Treasure Of the Moaning Ghost

I carried my dog, Dinty, up the narrow cupola stairs. Even though some kids call it “The Haunted House,” I love every part of my home, especially the cupola, a tiny room that perches on top of the roof of our Victorian mansion. Usually, when I scan the oak grove treetops from the cupola windows, my spirits swoop higher than the clouds. But today the clouds were gloomy, and a downpour peppered the roof. The four dismally-dripping windows made me think of the tears that streamed down Mom’s face the day Dad died.

The wind rattled the shingles, and Dinty’s normally upright, white-tipped, beagle tail drooped. To cheer him, I stroked his cocker spaniel ear tufts. He was a strange mix. People laughed at his low-slung dachshund body, but a boy couldn’t find a more faithful friend. Dad had brought Dinty home when he was just a mop of fur, and we had named him after the stew we were eating. After all, both are a mixture of good things.

Lightning flashed, momentarily flooding the cupola with a sickly, green cast. Thunder cracked and growled. Dinty answered with his mournful beagle-howl.

The cupola was usually a quiet place to study for my history exam. One more time through the thirteen original colonies, and I’d know them inside-out and upside-down. My twin cousins, Titus and Tyler, were in my class at school. They were good students, and I was determined not to let them beat me on Monday’s history exam.

Splash. A drop of water landed on my history book right in the middle of the map of the thirteen colonies: Virginia—settled in 1607, splash, Pennsylvania—1643, splash, New Jersey—1660. I loved sharing the same house with Titus and Tyler. They lived on the second floor of our huge house with their parents, my Uncle Wes and Aunt Becky. I lived on the third floor with my mother and my sister, Ruthie. Grandpop and Grandma occupied the first floor.

“Galloping gooseberries!” I said aloud. “The roof’s leaking.” I glanced up to discover the source. Splash. A drop bombed me square in the right eye. “Bull’s-eye,” I muttered. I blinked and rubbed away the blur. Another drop splattered on my head. It slid off my ear and sloshed onto the hardwood floor. Dinty howled another doleful cry and cowered in the corner.

I scrambled up and jerked open a window seat storage bin. The bins were wooden benches that lined the walls of the cupola under the windows. The hinged lids opened to create a perfect storage area for binoculars, paper, pencils, books, and an assortment of carving knives, compasses, and other useful items. Just the thing I needed— an ice cream bucket. It was full of multicolored marbles, but no matter. I dumped the marbles onto the floor and thrust the bucket under the drip. Splash, splash, splash!

“Come on, Dinty,” I called. “Let’s get Grandpop. He’ll know what to do.” Dinty, always obedient, jumped up, but his dachshund legs hit a pocket of marbles. They rolled, and Dinty went down. “I’ll get you, Boy,” I said, and stepped on a pocket of marbles myself. I had farther to fall than Dinty. I skidded into the bucket, and my teeth clashed together. Rain water splashed my face. I’m still not sure if lightning flashed at that moment or if I saw stars from hitting my chin.

A Bible verse Grandpop often quoted popped into my mind. “But everything should be done in a fitting and orderly way.” I guess this called for a plan of attack: first, mop up the water. The red bandanna on the window seat did the trick. Next, I crawled, pushing marbles left and right. Some rolled down the opening to the stairs, and I heard them bounce from step to step. Splash, splash, lightning, thunder, beagle howls, marbles everywhere. What a day! That done, and the bucket back in place, I searched for a suitable marble container. An empty coffee can! I scooped marbles into the can and stowed the troublesome things away. I slammed the window seat shut, grabbed up Dinty’s trembling body, and started down the steep cupola stairs to the third floor. Dinty’s silky ears tickled my cheek. I was proud of myself; after all, I had handled things fairly well.

At that moment, I heard a low moan that grew louder and louder until it reached a sad, creepy pitch. Dinty’s hair spiked, and he growled softly. Could that be Theo’s ghost? Theo seemed to dislike wind and storms; that’s when he howled and groaned. My heart pounded like a hammer in my chest. This was urgent! I needed Grandpop—now!