The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

child, especially during the summers.
    I wondered what I was doing here now. I wondered whether the fact that I had been kicked out of Atherton High branded me for life as a bad person. From my father’s reaction, I gathered that he might be thinking that. I wondered whether I would get along with the students at Carter. Sylvia was nice enough to me, but that was her job. I hadn’t really become acquainted with anybody else yet, just said a few hellos.
    I was still awake when the train lumbered slowly past. The peanut railroad—that’s what the locals called it, but I had no idea why. I heard the whistle—actually, it was a diesel horn—as it approached the road crossing. My bedroom was on the side of the house facing the tracks. I had heard the train the night before, too. I wondered whether I was fated to hear it every night. The track ran east and west along the southern boundary of the farm, and the total distance it traveled twice each day was about twenty miles.
    It didn’t carry peanuts, of course. It was much more likely to be carrying wallboard from the gypsum plant down the line. The peanut train had been running for longer than the farm had been in the family. At one time it had made more than two trips a day and had even carried passengers.
    This room had been Ralph’s. Ralph had heard the train at night when he couldn’t sleep. That thought gave me an eerie feeling. Was his ghost still lurking here, waiting for somebody to find out the truth about how he had died? Or had it been as simple as Dr. Graves—and my father and the newspapers—said. I made a silent promise to Ralph to find out the truth.

    CHAPTER 4
    The morning air was crisp, but at least the sun was shining. It would warm up, perhaps even into the sixties. Fall days could be pleasant in Western New York. We had to enjoy the warmth while we could. Winter was coming. And winter in this part of the country was anything but pleasant.
    The red brick school building looked clean and new. Its solid rectangular surfaces exuded an aura of stability. But I felt anything but stable. I had left all my friends behind. And my parents, since it was too far for me to commute from home. Even the fact that my aunt and uncle lived on a farm where I had enjoyed playing in the past wasn’t appealing to me at the moment. For the hundredth time, I rued the day I had gotten myself into this mess.
    There weren’t many cars in the parking lot yet. I went into the building and walked toward the auditorium. Nobody was in the corridor. I looked into the cafeteria as I passed. It was my homeroom now. A couple of students were sitting at the far end, doing homework. Otherwise, it was empty.
    It was dark in the auditorium, but the stage was lit up. Sylvia must already be here. I wondered if she had a boyfriend. If so, would he approve of her meeting me like this? I had better be careful. I looked up at the balcony. It wasn’t that high above the seats on the main floor. A person falling from there might break a leg or two. But get himself killed? And Ralph had been very agile. I remembered how he could walk on his hands. But my stomach turned as I pictured him crashing into the seats. What in the world had he been doing?
    I vaulted onto the stage and headed toward the wing. As I approached the dressing room, I heard voices. Sylvia wasn’t alone. From the pitch of the voices, I could tell that she was with another girl. It was too early in the morning to be meeting somebody new and I wasn’t sure I was up to it. I would be meeting a lot of people during the next few weeks. I braced myself and walked into the little room.
    I stared for a few seconds until I realized that my mouth was hanging open and I looked like an idiot. Sitting beside Sylvia was the most beautiful girl in the world. I hadn’t seen her yesterday and had almost given up on her, thinking she had graduated. But here she was. The cheerleader who had hurt my concentration at the Carter-Atherton basketball game last year.
    She had short black hair with a bit of a wave. Well, it probably was some shade of dark brown as few people actually had black hair. I was trying to figure out her eyes, which I think had both brown and some other color, when Sylvia spoke, bringing me out of my trance.
    “Gary Blanchard, Natalie Porter.”
    Natalie said hi and smiled, melting me and leaving me tongue-tied. I had to say something. Finally I croaked a hello. Then I noticed her blouse, which was one of the