Why I'm Not Afraid of Ghosts by R.L. Stine Page B

wet.
    The front door slammed as Oliver entered the house.
    Robbie drifted downstairs. He watched Oliver take off his jacket and get a towel to dry his hair with.
    No one else was home. Mr. Bowen usually worked at home, but today he had a meeting.
    The doorbell rang. Grumbling, Oliver went to the door.
    Shawn shivered in the rain on the front steps.
    How did Shawn always know exactly when Oliver was home? Robbie wondered. Did he keep track of Oliver from his window or something?
    â€œOh, good!” Oliver smiled at Shawn. “Come on in. You can help me move my desk up to the attic. I’ve got most of my stuff up there now. Well, except for the bed.”
    It was true. Oliver had been messing around with their attic a lot in the last few days. Cleaning out the cobwebs, washing away dust, moving furniture around, storing some of it in the crawl space. It was clear to Robbie that Oliver planned to stay.
    Shawn blinked behind his glasses. “Is the desk heavy? I don’t feel too strong today.”
    What a weird thing to say, Robbie thought.
    â€œOh,” Oliver replied. “Well, I guess I can wait till Dad gets home. Want to play checkers?”
    â€œSure.” Shawn hung his wet raincoat on one of the hooks by the door.
    â€œI’m going to make hot chocolate first. I’m freezing. You want some?”
    â€œNo thanks,” Shawn replied.
    â€œYou sure? It’s the kind with little marshmallows.”
    â€œNo, really. I’m not thirsty.” Shawn followed Oliver into the kitchen.
    â€œOh yessss,” Dora whispered in Robbie’s ear, startlinghim. She rubbed her hands together. “I’m going to get that Oliver. I’ll make him believe. There’s no way I can fail this time!”
    * * *
    Oliver carried a mug of hot chocolate into the living room. He set it down on the coffee table. Chocolate-scented steam curled up past his nose, making his mouth water.
    â€œOliver, I have to talk to you,” Shawn said in a serious tone.
    Again? Oliver thought. He pulled the coffee table away from the couch and got down the board and the box of checkers from the game shelf.
    â€œOkay, go ahead,” he said, opening the checkerboard. He plopped down on the opposite side of the coffee table from Shawn and took a sip of chocolate.
    Mmmm! He squished a mini-marshmallow on his tongue.
    Shawn took the red checkers and started putting them in the black squares on one side of the board. “I know it isn’t safe here, but I have to say something anyway.”
    â€œNot safe?” Oliver repeated, mystified. Shawn sounded like someone from one of those dumb old black-and-white spy movies. “What do you mean?”
    â€œNo, it’s not—not safe here,” Shawn stammered. “The ghosts—they . . .”
    But Oliver stopped listening. The mug on the coffeetable was shaking. Puzzled, he stared at it. What was going on? An earthquake?
    Checkers slid in slow motion toward Shawn. Something bumped Oliver’s elbows.
    The coffee table was rising off the floor!
    It floated slowly up past his eyes.
    Oliver stared, his mouth dropping open. Fear pumped through him.
    His hot chocolate mug still sat there, steaming gently, on the flying coffee table!
    Oliver slapped his palms on the tabletop and tried to push it down. The table began to tilt. He grabbed for the checkers and his mug, but everything slipped away from him.
    A second later, Oliver rose from the floor.
    â€œHey!” he yelled. He grabbed frantically at the air.
    He was already three feet off the ground. It felt so weird! He flapped his arms over his head, trying to force himself down.
    It only made things worse. Oliver lost his balance completely. He began to turn slow cartwheels in the air.
    This was much worse than spinning on a chair. He was totally out of control!
    â€œThe—the—” Shawn stammered. “Oh, no! Nooooooo!” And he rose off the ground