Free Ghosts of Rathburn Park by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page B

hand across the handlebars, he couldn’t help remembering how hard it had been to get her off the bike when she rode it before. Making a show of looking at his watch, he started to say, “I don’t know if I have enough time for—”
    “Oh shut up,” Amelia said. “When you see what I’m going to show you, you’ll forget all about what time it is. Come on.”
    “Why? What? Where are we going?” Matt said, but she didn’t answer. Turning away, she pushed aside a heavy growth of fern, revealing what seemed to be the entrance to a hidden, tunnel-like path.
    “Come on. Follow me,” she said as she ducked into the tunnel. She was soon out of sight. Matt took a deep breath and did as he was told.
    Following the stone wall of the church, the path turned a sharp corner and went on until it reached what seemed to be another entrance. Under a smaller arched entryway the remains of an old wooden door hung crookedly on rusty hinges. The door creaked and groaned as Amelia pushed it open and led the way through heavy undergrowth to emerge inside the ruined church. It wasn’t until then that she waited long enough to allow Matt to catch up.
    “Be careful,” she whispered as she moved forward. “Stay close to the wall. There’s another booby trap right out there.”
    Matt followed, watching his feet as he sidled along the wall. When he looked up, it was just in time to see Amelia pushing open, and disappearing through, a smaller door made of rough unfinished wood. And following close behind her, Matt found himself in a place he’d never been, but which was so close to the way he’d imagined it, it almost seemed familiar.
    Old Tom’s cabin was small and dimly lit. The wooden walls were unpainted, the roof was of rusty corrugated tin, and the only light came from two tiny windows. As Matt’s eyes adjusted to the faint light he was able to see that, just as he’d imagined it, some furniture was still there. At one end of the room stood a table made of rough unfinished wood, a bench and what seemed to be the rusty remains of a wood-burning stove. And on the other side, a rocking chair with a broken rocker sat near an iron bed frame. And that was all, except that near the bed there was a large, old-fashioned trunk with a dome lid. Matt sat down on the bench and looked around.
    “Wow,” he said, almost under his breath. He felt strange in a way he couldn’t explain. The tightness in his throat and the warmth behind his eyes were almost like grief or pain, but they weren’t really either one. At least not his own grief or pain. He could only guess whose it really was, and why he was imagining it. Imagining the person who—
    “Well, here it is,” Amelia interrupted his thoughts. She made a kind of “so what” gesture. “You wanted to see it so bad—so here you are. Satisfied?” Turning suddenly, she grabbed Matt by the front of his shirt. “But don’t you ever come in here without me. You hear?”
    As usual Amelia’s wild woman act made Matt feel just the opposite of what she probably intended. “Hey, watch it! You’re going to tear my Alamo T-shirt,” he said, and then as she went on glaring, “Okay. Okay. I promise. I won’t come here by myself.”
    She stared, narrow-eyed, for a moment longer before she nodded and turned him loose. “Okay. I guess I believe you.”
    He looked around the tiny, lonely room. “But why not? What’s in here that you don’t want me to see?”
    “Nothing,” she said quickly. “There’s nothing here I don’t want you to see. It’s just…” She paused a moment and then went on, “It’s his ghost that doesn’t want you snooping around. Old Tom’s ghost.”
    “His ghost?”
    She nodded sternly. “Yeah. Old Tom’s ghost would get you for sure if you came here by yourself.”
    Matt got up off the bench and started walking around the room, stopping to look at the rusty stove, the broken rocking chair and then the trunk. The trunk was made of stamped metal and it was