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Duncan—Dunc—Culpepper sat on his bicyle in front of the old Rambridge house beside his best friend for life, Amos Binder. Amos stared at the house’s front door with a frown.
“Are you going to go in and get him?” Dunc asked.
“No way.”
Amos’s dog, Scruff, had just disappeared into the house.
“All I did was try to pet him,” Amos said.
“Why doesn’t he like you?”
Amos scratched his head. “How would the school counselor put it? The sharpchasm between our personalities is difficult to breach.”
Dunc balanced in place on his bicycle. He was pretty good at it. “So why don’t you just go in and get him?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the story about Old Man Caruthers?”
“Who’s Old Man Caruthers?”
“There’s a legend that says Blackbeard the Pirate hid millions in jewels somewhere around here,” Amos said. “Old Man Caruthers used to brag that he knew where the treasure was. One night about twenty years ago he broke into the Rambridge house to get it.”
“What happened?”
“No one really knows. The neighbors said they heard him scream, then there was a real low, evil laugh. His scream was cut off short, just like you cut a piece of meat with a cleaver.” Amos ran his finger across his throat. He shuddered.
Dunc straightened out his handlebars. He was still balancing. “So did they ever find Caruthers’s body?”
“No. Some say he died in the cellar, othersin the bedroom. Almost everybody says it was Blackbeard’s ghost that killed him.”
“Blackbeard’s ghost?”
“Yeah.” Amos shuddered again.
Dunc shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe in ghosts, that’s why.” He set his feet down on the sidewalk. “You’ll still have to go in and get Scruff. You can’t leave that poor dog in there all night.”
Amos looked at the house. It was old and falling apart. The paint had peeled off, and all the boards were bleached a grayish white. The last rays of the sun behind it made it look even spookier. If there was anyplace a ghost would want to live, the Rambridge house was it.
“Maybe he hid in there because he wants it to be his new home,” Amos said. “Maybe he and Blackbeard get along really well, a kind of boy-and-his-dog type of thing.”
“But he’s your dog.”
“Blackbeard can keep Scruff. Scruff never liked me anyway.”
“You don’t mean that. Your sister would be heartbroken.”
“Then she can go in after him. Blackbeard can keep her, too. Or my grandparents, or Mom and Dad, or Melissa—” He stopped. “Well, maybe not her.” Amos was in love with a girl named Melissa Hansen.
Dunc climbed off his bike. “C’mon.”
“C’mon where?”
“We’re going to get Scruff.” He grabbed Amos’s arm and dragged him toward the front door.
“What do you mean, ‘we’? Why does it have to be ‘we’? Why can’t you do it yourself?”
“Because you need to get over this silly superstition about ghosts.”
“But I like superstitions. There’s nothing wrong with a good, healthy superstition once in a while.”
Dunc wasn’t listening to him. He had Amos halfway to the front door.
“I’ll tell you what,” Amos pleaded. “If you go in and get Scruff, you can have him. Free.”
“What would your sister say?”
“Just don’t bring him over to the house. I’ll tell her a dump truck ran over him.”
Dunc almost had to carry Amos up the front steps into the house.
Inside, it was like midnight. Just enough light was coming through the dusty windows to outline an old fireplace crouched against one wall with a picture hanging above it. There wasn’t any furniture and absolutely nothing that resembled a ghost.
The picture was of an old man with piercing black eyes. “That must be Mr. Rambridge,” Dunc said.
“I don’t care. I don’t like it in here.”
“This isn’t so bad. It’s just an old house.”
“All haunted houses are old.”
“You don’t really think
Duncan—Dunc—Culpepper sat on his bicyle in front of the old Rambridge house beside his best friend for life, Amos Binder. Amos stared at the house’s front door with a frown.
“Are you going to go in and get him?” Dunc asked.
“No way.”
Amos’s dog, Scruff, had just disappeared into the house.
“All I did was try to pet him,” Amos said.
“Why doesn’t he like you?”
Amos scratched his head. “How would the school counselor put it? The sharpchasm between our personalities is difficult to breach.”
Dunc balanced in place on his bicycle. He was pretty good at it. “So why don’t you just go in and get him?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the story about Old Man Caruthers?”
“Who’s Old Man Caruthers?”
“There’s a legend that says Blackbeard the Pirate hid millions in jewels somewhere around here,” Amos said. “Old Man Caruthers used to brag that he knew where the treasure was. One night about twenty years ago he broke into the Rambridge house to get it.”
“What happened?”
“No one really knows. The neighbors said they heard him scream, then there was a real low, evil laugh. His scream was cut off short, just like you cut a piece of meat with a cleaver.” Amos ran his finger across his throat. He shuddered.
Dunc straightened out his handlebars. He was still balancing. “So did they ever find Caruthers’s body?”
“No. Some say he died in the cellar, othersin the bedroom. Almost everybody says it was Blackbeard’s ghost that killed him.”
“Blackbeard’s ghost?”
“Yeah.” Amos shuddered again.
Dunc shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe in ghosts, that’s why.” He set his feet down on the sidewalk. “You’ll still have to go in and get Scruff. You can’t leave that poor dog in there all night.”
Amos looked at the house. It was old and falling apart. The paint had peeled off, and all the boards were bleached a grayish white. The last rays of the sun behind it made it look even spookier. If there was anyplace a ghost would want to live, the Rambridge house was it.
“Maybe he hid in there because he wants it to be his new home,” Amos said. “Maybe he and Blackbeard get along really well, a kind of boy-and-his-dog type of thing.”
“But he’s your dog.”
“Blackbeard can keep Scruff. Scruff never liked me anyway.”
“You don’t mean that. Your sister would be heartbroken.”
“Then she can go in after him. Blackbeard can keep her, too. Or my grandparents, or Mom and Dad, or Melissa—” He stopped. “Well, maybe not her.” Amos was in love with a girl named Melissa Hansen.
Dunc climbed off his bike. “C’mon.”
“C’mon where?”
“We’re going to get Scruff.” He grabbed Amos’s arm and dragged him toward the front door.
“What do you mean, ‘we’? Why does it have to be ‘we’? Why can’t you do it yourself?”
“Because you need to get over this silly superstition about ghosts.”
“But I like superstitions. There’s nothing wrong with a good, healthy superstition once in a while.”
Dunc wasn’t listening to him. He had Amos halfway to the front door.
“I’ll tell you what,” Amos pleaded. “If you go in and get Scruff, you can have him. Free.”
“What would your sister say?”
“Just don’t bring him over to the house. I’ll tell her a dump truck ran over him.”
Dunc almost had to carry Amos up the front steps into the house.
Inside, it was like midnight. Just enough light was coming through the dusty windows to outline an old fireplace crouched against one wall with a picture hanging above it. There wasn’t any furniture and absolutely nothing that resembled a ghost.
The picture was of an old man with piercing black eyes. “That must be Mr. Rambridge,” Dunc said.
“I don’t care. I don’t like it in here.”
“This isn’t so bad. It’s just an old house.”
“All haunted houses are old.”
“You don’t really think
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