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Short Story: The Dead Don T Talk

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Chapter Two
The Dead Don’t Talk

Twist Twistleton, a co-sleuth at the Dead Wood Detective Agency, was waiting for Seth and me in our tree house—sorry, our top-secret hideout dressed in a checkered vest, trademark royal-blue tie, button-down shirt, and trousers.
“Dude,” Seth said slamming the door, “where were you last night?”
“At the science fair, blasting a giant, frozen gummy bear into a million pieces.” Twist kicked his oversize loafers under a chair. “It was awesome until the bear’s severed fist punched one of the judges in the nose.”
“So, did you win?” I asked him.
He held up a trophy. “Second place.”
“My science teacher says that most brainiacs tend to hit their peak at nine or ten.” Seth smiled. “But shoot, you’re twelve and still stockpiling …show more content…

His parents died in a plane crash when he was five, and he was raised by an uncle and aunt who ran The Twistleton Plastics, Glass, & Other Salvage Materials Yard. They thought he was brilliant and usually sent him away to camp so that he could further his learning.
“Huh?” Seth said, trying not to sound impressed. “Bro, English please.”
Twist squinted at him through his steel-framed glasses. “In other words, your presence somehow triggered sound waves from the past to duplicate themselves.”
A strange breeze rustled through the leaves outside and blew in through our cutout wood window. It carried in the scent of wild roses and cedar.
“How could we record echoes from an earlier time?” Seth said.
“I’m not sure,” Twist admitted. “But good detectives are able to unearth all the details eventually. Let’s go over what we know so far.”
“We went to the mansion to investigate the claim that a ghost was seen dancing on the grass in front of Thornewood Hall.” Seth sat and coiled like a spring on the chair, his legs folded beneath him, his arms crossed. “Madison thought the rumor would make a good piece for the first issue of the school paper in the …show more content…

“Miss Sims alleged the captain would prance around his palace in blue robes pretending to be royalty,” Seth explained.
“Interesting . . . Anyhow, in a cruel twist, a mule skinner delivering supplies went inside and found the house empty.” I arched one eyebrow dramatically. “Empty, aside from McBride’s body lying at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck.
When the police arrived hours later, they determined he had tripped on a rug and toppled down the stairs. The servants fled, afraid they’d be blamed for his death. They never did find his wife. So his death remained a mystery.”
Twist scrolled down. There was another picture of Thornewood Hall in its current state and beneath it, a short description:
Now the ramshackle dwelling is a place people say seeps dread. A spot where the sun isn’t quite as bright, the dust oppressive, and the teeming, yellowed weeds that camouflage its former glorious gardens are ragged and

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