Who Let the Ghosts Out? Read Online Free PDF Page B

bullet,” Tara said.
    “What's inside it?” Nicky asked.
    “Nothing. It doesn't open. Why are you two asking me all these questions?”
    “We're bonding,” Nicky said.
    “I don't want to bond with you,” I said. “Go away. Go haunt someone else. There are already ghosts in this house. There's no room for you.”
    They stared at me in silence. “I'm no fun to haunt,” I said. “Really. Have you ever seen projectile vomiting? That's what I do whenever I'm haunted.”
    “Cute,” Nicky said.
    “Did our parents sell this house to your parents?” Tara asked me. “Did you see my parents?”
    “The house was empty,” I said. “No one lived here.”
    “But—what happened to
us
?” Tara cried. Her voice broke. She turned away from me. “What happened to our family?”
    “I don't know,” I said. “I don't know who you are. Dad said we got the house cheap because no one was living here.”
    Nicky lowered his head sadly.
    Tara's shoulders were moving up and down. I think she was crying.
    “Hey …uh… are you still going to haunt me?” I asked again.
    To my surprise, they both vanished.

9
    “M AX NEEDS OUR HELP,” Tara said.
    I sighed. “He needs
our
help? Tara,
we're
the ones who need help. We're dead. We're ghosts. And we don't remember why or how it happened. And Mom and Dad are missing, and we may never see them again. Besides, he's beyond help. Look at him. He's eleven years old, and he still has Velcro sneakers!”
    It was a few nights later. At least, I think it was a few nights. Tara and I had disappeared—faded into an emptiness—and we lost all track of time.
    We were sitting on the floor with our backs resting against Max's bed. Behind us, he was asleep with his mouth wide open, snoring softly.
    “Cut him some slack, Nicky,” Tara said. “He's not a bad guy. And he's in trouble. His big brother is totally horrible to him. And his dad wants to send him away to school because he's not a big jock. Maybe we can help him.
    “And maybe Max can help us, too,” my sister said softly.
    “Help us? How?”
    “Help us find Mom and Dad. I don't think we can do it on our own. We keep appearing and disappearing. Sometimes we fade away for days. We can't control it. Sometimes we can pick up objects and sometimes we're too weak. Sometimes we're solid, and sometimes we're totally see-through. We're not good at being ghosts yet.”
    “We just need more practice,” I said. “After a few weeks, we'll be able to haunt this house like pros!”
    “But, Nicky—”
    “We don't need Max,” I said. “He's too frightened to help us. You heard what he said about projectile vomiting. How helpful is
that
?”
    “That was a joke,” Tara said. “He jokes a lot. Can't you tell when he's kidding?”
    “I'm not in the mood for jokes,” I grumbled. “I'm dead, remember. I don't need jokes anymore.”
    Behind us, Max stirred in his sleep. “Help,” he whispered. “Help.”
    “Do you believe it?” I said. “He's even a wimp in his sleep!”
    “We can help him be brave, Nicky,” my sister insisted. “Then he can help us find Mom and Dad.”
    I pinched Tara's cheek. “I think you have acrush on him. You do—don't you? You have a crush on him—big-time.”
    “Do not!” she cried, shoving my hand away. “Touched you last.”
    “Touched
you
last.”
    She slapped my arm. “Touched
you
last.”
    I let her win. “What do you like about him, Tara? His cute little baby face? His collection of sci-fi T-shirts? His goofy grin?”
    “Shut up, Nicky!” Tara shouted. “I mean it. Shut up!”
    “You're blushing,” I said.
    “Ghosts can't blush, you moron!”
    “Well, if they could—” I started. But I stopped when I heard a noise. A muffled clattering sound. From downstairs.
    “What was
that
?” Tara whispered.
    We both listened. I heard creaking floorboards. Scraping sounds. The clatter of metal pots and pans. Was it coming from the kitchen?
    I glanced at Max's clock radio. Nearly three in the