The Most Frightening Story Ever Told by Philip Kerr Page A

leave me buried alive, forever. But were there not many other things that might go wrong with my plan? What if my air ran out? What if Scipio had a heart attack and died before he could dig me up again? What if he was apprehended before he could tell his story? And what if having been apprehended he did tell his story and no one believed him, as well they might not? After all, I knew from my own experience that few if any twelve-year-old boys were as strange as me. Had my own stepfather, Mr. A——, not said so? My imagination generated a hundred different anxieties that crowded in upon my mind as I felt the coffin containing my living body descend into Wilson’s grave.
    —
    Billy stopped reading and shivered, not sure that he had the nerve to read the rest of the story; and yet he knew he would.
    “I couldn’t ever do something like that,” he said. “Not in a million years.”

Billy and Mr. Rapscallion stayed at the Savoy Hotel in Kansas City. It was a nice old redbrick hotel—perhaps the oldest in the city—with stained glass windows and high, beamed ceilings. It was even said that Harry Houdini had once stayed at the Kansas City Savoy.
    Billy liked it a lot. At least he did until Mr. Rapscallion said he had chosen that particular hotel because it was supposed to be haunted. Billy was a little unnerved by this news and wondered what his father would have made of it. Not much, probably. It had been hard enough for Billy to persuade him to write the letter to Mr. Rapscallion granting permission for the boy to travel with the Hitchcock bookseller.
    “Why on earth would you do something like that?” Billy asked him.
    “Well, I’ve always wanted to see a ghost,” explained Mr. Rapscallion. “And I never have. Between you and me? I think I probably never will. But I’d sure like to. You see, it’s kind of embarrassing that Rexford Rapscallion, the owner of the Haunted House of Books, has never seen a real ghost. Not ever. That’s right, Billy. Not so much as an apparition. It’s bad for business. Back at the shop I even have a stuffed raven with a message capsule on its leg where a ghost who was minded to do so might leave me a message. So far I’ve had nothing. But I haven’t given up. So, whenever I visit a different city, I always try to stay somewhere that’s supposed to be haunted. And this hotel is haunted. That’s what
Shudders
—the haunted hotel guidebook—says, anyway.”
    “I see. So, er, which part of the hotel is the ghost supposed to haunt? The cellars? The kitchen? Where?”
    “This part,” Mr. Rapscallion said calmly. “Right here. In fact, this very bedroom. Or, to be more accurate, the bathroom of our bedroom suite.”
    Billy gulped loudly. “But what if we do see him?” he asked nervously.
    “Actually, our ghost is a she. Her name is Betsy Ward. And if we do see her, that’d be just great. But previous experience teaches me that we won’t actually see anything.”
    Billy was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Mr. Rapscallion added, “Which is why I’ve invited along a professional ghost hunter to give us some extra help.”
    Even as he spoke, there was a knock at the door.
    “That’s probably her now.” Mr. Rapscallion grinned. “That, or Betsy Ward was just eavesdropping on our conversation.”
    Mr. Rapscallion opened the door to reveal a girl about fifteen years old. She had several heavy-looking bags on her slim shoulders. She had long blond hair and retainers on her teeth. In spite of that, Billy thought she was very pretty.
    “Mr. Rapscallion?” said the girl.
    “Yes.” Mr. Rapscallion nodded uncertainly.
    “I’m Mercedes McBatty.”
    “You are? Gee, I was expecting someone older,” confessed Mr. Rapscallion.
    “Everyone says that,” said Miss McBatty. She pushed her way past Mr. Rapscallion and into the room. “But it’s a proven fact that ghosts like to scare children. That’s half the reason why kids are scared of the dark. And since I am