"Stop!" cried Dick Reno as he drew his gun from its holster. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

The ghostly sledgehammer ceased from pounding the gray Pontiac, and started to float through the air in Dick's direction. While backing away, the guard fired two shots at it. The sledgehammer plummeted to the ground, producing a few sparks where it made contact with the asphalt.

Dick wasn't sure what he had done, or whether he was safe, but he knew that something sinister was happening, and he would need help. He grabbed the cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. Before he could dial a number, an invisible force ripped the phone from his hand and tossed it a dozen yards away.

Frantic, Dick started to run toward the spot where the phone had landed, but the phantom sledgehammer rose up from the ground and flew past him. Before he could reach the phone, the large hammer swung at it and smashed it to pieces.

He could not call for help. Bullets were useless. The only method he hadn't tried was brute force. As the hammer began to dent the hood of a blue Chevy Cutlass, he rushed to the scene and wrapped his hands around it. It wasn't long before he realized that he had made a big mistake.

The sledgehammer ascended into the air, dragging the guard along with it. He soon found that his feet were several yards above the surface of the lot. It became clear that holding on might mean his death, so he let go. He landed on his left ankle. Pain shot up through his leg, and he fell onto his left side.

Injured and powerless, Dick Reno watched as the floating sledgehammer proceeded to demolish another car...

----

It was around 1:30 a.m. when the phone rang in Ed Crosswire's bedroom, waking him and his wife from a peaceful slumber. "This had better be important," he grumbled as he answered the call.

"Vandals," came a man's voice. "They've ruined dozens of cars on both lots. One of the guards broke his ankle. He's saying something about a ghost with a sledgehammer."

Mr. Crosswire pushed down the anger that was welling up in his heart. "I'll be there right away, Steve."

----

Within half an hour, Ed Crosswire was in the security booth at the Fifth and Lopez lot along with Steve Fossum, an opossum man who managed the lot. Several police officers were examining the damaged vehicles, taking fingerprints and snapping pictures.

"Dick's been taken to the hospital," Steve informed Mr. Crosswire. "He claims he saw a sledgehammer floating around, like a ghost or an invisible man was carrying it. He shot at the thing, but nothing happened."

"He must have been on something," said Mr. Crosswire irritably. "I'll send him a get-well card with a pink slip."

"Not so fast, Ed," Steve rejoined. "The security cameras bear out his story. Take a look."

Steve pressed a button to replay the security video. To Mr. Crosswire's surprise and horror, the tape showed Dick Reno firing at a large sledgehammer that was hovering in the air. He watched for several more minutes, until some policemen who had heard the shots came to assist the injured guard.

He shook his head unbelievingly. "There must be an explanation. Maybe he modified the tapes to make himself look good."

"He didn't have time," Steve told him.

"What am I supposed to tell the insurance inspectors?" Mr. Crosswire's voice rose to an angry pitch. "That an invisible floating man vandalized my cars with a sledgehammer? There has to be an explanation!"

"I won't rest until I find one," said Steve with a discernible lack of confidence.

----

Ed Crosswire slept no more that night. When morning came, the news of the attacks on the Crosswire lots spread through the city like a virus. Local news teams showed endless footage of the damaged cars, as well as interviews with the guards. Crosswire Motors gained more publicity that day than any previous day, but that didn't soothe the angry, offended feelings of Mr. Crosswire.

What little time he spent in his mansion that morning, he used to rant against his real and supposed enemies in front of his wife and daughter.

"My enemies are combining against me!" he bellowed. "They all want a piece of my hard-earned fortune. They don't want to work for it like I did. If they think they can frighten me with such a petty act of terrorism, they're wrong!"

Muffy made no attempt to flee from Uppity Downs that day. She spent most of her spare time complaining to Mavis, and anyone else who would listen, about her father's behavior.

"I don't know my own father anymore," she said to Mavis as they sat in the academy's cafeteria. "I used to think he was the most honest and hard-working man in the world, but now he's acting just like a child. If that's what being rich does to people, I think I'd rather be poor."

At Lakewood, Fern and George had been stirred to a renewed interest in the strange occurrences that had happened prior to the Crosswire attacks. Seated at a table during lunch hour, Fern was preparing a list of the events with George's assistance.

"Number one," Fern began. "I went into the Tibble cellar to investigate some strange noises. I saw a yellow blob that surrounded me, and then disappeared." She began to write. "Yellow...blob."

"Number two," said George. "Something in the house scares Trixie Tibble, and she runs away. The reverend says she claimed to hear noises and see stuff moving."

"Number three," said Fern. "Trixie Tibble goes to a hotel with the twins. When she gets to her room, she finds a note telling her to give the twins back."

"What did the note say?" George inquired.

"I'm not sure exactly," Fern replied.

"I'll try to get in touch with Trixie and get a copy of the note," George offered.

"That might help," said Fern. "Number four. Reverend Fulsome goes into the house to exorcise it, but someone pulls down his pants."

"And it wasn't you," George quipped.

Fern chuckled as she wrote down another item.

"Number five," said George. "Wynton Marsalis and his musicians have weird accidents on their way to the concert."

"I'll contact the agency that rented the cars," said Fern. "If I'm lucky, maybe I can even talk to Wynton Marsalis about the disappearing instruments." She continued to write. "Number six. Alan has a weird nightmare."

"I never heard about this one," said George.

"On the night of the concert, Alan had a really bizarre nightmare. From the way he described it, my guess is someone was haunting his dreams."

"What was it about?"

Fern hesitated. "It...was about him being in love with a girl."

"Which girl?"

"He didn't say. I'll ask him for more details later."

"Okay," said George. "Number seven. An invisible person with a sledgehammer smashes cars at Crosswire Motors."

Fern wrote down the last item. "That's all of them, I think."

"So what do we do now?" asked George.

"We do what Sherlock Holmes would do," Fern answered. "We look for clues, and we look for a pattern."

"A pattern?"

"Yes. We look for things that all of these events have in common. That may tell us something about the culprit."

"Oh, I get it." George thought for a moment. "Wait. There's one thing they all have in common."

"What's that?"

"They're all creepy and could have been done by ghosts."

Fern gave him a condescending look. "George, have you ever watched Spooky Poo?"

"No."

"It's an old cartoon about a bunch of kids and a kangaroo who go around solving mysteries. At the end of every episode, they pull the mask off the ghost or monster, and it's just a crook in a costume."

George lowered his eyes. "Okay, I get your point."

Fern looked up at the wall clock. "Oh, darn. Lunch hour's almost over. I'll make a copy of the list and give it to you, and we can talk more about it after school."

"Sure," said George.

----

Having finished another day on the job at the electronics store, Angela Ratburn arrived at the apartment which she shared with Jean Stiles. Upon opening the door, she noticed a small envelope lying on the floor with the name Angela written on the front.

She picked it up and tore it open. Inside was a Valentine's Day greeting card. A little early, she thought.

Then she opened the card. Underneath the romantic message was written, in crude cursive handwriting:

PACK YOUR THINGS. YOU'RE LEAVING TOWN TOMORROW. MC

----

In the computer room of the Nordgren residence, George sat on an office chair, staring at a copy of the list that Fern had made. "Gotta find a pattern," he repeated obsessively. "Gotta find a pattern." But no patterns occurred to him, other than the obvious spectral nature of each event on the list.

After he had spent over an hour at this activity, his ears were greeted by a welcome sound--the ringing of the fax machine. He pushed his chair away from the desk and toward the machine, which soon started to churn out a sheet with writing on it.

The message at the top of the sheet, written in graceful, ornate cursive with hearts dotting the I's, was this: GEORGE, HERE IS A COPY OF THE NOTE I FOUND IN THE HOTEL ROOM. HOPE THIS HELPS. TRIXIE TIBBLE.

Below this was a message in a different hand, consisting of crude capital letters: TOMMY AND TIMMY BELONG TO ME. GIVE THEM BACK OR ELSE.

George swiveled in his chair and placed the fax sheet next to Fern's list. He pondered the wording on the mysterious note, and could think of nothing especially remarkable about it.

Once again he went over the items in Fern's list, trying to think of some connection between a particular item and the note that had been left in the hotel.

Then it came to him.

He looked at the mysterious note.

He looked at Fern's list.

"Oh...my...gosh..."

(Next chapter: The ghost unmasked!)