Rules for Ghosting by A. J. Paquette

Rules for Ghosting by A. J. Paquette

Author:A. J. Paquette
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2013-03-24T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter 17

It all happened so quickly. Dahlia was still trying to get herself back into ghosting mode, still getting used to the fact that she had talked to a boy—a living, breathing boy! A boy named Oliver!—as well as trying to grasp Mrs. Tibbs’s warnings about Dialoguing. What kind of creeps were these Ghouncil folks, anyway? She’d like to give them and their demented rulebook a piece of her mind! Then suddenly that ghosterminator was back and brandishing his ghastly machinery and shooting out a jet of that awful specter-goo and Oliver was trying to stop him but the man was up again and too fast and then—

Dahlia stared in horror as the phoam shot straight toward them. It slopped down over Mrs. Tibbs’s flowery hat, her long lean body, her lumpy carpetbag. In two seconds flat it covered her from head to toe.

“No!” Dahlia yelled. Neither the boy nor the horrible man could hear her. Mrs. Tibbs could, though. Through the gunk Dahlia could see the Liberator’s lips form a single word: “GO!” But Dahlia couldn’t go. Frozen in place, she watched Wiley rev up his machine. He flipped the switch to start the Aspirating process. Oliver launched himself at the ghosterminator again, but Wiley was ready for him this time, swinging the Spectrometer and clocking him on the head. Oliver toppled to the ground.

It just took Dahlia a split second to turn her eyes and follow Oliver’s fall. But when she looked back at the main attic area, the air in front of the door was empty.

Mrs. Tibbs was gone.

“No,” Dahlia said again, whispering this time. She felt as if she were cracking in two.

There was a suck and a gurgle and a satisfied burp from Wiley’s machine. Looking craftily in both directions, the ghosterminator packed up his belongings, took one last look at Oliver lying sprawled on the ground, and crept away down the stairs.

The Aspirator sack pushed and bulged on Wiley’s back, as though something inside wanted very badly to get out but could not do so, no matter how hard it tried.

Wiley disappeared down the staircase, and Dahlia sat staring after him, feeling tied into a hundred knots. And frozen. And squashed under a blanket of paralyzing inactivity. What could she do? She had to save Mrs. Tibbs, but how? If she went after him, Wiley would Aspirate her too. Oh why, why hadn’t she moved more quickly, found some way to keep Mrs. Tibbs from being captured?

On the attic floor, Oliver groaned.

A few things fell into place in Dahlia’s mind all at once. She couldn’t get to Wiley. But Oliver could. And … there was that device buried under the floorboards. Of course!

Dahlia swept over to the spot and peered through the floorboards. She could see it clearly now—it was made of some kind of ornate metal. It looked a little like an old-fashioned cash register and on the top, in fancy calligraphy, was the word Seesaw. She thought of Mrs. Tibbs’s warning about Manifesting and Dialoguing.



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