Haunted Island by Joan Lowery Nixon Read Free Book Online Page A

why.”
    “The room looks great, kids. Thanks for your help,” Aunt Jennie said. She and Liz went toward the kitchen to clean up.
    “I don’t understand this,” Amy said to Chris. “If Amos was thirteen in 1811, that would make him practically two hundred years old! He couldn’t be that old!”
    Chris shrugged. “He was telling a good story, and just put himself into it. He didn’t think we’d ask anyone about the date of the earthquake.”
    “You mean he was just trying to scare us?” Amy stood up straighter. “Well, we’ll show him we don’t believe in his crazy old ghosts.”
    Chris chuckled. “We’ll go with him tomorrow to the island. It will give us a chance to prove that the island isn’t haunted. But don’t let on to him that we know the truth.” He poked Amy on the shoulder. “And don’t tell anyone that we’re going. We’ll have a great surprise for Aunt Jennie!”
    Amy giggled. “This is going to be fun.”
    But the next morning, so early there was a gray mist over the river, it didn’t seem to be fun. Chris and Amy got up early and sneaked out of the house to find the ground still soggy from the week of heavy rain. The summer air wasn’t as hot and sticky as it would be later in the day, so Amy wore a sweater over her T-shirt and jeans. Chris was also wearing a cotton shirt with his jeans, and both of them wore sneakers.
    Amos was waiting for them, so Chris and Amy greeted him and climbed into Amos’s old battered rowboat.
    Amos wasn’t as talkative as he had been the night before, which was all right with Chris. It was too early and quiet to talk. Amy sat huddled against Chris, her sweater wrapped tightly around her. Now and then she’d shiver. Their feet were wet, and the water in the bottom of the boat seemed to be growing deeper.
    “The boat’s leaking,” Chris told Amos.
    Amos handed Chris a large, rusty tin can. “It’s an old boat. Won’t last much longer. Better bail out some of that water.”
    “Is it far?” Chris asked. He worked hard, but it didn’t help. The boat was sinking fast.
    Chris tried to peer ahead through the fog. They were slowly and steadily getting close to the island. He could hear wavelets slapping the beach, and now and then he could see the dark outlines of the tops of the pines.
    Suddenly Amos lifted the oars, resting them on the sides of the boat in their locks. “We’re almost on the island,” he said. “Just a few more feet, and you can beach the boat.”
    “Thank goodness!” Amy whispered.
    “This is as far as I can go with you,” Amos said.
    “What do you mean?” Chris asked.
    But Amos answered, “You have a job to do. You must put the ghosts to rest.”
    Before Amy or Chris could move or speak, Amos began to slowly dissolve. Chris reached out a hand to clutch him, to hold him, but Amos was no longer there. For an instant only his eyes remained, two bright spots staring through the mist.

8
    A MY SCREAMED, “CHRIS!” AND grabbed her brother around the neck. The old rowboat rocked wildly.
    Chris tried to pry loose her fingers. “Stop it, Amy! We’ll end up in the water!” He managed to pull free and crossed into Amos’s seat. “Come on over here, Amy! Take one of the oars! Hurry up!”
    Amy did as she was told, shivering all the while. “We’ve got to row back, Chris,” she said.
    “We can’t,” he told her as he pulled on his oar. “The boat won’t make it. It’s shot—we’ve got to touch land before it sinks.”
    Amy tugged at her oar, and the boat began to swing erratically. “We can’t go to that island!”
    “We have to. Pull! Harder!” Chris timed his stroke to Amy’s, so the boat would stay on course.
    Amy sniffled. “I’m scared, Chris.”
    “So am I,” he said.
    “Amos was a ghost.”
    “I know.”
    “You said you didn’t believe in ghosts. You said—”
    The boat stopped with a lurch that threw them forward. Amy dropped her oar with a splash.
    “We touched land,” Chris said. He stood and