The Hanging Hill

34

“Ugh! Cobwebs!”

“Come on, Derek,” said Meghan. “Don’t be a big baby.”

“I am not being a baby!”

“Are, too.”

“Am not!”

“Whatever.”

Zack and Zipper led the way down the staircase spiraling from the lower lobby outside rehearsal room A into the forbidden basement. Meghan was right behind them. Derek brought up the rear.

“Ugh! Moisture!”

Meghan sighed. “Now what?”

“It’s dripping!”

Zack looked up at the dimly lit ceiling, where thick steel pipes were strapped to the rafters.

“Relax,” said Zack, “it’s just water.”

“Or,” said Meghan, “that could be a sewer line. After all, we are right underneath the men’s lounge.” She leaned into the word so everybody would understand what she really meant: the men’s bathroom.

“Raw sewage? I’m allergic to sewage!” Derek pushed his way past Meghan and Zack, ran down the rest of the stairs, and reached the basement first. “Let’s hurry up and get this over with. I don’t know what you two expect to find down here.”

“We told you,” said Meghan. “Ghosts!”

They were directly underneath the main stage. Faint light leaked through the seams between the trapdoors and the floorboards. The vast space was filled with the lumpy shadows of rolling wardrobe racks, wooden storage boxes, and all kinds of furniture and props from shows done long ago.

“There’s nothing down here but junk,” Derek complained. “Dirty, filthy junk.”

“I think it’s cool,” said Zack. “Like a downstairs attic filled with treasures!”

“I’ll bet we discover something incredible,” said Meghan, twirling a Chinese parasol she’d just found in a bin.

“Well,” said Derek, “all I see are a bunch of old wigs and costumes.” He sneezed. “All of them covered with dust.” He sneezed again. “I’m allergic to dust.”

“What about wool?” Zack asked as they passed a rack crammed with all sorts of coats.

Derek sneezed and scratched his ears. “I’m allergic to just about everything. Wool. Dust. Peanuts. Cats.”

“Guess you’d better quit the show,” said Meghan.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Another sneeze.

“I thought you took your allergy medicine,” said Meghan.

“Not all of it! I’d be asleep if I did.”

They reached the rear wall. To the left was a dark corridor that disappeared under a curving archway. To the right, another passageway.

“That’s weird,” said Meghan.

“What?” asked Zack.

“Look at all those gloves hanging on the wall!”

“Wow! They’re all pointing to the right.”

“Oh.” Derek scoffed. “Did a ghost do that?”

“Maybe,” said Meghan.

“Be difficult,” said Zack.

“Oh, really?” whined Derek. “Why’s that?”

“Well, ghosts can’t move physical objects in the real world,” Zack explained.

“Unless,” added Meghan, “they get really, really mad or emotional.”

Derek snorted a laugh. “Did you two go to Ghost University or something?”

Zack smiled. “Sort of.”

Meghan giggled.

“You are both so immature.” Derek ignored the finger-pointing gloves and headed down the passageway to the left. Zack and Meghan followed him.

“Ooh. Neat,” said Meghan. “It’s even darker back here.”

“I see a light up ahead,” said Zack.

“Yes,” said Derek. “It’s some sort of …”

He froze.

He wheezed.

“Did you just swallow a peanut?” asked Meghan. “Derek?”

Derek stammered something inaudible. All Zack heard was a wispy whimper.

“What is it?”

“Ghosts!” Derek screamed. “Ghosts!”

Then he spun around and ran away.