The Elevator Ghost by Glen Huser Page A

the other side of the room. We need to be safe where candles are involved. If you get tired of the fit, there’s a place beside me on the sofa. And, girls, once you have your drinks and granghoula bars, find a spot and get comfortable. While you’re getting settled, I’ll just bring Chiquita up for a bit of fresh air.”
    She reached into her bag and produced a cage that contained a tarantula spider. Chiquita scampered over to the mesh wall for a closer look at things.
    It only took Angelo a minute to scoot across the room and confront the arachnid nose to nose.
    â€œThis is one of Chiquita’s favorite stories,” Carolina Giddle said. “She won’t want to miss it.”
    When Barney Boonswagger was a young man sailing the South Seas — he wasn’t a sea captain yet, of course, just a deckhand — the old sailors liked to tell tales of a mysterious sail-ship they saw at times. There have been stories of ghost ships for as long as men first began coursing the seas in boats of one sort or another. But Barney took little stock in these tales spun over cups of rum in the twilight.
    One night he was taking his turn on watch, up on the deck of a small cargo vessel, when the fog crept in. It was the kind of fog some sailors called a pea-souper — so dense that you could barely see a hand in front of your face. Someone at the ship’s helm sounded a foghorn, and every few minutes, that mournful whooo rolled out into the night.
    That’s when Barney thought he heard someone crying somewhere out on the water.
    â€œHelp me!” the voice came, so muffled by the fog that it sounded like someone trying to holler with a woolen scarf over his mouth.
    â€œHelp me!” The voice was louder and closer.
    Clinging to the railing, Barney peered over as far as he could, to see if he could make out who was crying for help.
    And that’s when the strangest thing happened.
    It was a calm sea, with the ship moving slowly and steadily through the shroud of fog. But all of a sudden the vessel lurched, as if it had been suddenly pushed by a giant hand, and Barney fell over into the sea.
    He called out as he fell, but at that moment the foghorn sounded and drowned out his cry. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, he was plunging downward through the water. In desperation, he began to struggle to the surface. With his lungs almost bursting, he crested and drew breath. He was hoping to see the side of the cargo ship close by, hoping that he could hear its engines.
    But there was nothing. All he could see was the fog swirling around him. Everything was eerily silent.
    He hollered for help. His call sounded exactly like the one that drew him to the ship’s railing and then into his plunge overboard.
    The fog began to clear a bit, and Barney gasped to see that he was only a couple of feet away from the wooden hull of a ship. A rope ladder was being lowered over its side. Swimming the few strokes to where the ladder dangled just above the water, Barney grasped the first of the rope rungs and gradually worked his way up.
    What do you think he saw as he flung himself over the railing and onto the deck?
    â€œWhat?” Angelo said. He had inched his way along the floor and now sat right beside Carolina Giddle’s feet.
    He reached for a granghoula bar and began licking the icing off its top.
    Well, it looked like a whole crew of ghosts, but not a crew such as Barney had ever seen. These looked like they might belong in a pirate movie, except they had an ashy white appearance. As they moved about the deck, some of them seemed to disappear into wisps of fog and then reappear a minute later as the fog shifted.
    All of them were scowling.
    â€œWho…who are you?” Barney stuttered.
    One of the crew, who had the largest three-cornered hat perched over a scarred brow, growled, “We are the Tantrumolos of the dreaded ship Horribilis. ”
    â€œAnd you are our entertainment,”