Hey loves! Here's a little story for you all to enjoy. It'll probably be at least three chapters long, maybe a bit longer. This is just a cute little story about what happens when the newsies are left alone in the lodging house during a storm, and they think the place is haunted. I hope you all enjoy it and review!

disclaimer: not claiming anything here

~sbg

"The conflicting weather these past days has caused calamity on this city's streets. Namely, two big accidents involving several ice wagons and a trolley near 44th and 2nd, as well as an escaped serial killer from The Tombs prison," Mush Myers propped his boot-clad feet onto the termite-chewed end table and settled back into the patched sofa in the front room of the Duane Street Lodging House. He scanned down the rest of the article in the Saturday paper of The World.

Outside in the cool evening, dark clouds floated high above. Hard beads of rain danced on the pavement below, and the wind howled with an awful groan, banging against the windows and doors with rage.

It was nearly eight o'clock, and Jack Kelly stood in the tiny kitchen off to the side of the front room, staring blankly at the ingredients laid out on the small table before him.

Kloppman's wife, Dolores, usually cooked the boys hot meals every night for dinner, but that evening in particular she had gone to visit a dear cousin of hers who had taken ill and was planning to stay the night over there as well. Kloppman himself was in the middle of working through some paperwork in his office and was not to be bothered.

Jack hesitantly placed the chopped beef Dolores had left for them in the icebox into the large water bath canner. He mixed in salt, pepper, and flour over the meat, and then panicked when he realized what he had tossed in was not salt at all, but sugar. Deciding to wing it, he went ahead and stirred the contents together, coating the meat with the flour as well. He tossed in a few more vegetables and water, and then set on the poorly-functioning stove to cook.

A loud crash of thunder boomed overhead, followed by a flash of bright lightning, illuminating the dimly-lit boarding house for a millisecond.

David Jacobs rested his chin on his hands as he leaned to look out the window from his chair near the small fireplace. His parents had left with Sarah to visit family in Boston, and he had been given permission to stay with Les at the lodging house until they got back.

David began counting aloud in a low mutter, eyes glued to the raging storm outside. "One, two, three, four-"

Crash. Another gust of wind scraped against the windows as the thunder clapped again. David turned toward Mush and Jack, his eyes slightly amused.

"The sound of thunder only took four seconds. Last time, it took six seconds," David announced matter-of-factly. Both newsboys tossed him puzzled looks. David paused and then further explained, "That means the storm is getting closer."

Mush went back to the paper he was holding and hushed him. "Shh, listen," he said urgently, sitting up straight. "Tombs prisoner, Harry Llewellyn, escaped this afternoon. The public has been urged to remain attentive and to not approach this man," he read, and then exchanged a worried look with Jack. "He is described as being 5 ft. and 7 in. in height, close-cropped hair, and wearing all black," Mush continued reading as David and Jack listened attentively.

The pitter-patter of bare feet interrupted Mush from the article as seven-year-old Michael, one of the newer boys in the house, scuttled down the stairs and ran instantly into Jack's arms. Jack was taken aback at first but then slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller boy who came about to his waist. The small, blonde child had a look of alarm in his cloudy blue eyes as thunder roared outside.

"It's alright, Michael," Jack said with a smile, trying his best not to sound all motherly in front of his friends. He patted the kid on the shoulder. "We're safe here. Nothing's going to happen, okay?"

Suddenly, the flimsy candle resting on the small kitchen table burnt out, darkening the room.

"Jack, you got another match?" Mush asked in almost a whiny tone. He hated the dark more than anything and didn't do a good job of hiding it.

Snipeshooter and Les, who had been playing cards at the table, groaned in disappointment as they could no longer see their cards.

"And I was just about to win," whined Snipeshooter as he tossed his cards onto the table.

Jack felt around in his pockets and produced only a few coins and a cigarette. "Nah, that was my last one," he said with regret in his voice.

"Doesn't Race or Skittery have a lighter?" Mush asked.

"But they're all the way upstairs," complained Jack. "Les, go ask Kloppman for some matches. Snipes, you go with him," he said.

Snipeshooter followed the younger boy over to Kloppman's office which was only a few feet off from the front room. His door was open, much to their surprise, and they peered in to find him pacing his office slightly, looking stressed.

"Have you any matches on ya?" Les asked him from the doorway.

Kloppman took off his spectacles and ran a hand over his tired eyes. "Les, check the desk drawer's out where I keep the sign-in book in the front room for some matches and candles,"

Les was able to resurrect a few candles and matches from the drawer, and he and Snipeshooter triumphantly brought them back over to Jack in the front room. By now, more than half of the boys in the lodging house had joined them downstairs.

"What are we supposed to do without light?" Skittery moaned from his place on the sofa next to Racetrack. "The storm made everything dark outside,"

Kloppman stepped out of his office, his heavy mackintosh buttoned tightly around him and a knitted woolen scarf his wife had given him was around his neck. "Jack, I'm leaving you in charge," he said as he tugged on his galoshes. "I'm going out to buy some more candles and collect more blankets from one of the charitable shelters," he said. "It's a cold night, and will be for a couple more days, and I don't want any of you lads catching pneumonia on my watch,"

"But some of us were going over to Brooklyn to play poker," Jack grumbled slightly.

Kloppman shook his head. "I won't be long," he said and hurried out the door into the storm outside.

Jack sighed and turned back to the other newsies, all of whom looked utterly bored. "So that's the bad news," he said half-heartedly. "But the good news," he went on, walking over to the the pot of stew he'd set on the table. "I made food."

The boys smiled at this and grabbed the chipped bowls from the cob-webbed shelves, eager for a hot meal to fill their usually starved stomachs.

Jack lit one of the small candles Les had found and placed it on the table. Crutchy took his bowl of stew and hobbled over to the torn-up sofa and sat down next to Race and Skittery.

"I wish there was something to do," Crutchy mumbled.

Specs shuffled some cards together. "How about a round of cards, anyone?"

"Nah," Race said, fiddling with his pocket watch. "Beating you all the time gets boring."

"Crutchy?"

Crutchy sighed. "No,"

"Skitts?"

Skittery shook his head, giving no verbal response as he stared off blankly.

Specs huffed in frustration and even turned toward little Michael, who seemed to be hiding under the table. "Michael?"

"I don't know how to play," he mumbled, curled up in a small ball on the ground, hugging a ragged blue blankie to his chest.

"I will, Specs," a squeaky voice called out from a dark corner of the room. "I'll play a game with you,"

Specs squinted his eyes into the darkness when all of a sudden Snipeshooter jumped out from the corner and howled wildly in Spec's face. Spec gave a loud whoop of terror and jumped back. The others on the couch who had watch the whole scene play out simply rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

Once he saw who it was, Spec's breathing went back to normal, and he narrowed his eyes at Snipeshooter who smiled back playfully. "Real mature," he muttered to the kid, storming off up the stairs.

"Aw, you're so mean," Snipeshooter whined, pretending to be wounded by his words.

Just then, there was a knock on the back door, which was situated around the staircase and in a small hallway. No one ever used the back door, unless they were sneaking in late, so the boys were a bit confused as to whom it could be.

"I'll get it," David offered from where he was in the kitchen and hustled over to the back door, expecting it to be Kloppman. He grabbed a lit candle so he could make his way down the hall. It had been 56 minutes since Kloppman had left, according to David's watch, and he was surprised it had taken him so long.

"Ah, I'm freezing," Race complained as he pulled his legs up to his chest.

"Kloppman will be here with more blankets in a minute," Jack reassured.

David reappeared from the back door alone.

"Where's Kloppman?" Jack asked him. The others went silent and waited for David to answer.

David shrugged. "It wasn't Kloppman at the door," he said.

Jack looked around at the others with a confused expression and then back at David. "Well, who was it then?"

"No one," David said, a bit confused himself. "It was really strange. I went to open it, and no one was there."

"Probably just some drunk," one of the boys rationalized.

Specs returned from upstairs and leaned against the banister. "When's Kloppman getting back?" he asked Jack.

Jack shrugged, his eyes growing worried. "Don't know. He said he won't be too long," he grumbled, looking around at the others.

David looked at his watch under the candlelight. "He's been gone for one hour and four minutes. Does that count as long?"

"Maybe something bad's happened to him," Mush said, his eyes wide with worry. He sank deeper into the sofa.

"I'm more worried about the blankets," Race said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm freezing my ass off. It's the middle of January, and we have no coal for fire and rags for warmth."

Mush didn't look convinced. "The serial killer might've gotten him. It was in the paper, he's stalking the streets somewhere near here,"

"He could be outside now," Specs said, trying to scare Mush. "What if he attacked Kloppman and stole the keys to the Lodging House and could break in at any moment,"

The other boys laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea while Mush looked extremely terrified. Snipeshooter nudged Specs. "I'll protect you," he joked.

Specs rolled his eyes and shoved Snipeshooter. "I'm not scared, ya nit-wit. I was kidding,"

Jack settled everyone down. "Look, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Kloppman will be back soon, and in the meantime we can make a fort down here," he suggested, watching as the younger boys' faces lit up with excitement. Even some of the older boys looked a little amused. After all, they were still kids.

"Then what? Sit here in the dark like losers?" Race asked.

"Um, no," Jack said, crinkling his eyebrows. "Use your imagination. It's a dark and stormy night, we can tell some ghost stories,"

The others nodded and agreed, starting to all volunteer stories. Meanwhile, Jack climbed the stairs to go grab as many blankets as he could from upstairs. The dormitory was empty, as everyone was down in the main room. He stripped the ragged, threadbare sheets from the beds that did little for warmth and threw some pillows on top of the pile. Then he brought them downstairs, just in time to hear Snipeshooter finishing his ghost story. As he got to the intense part, he suddenly gave a crazy yell right as lightning struck, making everyone jump and scream. Skittery barely flinched while Mush was close to tears.

The others then laughed at how Snipeshooter had scared them. Some of the other boys then helped Jack set up the fort as the little boys crawled inside. Once it was set up, the other newsies all crawled inside and continued the ghost story marathon.

Then little Michael voiced to Jack that he was scared, and Jack said that was probably enough ghost stories for one night. He then took Michael upstairs to help him get washed up for bed, when he heard his name being called from downstairs.

"Mikey, stay there," he said to the boy, leaving him in the dormitory and hurrying down the stairs.

Race and Crutchy stood by the hallway leading to the back door, a lit candle in Race's hand. Jack followed their gaze to find that the front door had swung open, and the storm outside was loud with pounding thunder. "I don't know how longs it's been open," Race said.

Jack looked slightly annoyed. "I locked this before we built the fort," he said, shutting the door and sliding the lock into place. By now the other newsies had gathered around. Jack looked to the group. "Who did this? Did someone leave?"

Specs shrugged. "No one got out," he said, looking around and noting that everyone was accounted for. "Who got in?"

Race wavered the candle around and jumped back slightly when he bumped into Blink. "Jesus, Blink, don't sneak up on me like that. I almost lost my shit,"

Blink rolled his eyes.

"Maybe Kloppman came back," Les said, trying to be brave. "He might've just left the door open on accident."

"I don't think he'd forget," Jack said, shaking his head.

"Well the man is old," Race threw in.

Blink looked worried. "Maybe someone broke in,"

"The serial killer," Mush said, his eyes wide with fright.

"No," Jack shook his head. "The door would be forced. So who did it?"

Everyone looked around at each other until all glares were directed to Skittery.

Skittery rolled his eyes. "Wow, thanks guys. Whenever something creepy happens, all fingers just automatically point to me,"

Race raised an eyebrow. "Because usually you're behind it,"

Skittery nodded. "Fair enough,"

"I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know for sure that we are the only ones in this house," Mush said, leaning against the stairs.

"No one is in the house," Crutchy reassured him with a smile.

Mush looked uncertain. "As far as you know,"

David spoke. "We could search the place," he suggested. The others looked at each other with uneasiness. Search the entire Lodging House in the dark? Yep, this would definitely be a long night.

to be continued…