Read The Ghost of Fossil Glen for Free Online Page A

twins: “Oh, my hair got mussed! Whatever shall I do? My life is ruined!” He pretended to sob hysterically, then peeked at Allie.
    She couldn’t help laughing. “I only watched five minutes,” she said. “It did seem pretty stupid. But Karen and Pam like it a lot. Maybe it takes a while to get into it.”
    Dub gave Allie a look she couldn’t quite fathom. She didn’t want to talk about Karen and Pam with Dub, so she went to work on the first gravestone in the row along the fence. The stone lay flat on the ground. Allie swept the leaves away and read aloud, “Walter Oswald Emmons, Beloved husband.”
    â€œLook,” said Dub. “Here’s his wife, Irma, right next to him.”
    â€œThat’s nice, the way they’re buried side by side, don’t you think?” asked Allie as she scraped away the moss and grass that had grown over the stone.
    â€œI guess so,” said Dub. “I mean, if you have to be here.”
    They moved down the row, clearing off each headstone, trying their best to straighten those that had heaved in the winter frost, removing trash and forgotten offerings of dead flowers and tattered flags.
    Allie heard Dub hoot with laughter. “Listen to this,” he called. “‘Here lies Orvin Killigrew, a wretched, poor, and lowly worm.’”
    â€œNo way!” said Allie. She walked over to read the headstone herself.
    â€œHow would you like that on your gravestone?” Dub asked.
    â€œGeez,” said Allie, with a giggle. “Poor guy.”
    They moved on to the next tombstone and began brushing the leaves away. It was fun working with Dub. The sun felt warm on her shoulders and she was enjoying the glimpses that the headstone carvings offered into the lives of those long-gone people.
    She walked over to a small stone that stood upright in the ground. While most of the graves sat in family groupings, this one was off by itself, spaced farther away from the others than was usual. And while many of the others were decorated with angels or flowers or comforting words, this one appeared stark and bare by comparison. Drawing closer, Allie felt a chill again, despite the sun.
    She read the simple inscription: “Lucy Stiles, 1983–1994.” Doing some quick subtraction in her head, she gasped. “Dub, look! This girl was only eleven when she died. Our age .”
    Dub came over to see, and it was then that the significance of the name struck Allie. “Lucy Stiles, Dub! Stiles .” To emphasize her meaning, she pointed across the field to the deserted house.
    â€œHmmm,” said Dub, examining the carved dates. “1994. That’s only four years ago.”
    Figuring quickly, Allie said, “When we were in second grade. I wonder how she died.”
    Dub assumed the deep voice and macho stance of a TV cop. “I’m afraid we suspect foul play, ma’am,” he said.
    Allie began to laugh. She stopped abruptly at the sound of a low voice, not quite a whisper.
    â€œDid you hear that?” she asked Dub.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat voice.”
    â€œYou mean Joey? How can you miss him? It’s like his mouth is hooked up to speakers.”
    â€œNo, not Joey. It was the voice . It sounded as if somebody was right here .”
    Dub made an exaggerated show of looking all around, over his shoulder, behind his back, behind Allie’s back. “Ah, yes,” he agreed. “I see who you mean. It’s Orvin Killigrew, the poor, wretched worm, standing right behind you.”
    â€œDub, I’m serious. I heard the voice again. And this morning, in the classroom, I felt cold hands on my shoulders.” She stopped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Right after you said something about ghosts.” She looked at Dub, wide-eyed.
    â€œAl,” he said. “You’re sounding kind of whacked, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    â€œDub, this is so