The Haunting

By Kristin Fulton

Chance Jameson, an almost-thirteen-year-old orphan, discovers he is a natural-born leader when Oak Hill Orphanage is faced with a terrible crisis. Miss May, the much-loved orphanage director, dies in a freak accident, leaving the orphanage in the hands of the greedy, ruthless Whipley twins whose goal is to use the orphans as a slave labor force.

Much to his surprise, Chance finds that he can see and communicate with the ghost of Miss May. Through teamwork, they devise a daring scheme to free Oak Hill from the clutches of the wicked twins. With clever trickery, a few supernatural forces, and the help of all the orphans, they stage a fabulous haunting. The outcome is thrilling, and the victorious orphans reclaim Oak Hill, the best orphanage in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristin Fulton
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9780989614665

Kristin Fulton

Kristin Fulton is the author of middle grade novels Snake Food and The Haunting; a fable for all ages, Henry Bingle’s Transformation; a picture book, Is THAT a Hat? and the novel Sisters of the Soul. When she isn’t writing books, she plays songs on the Ukulele, paints watercolor landscapes, and goes on hikes. She enjoys picnicking on the beach, a good scrabble game, and Yosemite National Park.

Book preview

The Haunting

By Kristin A. Fulton

Illustrated by Molly Hart

©2014 K.A. Fulton

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9896146-6-5

All Rights Reserved ©2014 Kristin Fulton. First Printing: 2014.

Any unauthorized copying, reproduction, translation, or distribution of any part of this material without permission by the author is prohibited and against the law.

Table of Contents

ONE • The Orphanage at Oak Hill

TWO • A Ghost is Born

THREE • Secret Mission

FOUR • An Unpleasant Staff Meeting

FIVE • Happy Reunion

SIX • In Danger’s Way

SEVEN • The All-New Staff

EIGHT • Rescue

NINE • The Orphan’s Lament

TEN • Midnight Mission

ELEVEN • The Grand Performance

TWE LVE • Raiding the Larder

THIRTEEN • Victorious Orphans

FOURTEEN • A Glorious Finale

FIFTEEN • Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

The Orphanage at Oak Hill

I, Chance Jameson, became an orphan when my parents, both lion tamers for the circus, were attacked, killed, and eaten by a pride of African lions they were tracking for capture. Neither of my folks had living relatives and I was too young to join the circus, so at the tender age of eighteen months, I became a ward at the Oak Hill Orphanage. I’ve lived at the orphanage ever since, and I can say honestly that it has been a great place to grow up. Not every orphanage can claim to have orphans who actually like living there, but Oak Hill is different because of Miss Elizabeth May, the orphanage director. She went out of her way to make everyone feel at home and loved and safe. Needless to say, we cried enough to fill a small fish pond when she died.

I’d describe the orphanage, but an actual picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ve included a sketch. Here it is:

As you can see, Oak Hill is humongous. What you can’t tell from the picture is that it is in the middle of nowhere. The orphanage is ten miles from the nearest town and is surrounded by rolling hills and grassy pastures filled with black and white milk cows. You can’t see the playground or picnic area in back of the house, or the huge barn where we shoot hoops on rainy days, and where Mr. Whipley tried to work us to the bone.

The orphanage was not always an orphanage. Hawthorn Hastings, filthy rich from his sugar cane plantations and rum factories, built the mansion in the early 1800s. He spared no cost and was often present as the mansion was being constructed. Miss May said that it took four years before it was completely finished. Being the history buff that she was, Miss May told some great stories about the mansion, but it wasn’t until she was a ghost that I learned about the secret passages that crisscross through the house. They sure came in handy in what I’ve dubbed Operation Orphanage Rescue.

At 8:00 in the morning on the day that Miss May died, the Whipley twins, who in a few short hours were to transform our happy world into a nightmare, paid their first visit to the orphanage. Everyone was in the dining hall eating breakfast when Miss May came in with two strangers. I noticed immediately that she was flushed and mad looking, like a mother bird whose nest was raided. It struck me as highly unusual; Miss May was always cheerful and unfailingly calm. The man at her side mumbled something to her, and she rang a little bell to get our attention. Children, I’d like you to say hello to Mr. Stanford Whipley and his twin sister, Miss Ida Whipley. They are distant cousins of Emily Hastings, who left her huge fortune to provide funds for this orphanage, and they are members of the board that oversees Oak Hill.

We dutifully called out hello to the two people standing next to Miss May. They weren’t identical twins; in fact, the only features the Whipleys shared were their mean, beady eyes and the same shade of reddish-brown hair styled in an odd helmet of tight curls. Stanford Whipley, a short man with a barrel chest and big, hammy arms, glared at us as we finished our pancakes. He wore a checkered coat, and his trousers were held up by suspenders stretched tightly over a belly as round as a jumbo beach ball. His small eyes were shadowed by black circles, giving him an ominous appearance, and a thick, curling mustache covered his upper lip and drooped down either side of a lumpy jaw.

Ida Whipley stood on the opposite side of Miss May. She was at least six feet tall and as thin and bony as Stanford was round. Her eyes were set close together, and her eyelids were hooded like a lizard’s. Her nose didn’t help her looks; it was long and came to a sharp point at the end. An equally long chin jutted under thin lips that pressed together in a grim line. She reminded me of a cartoon witch from a comic book

Mr. Whipley cleared his throat to speak. Hello, girls and boys. He waggled his fingers at us in a fake-friendly wave. My sister and I are the newly appointed heads of the Oak Hill Orphanage Foundation, and we are here to investigate the operation at Oak Hill.

Miss Whipley lifted her upper lip in what I guess was a smile but looked more like a snarl. She put on a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and peered sharply around the room as she spoke. You children may see Mr. Whipley and me poking around and observing you orphans in your daily routine. Just carry on with your usual business, as if we aren’t here.

I could see from my seat at the front of the dining hall the worry in Miss May’s eyes, and I was surprised, because Miss May was the most positive, look-on-the-bright-side person ever, and I wondered what was wrong. I found out that plenty was wrong right before Miss May passed out of this life later that afternoon.

• • • • • • • •

The Whipley twins snooped around for a good part of the morning while we kids attended classes. Miss May was with them while they poked their noses into every nook and cranny at Oak Hill. Ida Whipley carried around a notepad, which she kept scribbling notes on, and she and Mr. Whipley were either whispering to each other or questioning Miss May, whose face, I noticed, grew redder and redder. During 11:00 recess, my good friend Juan and I were practicing long shots when the three of them, with Miss May in the lead, crossed the playground. You could see that Miss May was angry, which, I’ll repeat, was completely out of character for her. She opened the door to the classroom where she teaches the older kids English and Theater Arts, and the smirking Whipleys followed her in. The door slammed, and because of my better-than-average hearing, I detected the sound of muffled yelling. I got a creepy feeling, and I decided to investigate. The ball was in my hands, so I threw a perfect swisher and told Juan I’d see him later.

Where are you going, Chance? Juan asked. Juan is an owl in disguise; he wants to know everything and he tends to ask a million questions.

On a mission, buddy, on a mission, I said cryptically, and I ran off before he could ask me anything else.

I am a master at discovering truth, which sometimes involves eavesdropping. It is one of my skills, and I don’t mind doing it even though I know it’s sneaky. After all, if it’s for a good cause, why not? I’ve always loved those spy movies where the hero has to sneak around and ultimately save the world from destruction. I actually think that I’d make a good secret agent. That said, I used my ability to be as quiet as a spider to crack open the same door that Miss May and the Whipley twins had entered a few minutes before. To my ears, the door sounded like a gunshot when it opened, but Mr. and Miss Whipley were too busy yelling at Miss May for any of them to notice me. Relieved, I darted in, pressed myself against the shadowed wall of the little hallway that leads into the classroom, and moved ever so slowly to the door of what Miss May calls the mud room, where we hang our hats and coats during rainy weather. I slipped in and pulled the door toward me until it was cracked open about two inches wide. It was one of those springy doors that close if you don’t prop it open, so I felt around in the dark closet until I found a rubber rain boot that I used to wedge the door at the bottom. I sank back on my heels, and from the shadows I listened and watched as the Whipleys raked Miss May over the coals.

It is time for you to resign, Elizabeth, said Mr. Whipley. You are obviously getting tired, and what the orphanage needs now is new blood.

Tired! Why I’m not one bit tired, said Miss May in her spunkiest how-dare-you-talk-to-me-like-that voice. Just what exactly are you implying, Stanford Whipley?

Well, you are sixty now, Elizabeth, said Ida Whipley in her shrill, squeaky voice, "and we’ve noted some irregularities in the way Oak Hill is