Free The House Has Eyes by Joan Lowery Nixon

1

    J OHN QUINN TOOK A sip of coffee and said, “I heard that the old Everhart mansion has been rented.”
    Brian looked up from his scrambled eggs. “Dad, that’s weird,” he said. “Everybody knows that awful old house is haunted. No one ever goes near it. Sam Miyako said that for the past couple of years people have seen strange lights in the mansion at night—ghost lights.”
    Mr. Quinn frowned. “All this talk about ghosts is nonsense. We don’t believe in ghosts.”
    “You mean that you don’t believe in ghosts, Dad,” Brian said. “There has to be some reason for those lights.”
    Sean turned to their father. “Sam said ghosts are made up of stuff called ectoplasm, and it collects in closets and floats out at night, and hovers over our beds, and—”
    “I think we’ve had enough of Sam’s scary stories,” Mr. Quinn said to Sean. “There is no such thing as ghostly ectoplasm. If that’s why you had a nightmare last night—”
    Mrs. Quinn interrupted. She looked firmly at Sean as she said, “If anything collects in the closet and floats out at night and hovers over our beds, it comes from dirty clothes and sweaty socks that should have been put in the hamper and not in the closet.”
    “But ectoplasm …”
    “Not in our closets,” she said. “I won’t allow it.” Mrs. Quinn shook her head. “Just imagine the dreadful state the Everhart place must be in. The mansion has been vacant for years. I’m sure it will need a great deal of care to put it and the furnishings back in shape again.”
    “It was built way off by itself, down by the bay,” Brian said. “The nearest neighbor is at least half a mile away. Who would want to live there?”
    “Charles Collier,” Sean answered.
    The others looked at Sean with surprise.
    “Who’s Charles Collier?” Brian asked.
    “He’s a kid who registered at Redoaks Elementary yesterday. He got put in my fourth-grade class.”
    Mrs. Quinn smiled. “I’m glad you made friends with him,” she said. “It’s always hard, being new.”
    Sean squirmed uncomfortably. “I didn’t say I made friends with him, Mom. Charles keeps to himself, which is okay with me, because he’s real quiet and not very friendly.”
    “Give him a chance,” Mr. Quinn said. “Maybe he’s shy.”
    Mrs. Quinn looked at her watch and pushed back her chair. “I’ve got to be going. We’re having an early meeting this morning. We’re ready to begin planning an advertising campaign for one of our new clients.”
    She opened her handbag and reached for her car keys, but stopped and said, “Oh no! The lining is torn. And this handbag is brand new.”
    As she examined the bag, she shook her head. “It looks as though the lining hadn’t been sewn in properly. It’s torn all along one side. I certainly expected better quality than this in a bag with a famous designer label.”
    “Return it to the store,” Mr. Quinn said.
    “I don’t know if I can,” Mrs. Quinn answered. “I bought it at a small shop over in Lanita. They were having a sale, and the bags were selling at a big discount.”
    A knock at the back door interrupted her.
    “That’s Sam,” Brian said and jumped up to let him in.
    “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Quinn. Hi, Sean,” Sam said. He glanced at the breakfast table. “Got anything good left over, like a doughnut, maybe?”
    “Sorry, no doughnuts, Sam,” Mr. Quinn said. “However, I’d like to discuss these scary stories you’ve been telling the younger children.”
    “Dad!” Sean complained. “I am not as young as Sam’s little brother. I am not a ‘younger children.’ I’m nine.”
    “It’s the ectoplasm story, right?” Sam said. “My dad wasn’t very happy about that one either.”
    Mr. Quinn nodded. “And as for haunted mansions …”
    “Dad, Sam and I have got to hurry,” Brian said quickly. “If we’re late we’ll get detention. See you tonight.” He snatched his backpack and shoved Sam ahead of him out the back door.
    Sean grabbed