The Hanging Hill

31

“Let’s go see what’s down there!” said Meghan as soon as Zack told her the janitor’s dire warnings about the basement.

They were walking Zipper along the river behind the theater. The little dog was having a great time cataloging all the new scents in this part of Connecticut. He seemed to particularly enjoy Chatham’s dandelions.

“Let’s go check it out right now!” said Meghan.

“I dunno,” said Zack. “He sounded pretty serious.”

“Grown-ups always try to scare kids away from stuff they want to keep secret.”

“Don’t you guys have rehearsal?”

“Nope. Not until tomorrow. I’ve already memorized all my lines and songs. Come on, Zack. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, but…”

Zack couldn’t think, thanks to something very loud racing up behind him, making the most annoying sound he’d ever heard. A high-pitched nasal drone. Like a mosquito with a microphone.

Then something hard and pointed and fast slammed into his ankles.

He tripped forward. Scraped his palms when he broke his fall and tumbled sideways.

“Whoops,” he heard somebody say. “Sorry.”

Zipper was barking, snarling at Zack’s unseen attacker: a radio-controlled monster truck with four hulking all-terrain tires the size of hockey pucks.

Derek Stone came running up the path, holding a pistol-grip control unit with an antenna bobbing off the top.

“You okay, kid?” he asked Zack.

Meghan helped Zack to his feet.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the LST2 monster truck,” said Derek as he scooped up his shiny toy. “I tweaked the Mach 427 engine. Haven’t quite mastered the steering servos.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Zack, dusting off his knees.

“So,” said Derek, “you guys wanna take a turn?” He held out the controller.

“No thanks,” said Meghan.

Zipper barked and wagged his tail.

“Neat dog,” said Derek. “Spunky.”

“I thought you were allergic,” said Zack.

“I am. But I have a prescription.” He tucked the truck under his arm so he’d have a free hand to gesture with. “Hey, I won’t let allergies stop me from living. I said that once. In a commercial. For a nasal spray.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Zack. “I saw it on TV.”

“Sorry. Can’t do an autograph right now. Catch me later.”

Zack didn’t want to appear rude, so he said, “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem. What’s your name again?”

“Zack.”

“How do you spell it?”

“Like Jack, only with a Z.”

“Weird name,” said Derek.

“I guess.”

“You should change it.” He sneezed. “Excuse me. August. Official start of ragweed season.”

“You used to be Derek Frumpkus, right?” Meghan asked.

“That’s right. My mom thought Stone had more zazz!”

“Is your mother an actress, too?” Zack asked.

“Used to be. She played a nurse on Beverly Hills Hospital.”

“Cool,” said Zack. “Which nurse?”

“Lots of different ones. She usually only said two or three words. Or pushed the gurney. Or answered the phone in the background.”

“Hey, Derek,” said Meghan, “want to go on an adventure with us to the basement? You can park your truck at the box office.”

“What kind of adventure?”

“A ghost hunt!”

“There’s this ghost girl haunting the stairwell,” Zack explained. “We think she used to perform here.”

“Vaudeville, probably,” Meghan added. “She’s a juggler.”

Derek’s eyes bulged. “Ghosts? In the theater?”

“Well, one or two in the stairwell for sure,” said Meghan. “The vaudeville girl and some kind of Pilgrim guy who makes a very dramatic entrance!” She yanked up on an imaginary noose and bugged out her eyes. “Aaaack!”

“I saw another one onstage last night,” said Zack. “And we think there might be more in the basement, because the janitor keeps telling me not to go down there.”

“Ghosts?” Derek’s voice cracked.

“Don’t worry,” said Meghan. “We’re bringing the dog.”

“Great,” Derek said, wheezing.

Zack figured he was allergic to ghosts, too.