The Ghost of Blackwood Hall Read online

  “Then I’d come to again as Vanessa Lee,” she explained, “and find myself on campus or in this lab, but have no idea how I got here.”

  “I suppose that, deep down, you never wanted to be Professor Hanks again,” said Nancy, “because her life had been so unhappy.” With a twinkle she added, “But I’m sure you have a wonderful career ahead, now that you’re about to become a rich and famous scientist—with a drug company paying for permission to use your great discovery! We should really celebrate this explosion,” Nancy added. “You might never have been jolted out of your memory loss without it!”

  Then she smiled. “And now Professor Martin and good old Alice will get what they deserve.”

  “What about that missing scientific bit—the catalyst?” asked George Fayne. “Can you remember that too?”

  Professor Hanks smiled. “No problem. I never forgot. It’s the bromate. I was trying to repeat my experiment tonight—and it worked so terrifically, I almost blew myself up!”

  Nancy pointed to a spilled chemical container that had been knocked off the workbench by the blast. It was labeled Potassium Bromate.

  “When Dr. Craig rescued her, he thought she was mumbling Brahma cattle. I’ll bet that what she was actually trying to say,” Nancy explained with a chuckle, “was bromate catalyst!”

  Without warning, Dr. Hanks threw her arms around Nancy. “You are amazing!” she exclaimed. “How can I ever repay you for restoring me to myself?”

  The Ghost Dogs Of Whispering Oaks

  Strong winds spattered the windshield of Nancy’s car with autumn leaves. The girl detective fought to steady her swaying convertible.

  “Wow! Some wind!” said George Fayne, a close girlfriend, who was in the rear seat with her cousin Bess Marvin.

  George said to a pretty companion beside Nancy, “Sally, do you really mean that none of your family has ever dared stay all night at Whispering Oaks?”

  Sally McDonald Butler glanced uneasily at the thrashing trees and continued her story. She was a childhood friend of Nancy’s, and desperately needed her help to solve the mystery surrounding a farm owned by her family.

  “Since the death of my great-grandparents who built the house, no one has ever stayed there after dusk.”

  She nervously fingered her long dark hair.

  “What is everyone afraid of?” George persisted. Sally looked at her carefully, as if to see if she could be trusted.

  “The farm is haunted by ghost dogs!” she finally blurted out.

  George’s eyes widened, while Bess started. Nancy already knew part of the story, so she gave her full attention to the difficult driving.

  “Why do you want to go there?” Bess asked, bewildered.

  “I saw the farm only once when I was younger— and I fell in love with it,” Sally explained dreamily. “I wish my husband, Jeff, and I could live there. But first,” she added, determination in her voice, “I must see for myself if the story of the horrible dogs is true.”

  Bess stared out the window. Persistent wind lashed the trees. She shivered at the thought of the haunted farmhouse ahead.

  “Look out!” she screamed suddenly.

  With a tremendous crack an enormous tree came hurtling toward the girls!

  The car leaped forward. Nancy had already floored the accelerator. The great oak crashed to the ground, inches behind the car. Nancy braked and turned to her white-faced companions.

  “That was close,” George said shakily as the girls eyed the massive trunk.

  “It’s a warning!” Sally whispered hoarsely. She seemed strangely unnerved.

  “The wind blew it over,” Nancy insisted, trying to calm her, but Sally seemed unconvinced. She warily eyed the swaying branches.

  “Let’s go see why it fell,” Nancy suggested.

  As the girls got out of the car, the sharp breeze whipped their hair. Slender and athletic George was first to reach the base of the tree.

  “Look!” she cried. “The tree was cut down!” The others rushed forward.

  Nancy knelt to look. “Somebody deliberately chopped this tree so that it would fall on us,” the young detective announced grimly. “The cuts are still fresh.”

  “Not someone!” Sally shrieked. “The ghosts! We mustn’t go on!” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Let’s go back to the car,” said Nancy gently, putting an arm around her friend. She realized how much courage it had taken for Sally even to attempt the journey. Now the strain was beginning to show.

  Inside the car, Nancy smoothed her strawberry-blond hair. “It’s impossible to go back,” she stated. “The road behind us is blocked completely. The way ahead leads directly to the farm.” She looked at Sally. “And, spooks or no spooks, I want to know why someone tried to stop us from reaching the house.”

  “So do we!” cried Bess and George.

  Sally managed a nervous smile.

  “Then on to Whispering Oaks,” declared Nancy, starting off.

  “Those ghostly dogs had better beware,” George said with a grin. “Nancy Drew is coming!”

  They rode on for less than a mile. “There it is!” Bess cried excitedly.

  Through dense oak trees an old stone farmhouse came into view. Two chimneys flanked the two-story building. White painted trimwork made a becoming contrast to the gray stone.

  “It’s just as I remember it!” Sally cried with delight. “That igloo-shaped building through the trees to the right is the spooky ice house. The hill to the left was my favorite place for rolling down that time I visited.” She giggled. “Oh, and you can barely see the lake beyond the house.”

  “It’s enchanting,” Nancy murmured.

  Sally leaned forward excitedly as they drew close. Suddenly her face fell. The others, too, stared in dismay.

  Everywhere the grounds were overgrown. Shutters hung crazily from broken hinges. The paintwork was peeling badly.

  “The barn!” cried Sally, horrified. The others observed the charred remains through the trees. “The farm looks almost evil now,” Sally choked through tears. Everywhere, the atmosphere was one of decay and neglect.

  “Let’s go inside,” suggested Nancy as she pulled up to the front door. The girls unloaded the car and went inside. The floor boards creaked as the visitors entered the living room.

  “Ugh!” George exclaimed, picking a hanging cobweb from her short dark hair.

  The girls surveyed the room. Yellowed sheets covered the furniture. Thick dust lay everywhere. Outside, the wind howled. Loose shutters rattled and beat against the house.

  “It’s no better in here,” George declared.

  “This place is spooky,” Bess said and shivered. The room was chilly.

  “I think it’s lovely,” Nancy protested. “Although it does need a little housework,” she admitted.

  “A little?” Sally laughed quietly.

  Nancy grinned. It was good to see her friend smile. “Well, at least we can make it more livable.”

  The girls opened the supplies they had purchased along the way at the general store.

  “George, why don’t you make a fire,” Nancy suggested.

  She herself filled and lit the kerosene lamps. Handing one to Bess, she said, “You can put the food away and start supper, while Sally and I uncover the furniture.”

  “My favorite room: the kitchen. Just lead me to it,” Bess joked, and Sally directed her through a door on their left.

  “What’s behind the other door?” George questioned.

  “The library. My great-grandparents loved to read.”

  Despite frequent sneezes, the girls soon completed their job. They all agreed that the work had brought a cheerful change.

  “I’m sorry the house is so primitive,” Sally said, as they warmed themselves before the fire. “There’s no electricity or telephone. Even the kitchen stove is wood-burning.”

  “Speaking of stoves,” Bess said hopefully, “I’m starving!”

  In no time, they were busy eating a delicious mea
l of lamb chops with mint sauce, mashed potatoes, and string beans. George tutted disapprovingly as her blond cousin reached for a second helping of apple crisp. Bess, who ignored her, tended to be slightly plump.

  Dishes clean, the girls settled before the fireplace.

  “Tell us about the farm and its ghostly canines,” Nancy coaxed.

  Sally glanced outside uneasily at the darkening sky and began. “It was my father’s grandparents, Ezra and Pollyanna McDonald, who lived here. They loved the solitary beauty of the mountains.” Sally sighed. It was a love she plainly shared. “The farm was alive then with horses, cows, chickens, cats, and goats.” She giggled. “The McDonalds kept a large flower and vegetable garden. I believe their pet goat once tried to eat half of it—non-stop!”

  Her companions grinned, but Sally’s face clouded. “The McDonalds also raised black Labrador retrievers. A year before the couple died, a female dog whelped four unusually large males.”

  “What does that mean?” Bess asked.

  “To whelp is to give birth,” Sally explained. “The four dogs became the McDonalds’ constant companions. They ruled Whispering Oaks. No one ever entered the farm without the dogs’ approval.”

  “What happened to them after the McDonalds’ deaths?” Nancy asked.

  “The dogs were brokenhearted. They refused to eat. Tragically, they died one after the other.” The girls were moved with sadness. “Trass Sabuch, who looked after the farm, buried them behind the ice house.”

  Nancy leaned forward. “Are they the dogs that haunt Whispering Oaks?”

  Sally nodded and took a long breath. “It was months before the McDonald will could be read. When it was,” she continued with emotion, “it contained their fondest wish. They wanted their beloved dogs buried with them on the hill.”

  Nancy frowned. “Then the dogs were buried in the wrong place?”

  “Yes!” Sally cried. “That’s why they haunt us. We followed the rest of the will. Four specifically inscribed headstones were placed over each grave, but it was too late.”

  “Why did it take so long to read the will?” questioned the young detective.

  “Because it was missing for a while,” Sally responded. “And there’s something else that’s still missing, too. The McDonalds had exact images of each of the dogs cast in four-inch-high solid gold.”

  “They must be worth a fortune!” George gasped.

  Sally nodded. “They would be, except that to this day their whereabouts are a mystery.”

  “This house is full of mysteries,” Bess remarked.

  Nancy sat lost in thought. Then she asked, “Who first saw the ghosts, and when did the haunting begin?”

  “Trass Sabuch,” Sally responded. “The night he buried the dogs. At exactly nine o’clock, the hour when the dogs usually came in for the night, he heard whimpering. Puzzled, he looked toward the graves. There, among the trees, he saw four pairs of yellow eyes. Suddenly the creatures rushed at him. The howling and snarling were horrible. He rushed back inside and shut the door. In a flash, the house seemed surrounded. They clawed and scratched, throwing themselves against the doors and windows. The noise was terrifying. Finally the dogs retreated to the hilltop. There, over the graves of their dead masters, they howled mournfully until dawn.” She drew a breath. “Trass never saw their bodies and in the morning he could find no tracks, but the house was covered with claw marks. That day he moved to a cabin on the far side of the lake and never set foot on the McDonald property again after dark.”

  Chills ran down the girls’ spines.

  “Trass Sabuch told us that it was the dogs’ mistaken burial that had caused the haunting.”

  “And your family believed him?” Nancy asked.

  Sally shook her head. “My grandfather was skeptical. He tried to stay one night, but had exactly the same experience.”

  Suddenly the front door crashed open. Wind swirled through the room. The dying fire roared to life. Sally screamed. Bess gasped and clung to her startled cousin.

  Nancy dashed to the door and bolted it securely. Darkness had fallen. The young detective glanced at the time. Five minutes to nine! The others, too, had noticed the approach of the haunting hour.

  “Let’s play a word game,” Nancy proposed abruptly. Bess and George stared at her in disbelief.

  George sniffed. “Nancy Drew, you have had some crazy ideas, but—”

  “It’ll be fun,” she interrupted, “and distracting,” she added, nodding toward Sally. Her chums looked. Sally was staring anxiously out the dark windows.

  The game began, moving slowly at first, but picking up as everyone started to relax.

  “Famous names beginning with William or Bill,” Nancy proposed. “William Shakespeare,” she offered.

  “My favorite author,” Sally joined in.

  Nancy was relieved. “I would have loved to live at the turn of the sixteenth century when his plays, like Hamlet, were first performed,” Sally continued.

  “William McKinley,” said George next. “ Twenty-fifth president of the United States.”

  Bess thought for a moment. Finally she said, “ William Dunbar.”

  “Who’s he?” George challenged skeptically.

  “The best football player at Dave’s school,” was the retort.

  Nancy and George snickered. Sally was told that Dave Evans was Bess’s special friend. Soon everyone was laughing, including the mischievous Bess.

  Suddenly Sally sat bolt upright. The color drained from her face. The others stared at her.

  “Hear them?” she asked.

  In a moment, the spine-chilling sounds reached their ears. Somewhere off to the side of the house agonized whimpering echoed through the trees.

  “The ghosts!” Sally hissed.

  The pitiful crying suddenly erupted into savage barking and growling. Chills again ran down the girls’ spines. Nancy leaped to the window. The others seemed frozen. She gazed toward the ice house. Her breath stopped. There, among the dark trees, four pairs of glowing yellow eyes stared back at her!

  “The ghost dogs!” George gasped.

  By now Nancy’s companions had ventured up behind her. Sally trembled violently as the girls huddled together. They watched in strange fascination while the eyes circled around. The black of the night was a flawless background. The pale moon could cast no light on the creatures. The eyes seemed to float without form. All at once, the ghosts advanced. The horrible sounds grew louder and louder.

  “Oh!” Bess shrieked. She fled to the nearest corner and covered her eyes.

  The others seemed transfixed. Suddenly the eyes vanished. The noises stopped. An eerie silence enveloped them. The girls inched forward. They craned their necks and peered out into the darkness.

  Just then something huge and inky-black banged against the glass. Snarling and barking, the creature clawed wildly at the window. Sally screamed. The four girls staggered backward as the window shuddered violently.

  The dogs had surrounded the house! Eyes appeared at every window. Spine-chilling scratching and clawing sounds filled the air. The barking and snarling grew to an unbearable pitch. Terrified, the girls backed into the center of the room. Yellow eyes stabbed the darkness. There was another crash. The front door buckled. Then the handle rattled furiously. Bess wailed.

  An eternity seemed to pass. Suddenly the sounds faded. The attack stopped. The dogs were moving away! Bess lifted her head. She opened her mouth, but Nancy raised her hand for silence.

  They listened. The four ghostly animals could now be heard up on the hill. There, as the story foretold, they began to howl mournfully.

  The ordeal had been exhausting. Nancy gently placed Sally on the sofa. Bess and George collapsed into chairs.

  There must be an answer to this haunting, Nancy mused. I intend to find it, she resolved suddenly and started for the door.

  “Nancy!” Sally cried. “Don’t you dare go out there.”

  Her friend was becoming hysterical, so Nancy quickly re
assured her. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait,” she promised soothingly. Bess and George also seemed relieved.

  “Let’s get some sleep,” Nancy suggested.

  “If we can,” Bess said shakily. The distant howling continued.

  Nancy was glad that her friends fell asleep the moment they tumbled into bed.

  The young detective, however, was restless. I wanted to get a closer look at those ghosts, she thought impatiently.

  Nancy puzzled over the girls’ ordeal until dawn. Suddenly, she realized the howling had ceased. Not waking the others, she stole out into the cool morning.

  Fog swirled among the trees. Persistent wind whipped the branches. Nancy was suddenly startled by whispering voices.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded. Sheepishly, she realized it was the wind in the trees.

  She laughed. “No wonder it’s called Whispering Oaks,” she said in relief.

  The amateur sleuth examined the house. It was covered with deep claw marks. Below them were old, weathered grooves.

  The dogs have been here before, she concluded, just as Sally had said.

  Nancy scanned the ground. There were no tracks. So far, the evidence confirmed the old family story. Suddenly, something on the ground caught her sharp eyes. She kicked aside fallen leaves.

  The soil has been overturned, she realized excitedly, and the disturbed earth forms a sort of path to the ice house.

  Nancy followed the marks. Soon she found herself faced by a chilling sight. Behind the ice house, in the pale light, four inscribed gravestones stood side by side.

  Nancy read the names aloud: KOSOB, SHROSE, DRAGENS, and NESCAIN. Puzzled, she memorized the dogs’ strange names. I must ask Sally about them, she resolved.

  Again, Nancy contemplated the pathway. There was a flaw in the story. They’re not tracks, she mused, but these ghosts do disturb the ground as they move. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted. Through the trees she was startled to see two men talking. Nancy ducked into nearby foliage.