Read Hemingway's Ghost for Free Online

step towards Papa. “
Shut up
,” he said. “I’m so sick of your ignorant mouth. He was
ill
. He was in pain and he had a rare brain disease, and that’s why he did it.”
    Papa backed up a few steps, even though he had the gun. He was looking at Bumby as if seeing him for the first time, and had the gun pointed at his chest. “Okay, okay. Cool down there, Bumbles. Let’s just finish what we came for.”
    Bumby realized he was acting out of character and composed himself. He went to the coffin and lifted the lid with a trembling hand. After holding the lid open and peering inside, he screwed his face up at the smell and used the tip of one finger to move aside the tiny feline skeleton. Ernie gasped as Bumby pulled an envelope out of the box. The envelope was yellowed and serrated along the top, like they used to be.
    Ernie and Papa crowded around as Bumby broke the seal, then pulled out a thin stack of typed pages. The title of the first page read
To My Dearest Pauline
.
    Ernie stumbled backwards, and Papa’s eyes grew wide.
    “I don’t get it,” Papa said as he stumped down the stairs to the cellar. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but why bury that stuff with the cat in the first place? Or under the brick in the cellar, for that matter?”
    Bumby shrugged. “Hemingway liked to do things like that. Said it would extend his legacy if people found little pieces of his work as time went by. Who knows what else is out there,” he said, with a hungry light in his eyes. “Maybe I was wrong, maybe there’s a whole other book somewhere.”
    “Can you
imagine
what that’d be worth?” Papa said.
    Bumby threw him a sharp look. “It’d be priceless, and go straight to a museum.”
    “Like hell.”
    Ernie’s face was still white as the sand on Smathers Beach. “He’s here right now, watching us, I can feel it. So can we please
shut up
about this? I think we should just get outta here.”
    Bumby took the Ouija Board out of Ernie’s grasp and put it on the floor. “We need to find out who the murderer is. And he’s the only one who can help.”
    “And what if it’s him?” Ernie said.
    Bumby took a deep breath. “Then I suppose our fate lies in his hands.”
    “You’re both idiots,” Papa said, and went over to the brick in the corner. He extracted the pages and tucked them into a shirt pocket.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” Bumby said.
    “Keeping these safe. I don’t trust nobody no more but me.”
    “I thought we agreed to keep them there for now? Who gave you the right to choose?”
    He held the gun up. “Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.”
    “Cretin,” Bumby muttered, and turned back to the Ouija board. “Just get over here and help us.”
    Papa looked at the closed door, ran his tongue along his teeth, then shook his head and joined the others around the Ouija Board. He tucked the gun in his pants and placed his hairy paw on the planchette with the others.
    They moved the plastic wedge in slow circles around the board, then paused in the middle, Papa’s slight wheeze the only sound in the room.
    Bumby said, “Is anyone there?”
    Nothing for a long moment, and Papa’s mouth started to break into a sneer. Then the planchette lurched to one side of the board, hovered near the edge and then darted, all three hands hovering right on top of it, to the top right corner.
    -YES-
    “Did you do that?” Ernie whispered.
    “Not me,” Bumby said. “Papa?”
    Papa swallowed his sneer. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t me.”
    “Oh God, he’s here,” Ernie said. “He’s here and he’s furious.”
    They stopped talking when the planchette started moving again.
    -MAX-
    “Max?” Ernie said. “Poor Max.”
    “Max was also his editor,” Bumby said, then spoke to the board. “You want to speak to Max?”
    The planchette seemed confused, hovering back and forth between Yes and No.
    “Did you speak to Madame Gertrude today?” Ernie said.
    The planchette started a slow