"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club 009 - The Ghost at Dawn's House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"We better turn off the TV set so it won't
come blaring on when the power's restored," I said. "And let's try to rinse off our dishes. Otherwise, they'll be impossible to clean later."
Jeff groped around and found a flashlight. We cleaned up the kitchen as best we could. Then we wandered through the house.
"Well, this is boring," said Jeff.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"What can you do in the dark?"
I thought for a moment. I hadn't returned Ghosts and Spooks, Chills and Thrills to the library yet. I had two more stories to go. And there were a few I wanted to reread. I thought of the ghost in our secret passage and began to feel scared Ч not the awful kind of scared I'd felt several times earlier in the week Ч but deliciously scared.
"Hey, Jeff. Want to hear some really great stories?" I asked.
Jeff looked skeptical. (At least by the light of the flashlight, he looked skeptical.) "What kind of stories?" he asked.
"Ghost stories," I whispered.
"Aw . . ."
"I know you don't believe in ghosts, but try to get in the spirit of things," I told him. "Get it? Spirit? Look. It's a gloomy, rainy, spooky night. Besides, what else is there to do?"
"Nothing," replied Jeff.
"Okay. Come on up to my room."
Ghosts and Spooks was waiting for us on my nightstand. We sat on my bed and I took the flashlight from Jeff and opened the book. First I read him "Things Unseen." Then I read him the story about the phantom hitchhiker. Then I read him "The Haunting of Weatherstaff Moor."
Before 1 got to one of the new ones at the end of the book, Jeff turned to me and said, "Let's stop now, Dawn."
"Had enough?" I asked.
He nodded. I couldn't tell if he was bored, scared, or sleepy.
"Now what should we do?" he asked. From the way he sounded, I decided he was bored.
"Let's try to play a game by flashlight," I suggested.
We tried. It was next to impossible. There was never enough light, even after Jeff perched the flashlight in a sort of sling made from a dish towel that he suspended from the edge of a table.
"I give up," I said.
Jeff yawned hugely. "What a waste of a Friday night," he said. "Do you know all the great TV shows we're missing?"
"Wellll," 1 said slowly. "There is something we could do, and all we need is a flashlight."
"What?" Jeff looked mildly interested.
"Back to my room," I ordered.
I led Jeff up the stairs again and straight to the wall with the fancy molding.
"Watch this," I said. "Here, hold the light."
I pressed a corner of the molding (it hadn't taken long to figure out how the catch worked), and the wall swung inward.
Jeff gasped. "Hey! Hey, what . . .?"
"I discovered this a couple of days ago," I told him. "It's a real, honest-to-goodness secret passage."
"I don't believe it," said Jeff flatly.
"Come on. Want to see it?"
I'd taken the button and buckle and key out of the passage and hidden them in one of my bureau drawers. Somehow, without the evidence of the ghost, the ghost himself seemed less scary.
"Come on," I said again. I grabbed Jeff's hand and pulled him into the passage. "I didn't say anything because I Ч I just wanted a secret, I guess. But anyway, isn't this great?"
Wide-eyed, Jeff followed me through the passage to the rickety old steps. He had to walk behind me. The passage wasn't wide enough for two.
We were just about to start down the stairs when Jeff said, "Stop, Dawn. Look at that!"
"What?" I cried.
"Let me have the flashlight for a sec."
I handed it to him and he shined it against the wall near the top step. I could see something gleaming there. An image of the things I'd squirreled away in my bureau came to mind.
Jeff brushed aside a dust bunny with his foot. Then he stooped down and picked up the object.
"What is it?" I asked. I tried to sound calm, but if my heart was beating as loudly as I thought it was, my brother could probably hear it, too.
Jeff examined the object in the light.
"It's a nickel," he said, sounding puzzled. "At least, it says 'five cents' on it, but it doesn't look like any nickel I've ever seen. There's a picture of an Indian on one side and a buffalo on the other. Maybe it's foreign. . . . No, it's from the U.S."
"Indian-head nickels are real old," I informed him. "They made those nickels before the ones they make now. Let's see the date on that."
Jeff and I turned the nickel over and over and around and around, but it was rubbed so smooth we couldn't find a date.
"It must have worn off," said Jeff.
"Gosh, if it's worn off, this nickel must be
ancient. It takes forever for metal to wear down."
"Yeah," agreed Jeff. "I wonder how it got here."