy was too little to take care of himself. If there was the slightest chance that he'd somehow managed to crawl up those stairs . . .

Timmy sat in the corner of the attic happily playing with dust balls. His puzzled expression said he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Lynda scooped him up in a bearhug and started back downstairs.

Rain beating against the small attic window and thunder shaking the house would have been enough to make any house seem like a haunted house.

"Don't go," a cold, eerie voice suddenly demanded.

"Who are you?" Lynda pointed the flashlight toward the sound, but didn't see anything.

"Where are your manners, young lady? We haven't been properly introduced."

"I'm Lynda Collins."

"Myra Ferguson. Pleased to meet you. I was the housekeeper here long before you were born." Out of nowhere, a figure glided in front of the flashlight beam.

Lynda saw a faded sweater and a drab brown dress. Silver hair curled into a bun just like Grandmother Collins' sparkled. It was all like a TV picture not quite tuned in right. Lynda shivered as she realized she could see right through the woman's body!

"Please, you mustn't be frightened. If it hadn't been for my singing, you might not have found your baby brother. I don't intend to harm either of you."

"I read somewhere that ghosts are the restless spirits of people who died violently."

"The last part is true enough, Child. Over thirty years ago, I got a bit too curious for my own good. My employer pushed me down those stairs. Aldous Harrison told the authorities I must have slipped while cleaning, even claimed he wasn't home when it happened. Unless I can somehow prove what really happened, I'll never be free . . ."

"Please don't cry. We'll prove it."

"But you're so young."

"I'm eleven; that's old enough to help. Was your boss some sort of criminal?"

"A counterfeiter. Two of the engraving plates are still hidden behind that panel."

Lynda settled Timmy safely in his playpen, then hurried back to the attic and used Dad's screwdriver to pry open the panel.

Elaine was so excited about getting the job that she didn't even ask why Lynda wanted to borrow her tote bag. She even agreed to drive Lynda downtown after school on Monday.

The impatient official wasn't anything like TV detectives. Lynda could tell he wasn't the least bit interested in what she was saying.

"I guess you think I'm just some dumb kid who believes in ghosts, but you must have some way of checking to see if a lady named Myra Ferguson died in the house on Laurel Lane. These are real enough to touch. Maybe you'll believe them." Lynda unwrapped the engraving plates and dropped them on the desk.

"Young lady, I think I owe you an apology. You can be sure we'll investigate this matter thoroughly."

Lynda waited patiently for three whole days, then four. A whole week went by. Just when Lynda was about to give up, Elaine showed her the newspaper article.

Myra's smile seemed to light up the whole attic when she saw the headline, "Decades Old Mystery Solved by New Girl in Town."

"I want you to have something to remember me by after I've gone."

Lynda picked up the dainty ivory rose and its delicate gold chain from where Myra's shadowy finger pointed.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Later, Dad said he'd decided not to punish Lynda for going against his off limits order. "I know you were just trying to help Timmy and I'm proud of you for helping to solve that old mystery too." As he hugged her tightly, he noticed the ivory rose.

"Where did you get that lovely necklace?"

"It was a gift from a friend."

"One of your new friends?"

"No, Sir, a very old friend." Lynda wondered if her Dad believed in ghosts, wondered if he might have some perfectly logical explanation for all that happened.

There was only one way to find out. "Dad, about this necklace . . ."

The End

Susanne Shaphren's articles and fiction for children have appeared in CHILDREN'S PLAYMATE, CHILDREN'S DIGEST, HOPSCOTCH, JACK AND JILL, THE FRIEND and other magazines. Her articles/stories for adults have appeared in an eclectic alphabet soup of print and online publications. "The Arrangement," is included in the Mystery Writers of America anthology, SHOW BUSINESS IS MURDER (August, 2004.)

Top of Page