The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

glad you came along. I need someone
to carry the shovels for me.”
    The girls heard Dan burst out laughing. “That’s why I brought you, Mart,” he joked.
    Reddy bounded through the bushes after the two boys.
    “There goes our digging machine,” said Trixie. “Let’s just sit down and
wait for the shovels.”
    Honey laughed and tossed her hair. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s no
sense breaking a fingernail over something as minor as a treasure.”
    “Fingernail?” Di said glumly. “We’d more likely break an ankle trying to
see our way in the dark. Sitting down is not only restful, it’s smart, if you
ask me.”
    The three girls sat down to wait.



9 * The Ghost
     
    Trixie, Honey, and Di sat
huddled together on the fallen log, and listened. The sounds made by Mart and
Dan stomping through the woods grew faint. Soon all was silent, and Trixie felt
a shiver of apprehension between her shoulder blades.
    “It sure is dark in these woods,” Honey said miserably.
    “It’s not so dark,” Trixie answered, trying to sound cheerful. Then she
looked around. The sun was sinking rapidly. “Well, maybe it’s a little dark,”
she added.
    “I don’t like being in the woods in the dark,” Di said. “I should have
stayed home.”
    “What makes you say a thing like that?” Trixie asked loudly. She hoped
the sound of her own words would make everyone feel better—herself included.
“This is going to be exciting. The boys will be back any minute now, and then
we’ll have a real treasure hunt!” But Trixie’s voice had a false ring. The
cheerful tones sounded hollow.
    After a few moments, as if on cue, the three friends moved closer
together on the log. Soon their shoulders were touching.
    “D-do you think there are g-ghosts in these woods?” Di stammered.
    “Don’t be silly,” Honey snapped. “There’s no such thing as a ghost.”
    Di wasn’t convinced. “How can you be so sure?”
    “Honey’s right,” Trixie said meekly. “There aren’t any ghosts.”
    “Then why are you looking all around like that?” Di asked Trixie.
    Trixie didn’t have an answer to Di’s question. None of the girls could
think of anything else to say. Di started to whistle. Honey began to hum. The
bugs droned on, and the cicadas seemed louder than usual. Suddenly the girls
became aware of another noise, which was rapidly getting louder than the
insects.
    Trixie snapped her head around just in time to see a weird, glowing
apparition float through the trees and swoop to the edge of the clearing.
Before she could open her mouth, the horrible thing began to wail. Its voice
was a high-pitched, eerie quaver.
    The three girls grabbed each other as the skeletal figure, draped in
moldy-looking rags and tendrils of cobwebs and tree roots, came closer and
closer. Its head looked like an old skull, with long gray hair that fell down
over empty eye sockets. An iridescent yellow glow emanated from its body as it
menacingly waved a big gnarled stick in their direction.
    “A ghost!” Di shrieked. Her voice was a thin wail, almost as
high-pitched as the horrible noise coming from the ugly creature.
    Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the glowing thing floated off
into the trees. Trixie dropped her flashlight. It landed on the log with a loud
thump. She groped blindly until she finally found the reassuring cylindrical
object. Grasping it hard, she started to stand up. Honey and Di rose at the
same time.
    With a speed born of fear, the three girls launched themselves off the
log and down the path that led out of the clearing, far away from the awful
monster. They raced toward the clubhouse.
    “I told you,” Trixie gasped as they crossed Glen Road . “The ghosts of those dead
Indians are angry at us! We’ve been tramping all over their sacred burial
ground.”
    At last the girls reached the clubhouse. Di moaned softly as they
slumped against the side of the building. “I’m sorry I ever got mixed up in
this.”
    “It couldn’t have been a ghost,” Honey said, panting
heavily. “I don’t believe in them, and neither should you. There has to be
another explanation, there just has to.”
    Trixie’s breathing was returning to normal, and with it, her ability to
think clearly. “I wonder...” she began. “Remember the headless horseman, Honey?”
    “Do I ever,” Honey replied.
    “That time, someone dressed up as a ghostly horseman to scare us away
from a mystery. I’ll bet that silly ghost was