The Elevator Ghost Read Free

hall light. “ Carolina Giddle. Experienced babysitter, mah-jong instructor and vegetarian caterer. Will do light housekeeping and séances upon request. Fancy that.”
    â€œSounds like a fruitcake to me,” said Mr. Fergus.
    â€œWe do need a babysitter next month.” Mrs. Fergus looked at her boys, sighed and shook her head. “Millicent’s wedding, remember? And no one in the building will babysit here anymore.”
    â€œI ain’t no baby,” Dwayne complained.
    â€œNo backlip.” Mr. Fergus made a threatening movement toward his belt buckle. “You two get to bed and you better not get out of bed if you know what’s good for you.”
    With her gaze focused on the hall mirror, Mrs. Fergus ran a comb through her hair.
    â€œI’m going to be sneakin’ back every ten minutes from the Murplesteins. If I catch you…” Mr. Fergus pointed a finger in the direction of the boys’ bedroom. “And Mrs. Griddle or whatever is goin’ to babysit you while me and your ma are at Auntie Millicent’s wedding. BABY-sit, you hear?”
    An hour past midnight, all of the excitement over Halloween had faded away. There was just the smallest taste of it left, like the sweetness from a caramel. Children had fallen asleep, even those complaining of stomachaches.
    Galina Lubinitsky still clutched her crayon, bits of it rubbing off onto her pillow. Mrs. Croop, hearing Hubert’s small snores, switched off his bedroom light. He could never go to sleep unless it was on. Papa Bellini sighed and shook his head as he pulled a blanket up tight to Angelo’s chin. Asleep, he did look like an angel. Benjamin Hooper’s model spaceships, hanging from his bedroom ceiling, twirled in a shaft of moonglow.
    In Apartment 713, Carolina Giddle brewed a pot of tea.
    â€œIt will be ready in two shakes,” she announced to Herman Spiegelman as he unloaded a trolley with the last of her things. “Huckleberry peppermint, and I add just a splash of Southern Comfort. Especially good with one of my granghoula bars, which I think I have packed right there in that top box if you’ll hand it to me.”
    â€œIt’s been a long day.” Herman Spiegelman mopped his brow. He settled into a cane-back chair by the drop-leaf table Carolina Giddle was opening up. “They should pass a law against Halloween.”
    â€œI would miss it like a good back tooth,” Carolina Giddle said. She added an extra splash from a bottle into the super’s tea. “There.” She handed it to him.
    The caretaker took a deep, satisfying sip. “You come from a long ways?”
    â€œYes, I reckon it’s the longest trip Trinket and I’ve ever made, and I’ve had her for twenty-two years.”
    â€œTrinket?”
    â€œMy car.”
    â€œTrinket.” Herman Spiegelman tasted the word along with a bite of granghoula bar. “Never seen a vehicle quite so…” He stopped and searched for a word. “Decorated. And what brings you here?”
    â€œI have friends…” Carolina Giddle paused and smiled as she slowly stirred some honey into her tea.
    There was a sudden clanking from the radiator. And then what sounded like a clearing of a throat.
    Cough. Cough.
    â€œOh, be quiet, you consarn whatever.” The caretaker settled his teacup carefully on the table, pulled a wrench from his overall pocket and delivered a blow that made the old radiator vibrate and ring.
    The clanking and the coughing stopped.
    Carolina Giddle’s eyebrows made little peaks, and she bit her lip. After Herman Spiegelman had finished his tea, collected his trolley and said goodnight, she went over and stood by the radiator. She gave it a gentle pat.
    There was a cough again. So soft you could barely hear it. And the radiator gurgled ­contentedly for a minute or two.
    â€œHello, Grace,” Carolina Giddle whispered. “Don’t worry. It’s