Read Oddest of All for Free Online

be heard above the sudden gust of wind that made the shutters on the house begin to bang.
    â€œMe, either!” I bellowed.
    I didn’t bother to add that I had come to the conclusion that people were a lot more dangerous than ghosts anyway. Not that I don’t find ghosts eerie. Something about meeting the spirit of a person who has crossed into the world of the dead makes my flesh tingle no matter how many times it happens.
    â€œWell, standing in the rain is stupid,” said Dad at last. “Let’s go.”
    Leaving the cover of the trees, he sprinted toward the porch. I don’t know why he bothered to run; we were already totally drenched. Maybe it was the promise of shelter being so close. Pointless or not, Chris and I sprinted after him.
    The steps sagged beneath our weight as we dashed up to the porch. It was a relief to be out of the downpour—even if it meant standing at the threshold of such a weird-looking place.
    Dad stared at the door for a moment but didn’t make any move to summon the owner. “Don’t be silly, Henry,” he muttered to himself at last. “It’s just an old house in the country.” He played the beam of the flashlight over the doorframe until he found the doorbell button. He pushed it vigorously.
    No one answered for a long time. I was wondering if we were going to have to start walking again when an old man’s face appeared at the little window in the door. His expression was hard to read, and at first I thought he was going to turn around and leave us standing on the porch. But after a moment the door creaked open.
    â€œCan I help you?” he asked.
    His voice was scratchy, as if he didn’t use it very often.
    â€œWe had an accident up the road a bit,” said my father. “Could we use your phone, please?”
    A strange expression flickered across the old man’s face. It vanished almost immediately, as if he had caught himself telling a secret. His features froze into place, only his eyes betraying that something bothered him. With a shake of his head he said, “Don’t have a phone.”
    My father sighed. He tried to keep it from showing, but I could tell from his eyes he was feeling a little desperate. “Is there anyone near here who
does
have a phone?” he asked.
    The old man shook his head again, and I noticed that he was wearing a hearing aid. “No one near here at all,” he said.
    â€œAny chance you could give us a ride?” asked Dad. He was sounding more desperate with each question.
    Another shake of the head. “I don’t drive anymore.”
    Dad looked back at the storm. He took a deep breath, then said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but could we possibly stay here for the night?”
    It was the old man’s turn to hesitate. He studied the three of us for a moment, then nodded and stepped aside so that we could enter.
    His silence was spooky, but not as spooky as his house. The place looked like something from another time—or at least as if it hadn’t been cleaned since some earlier period in history. Dust lay thick on every surface. Cobwebs tangled in the corners. The pattern on the carpet had nearly disappeared.
    â€œMy name is Henry Tanleven,” said my father, extending his hand.
    The old man looked at my father’s hand as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it. Finally he took it in his own and said, “Benjamin Smiley.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Mr. Smiley,” said my father. “And my apologies for intruding on you this way. This is my daughter, Nine, and her friend, Chris Gurley.”
    Mr. Smiley looked surprised by my name. “It’s really Nina,” I explained, as I did almost every time I first met someone. “People call me Nine because they like the way it sounds when you put it together with my last name.”
    Usually people take a second to figure out the joke, then smile and nod.