The History Ghost, Part 2
A Young Reader Short Story
In Part 1 Miles has been visited by a strange little man who, when he appears, drops the room temperature to freezing. This only makes Miles edgier since he’s already under pressure to bring his history grade up or face the loss of his summer vacation. He’s just sat down to check his email and try to settle his nerves.
There were more messages than usual. Lots of stuff about the substitute teacher for gym and the English test on Friday. Lots of replies to his questions about Hot Rods. By the time he’d finished, it was after ten. He cracked his history book and skimmed the chapter on the Pilgrims, making notes that would get him through tomorrow’s lesson. The extra credit would have to wait until tomorrow night.
Miles closed his notebook and kicked off his tennis shoes. He was pulling his shirt off when the room turned into a refrigerator. Miles halted with his arms in the air, his shirt over his head. Then, inching the shirt down to his chin, he peeked out .
The same little man stood in the middle of the room. Scratchity. Scratchity went his feathered pen across the scroll. Then he dipped the quill into the floating ink bottle all the while muttering and shaking his head.
“This is simply not working. NoNoNo. I must have—” The man stopped and looked up. “It’s you again. The rude boy. What are you doing here?”
“I live here?” Miles hadn’t meant it to be a question, but that’s the way it came out.
“Hmmm. Odd.” The man rolled the paper scroll, scanning the lines. Rolling more until he found what he was looking for. “1999. That’s this year, am I correct?”
Miles cleared his throat. “No. 2024.”
“Not possible. NoNoNo. You are mistaken.”
“Not.” Miles crossed his arms, mostly because he was freezing but also because he needed something solid to hold on to. The pressure of a new school, a new town, an F looming in history had finally gotten to him. He was in the middle of what Aunt Beckie called a nervous breakdown.
“How is it that you are so terribly rude?”
“Rude?” I act pretty darned good, Miles thought. I don’t cuss unless I stub my toe. I don’t strangle my sisters. Don’t cheat on tests. I just don’t study. So why is this guy going on about me being rude?
“Ahem.” The man cleared his throat. It appears that I have made a miscalculation, and it is indeed 2024.” He swept his arm across his middle and bowed.
“Hey, not a problem.” Miles didn’t quite know what to do with a bowing man, holding a quill pen and a scroll while an ink bottle danced next to his ear. But he didn’t feel scared anymore, just cold. “Mind if I pull on a sweater? You’re giving me frostbite.”
The man ignored him—dip scratchity, scratchity. dip —went the quill. “Indeed. Another error.” He looked up. “Perhaps, I’m the rude person. Let me introduce myself. Dr. Elias Moody.” The man bowed again.
“Miles Stanley.” Miles almost bowed.
Dr. Moody scrolled quickly until paper piled high around his legs. “There it is. That’s the mistake.”—dip scratchity. “Another correction.” He smiled. “I appreciate your assistance.”
“I hate to be nosey, but who are you?” Miles asked.
“YesYesYes. I suppose I should explain. I’ve been so preoccupied with this and that and then of course…that.” He pointed to a line on his scroll. “I’ve been put in charge of the Error Department.”
Miles waited. He didn’t want to jump in and have Dr. Moody accuse him of being rude again. But when he understood that there was no more explanation coming, he asked, “What Error Department?”
Something like shock washed across Dr. Moody’s face. “The History Error Department, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You’ve never heard of us?”
Miles shook his head slowly. “No.”
Dr. Moody placed his quill in the ink bottle and rolled the paper up from the floor. “I correct errors in recorded history. I took the job over after some bumbler from the Dark Ages. The man knew nothing of his profession and he made all kinds of mistakes. Well, the committee should have known better. I mean the Dark Ages!” He sighed. “It will be centuries to rectify all of his mistakes.”
“So it’s important…to get the history just right?”
Dr. Moody stared at Miles as he might if a kangaroo had suddenly hopped into the room. He cleared his throat. “In a word, yes. It’s as important to mankind as history itself.”
“Why?” Miles regretted that question as soon as he asked it. Dr. Moody stood unmoving, his eyes closed, the scroll clutched tightly in his hands as if he were struggling not to turn it into a weapon. “I take that back. It’s just I’m not good at history. I’m failing it in fact.”
Dr. Moody opened his eyes and stared at him. “Without knowing what has been done in the past, young man, how are you to judge what to do in the present?”
I ran out of writing time—Thanksgiving and all that entails got between me and my computer, so instead of two parts, I’ll have to go for three. :-( Will you bear with me and return for Part 3 next Wednesday? I hope so.
Here are some of my other young reader books. They were so much fun to write!
