The Great Shelby Holmes and the Haunted Hound Read online

  We were not.

  “But there are people who claim they’ve seen ghosts,” I argued. Isn’t that what ghosts were? The unknown. People alleged they’d seen them. There had been reports of the unexplained, and all those shows on TV about people hunting ghosts. How could they hunt something that wasn’t real?

  “The power of suggestion,” Shelby stated with an impatient huff. “You tell someone they’re walking into a haunted house, they’re ready to start believing they are seeing or hearing things that don’t exist. Then there are people who have recently lost a loved one. Those individuals are seeking comfort, and believing that their spouse or parent or whoever is close by may make them feel better.”

  While I agreed with her in theory, part of me had been on edge after talking with Bryant. He’d experienced something that freaked him out.

  I was probably letting my imagination get away with me. That horror movie marathon this past weekend was a bad idea. But Dad and I had a tradition of video chatting while watching some pretty bad horror movies. There was one that took place in an abandoned apartment building that kind of scared me. I wanted to turn my bedroom light on, but didn’t want Dad to think I’d gone soft. I’d moved the screen so he couldn’t see me cover my ears a few times. It wasn’t the gore that would cause me to jump the most, it was always when there’d be a loud sound out of nowhere.

  Yeah, so all the horror movies had me on edge. That and all the ghost decorations around the neighborhood for Halloween.

  “Are you trying to explain your friend’s behavior away on a ghost?” Shelby asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  She groaned as she threw her head back. “Oh, come on, Watson. You know me better than to make an attempt to deceive me.”

  Busted.

  She continued, “Your friend has clearly not slept well in a few days. He’s jittery. You followed him out after he left in the middle of lunch, and now you’re asking me about ghosts. You don’t have to be an intellect of my caliber to connect those dots.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Yeah, he asked me if I believed in ghosts right after I agreed to spend the night tonight.” An unexpected chill ran down my spine thinking about it.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Shelby stated confidently. “There are absolutely no such things as ghosts, goblins, zombies, vampires, fairies, the Loch Ness Monster, or whatever other creatures have been created to sell books and movies. I am currently unable to cite specific statistics, as I will not let such silly fantasies of the imagination take up precious space in my brain attic.”

  Ah, yes. Shelby’s brain attic. It’s filled with the most random facts one can imagine about science, geography, rock formations—you name it, she had studied it and put the information in there. There were certain things she didn’t find “worthy,” like anything about sports, friends, being normal, and now ghosts.

  But it was Shelby so she was (say it with me!) right.

  Although didn’t she eventually have to be wrong? At least once? Nobody was perfect, not even the great Shelby Holmes.

  Oh please don’t have the first time she’s wrong be about this.

  If so, it was going to be a long night.

  “So what’s this school project you have?” Mom asked when she got home from work at the hospital.

  “Oh, it’s, ah . . .”

  Okay, Watson. You probably should’ve figured she was going to ask this question. Every good detective has to think a few steps ahead. Obviously Mom was going to be interested in why I had to spend a school night at Bryant’s.

  “Yeah, it’s . . . ​a science experiment for Mr. Crosby’s class. We have to do all these charts about the growth of a . . . ​ potato. So we thought we could get ahead if I spent the night. The potatoes are at his house.”

  A wave of guilt overcame me. I’d promised Mom I wouldn’t lie to her anymore. When I first started working with Shelby on her cases, I kinda, sorta hadn’t told her. Then she found out the truth while I was in an ambulance (long story), and I’d been honest with her ever since. But how would I explain why I was going over to Bryant’s when I had no idea what was going on?

  This was simply me being a good friend to Bryant. While we don’t share our opinions on Shelby, he was a close friend who was also an only child living with his divorced mom. Our other friends had big families. Carlos lived with his parents, three siblings, and grandmother. John Wu lived with his two dads and sister while Jason lived with his parents, two sisters, his auntie, and cousin.

  At least Bryant’s dad lived nearby in Brooklyn, while mine was in Kentucky at the army post I used to call home. Still, sometimes you needed a friend.

  Mom put her hand to my forehead. “Well, okay, but I want to check your glucose levels before you leave. And call me tonight before your bedtime insulin shot so I can monitor your levels.”

  “You know, if I had the insulin pump . . . ,” I threw out there. Checking my glucose levels and doing my daily insulin shots have become standard for me, but every once in a while I got jealous when a kid with diabetes had the insulin pump. It did all the monitoring for you. But Mom trusted herself more than technology, especially when it came to my health.

  Mom shook her head. She picked up her phone and typed for a bit. “Let’s not make school night sleepovers a habit. Next time, you can have Bryant over or anybody else if you have a project.”

  Her phone chirped. She looked at it and smiled.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  She smiled bigger while she typed a response. “Just a friend, sweetie.”

  Uh-huh. I studied Mom. Was she blushing? She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “What friend?” I pressed. Because Mom wasn’t acting like she was texting with just a friend.

  Hmm, maybe Bryant’s paranoia was contagious?

  Mom laughed. “A friend from work. Shouldn’t you pack your bag and head to Bryant’s? Do you want me to walk you over?”

  “It’s okay.” I didn’t move. “So what are you going to do tonight?”

  “Nothing.” She glanced to her right. “Probably watch a movie.”

  Wait a second. Why was Mom lying to me? The glance to the right. The avoidance of eye contact. She was keeping something from me.

  My mind began to swirl with possibilities. There was one more plausible than the rest, but I wasn’t prepared to deal with that.

  Because if my suspicions were correct, Mom having a boyfriend would be much more frightening than a ghost.

  CHAPTER

  4

  My least favorite part of late fall and winter was how much earlier the sun would go down. It wasn’t even seven o’clock and it’d been dark for over an hour.

  I didn’t like it.

  Okay, I was clearly letting Bryant’s behavior get to me. It was dark. So what? It was nighttime. That was what happened at night, the sun went down.

  Get a grip, Watson.

  I walked the several blocks up Lenox Avenue to Bryant’s apartment building. When I turned on 141st Street, I noticed the block was quiet. Almost too quiet. Most of the buildings had their windows boarded up. I’d only been over to his apartment a few times, but now, I noticed Sold signs on the buildings that hadn’t been there before.

  Bryant lived in a gray stone four-story apartment building. It was one of those old buildings that had the name engraved at the front entrance: Baskerville Estates.

  I took a deep breath to erase my nerves as I rang the bell for apartment 3. I was buzzed in and walked up the stairs to find Bryant standing outside his apartment, holding the door open.

  As I stepped inside, Bryant gave me a weary smile. “Hey, man.”

  His mom rushed over to give me a hug. “Oh, John! Thanks so much for coming!”

  “You’re welcome. Mrs.—Ms.—” I fumbled, remembering that Bryant’s mom used her maiden name, which I couldn’t remember.

  “You can call me Claire.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied since Mom insisted I refer
to adults by Ms. or Mr. It was a sign of respect. Mom would be the first person to call me out if I wasn’t being respectful, especially with my elders. And since I was only eleven, pretty much everybody was my elder.

  Except Shelby, who was only nine. Not like she would ever show anybody respect, no matter their age.

  Present company—aka me—included.

  Bryant and his mom looked very similar, and not solely because they both were clearly exhausted. She had his pale complexion and same blond hair, with hers up in a tight ponytail. They both wore matching necklaces I’d never seen before—a black rectangular stone with a pointed tip on a silver strand.

  “Is that new?” I asked.

  “Ah, yeah,” Bryant said as he looked down.

  “It’s black tourmaline,” his mom replied as she picked hers up from her chest and studied it. “It’s a stone that’s supposed to help ward off negative energies. It may sound silly, but we’ll do whatever may help.”

  I could only nod along since I didn’t know what the negative energy was . . . ​and I wasn’t that excited to find out.

  “Well, please make yourself welcome,” Bryant’s mom said as she walked over to the living room, which connected to the kitchen. It was a lot like our place. Most New York City apartments were open like that. I think it made the space feel bigger since three rooms were crammed into one area.

  I sent Mom a quick text that I’d arrived at Bryant’s and hoped she had a good night. When I left, she was still dressed in the clothes she wore to work. Usually after dinner, she’d put on sweats.

  Yet another reason to be suspicious she wasn’t just spending the night in by herself.

  But first things first.

  I decided to treat Bryant like one of our suspects. Start out with small questions. Get him relaxed, and he’d start talking so I could figure out exactly why I was here. And hopefully it had nothing to do with a ghost.

  “So what’s the negative energy?” I asked.

  “There’s been some weird stuff happening in the building. And well, I thought you could help us out with some of the things you’ve learned from Shelby.” He scowled when he said her name. “There has to be a reasonable explanation of all that’s going on.”

  “Okay.” I gulped. I hadn’t really had a case on my own. And I wasn’t even sure where to begin. So I guess we start with the most basic questions. “What’s been happening?”

  Bryant’s mom came over and put her arm around her son. “It started this weekend. Weird noises. It’s an old building so we’ve gotten used to creaking and hearing our neighbors, but this was different. Stomping footsteps. The lights blinking on and off. Unexplained sounds, like from some kind of animal. A howling.”

  “Could it be from a dog?” I asked. Even I sometimes heard Shelby’s English bulldog, Sir Arthur, barking upstairs if he was in a disagreement with Shelby about something. He was the only living creature who Shelby would give in to.

  Bryant and his mom exchanged a look. “Not exactly.”

  “A wolf?” Were there any wolves in New York City?

  “It didn’t sound like a wolf,” Bryant said in a quiet voice. “It was like a giant beast. You kind of have to hear it to understand.”

  “Yes,” his mom agreed. “And well, there’s just this feeling I have. This heaviness in my chest. It’s like someone is watching us.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Bryant admitted. “It’s weird. I don’t feel right.”

  I nodded. Maybe it was the power of suggestion like Shelby said, but I felt a little light-headed. I wondered if they had an extra necklace for me.

  “Can you tell where the sounds are coming from?” I inquired. I couldn’t make deductions based on how someone felt, but if we could pinpoint where it was happening, we’d know what was making the noise. It could simply be something crawling in the wall like mice or, I don’t know, a squirrel or something.

  Gross.

  “Yes.” Bryant’s mom gestured for us to sit down on their couch. “Would you like something to eat or drink? I have sugar-free cookies.”

  “I’m okay for now, thanks.” I sat down and got out my notebook. I usually used it to keep notes after spending the day with Shelby so I could properly report in my online journal, but this time Shelby wasn’t with me. I didn’t want to miss anything. Also, I hated to admit that I might need to call her if I got stuck.

  Which Bryant wouldn’t be okay with and Shelby would just loooooove. So yeah, I had to do this on my own.

  “After I felt agitated all day Saturday, the power started to flicker,” Bryant’s mom explained. “I didn’t think anything of it. It happens sometimes, especially in an old building. Then the power went out completely. We started hearing footsteps above us. But not normal footsteps. I’d know, I’ve lived in apartment buildings my entire life. It was purposeful, slow steps. Almost foreboding. Then a tapping noise started.”

  I looked at the ceiling above. It took me a while to get used to hearing the Holmeses walking around. Even though they have rugs and usually take off their shoes when they get home, every once in a while you’d hear someone walking around. It was part of living in an apartment building.

  “Who lives upstairs?” That had to be the most obvious explanation.

  Bryant and his mom exchanged a look. “That’s the thing: nobody,” Bryant’s mom stated. “There’s a new tenant arriving in a few weeks, but for now it’s vacant. Our landlord even checked upstairs while it was happening, and the apartment was empty.”

  Okay, that was freaky. How could there be footsteps and tapping above if nobody was up there?

  “Did anybody else hear it?”

  She shook her head. “Not the tapping or footsteps, but everybody heard the howling. It’s kind of hard to ignore. Our across-the-hall neighbor, Mr. Mortimer, is elderly and a bit hard of hearing, but even he could hear it. We talked to the rest of the tenants. The Lyonses, they live next to apartment 5, also heard the tapping, but not the footsteps. The guy who lives on the top floor only heard the beast.”

  I searched my brain for what could be causing noise in an empty apartment, but I had nothing.

  Zip. Zilch. Nada. Diddly-squat.

  “Would you like a sweatshirt?” Bryant’s mom asked. I realized I had wrapped my arms around myself. It was cold in here. Both Bryant and his mom were wearing sweaters. She even had on a pair of fingerless gloves.

  “Sorry, man,” Bryant said. “I should’ve warned you that it’s a little cool. The heat’s working, it’s just . . .”

  Another thing that didn’t make sense.

  Uneasy feelings. Chills in a heated apartment. Sounds from an empty unit.

  Come on, think, Watson. What would cause all of this?

  “There’s something else,” Bryant said as both he and his mom shuddered. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. “We found out that the original owner of this building died in that apartment decades ago. And he had a dog.”

  Gulp.

  At that exact moment, the power flickered off. The room became pitch black, save for a hint of light streaming in from the streetlights outside.

  “Stay there,” Bryant’s mom said. “I’ll get the candles and flashlight.”

  I will not panic. I will not panic, I kept reminding myself. There are no such things as ghosts. There’s a reasonable explanation for everything.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. It sounded like a foot was being dragged. So yeah. Not at all normal.

  Bryant’s mom lit a few candles. The lights flickered on their worried faces. I didn’t want to think what I must’ve looked like.

  Scratch, scratch . . .

  What was that? It was soft at first, but then louder.

  SCRATCH.

  SCRATCH.

  SCRATCH.

  Like an animal was trying to get in. A very hungry animal.

 
“We hadn’t heard that before,” Bryant said in a near whisper. His mom had her arm around him.

  Then . . .

  Grrrrrrrrr . . . ​

  Grrrrrrrrr . . . ​

  HOOOOWWWWLLLL!

  The growl turned into an ear-piercing howl. My pulse quickened. Bryant’s mom was right: no dog sounded like that. The creature seemed almost annoyed. Hungry.

  I had no clue what to think. But I didn’t want to meet the beast that could make such a horrifying sound.

  Right then, the big candle on the kitchen table blew out, plunging us all into darkness again. The noise above increased, and I put my hands over my ears. My heart was practically jumping out of my chest. All I wanted in that moment was for it to stop and to get as far away from this haunted apartment as quickly as possible.

  Grrrrrrrrr . . .

  Grrrrrrrrr . . .

  HOOOWWWLLL!

  I was close to letting out a scream, and then Bryant turned on his flashlight.

  Our eyes locked. We were both terrified.

  He was right.

  There was a ghost in his apartment building!

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  I yelped as the banging was coming from the front door. Bryant and his mom must’ve been super relieved to have me here.

  A man’s voice on the other side of the door asked, “Everybody okay in there?”

  “Our landlord, Jay Barrymore,” Bryant’s mom replied as she got up and opened the door.

  The noise from above continued.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  STOMP.

  Whoooosh.

  A young guy with a super-cool fade haircut shone his flashlight around the apartment. “Okay, good. You’re safe. I’m going to check upstairs. I’m so sorry, I wish I could figure out what was going on.”

  The door across the hall opened up. An elderly man with a white beard held up his own flashlight. “What’s going on? Who has a dog?”

  “I’m looking into it, Mr. Mortimer,” Mr. Barrymore said, but he didn’t look confident. Or happy that he had to climb the stairs to go to where the noise was coming from. I didn’t blame him.