The Ghost's Grave by Peg Kehret Read Free Book Online Page A

me?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œCan you see me, too?”
    â€œYes.” Why wouldn’t I?
    â€œHee-haw!” The man yelped like a cowboy starting into the rodeo ring.
    I backed toward the door.
    He’s crazy, I thought. He’s a delusional escaped mental patient. I’ll have to jump from the door to theground, hope I don’t break a bone, and try to outrun him.
    â€œI thank you for the loan of your books,” he said. “Never owned a book myself. ’Course, I didn’t learn to read until after I died.”
    My scalp prickled with apprehension.
After he died?
    â€œStill can hardly believe I’d be glad for book learning,” the man said. “I quit going to school when I was seven years old in order to stay home and help with farm chores, and I left with no regrets. The only parts of school I liked were lunch and recess. I played hooky half the time and ignored my lessons the other half. Never thought I’d know how to read. I didn’t learn for the rest of my life but since then, well, I have a natural curiosity, and after I died, I started spending my nights in the library. Being around so many books, I naturally opened one here and there to look at the pictures, and then one night I opened a book that had pictures of coal mines, and I started figuring out the words, and once I got the hang of it, I never stopped. Since they closed the Carbon City Library, back in 1964, I don’t get many chances to read.”
    As he talked, I slid my feet closer to the door. I hardly heard what he said. How had he moved the ladder so quickly? Only a few seconds had passedbetween when I’d looked out the window and when he looked in.
    â€œDon’t go running off,” he said. “I ain’t had anyone to talk to in more than fifty years.”
    Keeping my eyes on the face in the window, I felt behind me until my hand touched the door. I shoved it open and saw the ladder right where I had left it. What was the man standing on?
    â€œNothing to be scared of,” the man said. “I ain’t armed, if that’s what you’re thinking, and I wouldn’t hurt you anyway. You’re the first friendly soul I’ve met in decades.”
    Friendly? I was trying my best to get away from this nutcase, and he thought I was acting friendly.
    â€œI wouldn’t take the life of a boy, that’s certain,” he said. “Unlike some folks I know, I value a human life.”
    His voice had an angry edge now, as if he were talking about a specific incident. I decided it would be best to change the subject and calm him down before I tried to escape.
    â€œDo you live around here?” I asked.
    â€œUsed to. Do you mind if I come in?”
    Since he’d already been in the tree house at least twice, I figured I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to so I said, “OK,” and the next thing I knew he wasstanding near the little table. He didn’t climb in the open window; he simply materialized inside the tree house. One second he was a face at the window, and the next second he stood beside me.
    I gasped. He must be a ghost! How else could he float through the wall that way? All his talk of learning to read after he died made sense, if he was a ghost.
    I stared at my visitor. I’d always thought ghosts were delicate, transparent beings that a living person could see through, but this man was as solid as a tree stump. If I had not seen him go from outside to inside the tree house like magic, I would never have suspected he wasn’t a flesh-and-blood person.
    â€œWhy are you here?” I asked. “Who are you?”
    â€œName’s Wilber,” he said. “Wilber Martin, but everyone called me Willie. I’m an angel.”
    Unkempt hair framed his face. He wore a grubby gray work shirt, an odd hat with some kind of light on the front of it, and one sturdy high-top boot. His right pant leg was pinned up above the