The Hanging Hill

22

Yesterday Zack had thought it was totally awesome that they’d be sleeping in what was basically the Hanging Hill Playhouse’s attic. Now, as he and Zipper rounded the landing for the second floor, he wasn’t so sure.

“Only three more floors to go,” he said. He was panting. Zipper wasn’t. Zack hoped that they’d get the elevator fixed before he and Judy had to haul in their luggage. Otherwise, they’d be lugging it up five flights of stairs.

Trudging up to the third floor, Zack heard a little girl giggling.

Probably Meghan McKenna, Zack thought. He held on to the handrail. Leaned out. Peered up.

He saw nothing except the space between alternating flights of stairs and the bottoms of the billion metal steps he and Zipper still had left to climb.

“Come on, Zip.”

They hiked up to the landing between the second and third floors.

That’s where they heard more giggles.

“Meghan?” Zack called out. “Is that you?”

No answer.

“This is pretty funny, hunh? Guess the elevator’s so old it croaked.”

Another laugh. No. A howl.

This time it came from a man. From below.

“The devil led me on!” A raw voice rang out.

Now Zack heard plodding footsteps.

Someone was climbing up the staircase—behind them!

“The devil led me on!”

“Come on, Zip.” Zack picked up his dog and started taking the stairs two at a time. Behind them, the footfalls continued.

Click. Clunk.

Heavy boot heels hitting steel.

Click. Clunk.

Zack’s heart was pounding hard. He could feel Zipper’s racing, too.

“Don’t worry, Zip. I’m here.”

Zipper barked and his sharp yap rang like a bell in a tiny tiled bathroom.

The girl upstairs giggled again.

“Meghan?” Zack gasped. “Is that you?” Each word took more air than he had in his lungs. Each breath took more effort than the breath before.

Click. Clunk. Click. Clunk.

“The devil led me on!”

Zack spun around.

Saw nothing. No one.

But he did feel an icy chill pass right through him!

Clack. Clunk.

Clack. Clunk.

Now the footsteps were in front of him!

Zack didn’t move.

“Beware of that one,” whispered a voice.

Slowly, very slowly, Zack tiptoed up to the next landing, where he really, really, really hoped he’d find Meghan McKenna hidden in the shadows, doing a spooky voice.

Only it wasn’t Meghan.

It was another girl. Younger. Five, maybe six. She was juggling three balls high above her head. Her skin was ashen. Her dress was ruffled, her hair tied up in a big red bow.

“Beware!” she whispered again. “He’s one of the others!” And then she vanished.

Suddenly, at the top of the stairwell, Zack heard a wooden trapdoor swing open. A man screamed.

Zack leaned over the handrail, looked up.

The soles of two hobnailed boots came hurtling straight down at him!

He snapped back and watched the falling man yank to a stop.

Another ghost.

And this one was wearing really old clothes. Long boots with buckles, pants buttoned near the knees, and a cloak with a broad white collar. As he dangled in the narrow space between the staircases, Zack realized that this ghost looked exactly like a Thanksgiving Pilgrim without his hat.

Except those Pilgrims didn’t usually have nooses around their necks.