YOUNG ADULT ADVENTURE FOR FANS OF:

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Prologue

“Knock. Knock. Fmph.”

“What a weird knock. It’s like they got tired and stopped halfway,” he laughed, twisting the glass doorknob. As he pulled the front door open, a bearded man on the other side fell face down onto the entryway floor.

He wore a long leather jacket and sock hat, with a tiny tattoo of a Celtic knot behind his right ear.

Unfortunately, he was also dead.

Chapter 1

“Stinking Slopbiscuit! Don’t scare me like that, Graham!” gasped Edison, dropping his book.

“Ha, yes! I got you. I totally got you!” laughed Graham. “I’ve been hiding underneath your porch for 20 minutes waiting for you to come out. I even got this gash on my arm from the bricks when I crawled in, but it was so worth it!” 

Edison scooted off the porch, hastily picked up his book, and noticing something on the ground beside it, carefully placed it in his pocket and smiled to himself.

“You got me...this time.”

“I know,” Graham replied. He glanced at his watch. 

“We need to be at the funeral home in 10 minutes. You ready to roll?” asked Graham. 

“Yeah, let me put my book inside first.”

~

Riverton was on full display as Edison and Graham made their way down Jennings Street. The clocktower of Saint Wendel Chapel gazed down on the inhabitants of its small-town kingdom. Saint Valerian University’s spires picturesquely standing at attention in the distance. The late afternoon light dotted through the yellow leaves of the mature birch trees in Riverside Park. Sylvia Sidebottom standing outside her Sweet Shop, eyed passersby as she ate sardines from a can.

“Oh man, I can’t wait for this! I’ve been thinking about it all day,” beamed Graham.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this. I hate choirs. I wish we could have done the refreshment stand like last year,” Edison complained.

“Whatever, it’s going to be awesome,” replied Graham. “And you look great, you know.”

“It is a cool costume,” Edison grudgingly admitted. “Mom said she already had a white sheet, so with the extra pieces she bought on clearance, the whole outfit only cost 37 cents. Which is really pretty good when you think about it.”

Across the street, Mr. Boyd was sweeping out the last bits of hair and the last of the customers from his barbershop. Graham winced as he noticed the hair stuffed inside the trash bin on the sidewalk.

“Oh man, that’s so gross.”

Edison put his hands on the trash can and said: “Want a snack, Graham? Maybe a delicious hair popsicle? I could glue these to a stick for you to enjoy bite after hairy bite!”

“Stop it! I think I might get sick.”

Graham covered his mouth and kept on walking.

Baskerville, Mr. Boyd’s once-great Great Dane whose jowls spent the majority of their day drooping on the front sidewalk, eyed them and the surrounding activity with apprehension and not a little disdain. The idea of moving at all seemed an incredible inconvenience.

Edison stepped so that Graham stood between him and Baskerville.

Despite his coma-esque qualities, Baskerville, like a retired Army Colonel always at the ready, kept a watchful eye on the citizens of Riverton. They needed him. And on the odd occasion, when both his spirit and his flesh were willing, he sprang to the rescue of anyone, whether they needed him or not.

Unfortunately, as a small child, Edison was once the victim of a Baskerville rescue attempt. This primarily involved Baskerville lumbering toward him at top speed to keep Edison from some unknown deadly attack and ended with Edison on the sidewalk with bloody elbows and a mouthful of dog drool. Since that day, Edison never again pet a dog.

The chilly evening air wisped across their faces as they arrived in front of Bell Funeral Home.

“Look, they’ve even got some lighting on the casket this time!” exclaimed Graham.

“This is probably something Eileen would be like, ‘Oh, Riverton is so weird. It’s not as cool as Nashville was,’” said Edison. “She’d be like, ‘Why do people pay money to walk around downtown and listen to people dressed up in vintage costumes share myths, legends, and scary stories of what happened on the places they stand. Blah. Blah. Blah’”

“She’s probably still homesick, go easy on her,” said Graham.

“Whatever. Six weeks is more than enough time,” answered Edison.

~

Mr. Tenicutt, who owned the funeral home, stepped forward and shook their hands.

“Hi boys. It’s refreshing to see students at your age being civic-minded. On behalf of our fine town, I thank you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Tennicutt.”

“My oh my, what a busy evening,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “A Ghost Walk and a funeral at the same time. You must excuse me.”

And with that, he scuttled up the walk and disappeared through the front door.

“Oh, that’s right. Poor Miss Edna Fryer’s funeral was tonight,” Graham told Edison. “I think it just got over.”

“Who?”

“You know, the 98-year-old who always smelled like cheese,” replied Graham.

“Oh, yeah. How could I forget? I didn’t realize she was still alive.”

“She’s not.”

“I mean until she died,” said Edison.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Edison sighed.

“Grandma said Mr. Tenicutt tried to move the funeral to tomorrow because of the Ghost Walk, but her kids are from out of town and today was the only day they could do it because they had important business to attend to. Apparently, they’re rich and said they’d pay more to do it tonight. But they’re really demanding and Mr. Tennicutt is freaking out.”

“Your grandma told you all that?”

“Oh, no. I overheard her talking to your mom on the phone,” said Graham.

While Mr. Tennicutt directed the hearse to the grand entrance at the back of the funeral home, out in front, the Ghost Walk scene was a flurry of choir members finding their places onto the bleachers, hot apple cider being poured into cups, and final adjustments to costumes.

Edison and Graham stepped to the back of the bleachers among several other ghosts, most of whom were old enough to be dead themselves and a few who looked like they might already be. They were facing the open casket set up in front of the funeral home, trying to look as ghoulish as possible while also rubbing their hands together to stay warm from the early evening air.

“The river drops the temperature a good ten degrees,” said one elderly ghost.

“It’s the north wind,” another replied matter-of-factly.

From their vantage point on the bleachers, Edison and Graham could see the back of the funeral home as Mr. Tennicutt’s staff prepared the way for Miss Edna Fryer’s funeral procession to exit the facility and make their way toward the cemetery.

“Good thing they have that back entrance,” he whispered to Graham. “That would be weird for someone to walk through a Ghost Choir concert on their way from a real funeral.”

“That’s true, they’d probably ask for their money back,” said Graham.

“You don’t have to pay to go to a funeral,” said Edison.

“You don’t?” asked Graham. “Well, that’s just weird.”

Mr. Tennicutt scuttled out the front door. Since he served as the talking ghost at this stop of the walk, he motioned everyone on the bleachers to stand still.

“Now remember, ghosts, this is a great chance for our great community to show our guests a good time, increase downtown tourism revenue, and impress them with Riverton. Because let’s be honest, how many other towns around here have their own town song? So, one more time to make sure we’re on the same page: we all scream immediately after I say ‘Boo’ and then you start singing the chorus to ‘Oh Riverton’ on the count of three. Oh, here comes the first group!”

The ghosts scurried into position. The first tour group stepped into place.

As if it were the first time, Mr. Tennicutt, dressed in his top hat and coattails, dramatically shared the same ghost walk story he’d shared for twenty years:

“It was 1887 and the undertaker from this very funeral home, Mr. Rheinbaum, stepped downstairs, leaving the body of Mrs. Kraundel, who is laying in that casket right there, unembalmed…”

A hush fell over the tourists, who breathlessly followed the story.

He had them right where he wanted them. Just a few more details and the Riverton Ghost Choir would bring this ghost walk home. It was all quite fun.

As he continued, Graham whispered to Edison, "Scoot over, I want to see how they made her face look in the coffin."

“Scoot over yourself. I want to see. Besides, you’re taller than me. You can see over the person in front of you.”

“C’mon Edison. Scoot over.”

“No.”

The ghost choir screamed after “Boo.” The startled guests laughed, which cued the choir to start “Oh Riverton.”

And cued Graham to lean close to Edison, subtly shoving him sideways.

“Oh Riverton, oh Riverton, God shed his grace on thee…”

“Stop!” whispered Edison while he sang.

“Ohio could, flow through the good, Mississippi to the sea…”

“You stop being selfish. For crying out loud!” hissed Graham.

“Oh Riverton, compatriots dream, of living here for years…”

Graham then began pinching Edison’s elbow.

“The mason guild’s red bricks gleam…”

“Ow! Stop it right now or…”

“We all cry happy tears…”

“Or what? What are you going to do?” taunted Graham and then shivered as the wind whipped through the crowd.

“Oh Riverton, oh Riverton, God shed his grace on we…”

As the song continued, Edison’s mouth continued to sing but his mind focused on an idea. A delicious idea that involved his pocket. Specifically, the item he hid in his pocket earlier that evening.

This was one way to be certain Graham would stop.

He smiled to himself as he slyly pulled out a huge clump of tangled hair. He looked at Graham and grinned as Graham continued to sing. Graham’s eyes widened as he noticed the clump.

Edison lifted it tauntingly.

Graham shook his head and hissed, “No don’t! Please. I’ll stop!” in-between lines as the choir led toward the big crescendo. He scooted back over to his side and took a deep breath to hold the last line of the song, “from Mississippi to the sea.”

Pleased with himself, for dramatic effect, Edison held out the hair clump in front of Graham one last time.

Yet, at that precise moment, a wind gust blew that clump of hair straight out of Edison’s fingers and into Graham’s open mouth.

Graham gagged, screamed, tripped over Edison’s feet, and fell headlong off the bleachers and into the barbershop’s trash can full of old hair.

He promptly began wretching, heaving, and vomiting inside and then outside the trash can.

Graham’s fall knocked Edison off-balance and onto the woman in front of him, who yelled, and thinking there was a robber, raised her cane into the air.

The cane knocked out the lamppost directly above, which shattered into a million pieces of glass over the heads of the dozen panicked octogenarian ghosts.

Which made the ghost in the casket sit straight up to see what was the matter.

Which elicited screams from all the tourists.

Which woke up Baskerville, who promptly hopped off the sidewalk and galloped toward the group to see whom he needed to rescue.

At the sight of a lumbering Great Dane, the senior ghosts behind the bleachers ran for their lives down the only visible path...Bell Funeral Home’s front door.

Edna Fryer’s distinguished guests lining the main hall to leave were surprised to see a motley crew of elderly ghosts running down the main hallway at an incredibly slow pace. Unfortunately, the sudden onslaught of ghosts and their winded and worried expressions frightened the rather formal Fryer family. From the front door, Mr. Tennicutt yelled “Fryer” to warn them, but someone hard of hearing heard “fire.”

Regrettably, at the mention of the word “fire,” a dutiful funeral attendant pulled the fire alarm, setting off both the alarm and the sprinkler system.

Funeral guests and ghost choir members began slipping and careening down the wet hallway toward the back exit like a human waterslide. Fancy eyeliner and ghost paint ran messily down faces during the interior rainstorm.

Pandemonium would be an apt description.

Especially since Baskerville finally slipped in the door and lumbered down the hall searching for someone to rescue.

The pallbearers did a remarkable job maintaining both their dignity and their grip on Miss Edna’s casket despite the ensuing mele’. They steadily stepped outside, away from the sprinklers and noise. They paused serenely at the overlook for the beautiful view of the river below. It was a fitting tribute and peaceful last moment before placing the casket in the hearse.

Unfortunately, in that sweet moment of pause, the crowd burst through the door, which startled pallbearer number three on the left. That and the wet handle caused him to lose his grip. This caught some of the other pallbearers off-guard and suddenly the foot of the casket landed on the ground. They grabbed the top to keep it from falling, making Miss Edna stand up for one final salute.

Baskerville had finally made his way through the hall and out the exit, joining the crowd outside. Seeing the casket in its delicate situation, he raced over to help. The frightened pallbearers backed up, hoping to avoid a confrontation with a Great Dane. But Baskerville believed them to be thieves stealing Miss Edna. He therefore leaped at them, forcing them to dive for cover.

Unfortunately, these otherwise astute pallbearers neglected to realize how close the casket was to the edge of the overlook. As it slipped out of their hands, poor Miss Edna’s remains tipped over the edge and began swiftly sliding down the steep banks toward the river.

The crowd gathered at the top, watching Miss Edna slide straight down into the Ohio River like a midwestern Viking sent to sea with echoes of “Oh Riverton” serenading her final farewell.

As Graham and Edison watched the casket catch a current and begin floating away, Graham said, “I think we should go.”

“Me too,” answered Edison.

~

Not a word was spoken the entire walk home to Edison’s house.

The boys stepped into the living room to see his dad balanced precariously on a ladder, holding a ceiling fan in one hand and a screwdriver in the other as the twang of banjo music played from the record cabinet on the far wall.

Graham’s grandmother, Mrs. Ko, watched intently.

“Hang ceiling fan on rafter, not casing, or fan fall and catch on fire, Ewan. People will die,” replied Mrs. Ko.

Edison’s mom turned to see the boys.

“Edison Castlewigg, what happened to you? Why are you all wet? And what’s that on your clothes, Graham? Did the toilet overflow again?”

“It’s a long story,” sighed Edison.

“How about you tell me over some cookies and milk?”

“That would be great, thanks, mom.”

“Guys, before you sit down, can you give me a hand with this?” asked Mr. Castlewigg.

Mrs. Ko let out an exasperated sigh.

“Step down and let me do it,” she ordered.

Edison’s dad promptly obeyed and Mrs. Ko shimmied up the ladder with the ceiling fan in one hand, drill in the other, and screws in her mouth. Within thirty seconds the fan was attached and spinning.

As she stepped down, wiping her hands, she said, “It now strong enough to hold full-grown buffalo. But don’t you boys get any ideas.”

“We won’t, Gram Gram,” replied Edison.

“Wow, thanks Mrs. Ko,” admired Mr. Castlewigg.

“I didn’t want your soft professor hands getting scratched up with manual labor!” Mrs. Ko laughed.

Edison’s dad smiled while his cheeks glowed a subtle shade of red, mumbling something indiscernible to himself.

“So, tell me what happened,” ordered Edison’s mom, carrying in a plate of cookies.

Graham reached for one, “What kind of cookies are these?”

“Bee pollen oat. They’re nutritious AND delicious.”

He smiled and held that smile in the same way the lord of a castle would have held a drawbridge closed, keeping foreign marauders from entering his home. The bee pollen cookie would not pass over the moat.

“Well, I mean. Hmm, it’s kind of hard to know where to start. I guess it’s. Um…” stammered Edison.

“Okay, Mrs. C, here’s the deal,” began Graham.

But before he could start, the phone on the kitchen wall cackled and Edison’s mom hopped up to answer.

Edison and Graham could only hear one side of the conversation.

“Hello?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I see.”

“Oh my.”

“Really? In the river?”

“Got it, thank you, Bernice.”

Mrs. Castlewigg’s eyes narrowed and she walked the phone back to the receiver. “Boys, did you have anything to do with what happened at the funeral home? There seems to be some confusion regarding its cause.”

Just at that moment, the doorbell rang, followed by a rap at the door.

“Knock. Knock. Fmph.”

Edison’s dad set the ladder down and moved toward the door.

“What a weird knock. It’s like they got tired and stopped halfway,” he laughed, twisting the glass doorknob. As he pulled the front door open, a bearded man on the other side fell face down onto the entryway floor.

He wore a long leather jacket and sock hat, with a tiny tattoo of a Celtic knot behind his right ear.

Unfortunately, he was also dead.