Who Stole Halloween? Read Online Free PDF

thief carried it so Halloween would like him—so she’d go with him and not complain.”
    â€œThat’s reasonable,” said Mrs. Popp, “if we can associate the word
reasonable
with someone who steals cats. What kind of person would do such a thing?”
    â€œA wacko!” said Jeremiah.
    Professor Popp arched his eyebrows. “Jere
mi
ah?”
    â€œSorry,” Jeremiah said. “A nut case?”
    Mrs. Popp pursed her lips and shook her head.
    This time Jeremiah thought for a few seconds. Then he said, “A lunatic.”
    His parents looked at one another. “Better,” they agreed.
    â€œDid you know the word
lunatic
comes from
luna
—the Latin word for moon?” Mrs. Popp asked. “A lunatic was thought to be somebody influenced by the moon.”
    â€œYou mean like werewolves?” I asked.
    Yasmeen laughed. “So now you think it was a werewolf who stole Halloween?”
    Jeremiah shook his head again. “Uh-oh.”
    â€œYou don’t even believe in werewolves,” I reminded Yasmeen, “or ghosts either.”
    â€œBut ghosts are real,” said Jeremiah, “aren’t they?”
    â€œNo,” said his mom.
    â€œPossibly,” said his dad. “You know, I’ve done a bit of research on ghost stories. Every culture has them. Is that coincidence?”
    â€œOh, Derek, for goodness sake,” said Mrs. Popp. “When people don’t understand something, they invent a supernatural explanation. There are many mysteries in the world, but one thing is certain: Ghosts exist
only
in the imagination.”

Chapter Nine

    There is something strange when you look into a mystery: It sort of takes over your brain and even your sleep. That night I dreamed we found a whole bunch of clues, but most of them turned into fish and swam away. The only one that didn’t was a little slip of white paper with writing on it.
    The dream woke me at six, and I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Luau was awake, too, lying on my feet, blinking at me and purring, which meant,
I love you, Alex, I love you so—especially when you give me catnip
.
    Down the hall I could hear my mom in theshower. It was Monday. She worked an early shift. This would be my best chance to talk to her.
    I went down to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of Pirate Berry Crunch. Mom came down a couple of minutes later. When she saw me, she jumped.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing up?” she asked.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
    The coffeemaker was burbling. Dad measures out the grounds and water the night before, then sets a timer so it’s ready when Mom gets up. I used to think this was nice of him, but Mom says he only does it so he can sleep in without feeling guilty. Now she poured herself a mug and sat down across from me at the table.
    â€œIs something wrong?” she asked.
    â€œJust the missing cats,” I said. “I can’t stop thinking about them—Kyle’s especially.” Then I told her about my dream and about finding the catnip under the car. I told her what Bub said about a ghost story, too.
    Mom nodded. “We’ve been lucky the last few years. No cats stolen at all. But before that, I remember several incidents. People with a sicksense of humor stole them and blamed the ghost. Once there was a ransom note. Another time somebody deposited two in the cellar at the Harvey house. It was vacant then. Luckily, the cats made plenty of noise, and a neighbor heard them. The cats were pretty hungry by the time we found them.”
    â€œKyle said the thief might have been a ghost,” I told her.
    Mom laughed and shook her head. “Right, honey. And the tooth fairy robs banks in her off-hours.”
    I laughed, too. Then I told her Mr. Stone was supposed to be the expert on the old ghost story.
    Mom said that didn’t surprise her, then she looked at her watch and stood up.