The Howling Ghost by Christopher Pike

1
    T he day the howling ghost kidnapped Cindy Makey’s kid brother, Neil, was rotten from the start. Cindy began to expect bad times ever since her family moved to Springville, or Spooksville, as the kids in town called it. At first—even though she disliked the place—Cindy didn’t believe half the stories she heard about it. But after the ghost came out of the light-house and grabbed Neil, she was ready to believe anything.
    â€œCan I walk on the jetty?” Neil asked as theyreached the end of the beach, where the rocky jetty led out to the lighthouse.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Cindy replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “It’s getting late and cold.”
    â€œPlease?” Neil pleaded, sounding like the five-year-old he was. “I’ll be careful.”
    Cindy smiled at her brother. “You don’t know what the word means.”
    Neil frowned. “Which word?”
    â€œCareful, dummy.” Cindy stared at the churning ocean water. The waves weren’t high, but the way they smashed against the large boulders of the jetty made her uneasy. It was as if the surf were trying to tear down the structure. And the tall lighthouse, standing dark and silent at the end of the jetty, also made her nervous. It had ever since she moved to Springville two months ago. The lighthouse just looked, well, kind of spooky.
    â€œPretty please?” Neil asked again.
    Cindy sighed. “All right. But stay in the middle, and watch where you put your feet. I don’t want you falling in.”
    Neil leaped in the air. “Cool! Do you want to come?”
    Cindy turned away. “No. I’ll sit here and watch.But if a shark comes out of the water and carries you out to sea, I’m not going in after you.”
    Neil stopped bouncing. “Do sharks eat boys?”
    â€œOnly when there are no girls to eat.” Seeing Neil’s confused expression, Cindy laughed and sat down on a large rock. “That was a joke. Go, quick, have your walk on the jetty. Then let’s get home. It’ll be dark in a few minutes.”
    â€œOK,” he said, dancing away, talking to himself. “Watch out for falling feet and girl sharks.”
    â€œJust be careful,” Cindy said, so softly she was sure Neil didn’t hear. She wondered why the dread she felt about the town hadn’t touched her brother. Since their mother had moved them back to their father’s old house eight weeks ago, Neil had been as happy as one of the smiling clams he occasionally found on the beach.
    But Cindy knew the town wasn’t safe. In Springville the nights were just a little too dark, the moon a little too big. Sometimes in the middle of the night she heard strange sounds: leathery wings beating far overhead, muted cries echoing from under the ground. Maybe she imagined these things—she wasn’t sure. She just wished her father were still alive to go with them on their walks. Actually, she just wished he were alive. She missed him more than she knew how to say.
    Still, she kept going for walks late in the evening.
    Particularly by the ocean. It seemed to draw her.
    Even the spooky lighthouse called to her.
    Watching Neil scale the first of the large boulders, Cindy began to sing a song her father had taught her. Actually, it was more of an old poem that she chanted. The words were not pleasant. But for some strange reason they came back to Cindy right then.
    The ocean is a lady,
    She is kind to all.
    But if you forget her dark moods.
    Her cold waves, those watery walls.
    Then you are bound to fall.
    Into a cold grave.
    Where the fish will have you for food.
    The ocean is a princess.
    She is always fair.
    But if you dive too deep.
    Into the abyss, the octopus’s lair.
    Then you are bound to despair.
    In a cold grave.
    Where the sharks will have you for meat.
    â€œMy father never was much of a poet,” Cindy muttered when she finished the piece. Of course, she