Blair Erkin and I popped a handful of Reese’s Pieces and looked out the window of our school. The heater buzzed and crackled, working overtime to combat the icy air that leaked in through the windows.
I zipped my coat and shoved a few more candies in my mouth, shivering more from excitement than from the cold. Tonight we would catch a ghost.
Before even my grandparents went to school here, the building was some kind of business. I don’t know what, but it required a dumbwaiter. This large wooden box with a rope running through the middle connected to a pulley.
After it became a school, some kid named Casey tried to ride the thing during a game of hide-and-seek. Something happened, I don’t know what, but the dumbwaiter got stuck halfway between floors. The whole town searched for the missing kid, but no one checked the dumbwaiter. Until the smell seeped through the walls and the kids and teachers complained.
Casey suffocated. He struggled to get out until his last breath, ripping his fingernails off from clawing at the inside of the box.
Now, they say he haunts the dumbwaiter. Can’t move on to his final resting place until he finishes the game.
Blair believed, but I was skeptical since I heard the story from Elliot Lloyd, who also says wrestling is real. Blair is nuts for spooky stuff though, like majorly so. He’s bona fide.
“Mr. Gwynn should be done soon,” he said, checking the time on his phone. Blair spent the last couple of weeks staying after school to learn the janitor’s schedule in preparation for our ghostly adventure. He’d written it down in this journal of his. A notebook of the haunted places in our town. Blair kept detailed notes on every ghost, bigfoot, or alien the locals claimed they’ve seen. And in the town of Dog River, that’s a lot.
“So what’s the plan once he leaves? What’re we gonna do to catch this ghost?” I asked, and popped a few more Reeses into my mouth.
He pulled the journal from his backpack. Ripped strips of neon post-its covered in chicken scratch stuck out from the sides, marking the important sections.
The pages were a scrapbook of old newspaper clipping and the manic writing of a kid whose brain ran faster than his hand could write.
“So Casey Bell; the boy who died will only appear if you follow certain rules-”
“Who told you them?” I asked.
“Elliot Lloyd, why?”
“Of course he did. He says aliens gave his dog cancer too.”
He looked confused. “You’d think he’d lie?”
“I’m just saying I’d prefer a better source, but we’re here, so continue.”
“Ok, so he won’t come unless we follow the rules, right?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll ride the dumbwaiter from the first floor to the third, where you’ll be there to meet me. Once I arrive, say: I’ve found you, and you’re it, and then he’ll show up.”
“What happens then?”
He shrugged. “No idea.”
Outside the room, Mr. Gwynn whistled an off-tune rendition of Hanky Panky by The Shondells while he did his final rounds in the main hall ending with the slamming of the school’s big metal doors, and with the click of the door lock, we were alone in the school—me, Blair, and Casey.
A pair of staircases capped the first-floor hallway. Walking down those stairs was like stepping into a secret underground bunker. A singular red light reflected off the lockers and the large pipes that ran the length of the ceiling. Their gaseous whispers replaced the clunking and rattling of the heater, and in the dark, surrounded by the sound, I believed Elliot Lloyd, who said snakes could roll downhill by biting their tails, might be right about the ghost boy.
They built the dumbwaiter into the side of what was now the student store. This concession stand where kids could buy candy, soda pop, and supplies before and after school. At some point in the building’s history, folks must’ve sent stuff from here to the upper floors.
Blair pried loose the boards, barring the shaft with little effort.
“That doesn’t look safe,” I said.
Cracked and splintered wooden panels made up the floor of the dumbwaiter. Some boards were missing, leaving gaps big enough you could fit an arm or a leg through.
He ignored me, cleared the dumbwaiter’s cobwebs, then took off his backpack. “I’m going to need a boost.”
I linked my fingers, and he stepped on my hands, and I lifted him into the box. The thing shuddered under his weight, making little popping and snapping sounds as he shifted himself into a comfortable position behind the two thick but frayed ropes in the center. He tugged one of them, and the dumbwaiter dropped a few inches. The wooden slats groaned, and he flashed me a nervous smile. “You remember the rules?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
He gave the rope a good yank. The box lurched upwards, and he was on his way.
I reached the third floor before him. The boards blocking the shaft were harder to pry off, but I removed them before the dumbwaiter appeared. When it arrived, Blair was still smiling. “Ok, now the words.”
I hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. I found you, Casey, and you’re it.”
We waited. The minutes ticked by, and Blair’s smile turned into a frown. “Nothing is gonna happen, is it?” he asked and clutched the notebook he devoted hours of study to against his chest. His lip trembled, and I thought he might cry.
“Don’t think so.”
He built his expectations so high that he didn’t consider the possibility that ghosts aren’t real. I felt guilty for going along with this plan.
A cold settled into the room, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. I gasped, trying to inhale as much oxygen as possible, and I realized I could see my breath.
My head swam. Blair blurred in and out of focus. Behind him, the back wall of the dumbwaiter disappeared, swallowed by darkness.
“What’s wrong?” Blair asked.
From the liquid darkness emerged a boy’s face. Pale blue skin pulled tight as his mouth opened and closed in silent gasps for air. His glassy, bloodshot eyes bulged from their wet sockets.
My chest hurt. I felt as if I was suffocating.
Blair maneuvered around the ropes. “Hey, are you ok?”
Casey’s hands snapped forward, digging the raw, red tips of his fingers into Blair’s cheeks, stopping him before he could climb out. Panic gripped Blair, and he screamed, fighting to escape the wooden box, but Casey held on. He pulled Blair’s head back and leaned forward, speaking slowly, inhaling every word in an eerie singsong tone. “Now you’re it.”
With a violent jerk, the dumbwaiter fell, and they were gone.