Hocus Pocus Hotel by Michael Dahl

where it’s coming from,” Tyler said suddenly.
    â€œWhere?” Charlie asked.
    Tyler shuddered and said, “The basement!”

On the way downstairs in the elevator — this time, it was Brack’s — Charlie made a quick list on his notepad of the clues and questions they had.

    â€œYou have the hunter’s gleam in your eye, Master Hitchcock,” said Brack. “Do I detect that you have solved the puzzle?”
    â€œHe better have solved it,” muttered Tyler.
    Charlie grinned and told Brack, “Well, I’ve solved at least part of it.”
    Leaning in to look at Charlie’s list, the operator raised an eyebrow. “So you have juggled all your clues and evidence together,” he said, “and that’s why you are traveling to the basement?”
    â€œWe always end up in the basement,” said Tyler.
    â€œBut the mystery was solved upstairs on the ninth floor,” said Charlie. “Down here we’ll find out who’s behind the mystery.”
    The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. “Good luck,” said Brack. “I hope your solution turns tragedy into comedy.”
    As the elevator doors closed behind them, Tyler looked down at Charlie and said, “That guy is always saying weird stuff.”

    Weird, but full of clues , thought Charlie. Tragedy and comedy?
    â€œI think he’s pretty smart,” Charlie said. “Anyway, where should we go?”
    Tyler shrugged and pointed. “This way,” he said. “Follow the pipes.”
    Long metal ducts snaked across the ceilings. As they walked deeper into the basement, more and more of the ducts appeared from different directions. They connected and joined together, forming even bigger pipes, and all running in the same direction.
    They all passed through a wall near an orange door labeled BOILER ROOM.
    When they opened the heavy orange metal door, Tyler and Charlie were met by a blast of thick, warm air. All the ducts entered this room. Half of them flowed into the dozen metal boilers. The boilers heated air. Then the air was carried by the other ducts to the vents on all the hotel’s floors.
    â€œIf someone could be heard through that vent,” whispered Tyler, “then they must be somewhere in this room.”
    Charlie grabbed Tyler’s T-shirt. “Look! Over there!” he said.
    A man’s shadow covered one of the room’s cement walls. His hands fluttered up and down in a strange way, as if he were brushing aside spider webs. Or as if he were a magician casting a spell.
    His hands stopped. “Mister Ken,” they heard him say. Then the man’s shadow disappeared.

“Hurry!” said Tyler. “Before he disappears!”
    The boys dashed around the row of boilers. A young man turned abruptly, a surprised look on his face. He was surrounded by nine bowling pins. A heap of metal spoons and rings was lying at his feet. Behind him lay a neatly folded shower curtain.
    â€œYou’re the ghost!” accused Tyler angrily.
    â€œGhost?” repeated the man. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œHe’s not a ghost,” said Charlie. “He’s a juggler.”
    â€œJuggler?” repeated Tyler.
    â€œMr. Thursday, right?” asked Charlie.
    The man bowed toward them. “Thursday the Master Thrower,” said the juggler. “And I’m sorry about taking these things. But I had to practice.”
    â€œAnd your luggage was lost by the airlines,” said Charlie. “Along with your usual props, like bowling pins, juggling rings, and metal rods.”
    â€œExactly,” said Thursday. “I just borrowed these items to use until mine turn up. I always planned to return them. I even folded the shower curtain!”

    â€œYour luggage just got here,” said Charlie. “We saw it up in the lobby.”
    â€œSlow down,” Tyler said. “What’s going