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“Right. Okay.” Butterbean didn’t know why Wallace would do something like that, but Oscar usually was right about things. Especially obvious things.

“I don’t know,” Polo said, fiddling with the button she wore on a string around her neck. “That doesn’t sound like Wallace. He’s usually pretty careful.”

“I know, Polo, but this time—” Walt started, but she never finished the sentence. Because that’s when they heard the screaming.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Butterbean barked in alarm. She’d wanted things to get more exciting, but she hadn’t counted on there being so much noise.

The screaming was echoing through the vents, and it was so loud that they were sure that even Mrs. Food must hear it.

Five heads swiveled toward the secret vent opening behind the sofa. A few seconds later a small rat came streaking out into the room.

Wallace’s eyes were huge. As soon as he saw Walt, he shot over and grabbed her by the leg. “Help! Oh Walt, guys, help!” Wallace gasped.

Butterbean frowned. Polo was right. Wallace was usually a very careful rat. And right now he was being anything but careful.

Walt patted Wallace on the head as she turned her body slightly to hide him from view. Whatever was wrong, it had to be bad if he’d turned to a cat for help. And if he wasn’t worried about being seen by the humans, it had to be even worse. “What is it, Wallace?” she said softly.

Wallace looked up at her and took a deep shuddering breath.“It’s my apartment! On five! Guys, that apartment is HAUNTED.”

— 2 —

“I KNEW IT! WE’VE GOT ghosts!” Butterbean yelped.

“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Wallace,” Walt said, frowning.

“Hmm,” Oscar said, eyeing Wallace carefully. He’d never seen him so upset. “I have to admit, this is a bit concerning.”

“Wallace is definitely more credible than HER,” Walt said, jerking her head in the direction of the couch. “But still—ghosts?”

Mrs. Third Floor had taken a tissue out of her pocket and was absentmindedly shredding it. Butterbean watched in approval. She did good work.

“Wallace, we’ll need a report.” Oscar looked around carefully. Mrs. Third Floor wouldn’t be a problem. She wasn’t paying attention to anything—she was just staring straight ahead, shredding. But Mrs. Food seemed to be taking a very long time with the tea. She could come back any minute.“Bean, do a Mrs. Food check, please?”

“Gotcha.” Butterbean hopped to her feet and did a jaunty walk into the kitchen. A second later she jaunty-walked back into the living room. Mrs. Third Floor didn’t even seem to notice. “Mrs. Food is staring at the counter, stirring a cup. She looks like she’s in a trance.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully.“Probably trying to buy time.” Oscar had a feeling Mrs. Food didn’t know how to handle a ghost situation either. “I think we’ve got a few minutes. Quick, everyone, huddle near the rat cage. Rats, you’ll have to stay inside, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” Marco said. “We can hear you. WE’RE HERE FOR YOU, WALLACE!” he shrieked.

“WE’LL TAKE CARE OF THOSE GHOSTS, WALLACE!” Polo smacked her fist into her other hand in a way that would make ghosts tremble.

Walt pushed Wallace into the center of the huddle.“Right. So whatdid you see, exactly?” she asked, keeping an eye on the kitchen as she talked. “Mrs. Third Floor said supernatural activity.”

“Oh yes, definitely supernatural. It was terrible. It was just… noises, at first. Weird, eerie noises. I thought it was only apartment sounds, but they were everywhere. I could even hear it in the vents. But then I started noticing things… moving.”

“Moving?” Butterbean shuddered. That didn’t sound good. Although, to be fair, she did move quite a bit herself. “You could see them move?”

“No, but things would be different. I left a bunch of sunflower seeds on the table, right? And then when I came back, they’d MOVED. They were scattered all over the floor. And another time, I made a little nest for myself in the fruit bowl, and when I came back from getting dinner, IT WAS GONE.NO FRUIT.”

Oscar snapped his beak.“But maybe someone—”

“NO.” Wallace shook his head. “There was NO ONE THERE.”

Walt frowned.“Could it have been Mrs. Third Floor?”

Wallace shook his head again.“I checked the trash. No fruit peelings or apple cores or anything. The fruit was just gone. ALL OF IT.”

“Well, that’s strange, but…”

Wallace’s whiskers trembled. “That’s not all. There’s so much more. Like just yesterday, I was in the kitchen, and a salt shaker fell off of the counter and landed right next to me! For no reason. I could’ve been killed! And I keep thinking—next time, it could be a knife! Or a salt shaker withbetter aim! Or a piano! I’ve seen that happen in cartoons a LOT.”

“Well, maybe it was a…” Oscar trailed off. He couldn’t think of what it could’ve been. Salt shakers didn’t usually just jump off of counters. And Wallace was right about pianos. He’d seen it on the Television himself.

“And then today, I was—”