The ghostly voice croaked, "The horse was probably afraid of you anyway."

I kept walking and soon found myself by a cornfield that seemed like a good shortcut between my house and the school. The bus didn't go this way, but the throaty rasp enticed me to try it anyway. Surely the straight rows would be easy to follow to the other side. With insistence, the voice declared, "A smart boy like you knows the shortest path is a straight line through the middle of the corn." But I thought it took an awfully long time for the bus to get past the corn and decided it probably wouldn't be short enough to get me home before the end of the day.

The old man grumbled, "The corn is probably hot without the wind anyway."

I started walking again. I walked past some silos. I could see the church steeple in the distance, so I aimed for it. I walked past the farmer who had dropped the wrench; the hood on the truck was closed, and he was whistling again. His wife stood next to him holding a big glass of ice-cold lemonade. The glass was dripping with condensation, and it looked so good. I really wished I could have a drink. They didn't see me, so I kept walking.

I walked past the farmer on the green-and-yellow tractor. He didn't see me, so I kept on walking. I walked past the dog on the porch. He gave a little yip as I passed but didn't come off the porch. So I kept on walking.

I walked past the church. Sister Justina must have finished by the pecan tree, because she wasn't outside anymore, so I kept walking and soon found myself next to the drainage ditch behind the school. It looked like a safe place to hide until the end of the day when the bus would take me home. From there, I could see the school and watch for dismissal.

I'd been walking for a very long time and was getting sleepy. The coaxing of the gravelly old voice said that sleeping in the ditch would keep me safe. A nap sure sounded good! I thought about my teacher and the other kids in my class. I missed them! They wouldn't be lying in a ditch right now, trying to find a comfortable place for their heads. They wouldn't be sweaty from the long walk in the sun. They wouldn't be so thirsty their voices cracked like the voice of an old ghost. And they certainly wouldn't be trying to shift the rocks in a ditch so the sharp edges didn't poke them in the ribs. They were lying on their soft towels, listening to the soothing strains of quiet music that the teacher played every day after lunch. I thought of PE class and the games I would miss if I stayed outside.

Reluctantly, the encouraging voice agreed that I could go back to school if that was what I really wanted. So I didn't keep walking. Instead, I ran like the wind back to the front door, just as the mail person was delivering a heavy basket of mail to the office. As the door slid open, I slipped in and returned to class.

I guess I missed nap time, because they were getting up and getting ready for gym class. I walked right in as though I'd only been gone a few minutes. It seemed funny that the teacher didn't ask me why I'd been gone so long. Didn't she realize I'd missed nap time?

The weary old man sighed and agreed that I had done the right thing by going back to school.

The little boy continued his story of our ghost. He said that another time, the ghost told him to play a trick on the custodian, Charlie. Everyone loves Charlie because he keeps the building safe and everyone healthy by keeping things clean. Here is what the boy had to say about that day:

One day I saw Charlie working on a project. He was carrying a hammer, nails, and glue up and down the stairs. Unable to resist the ghost's urging, I carried the tools to the top of the steps when Charlie wasn't looking. Poor Charlie stood there and scratched his head, wondering if he'd gone crazy. Hadn't he just carted those tools down the stairs?

A little later, I went down to the library and again saw Charlie's materials unattended. The goading voice pressured me into thinking that Charlie liked a good joke, so I gave in. I quickly snatched up the tools, tiptoed down the stairs, and placed them on the floor. When Charlie returned, he looked this way and then that way. Curiosity filled him as he tried to figure out who could be playing tricks on him. He was alone in the stairwell, wasn't he?

Charlie began to think of the many ghost stories he'd heard over the years. Now, Charlie was a tough guy and wasn't about to believe in ghosts, so he hauled the hammer, nails, and glue back up the stairs.

As I came back from the library, I quietly picked up the hammer and concealed it under my books. Back in the classroom, I hid it in my desk and later returned for the glue. It sure was funny to see a bewildered Charlie return to find his tools missing again. I could see that he was determined to find out who was playing tricks. Later, I returned the hammer and glue. Imagine old Charlie's surprise when they reappeared just as mysteriously as they had disappeared! The old man's voice told me that giving them back was the right thing to do.

The boy continued, telling of tricks he and the ghost had played on teachers by moving their dry-erase markers around the room. He told of getting other children into trouble by dropping their pencils or making papers fly off their desk. He chuckled as he told of moving the curser around on the fourth-grade SMART Board while all the children watched in awe. His eyes were wide as he imitated the faces of the fifth-graders when he told of the mysteriously closing door when they had a guest speaker.

The little boy giggled as he told me of all the things the ghost had influenced him to do. He was entertaining, to say the least, and his stories got me wondering. I thought I'd move on and find some other stories to share and sent the boy back to class.

An older child told me that he too had heard an older voice telling him to play tricks on teachers. He laughed as he shared his story.

One day at recess, we collected seventeen grasshoppers and let them go in the classroom when the teacher was out for the day. We watched as they hopped around the room, leaping from windowsill to floor, from floor to chair, and from chair to desk. Eventually several of them made their way to the podium, where the unsuspecting substitute stood lecturing about the Civil War, proudly proclaiming something about fourscore and seven years ago. But we weren't listening; our attention was glued to the little green bug preparing to land right where she was standing. We all tried to conceal our snickering.

And then it happened. Not one but two green, long-legged grasshoppers soared through the air and landed right on the book she was reading from.

The big-eyed, juice-spitting creatures chirped their alien greeting, but we couldn't hear them over the screams of the unfortunate substitute. She raced from the room, loudly proclaiming, "Never again!" and that was the last we saw of her.

The teacher wasn't happy the next day when he came back and couldn't figure out how that many bugs got into the room.

Then I talked with a little girl who was eager to share her stories. She said the ghost could take the appearance of anyone and enjoyed playing tricks in the bathroom mirrors making the other girls scream. Legend has it that once the ghost had made a girl's hair fly all over just after she had painstakingly combed it into place. The little girl giggled with impish delight as she mimicked the...