Mystery in the Jackson House: Triple Dog Dare

Chapter 1

W hat. Did. You. Say ?

The middle school boys circled around. All breathing stopped.

He stood face-to-face with me—or rather—his chest to my face. His onion breath fogged my glasses. If he wanted to intimidate me, it worked. Did you just say what I think you said?

I swallowed hard. I hated that. A sign of weakness.

WELL? I’m waiting, moron!

My stomach did flip flops. Nausea set in.

Wha . . . what did you hear? I stammered.

He said . . .

Shut up, Gilly. Let’s see if dorkman here can say it again. I’m betting he can’t—can you? Brad’s curled lip showed his crooked tooth. It might have been funny if my insides hadn’t already formed into those Jell-O jigglers Mom always makes. Go ahead, try it again. Tell me what you said.

No . . . noth . . . nothing.

Hah! That’s what I thought you said. Brad grinned and patted my cheek, like the gangster does in those old movies. Dad thinks everyone needs to experience all the classic movies, and I’m no exception. A Classic Films Buff.

Chicken, as usual, Brad snarled. I’m thinking we need to get back to the Jackson house challenge. That should be fun. You flat refused last time, but I’m not letting you off the hook this time. Get this, you wimpy worm. This time, I triple dog dare you to stay overnight out there. Just you with all the ghosts and goblins. By yourself! No calling in your smelly BFF. You can choose the night. See you after school. He hit my shoulder hard, turned, and headed toward class with his entourage of minions at his heels.

I rubbed my shoulder. Brad dared me many times before to do crazy things. The kids wondered why I did all of his stupid challenges. I had my reasons. One time he dared me to eat an earthworm. That wasn’t too bad. It just slithered down my throat like Mom’s slimy boiled okra. I did dream the worm ate its way out of my stomach and made a huge hole through my rib cage. I didn’t even tell my best friend about that.

Another time, he dared me to stick my head in the huge sinkhole in front of the school. With all the rain, heat, and then rain again, the ground sunk about a foot. When he dared me, it was full of grimy water. That wasn’t too bad either with just my hair getting wet, but then Brad pushed my head down farther into the hole. With my head upside down, the water went up my nose. Nasty.

He dared me to spend the night in the haunted Jackson house before. I lost that one. I flat refused. No one had ever done that, and I wasn’t going to be the first—or the last one either.

But now he had uttered that ultimate challenge—a triple dog dare. If I didn’t do it this time, Brad would paint a bright yellow stripe down my back. I couldn’t let that happen.

This was it. It was now or never. Don’t back down. I had to stand up to my nemesis. WAIT! Was that my voice?

Brad stopped at the top of the school steps.

WAIT! I yelled as loud as I could. I TRIPLE DOG DARE SMACK YOU, BRAD!

His groupies held their breath for the second time.

Reversing the challenge was a new one for Brad. No one had ever done that before. But enough was enough. Someone had to stand up to this bully and call his bluff. This time, I would meet the challenge head on.

Brad turned around in slow-mo. His eyes locked onto mine as though trying to do a Vulcan mind meld with me like Dr. Spock did in the old Star Trek movie. The crowd divided just like the Red Sea did at Moses’ command. But if the Israelites had seen Brad at the end of the dry Red Sea, I’m not sure they would have forged ahead.

His deliberate slow pace back to me made a huge impact on my shaking legs. That stench of onions filled my nostrils once again as he towered over me. He couldn’t look weak to all his other victims within earshot. No way could he back down now.

After a long silence, Brad’s bully protégé spoke. Whoa, Brad, Gilly said under his breath. You know what this means, don’t you?

Of course, you idiot. Shut up. I’m thinking here.

I thought I saw Brad’s curled upper lip quiver a bit.

Brad, you’re going to accept, right? Gilly really wasn’t very bright. With Brad’s quick temper, he could have laid him out flat for saying that. I guessed Brad was still in shock.

So, if Roger does the triple dog dare, and you don’t, Gilly continued, "he can smack you with two yellow stripes of paint, one down your back and one down your front."

Good thing Gilly’s timing was better than his brains. He ducked just as Brad’s fist headed for his jaw. Instead of making impact, Brad hit the air making him even angrier.

I told you to shut up. Brad looked like Ferdinand’s bull with steam coming out of his nostrils. One hard push from Brad, and Gilly hit the ground with a thud. But like I said, Gilly’s not very bright; he popped up as quick as he went down.

Brad took one step back. It made the eye-to-eye mind-meld thing a bit easier. His face went from anger to a broad smile—well, maybe a menacing grin would be more descriptive. Like that Grinch who stole Christmas.

You growing a backbone, stupid? Or are you just pretending you have one?

I mustered up all the courage I could. So . . . Brad, I haven’t heard your answer yet. Couldn’t believe I really said that.

Another gasp from the crowd. They all took a quick step back.

No problem, you idiot. You think I’m afraid of that old Jackson house, like maybe it’s full of ghosts or dead bodies? Takes more than that to scare me, right? Brad looked at his minions who all snickered at the thought of Brad ever being afraid of anything. Okay, four eyes. See you there Friday night at 9:00. Should be good and dark by then. Brad turned to the crowd. And nobody else—I mean nobody—can be there. And no squealing on us. I better not hear of any of your parents knowing about this. You got that? Brad’s snarl said it all. And, toadstool, you have two days to chicken out. Better do some hard thinking on this—squawk, squawk. He put his fists under his armpits and flapped his wings, so to speak.

The triple dog dare smack just made Wellsboro Middle School history. What was I thinking? The Jackson family had built the house in the 1800s, but it stood empty for years. The story was that the last family who lived there about fifty years before just disappeared in the middle of the night. Mom, Dad, one kid—vanished. But everything—furniture, clothing, dishes—all left behind. Even food on the table and in the fridge.

The neighbors always thought the parents were a bit strange. They kept to themselves. Never went out anywhere. Never tried to get to know the neighbors, but then, they weren’t there that long. One rendition of the story said they were spies for the big natural gas company that had come into the area and swallowed up the land rights of unwitting small farmers who needed to make some cash to float their farms. Another story had it that the U.S. Marshals Service had them in the Federal Witness Protection Program after the dad squealed on some mafia characters in Chicago. But the common thread to all of it—they weren’t Texans. That too was suspect. Some said they had Brooklyn accents; others said Boston, and still others insisted they had hailed from Chicago. No one knew the truth, but the forty-acre property had been abandoned for more than fifty years. A neighbor had tried to research the owner and possibly buy the land, but it led to some corporation overseas with no contact info.

Over time, the rats, squirrels, skunks, raccoons, and all other wildlife had taken over. The forest grew up around it, and the house on the hill stood as a great mystery to everyone. A year ago, my parents told me I was never ever to go in there again. Part of the roof had caved in and it looked like it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing would crash down. In the past, the other neighbor kids and I had poked around there, used it as a sort of club house—but that was all in the daylight. And everyone knows nothing could happen to a group of kids exploring and ghosts don’t appear during the day. But with just two—Brad and me—and at night—that would be altogether different.

I’ll see you there at 9:00, I said.

Fine, Brad snorted at me.

Fine, I snorted back with all the fierceness I could muster. A head shorter than Brad and weighing all of 105 lbs. soaking wet, I sure didn’t look the fierce part, especially standing side by side, but if I were going to pull this off, I knew I had to start acting as brave as Brad.

Weird though—when Brad turned and headed into the school, his minions, especially those who had been objects of Brad’s bullying, turned back several times to take another look at me. And they didn’t follow Brad as closely as they did before. Even though Tom, the strange kid I had never heard speak more than ten words, still followed Brad, he smiled at me, and gave me the thumbs up. Hmm—suddenly I felt a little taller.

STAYING OVERNIGHT WITH Brad Moore Friday night, I told Mom after dinner.

Brad? She knew Brad and I had always had problems.

Yeah, he’s not so bad, I said. We’ve come to an understanding, and we just might become friends.

Interesting.

Interesting? Strange word for Mom to use. Did she think I was lying? Okay, so I did lie about Brad not being so bad, but I didn’t lie about our plans. I was staying overnight with Brad, just not at his house. And who knew, maybe we would become friends if we had to protect each other. Or maybe—what if he ran out and left me alone in there? Suddenly that thought sent shivers down my back.

When I entered my bedroom later that night, I jumped when I saw my little brother lying on my bed.

Right, he said. Freddy came out with these random comments at times. Sometimes he said things that made no sense at all. Of course,