The Gum Chewing Ghost

THE GUM CHEWING GHOST

THE GUM CHEWING GHOST

By

Karen Cogan

Karen Cogan

THE GUM CHEWING GHOST

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be copied or reprinted without written permission by the author.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Ellen's palms grew damp as she stared into the inky darkness. The light above her head lit only the top of the stairs. The basement lay below.

She shivered, hating the thought of going down all alone. She listened for sounds of moaning or clanking and heard nothing. Still, it was dark and spooky down there and she had the feeling someone was watching and waiting.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to take the first step down. She hated the basement. She'd hated it from the first time she'd come with her parents to look at this house. But no one seemed to care. Now, this was her new home. Her new room was down here and she was going to have to live with it.

Something cold and damp nudged the back of her leg and she gave a strangled gasp, trying not to spill the box of books balanced in her arms. She looked down to see Jasper, his tail wagging madly in greeting.

Dumb dog. You scared me to death, Ellen muttered.

Mom paused beside her, carrying a load of clothes to the upstairs bedroom. Stop staring down like you think something's going to bite you. I don't know why you're so scared. You have a lovely bedroom.

Ellen grimaced. It was probably used as a dungeon.

Mom sighed. This is a fifteen year old house, not a medieval castle. We met the owners. They were a middle-aged couple who used the basement as craft workshop and guest bedrooms. They never worried about being downstairs. Mom raised her eyebrows meaningfully. You've been reading too many scary stories.

I don't care. It's creepy down there. And I'm not going down unless Jasper goes, too.

Ellen turned to the dog. He was half-Lab and half-sheep dog, which gave him a strange combination of black curly hair and short legs. Instinct to herd sheep made him nudge the backs of everyone's legs with his cold wet nose.

Ellen pointed to the bottom of the stairs. Okay, Jasper. You go first.

Jasper stepped back and whined.

Ellen turned to Mom. See, even the dog won't go down.

Mom rolled her eyes and called to Ellen's little brother. Michael, will you go downstairs and turn on the light for your sister?

Michael had a box filled with games for the computer. Chicken, huh? he asked Ellen.

Ellen made a face, annoyed that her little brother was being asked to be the brave one. She started to protest, then bit back her words. Let him go down and get eaten. Then Mom and Dad would believe her and she wouldn't have Michael to bother her.

Never mind. Mom sounded at the end of her patience. Just go down with her.

Ellen watched Michael start down the stairs and changed her mind. He was a pest, but she couldn't let him go alone. She hurried behind him, her warm breath steaming her glasses. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, holding her breath until he turned on the light.

The sudden change made the white walls of the freshly painted gameroom seem too bright. The familiar old furniture that had sat in their living room would have looked reassuring if it didn't now sit in this creepy basement. It made Ellen feel homesick to look at it.

The new spot for the computer table was at the far end of the gameroom, on neutral territory between the bedrooms. Even though the computer was supposed to be shared, Ellen never got a turn unless she was desperate to type a school paper.

Are you always gonna be this scared to come down? Michael asked.

Ellen wrinkled her nose. Yes. And if you had any sense it would bother you too, being stuck down here at the bottom of the house. It annoyed her that a ten year old showed more courage than she did.

What are you afraid of anyway? he asked.

Ellen shrugged. I don't know. I don't like being below ground.

She tried to ignore Michael's ghostly moans while she set her books on the shelf. In spite of his teasing, she was glad for his company.

His sudden shriek set her heart racing. She dashed from her room, expecting to see him being swallowed into a secret doorway. Instead, he was hopping up and down, holding his foot.

I dropped the box of disks on my toe, he moaned.

Ellen turned away. Serves you right for all that moaning.

Just then Mom called down from the top of the stairs. Supper's ready. Hurry and wash up.

Michael raced ahead, moving quickly for someone with a hurt foot. When food was concerned, he could always forget his problems.

Ellen followed him up the stairs, feeling like a mole allowed out of her hole. She'd been excited when her parents had first brought up the idea of moving. She'd thought it would be fun to move from their house with three tiny bedrooms into something larger. But she'd never imagined this.

She longed to have a bedroom upstairs like she did in her old house where she could be near her parents and hear their murmuring voices while she went to sleep.

She frowned. Another kid lived in her room now, a little boy. He was probably drawing crayon pictures all over the wall where her posters had been arranged so perfectly. She wished Mom had never gotten the idea of getting a house with an extra room for a home office.

Ellen sniffed the aroma of garlic and tomatoes as she turned from the top of the stairs into the kitchen. Mom set packaged lasagna dinner onto the counter. She smiled at Ellen. Hope this brand is good. We've never tried it before.

Ellen wished it were homemade. It had been a long time since Mom had baked her special Italian lasagna. Between moving and writing her weekly column for the newspaper, Mom didn't have much time to cook.

Ellen set plates on the table while Michael filled the glasses with water. When he finished, Ellen noticed her glass was only half-full. What's the idea? she complained.

Michael widened his eyes and opened his mouth in pretend horror. Something snuck in and drank your water. It was probably a g...g...ghost.

In spite of her irritation, Ellen felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. Stop it, Michael! It's not funny.

Dad looked up from dishing out the lasagna. There will be no teasing about ghosts in this house. And no practical jokes. Do you understand? He had that, I'm not kidding, look in his eyes.

Michael nodded.

After the prayer, Mom said, Guess who I talked to this afternoon. She paused, then continued, too impatient to wait for a guess.

I stopped by church to pick up the new Sunday school booklet and met the new pastor and his wife. I asked them to dinner tomorrow.

Ellen stared at her mother. We just moved in. You don't have anything to cook.

"We have a