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Authors: Tracy Barrett

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BOOK: The Beast of Blackslope
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X
ander went back to where the librarian was still staring at the empty shelf and asked her, “Are there any copies of the newspapers? Or are they online someplace?”
The librarian pulled her hand off the shelf, straightened, and said sharply, “Online? Of course not. Paper has served humankind for thousands of years, and I see no reason to reduce something so noble to images on a screen. Online, indeed!”
“Can we look at some of the ones that are left?” Xander asked.
The librarian hesitated. “I don't know. Perhaps I should lock up the rest if they're going missing. They're irreplaceable.”
“Please?” Xander asked. “We'll be very careful with them.”
“Well, just for a few minutes. And stay where I can see you.”
But after leafing through the papers that were before and after the missing ones, they found nothing helpful. The language was old-fashioned and sometimes hard to understand, and they couldn't find a single reference to a strange animal or unusual goings-on at night. Xena was ready to leave, but Xander was staring at an illustration on one of the inside pages.
“These pictures are amazing,” he said. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. The papers were old and musty, making his nose run and his eyes itch.
Xena looked over his shoulder. He was bent over an engraving of a street scene in Blackslope with a caption reading
Lady Chimington's flower show attracts visitors from across the county
. Men with twirly mustaches and women in long dresses walked arm in arm down a street that was drawn with such detail that Xena and Xander recognized many of the shops they had seen that morning on their way to the library.
Yes, the illustrations were amazing, but this wasn't getting them any closer to solving the mystery. “Come on, Xander, let's go,” Xena said, and they carefully returned the newspapers to their place and thanked the librarian.
“I wonder what's going on,” Xena said as
they went down the stairs. “We thought we were just coming here for vacation, and now there are
three
mysteries: what the Beast of Blackslope was, and if it's back, and what happened to those newspapers.”
“I don't know that missing hundred-yearold newspapers are really a mystery,” Xander objected. “Anything could have happened to them. A cleaning person might have thought they were trash, or maybe someone borrowed them and forgot to check them out.”
Xena shook her head. “No way. This town is full of secrets.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, why did everyone disappear yesterday evening? One minute the streets were so full that we had our pick of subjects for the Game, and then—nobody. It wasn't really dark yet and the weather was nice, so where did they go all at once? And then there were those weird howls yesterday afternoon. And those girls wouldn't tell us what they were carrying. Those people in the library stopped talking when they saw us, and Mrs. Roberts is really jumpy. I bet she knows something.”
“I wonder what made her drop the tray,” Xander said.
Xena thought back. “It was right after I said that what you'd heard in the night must be the Beast. And just now the people in the library were talking about the Beast, and they sounded really upset about it. Maybe they all know something about this Beast, and they're keeping it a secret.”
“Why would they do that? Why wouldn't they want people to know?”
“
I
don't know. That's what we'd have to investigate. Maybe somebody who lives here is up to something, and everyone wants to protect him because they don't want him to get into trouble.”
“Or—” Xander hesitated. It sounded stupid.
“Or what?”
“Or what if it's some kind of demon? Or a curse on the town and they're ashamed?”
Xena didn't laugh. “I don't think that's it. I bet it's the same Beast from a hundred years ago. That means it's one of Sherlock's cases that's still open. We have a duty to solve it for him.”
Xander nodded. Even though he wasn't too eager to investigate a savage-sounding creature, he felt the tie to their famous ancestor as strongly as his sister did. “Let's try to gather some clues and see what we can come up with.”
“First,” Xena said, “if people know something
and they're not talking, we have to try to listen in on some conversations.”
“Your department.”
Xena nodded. “And we have to find some way to go south of town and see if we can find the broken fence that guy was talking about. Those howls came from there.” She pointed toward the forest. “That's south, right?”
“I think so,” Xander said. It was broad daylight and from what they'd heard, the Beast prowled only at night. It would probably be okay if they went to check it out. Or at least that's what he told himself.
Xena and Xander had entered the main part of the village. The stores were small white buildings with wooden beams crisscrossing the walls—“half-timbered,” their mother had called it—and identical reddish brown roofs. “They look like Snow White's cottage,” Xena said.
“Yes, but where
is
everybody?” Xander wondered aloud. It seemed almost like a ghost town, and they were the only people on the sidewalk. Some of the stores were closed, which seemed odd in the middle of the week. CLOSED INDEFINITELY read a handwritten note on one door; FAMILY EMERGENCY read another. They passed a store with a sign saying ESTATE AGENT that
displayed photographs of houses for sale in the window, with descriptions that made them all sound like palaces.
Xander stopped short. “Aha!”
“Aha what?”
“I know where we can do more research.”
Xena looked around. “Where?”
“It's elementary, my dear Holmes.” Xander grinned at her.
Xena rolled her eyes. “That line was old before you were born. What's elementary?”
In response, Xander pointed at a sign across the street. “‘Tuttle's Antiquarian Books,'” he read. “If they have really old books, I bet we can do some research about the Beast!”
They crossed the street and went into the bookstore. It was empty except for a short, round man who sat in a wheelchair behind a small desk near the back. The nameplate on the desk read HAROLD TUTTLE. “Morning,” he called. “What can I do for you?”
“We're looking for books on local history,” Xena said.
“Right over here.” The man rolled his chair past them and down a dark corridor.
Xander studied him as he passed. The man had thinning pale hair and wore black trousers
and a black T-shirt. On the T-shirt were printed the words FRODO LIVES. On the legs of his trousers were several gray hairs.
“What's your cat's name, Mr. Tuttle?” Xander asked. “Gandalf, right?”
“That's ri—” The man broke off and stared at Xander. “Here, how'd you know my cat's name? How'd you even know I have a cat? And how'd you know
my
name?”
“I like finding things out about people, that's all. That line on your T-shirt is about
The Lord of the Rings
, and you have gray cat hairs on your pants. Gandalf the Grey is one of the main characters in
The Lord of the Rings
. So I figured you'd probably name your cat after him. And your name, well, it's on your nameplate.”
“Just like Sherlock Holmes, you are,” the man said.
Xander beamed. “He was our great-great-great-grandfather, actually!”
“Are you two detectives, then?”
“Well, sort of,” Xena answered. “Xander and I are investigating one of Sherlock's old cases—the Beast of Blackslope. And I think you know all about it, Mr. Tuttle!”
N
ow it was Xander's turn to be surprised. “No way!” he said. “How could you possibly figure that out, Zee?”
“Elementary, my dear Holmes,” Xena said with a grin. “Mr. Tuttle wrote a book about the Beast.” She pointed at the shelf where dozens of identical paperbacks leaned against each other forlornly. The spine on all of them read
The Beast: Blackslope's Monster
. Under it in larger letters was the name H. Tuttle.
“Good detective work!” Then the man's face fell. “My book is self-published, and it isn't selling too well. But the truth should be known, even if people round here want to pretend it never happened. They're afraid. Afraid to believe there might really be a Beast.”
“So what do you think actually happened back then?” Xena asked.
“Well.” Mr. Tuttle sat back and made a
steeple with his fingers. “Here's the real story. It's all in the book, of course, but I'll summarize for you.
“The last time the Beast appeared was in the early nineteen hundreds. The two people most involved were James and Adeline, the coachman and cook up at the manor. James was a great brute of a man—they say he could knock down a draft horse with one blow of his fist. And he had a jealous, evil temper, especially when it came to his wife.
“Adeline seemed quiet and meek, but James always swore that her mother had been a witch and that Adeline had learned spells and potions from her. If James ever raised a hand to her or their children, the next day he'd be clutching his stomach in agony, or all covered with spots, or shivering with a fever.”
“You mean Adeline fed him poison!” Xena exclaimed.
Mr. Tuttle blinked at her. “No one ever caught her at it, but James said she did. Now I've lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh, yes.
“Well, apparently one morning Adeline came to work in the great house, pale and trembling. She said James had put a curse on her. She didn't say what kind of curse, but she was
clearly terrified. ‘I am doomed,' she kept saying, and no one could tell her any different. And that very night the Beast made its first attack. A farmer near the manor found one of his sheep torn apart, as if by a ravenous monster.”
“Ugh.” Xander shuddered.
“The night after that, a young man coming home late from the pub was chased by a gigantic shaggy creature that he swore had foot-long claws and fangs. The next night, another farmer's chicken coop was destroyed and the chickens scattered. Each incident was nearer to the manor. Step-by-step, the Beast was making its way to its victim. And then it appeared outside James and Adeline's window—they lived in a room built onto the back of the stables. Two days later …” Mr. Tuttle paused dramatically. “Adeline vanished. And she was never seen again.”
“Sherlock's notes didn't say anything about a curse,” Xena said.
Mr. Tuttle sniffed. “Perhaps the great detective wasn't as great as all that. Perhaps he didn't know about the curse. After all, he never solved the case.”
Xena was stung at the insult to her ancestor. “Anyway, I thought Adeline was supposed to be
the witch, not James. How would James know how to put a curse on her?”
Mr. Tuttle leaned forward. “Now that's an interesting question. Of course, there's no way to be sure. But I have a theory. There was a circus in town that summer. Circuses always have fortune-tellers and people like that. They camped on the grounds of the manor, in fact. I believe James found someone there to help him with the curse.”
“Hmmm.” Xena wasn't convinced.
“Scoff if you like,” Mr. Tuttle said. “But if you're wise, you'll take care. Because the Beast is back!”
X
ander felt a sudden chill run up his spine even though he didn't
really
believe in monsters, and Xena couldn't hold back a gasp. Mr. Tuttle sounded so convincing.
“How do you know?” Xander asked uneasily.
“The signs are all around us. Surely you've heard the strange howls in the night. It's been going on for more than a week now. And something broke through a farmer's fence last night and took one of his sheep. All he found was some bloody wool. Exactly the way it happened more than a hundred years ago. History is repeating itself.”
Xander's eyes widened. But before he could ask another question, the bell at the door tinkled, and Mr. Tuttle wheeled away to help the customer who had come in.
“What do you think?” Xander pitched his voice low so that Mr. Tuttle wouldn't hear.
“I don't believe it.” Xena could be so very stubborn. “How do we know it isn't some vandal, like some kids who are bored out here in the country and wrecking things for the fun of it? Or some wild—”
She stopped herself but Xander knew she'd been about to say “wild animal.”
He pretended not to notice. “Well, whatever it is, it's an awful lot like what Sherlock described.”
“Exactly,” Xena said. “Which means we should find out who—or what—is doing it and stop it if we can. That's what
he
would have wanted.”
She didn't need to say whom she meant by “he,” and Xander knew he couldn't argue. Being a descendant of the great Holmes was exceptionally cool, but having his book of unsolved cases was also a big responsibility.
Xena pulled a copy of Mr. Tuttle's book off the shelf and leafed through it. Xander looked over her shoulder.
“Who's that?” He pointed at a black-and-white photograph of a thin-faced woman in a dress with a high neck. Xena moved her thumb down from where it was covering the caption. “‘Adeline Daniels,'” she read.
Xander looked up at Xena. “That's the cook!”
She could tell that something was bothering him. “What is it?”
“She looks familiar. I wonder—”
Just then the cell phone they shared rang. Xander fished it out and looked helplessly at it. It was one of their mom's new test products. It supposedly had great reception and could take excellent pictures and videos. The problem was that he hadn't figured out how to answer it.
“Give me that.” Xena snatched the phone from him and punched a button. “Hello? Oh, hi, Mom. Okay, we'll be right there.”
She punched another button and said to Xander, “We need to get back.”
“Be careful!” Mr. Tuttle called after them. “The Beast is out there!”
“We will,” Xena called back. “Thanks!”
“Do you think he could be right?” Xander asked his sister as they walked down the street. A chill went through him as he pictured the creature Mr. Tuttle had described. “Do you think the Beast really is some kind of demon? And now it's back?”
“Of course not. That's impossible.”
Right, Xander told himself. Demons are impossible. But this time Xena's certainty didn't convince him.
Something
was out there making those awful howls. “Well then, how do you
explain all the signs Mr. Tuttle talked about?”
Xena frowned. “I don't know. Yet.”
Well then, how can you be so sure?
Xander wanted to ask. But he didn't want Xena to know how much the idea of a demon beast spooked him. Instead he said, “Hey, look,” and pointed to the window of the real estate office, which they were passing again. “Here's a sign for that sale Mom wants to go to. ‘Antiques, heirlooms, one-of-a-kind family pieces,'” he read.
“Look, there are oil paintings too.”
“And an ‘eighteenth-century commode,'” Xander read. “Huh? They're selling an old
toilet
?”
A burst of laughter behind them made them turn around. A sandy-haired boy about Xander's age, wearing a soccer jersey, was standing on the sidewalk watching them. “A commode is like a bureau,” he said. “You know, with lots of drawers to store things in?”
“Oh,” Xander said. “Back home some people call a toilet a commode when they're trying to be polite.”
“Back home is the States, right?”
Xena and Xander nodded.
“My name is Trevor,” the boy went on. “And you're Xena and Xander.”
“How did you know?” Xena asked.
“My grandparents own the B and B where you're staying,” Trevor said. “I was spending the night at my friend's house when you got in, but my grandma told me about you this morning.”
“You live with your grandparents?” Xander asked.
The boy nodded. “My parents travel a lot for business. They think it's important for me to have a stable environment so I stay with my grandparents. I like it here in Blackslope, but what I really want to do is go to Australia. Have you ever been?” They shook their heads. “I want to travel in the outback. I want to be a naturalist and study kangaroos and dingoes, and learn to play a didgeridoo.”
“A what?” Xander's head was spinning from all the changes of subject.
“A didgeridoo,” Trevor said. “It's a kind of Australian instrument. You blow into it. It looks sort of like a long wooden tube, and it sounds really cool.”
“So if you want to be a naturalist, you must know a lot about the wildlife around here, right?” Xena asked.
“Sure.” The boy shrugged. “Not that there's much. Rabbits, foxes—”
“What about the Beast of Blackslope?” Xena
asked. “Did you hear that howling last night?”
Trevor stopped talking as suddenly as if he had been a TV and someone had punched the Off button. For a second his mouth hung open, and then he shut it with a snap.
He cleared his throat. “What time did you hear a howl?”
“I don't know,” Xena said. What an odd question. “We heard three, right, Xander?”
He nodded. “Two yesterday right at dusk and then I heard one in the middle of the night. It woke me up.”
“I don't know what you heard,” Trevor said. “But you'd better be careful.”
“Careful about what?” Xander asked. But Trevor turned and walked rapidly away.
“I wonder why he doesn't want us looking for the Beast.” Xena frowned.
“Maybe he's right,” Xander said.
Xena knew she shouldn't but she couldn't help saying, “Xan, there's nothing dangerous out there. This is just a sleepy little—”
“How do
you
know?” he shot back. “Anyway, I'm not afraid!”
“You're not?”
“No way!” Just the idea of the Beast made him want to run all the way back to London. But
he wasn't about to admit that to his obnoxious sister.
“Oh, come on.” She sounded disgusted. “You've been afraid of wild animals ever since that raccoon bit you when you were little.”
“Well, it was scary. And then I had to get all those shots. They really hurt. And anyway,
you're
afraid of being in small, tight places!”
“What does that have to do with anything? You're still afraid of wild animals, and we may be hunting for one.”
“I've gotten over it.” She rolled her eyes and this made him so furious that he spat out without thinking, “Fine. We'll go in the woods together to look for this Beast. And I bet I'll find it before you do!”
BOOK: The Beast of Blackslope
8.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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