Are you all right?â Mrs. Kim cried, rushing to her husbandâs side.
âItâs Old Man Whartonâs ghost!â Maggie cried. âHeâs possessed Simon again!â
She recalled how hiding the scrapbook had broken the spell earlier. She rushed to the front door and pulled it open. The book that had been resting on the snow on the front step was gone!
Old Man Wharton must have taken it back, she thought.
Maggie could barely keep herself from screaming and shutting down completely. Her dad had just been tossed across a room like a rag doll. Her brother was still being pulled around the house by something that had taken control of his body. But what? Who? Old Man Wharton? What else could it be?
âLEAVE THIS PLACE . . . NOW!â a voice that wasnât Simonâs roared out of his mouth.
âThatâs him!â Maggie shouted. âThatâs the voice Iâve been hearing, telling me to leave. Tell me you all heard it. Tell me!â
âWe heard it,â Mr. Kim said, climbing to his feet. âI donât know what it is, butââ
âLEAVE THIS PLACE . . . NOW!â the voice repeated out of Simonâs mouth, louder this time.
Simon crashed into a wall and collapsed. He popped up immediately and continued his skiing movements.
âOkay, you win!â Mr. Kim cried. âWeâll leave. Weâllleave this place and never come back!â
As soon as Mr. Kim uttered the words, Simon was released. He fell to the floor panting and sweating, scared, exhausted, but generally unharmed. His mom helped him up and held him tightly.
âGet your stuff,â Mr. Kim ordered everyone. âPack up, quickly, and letâs get out of here. Weâre leaving. Weâre done.â
Still in shock, Maggie stumbled up the stairs and ran to the bedroom. Sophie was right on her heels. Maggie opened her suitcase and piled her clothes in, then slammed it shut. âThatâs it for me,â she said. âIâll sort this mess out back home, in the suburbs, where we belong.â
Sophie shoved her belongings into her backpack and followed Maggie down the stairs.
âReady?â Mr. Kim asked. He stood at the front door, holding two suitcases. Maggie grabbed her backpack, which had been sitting on the living room floor. She joined the rest of her family outside.
Moments later, Maggie tossed her suitcase into the trunk as her dad started the car. When everyone was inside, he slowly started down the snow-covered driveway.
The morning sun peeked out from behind the big mountain as if to bid the Kims farewell.
âYou know, now that I think about it, that house needed too much work anyway,â Mrs. Kim said. âAnd the ski slopes looked too dangerous. The insurance policy alone would cost more than the house. Iâm calling the realtor right now and telling her that weâre not interested in the house.â
She pulled out her cell phone. There was miraculously some service. She dialed the number. âHello, Ms. McGee, this is Jeannie Kim. Weâre leaving the Wharton Mansion this minute, and I wanted to tell you that this is most definitely not the property for us. Iâll be in touch. Thanks.â
In the backseat, Maggie smiled. I feel like I just won the lottery. Whether they believe in Old Man Whartonâs ghost or not really doesnât matter, as long as they donât buy the place.
As the car reached the end of the long driveway, another car turned in. Maggie spotted ski equipment on the carâs roof. A young couple sat in the front seat, with two little boys in the back.
Both cars paused, and the drivers rolled down their windows.
âHi, are you members of the Wharton family?â the driver asked.
âNo, we came to see the old place,â Mr. Kim replied. âJust curious.â
âOh, well, Nancy McGee sent us,â the woman explained. âMy husband and I are looking for a
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