Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, and Max2013!

Ghost of November Past

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 9

Frank shivered, staring at the girl. Where had she come from? Why hadn't he heard her approach? And why had she said…? He reached towards her, trying to deny the accusation, even as another hate-filled whisper floated past his ears.

"Murderer!"

She glided toward him, pale hair gleaming in the soft light of the room, her eyes filled with such intense hatred that for an irrational moment, Frank wondered if she intended to kill him!

Who is she? Where did she come from? How did she get here? Why did she think I killed whoever that was? No way! How could she think that? I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it! I'll swear it – to anyone!

"No," he whispered, "I didn't—"

"MURDERER!" the girl insisted. She was no longer moving towards him, but was standing and watching him with large, doe-like, brown eyes. Tawny-amber eyes, not dark brown like Frank's.

Pretty…old-fashioned looking…. Frank wasn't quite sure what to think of her. She was more than vaguely threatening…. What might she do if he moved towards her…? That is, if he could move! His feet seemed to have grown roots. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to move; it was as if he'd stepped into fast-setting concrete! He attempted to swallow, and found his mouth and throat aridly dry. He admitted it for the first time: he was scared. Terrified, in fact. Why am I so scared of her? What's she going to do to me?

She moved then, abruptly, lunging towards him with her hands outstretched, her fingers curled into claws, her tawny eyes still ablaze with loathing. She clutched at him, reaching to pull him towards her, to drag him down – but her hands slid through him….

Her hands slid through him….

Oh God…I'm going crazy. I'm going insane. She…she touched me. I know she touched me. Her hands didn't go through me. I know they didn't. They didn't.

The strange girl stared at him, halting in shock and surprise. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. She reached for him again, this time brushing her hands against him, pushing him back, pushing him until he was right up against the fireplace. She could push him, then, even if she seemed unable to grasp him – Frank felt the same cold wind blowing through the room, and the wind seemed to be what pushed him backward – but he knew – he was convinced….no, he was trying to convince himself…that it was this girl who had pushed him. Because if it wasn't the girl, then this whole scene was totally impossible.

He couldn't face the impossible. Didn't want to face the impossible….Refused to face the impossible. Refused…refused.

"Murderer…" the girl whispered again, and he felt her breath. He was sure it was her breath, not the cold wind – even though her breath was as cold as the wind sweeping through the chamber. "Murderer." She was advancing on him again, close…closer, her hands extended in his direction….

Invisible hands wrapped around his throat, cold, cold hands, icy hands which stopped his ability to breathe….

Frank froze in place, held immobile by the icy touch of those unseen hands, shivering, trying to make sense of what was happening. Did I pass out and fall and hit my head, or something? I'm dreaming…hallucinating!

That had to be it – had to be the only logical explanation for this incredible thing. He could not, would not, accept anything else. Would not accept that this girl…that she wasn't alive. A ghost. She was a ghost…and she was going to KILL HIM!

He started to struggle then, trying to break free of her icy grip, trying to push her away, to get past her, fighting the cold wind that hammered into him and past him and through him. He opened his mouth to scream, to beg….

"Frank?"

Frank jerked his head up, features stark with shock as he stared into the face of his younger brother.

Joe was gazing at him with concern. Frank felt a warm hand on his shoulder, felt Joe shaking him lightly. He stared at Joe, and realized that Joe had shaken him before. Was that what I felt when I thought the girl…the ghost…thought IT…was trying to strangle me?

"Joe," he whispered. The sound came out as more of a croak than a true ability to speak. He gripped Joe's arm tightly, grateful for the solid muscle beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes, trying not to dwell too long on what had just happened. Joe would think he was losing his mind, if he told him what had just occurred. Yet, he could still feel the wind….

He was freezing, Frank realized. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Viruses are going around like crazy; maybe I just picked something up…."Are you cold?" he asked shakily, still clinging to Joe's arm. "It's cold in here – I'm freezing, all of a sudden. It feels like someone opened a window, and there's an ice storm outside, or something…."

Joe, frowning, led him away from the fireplace, to a chair across the room. "Sit down," he advised. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Frank stared at him with pure shock and panic in his brown eyes. "I'm…I'm not sure I haven't," he admitted. He looked around the room warily, but it was empty, save for furniture, Joe, and himself. No one in the room but him and Joe…and definitely, no girl! There's no girl in the room….

"I'm losing it – I'm going completely crazy!" Frank whispered. "It's the only explanation for what I saw. I – I must be suffering from stress…or coming down with the flu….or something insane like that, because it's the only way to explain—"

Joe was staring at his older brother as if he really was losing it. "Frank – what are you talking about?"

"I don't know – I'm just…just…spooked." Frank stared into Joe's blue eyes pleadingly. "Joe, I saw someone…someone in here. A girl – about our age. Slender. She was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, and she had long pale hair and light brown eyes. I felt this icy-cold wind blow through the room, and Joe, that wind did what she wanted it to! She pushed me with it – and she called me a murderer! She was going to kill me…."

Joe looked at his older brother with incredulous disbelief. "Are you trying to put me on?" he demanded.

"NO!" Frank shook his head emphatically.

Joe eyed him dubiously, but it was obvious his concern was outweighing his skepticism. He reached to lay a hand on Frank's forehead. "You're a little warm," he conceded. "Maybe you should ask Megan to take you home and have Mom check your temperature—"

"I'm not running a fever," Frank denied, and shivered again. "Besides, we have to wait for Con to show up."

"Murderer…" The thin voice whispered, drifting past him.

Frank looked around, from side to side, expecting to see the ethereal girl standing somewhere close by…but saw nothing. He wrapped his arms about himself tightly, wishing that Megan was there to hold him. Or even his mother, at this point. I'm obviously having a mental breakdown…stress from school, or something! He ignored the fact that he hadn't been stressed about school in years.

"Frank – what is it, bro? Are you all right?" Joe's worried voice broke through to him again.

"I don't know," Frank replied miserably. "I'm hallucinating or something. Maybe I am sick. I didn't think I was, but…."

The sounds of car engines and doors slamming interrupted him. The Bayport Police department had arrived, and with them, the county sheriff's patrol. A few moments later, Con Riley strolled into the room, looking as if he'd much rather be anywhere else but where he currently was.

"You two ever going to do anything normally?" he asked, smiling tightly. "You know," he continued, "most kids do reports and that's all it is. A report. A little research, a little book-cracking, a lot of typing, and that's it. They're done. But the Hardys? Oh, no. They do the research, they crack the books…and then they have to find bodies, on top of it!"

"We don't do it on purpose," Frank muttered tiredly.

"It wasn't bodies, plural," Joe protested, over his brother's words. "It's just one. And it's a skeleton, not a body. It's probably a thousand years old! Besides, it's not like we asked to find a skeleton, Con! I have a report to write for school. Giving police statements is going to take me away from my class reports, and I don't have time for that!"

Riley rolled his eyes. "Give me a break, Joe!" He peered at Frank, eyes narrowed. "Frank, you okay?"

Frank shrugged noncommittally. "Fine. I think I'm coming down with a cold, or something, that's all." He looked over at the doorway, and saw Megan standing there, her eyes anxious. He crossed the room and slid an arm about her, then wrapped both tightly around her shoulders, holding her small form hard against him…more for his own comfort than hers, he admitted to himself.

Megan gasped. "You're freezing! And shivering…you feel like you've been standing in front of an open window!" She shivered herself, and put her arms about his waist. "How did you get so cold?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't know; for some reason I'm just cold." He had absolutely no desire to tell Megan about the…ghost. The vision…. Hallucination. He didn't understand it himself, and didn't want to share this experience with her in the slightest! "I want to get out of here as fast as we can, Baby."

"I think that's a very good idea," she agreed. "Can we give our statements and go?"

"Sounds like a plan," Con Riley offered, from where he was inspecting the fireplace. "The investigative team is going to be here for quite a while, and you all would just have to try and stay out of the way, if you hung around here. Looks like we'll have to tear out the whole fireplace." He moved to sit down, taking out his notebook. "Let's hear it. You first, Megan."

Megan obediently recited the events leading up to her grisly discovery, shivering a little as she told of feeling the bone beneath her questing fingers. "I didn't want to pick it up," she whispered. "I – I made Frank do it."

"Okay, good enough. Frank, assuming you don't have anything to add to the earlier part, what happened then?"

Frank completed the story in a few sentences. He didn't mention the strange apparition he had seen, though. Ghosts weren't in the police's jurisdiction, were they?

"Well, I'll get the statements typed up tonight, and you can come down and sign them tomorrow," Con told them. "I'll talk to Miss LeGault and get hers…. Now go on home. You both look tired out."

They left the room hand in hand, and made their way to the front sitting room where the others waited. Frank was feeling much better, but he still yearned to go home as soon as he could. The whole strange scene with the girl-ghost was beginning to feel distant and surreal, something he'd imagined. I must have imagined the whole thing….surely I just imagined it.

"Megan and I are going to go on home," he informed Joe, who nodded his understanding.

"That's okay; catch up with you later."

There's no such thing as ghosts, he told himself firmly as he escorted Megan towards the Saturn.

"Oh, darn!" Megan exclaimed in annoyance as she started to get into the car.

"What's wrong?"

Soft mutters of irritation came from his girlfriend's curved lips before she gave him an explanation. "I left my purse in the lighthouse," she said at last. "I remember setting it down in the lens room, when we listened to Cherise's story, and I didn't pick it up again when we went outside."

"No problem." Frank smiled reassuringly and kissed her quickly. "I'll go get it. You stay here, where it's warmer."

He walked to the lighthouse, grateful that Cherise had not yet locked things up, and entered, switching on the light so he could see the stairs. He climbed up to the glittery lens room, and found Megan's purse where she had left it. He picked it up and turned to descend the stairs once more.

Halfway down the curlicue staircase, Frank gave a start as an icy breeze swept over and past him again. What the…?

"Murderer…" The whisper taunted him again; the girl's voice coming from behind and above him. Frank turned his head, instinctively seeking the source of the hissed word, and heard another word: "Die…."

The cold wind swirled harder, and he felt something push him hard in the small of the back. Unable to catch the stair railing, Frank fell forward, feeling the impact of each step against his body as he tumbled to the bottom of the staircase and landed hard on the stone flooring….

Before everything went dark.