The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

proudly, “ ’cause she didn’t live here when she was a little girl. So Mart told Honey all about the witch’s piece of ’sistance.”
    “That’s pièce de résistance," Mart corrected him, unable to resist it.
    Fay smiled. “And what was the ‘piece of ’sistance’?”
    “The mean ol’ witch chased bad little boys who wouldn’t go to sleep,” Bobby stated, a note of awe in his voice. “And when she caught them, she wiggled her fingers at them and said—and said— What did she say, Mart?”
    “I’ve forgotten,” Mart replied, still avoiding Trixie’s eyes.
    “But I’d like to hear it,” Fay said gently.
    “Me, too,” snapped Trixie.
    Mart sighed. “The witch wiggled her fingers and said: ‘Abracadabra and hair of a dog. Bat’s wings and spiders. Heh-heh! You’re a frog!’ ” Trixie moaned and glared at him.
    “And she turned all the little boys into green frogs,” Bobby said. “They had to go hopping off into Martin’s Marsh forever. And today you can still hear them going ribbit , ribbit , ribbit !”
    “Okay, short stuff,” Mart said, moving toward him. “That’s the end, so let’s go back to bed, okay?”
    “But that’s not the end,” Bobby protested. “The people of Sleepyside didn’t like their crops and stuff turning brown. They didn’t like getting sick. And they didn’t like their little boys getting turned into frogs. So one night, you know what they did? They set fire to the witch’s house—with her in it! She was barbecued, Trix!” Bobby’s voice was triumphant.
    “Oh, Mart!” Trixie said. “How could you tell him a story like that at bedtime?”
    “I liked it,” Bobby told her, “and I liked the last part, too, ’cause you know what happened next? Someone built a new house where the burned-down one was. And the witch’s ghost still lives there! Mart says the witch goes moaning through all the rooms, like this: ‘Whooo! Whooooooo! Whooo—’ ” He broke off suddenly as he caught sight of Trixie’s determined face. “I think I’d better go to bed,” he finished hastily.
    “I think I’ll come with you,” Mart said. “I’ll tell you what, shrimp. I’ll tuck you in and stay while the others are leaving.”
    Undaunted, Bobby looked up at him and asked, “Will you tell me another story?”
    Mart didn’t look at Trixie. “I’ll tell you the story of Peter Rabbit,” he answered, “or maybe the one about the tiger who looked like a pussycat. But something tells me I’d better not tell you another ghost story, okay?” Bobby’s bedroom door closed firmly behind them.
    Trixie glanced quickly at Fay. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mart would never have told that story if he’d known you were going to be here.”
    “It’s okay, really,” Fay answered. “It’s interesting to hear someone else’s version of what happened.” She turned and hurried toward Brian, who had just hung up the telephone receiver. “Did you get hold of the doctor, Brian? Is he coming right away?”
    Brian smiled at her reassuringly. “Everything’s all set,” he answered, reaching for his car keys. “Let’s go.”
    Honey shrugged herself into her jacket. “Trix, why did you tell Fay you were sorry?” she whispered. “What’s the big deal about telling her the witch story?”
    Trixie paused at the front door. “Oh, Honey, didn’t you know?” she asked softly. “The old mansion Bobby was talking about was Lisgard House. The house is supposed to be haunted, just the way he said.”
    Honey still looked puzzled. “So?”
    “So Fay and her mother moved into it just a few weeks ago,” Trixie answered. “Hold on to your hat, Honey. We’re about to visit a ghost!”

    Moments later, Trixie’s feelings were mixed as Brian’s old jalopy sped along Glen Road. She was, of course, very sorry that Fay’s mother had been hurt. On the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement as she thought of the mysterious nineteenth-century mansion they were about to see.
    Lisgard House had fascinated Trixie for as long as she could remember. Situated close to Martin’s Marsh, it was surrounded by iron railings and locked gates. Every weekday, in the bus, when Trixie passed it on her way to and from Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School, she could never resist craning her neck to see over the thick growth of foliage that almost hid the place from view.
    Although Mart had exaggerated in telling the story to Bobby, it was true that, at one time, a