The Dark Secret of Weatherend (16 page)

In utter silence they approached the coffin. A dusty brass plate with Borkman's name and the dates of his birth and death shone dully on its lid. They began to fumble at the edges of the lid, which projected out over the sides of the coffin like the lid on a grand piano. To
Anthony's great surprise it was not nailed shut. Still, as he seized the polished wooden slab with trembling fingers he was afraid to lift it.

Miss Eells was beside him, her voice quiet and reassuring. "I know we're both scared," she said, "but we can't come this far and then choke up. I'll count to three, and then we heave. Okay?"

Anthony nodded stiffly. The lid rose with a loud, grating
brr-rrr-rrrack!,
and Anthony involuntarily took a step backward. Unflinchingly Miss Eells pulled the flashlight from the pocket of her parka and pointed the beam in. There was J. K. Borkman, what was left of him, a skeleton in a rotting Sunday suit. Over the empty eyeholes perched rimless spectacles, and a knot of gray hair still clung to the dusty skull. His bony hands were folded over his chest, and the withered remains of a carnation were still scattered over one of the suit's sateen lapels. Anthony eyed the skeleton warily. He half expected it to come to life and leap at him. But it merely lay there, staring upward in grim repose.

Suddenly Anthony noticed something attached to Borkman's waistcoat. Strung between the slitlike pockets of the garment was a tarnished gold chain with a large, old-fashioned gold watch dangling from the end. But it was the crystal of the watch that fascinated Anthony; it had a crack in it that ran from the center of the dial up through the part of the glass that covered the number
12.

They had found the crack of noon.

"Miss Eells, look!" Anthony yelled, frantically stabbing his finger at the watch with the cracked crystal. "It's the crack of noon! It
has
to be!"

Miss Eells rushed forward. She handed the flashlight to Anthony, gripped the edge of the coffin, and peered in. "You're right! There's no doubt about it. Anthony, you're a genius."

Miss Eells reached out and picked up the watch. She held it gingerly and turned it around. Anthony was fascinated by the macabre scene, and he began to notice small details of the corpse that lay before him: the embroidered roses on the rotting, faded vest, the gilded elk's tooth that hung from one end of the watch chain, the bone that was missing from the ring finger of Borkman's left hand.
That's weird,
thought Anthony.
I wonder what happened to it?
He had an overpowering desire to reach out and rub his fingertips over the bony hand. He had never been near a real human skeleton before, and he wondered what the bones would feel like...

Anthony's thoughts were interrupted by Miss Eells's voice: "Anthony," she said, "I want you to take the flashlight and go back to the tool bag. Inside it you'll find my purse, and somewhere there ought to be a nail file. Let's see if we can get the crystal off the top of this watch. And hurry,
please!"

Without a word Anthony turned and started walking back into the darkness. He found the slouching leather
satchel, and plunging his hand inside, he came up with Miss Eells's battered leather purse. In the midst of loose change, keys, coils of picture wire, plastic number puzzles, and inhalers, he dug out the nail file. Then he turned around and hurried back to her.

"Hold the light steady," she said when Anthony had handed her the file.

He did as he was told. The crystal was embedded in a gold rim that was fitted to the watchcase. A hairline crack showed where the two parts were joined. Holding the watch tightly in her left hand, she poked at the crack with the point of the file.

"The clue says
Pam under the crack of noon,"
muttered Miss Eells as she struggled with the file. "I haven't the slightest idea what
pam
is, but it ought to be under here."

Anthony said nothing. He was becoming more and more jittery as the noises from outside—the muffled rumblings and the roar of wind—grew louder. Meanwhile Miss Eells was getting nowhere in her attempt to pry the watch open. Again and again she stabbed at the crack and tried to force the point of the file into it. But it couldn't be done. Anthony could feel blind panic rising inside him. But in spite of his fear he was seized again by the strange urge to reach out and put his hand on Borkman's finger bones. He wanted to touch the place where the missing finger bone had fitted to the rest of the hand. While he still held the flashlight steady
in his left hand his right hand began to creep out toward the skeleton fingers.

Suddenly Miss Eells made a discovery. Dropping the file, she twisted the gold rim with her fingers. The rim began to move.

"It
unscrews!"
Miss Eells exclaimed. "What a nitwit I was!" With a few quick twists of the wrist Miss Eells had removed the crystal. Using the nail file, she began to pry the enameled face lose. While she worked on feverishly Anthony's hand crept forward.

After a few good twists Miss Eells had worked the watch's face free. She wrenched off the hands, ripped off the face, and peered underneath. Inside the body of the watch, instead of wheels and springs, she found a crumpled playing card—the jack of clubs.

"Anthony, look at this!" Miss Eells cried. But at that point Anthony's creeping hand had reached the finger with the missing joint. And when his finger touched the place where Borkman's lost finger bone had been, everything changed. The stone building rocked, as if it had been hit by the force of a powerful explosion. Anthony found that he was paralyzed, frozen in place, with his hand touching the skeleton fingers. Miss Eells couldn't move either but stood stiffly with the watch case in her hand. Her head was turned slightly, and she was staring at a figure that had suddenly appeared at the head of the coffin.

It was a man wrapped in a cloak so dazzlingly dark that it seemed to burn a hole in the gloomy blackness of
the chamber. The face of the figure was lit by a wavering green light. It was a cruel, cold face with a heartless, mocking smile on its lips. It was the face of the creature called Anders Borkman.

"Who has dared to summon me in the midst of my most important work? Who has laid violent hands on the place from which I sprang?"

The green-lit face seemed to hover, bodiless, in the dark. Borkman looked from Miss Eells to Anthony and back again. In spite of the arrogant, mocking expression on his face he seemed strangely uncertain. But as he continued to gaze at Miss Eells his expression changed. The uncertainty vanished, and in its place came cold, venomous rage.

"You contemptible old hag!" he snarled, and he began to move toward her. "Haven't I given you an idea of what happens to those who try to interfere with my father's plans? I was called into being to complete my
father's greatest design. And I have been faithful. The final spell is at work; the apocalyptic storm is loosed upon the world. Nothing can stop it.
Nothing!
But why in the midst of my incantations have I received a summons?
Answer me!"

Miss Eells continued to stare, glassy-eyed. She held the watch case up before her, and the chain, pulled taut, was still hooked to the fabric of the dead man's vest. Anders Borkman raised his hand, and Miss Eells began to speak. Her voice was dreamy and lifeless, almost like a recording.

"We came here because of the clues in your father's diary. We hoped that we might find something that we could use to stop the storm you have started."

Anders Borkman laughed loudly, unpleasantly. "You really are a fool," he said, gazing steadily at Miss Eells. "My father had no desire to stop his plan from being carried out. He would never have left anything that would stop the storm. You have come up here for nothing. Give me the thing you have taken, and I will show you what a mistake you have made.
Give it to me! Now!"

These last words were said in a harsh, commanding tone. Stiffly Miss Eells held out her hand, and Borkman grabbed the watch case from her. He glanced down at the crumpled playing card, and the uncertain look returned to his face. He seemed bewildered, almost as if he had never seen a playing card before. Now he reached out and plucked with his fingertips at the edge of the
piece of stiff, crinkled cardboard, Slowly he eased it upward. Aha! Another surprise! There was something under the card. A small glass tube about two inches long. It was capped at both ends with silver, and there was raised lettering on the caps. Inside the glass was a dark reddish substance.

Borkman let the playing card drop. It fluttered to the floor. With his index finger and thumb he reached into the watch case and picked up the tube...

And then something totally unexpected happened. Long shafts of red light shot out of the glass. Lurid rays jabbed in all directions, splashing bloody color over the walls and floor of the chamber and the staring skull of the corpse in the coffin. Still clutching the tube, Borkman dropped the watch case and staggered backward. He bumped into one of the tall candlesticks, and it fell over with a loud, echoing clatter. Then one sudden, dazzlingly strong beam flung upward from the tube. It was like a long, phosphorescent crimson spike, and it struck Anders Borkman full in the face. He screamed horribly, his red-lit face a mask of agony and terror. Then a blinding white flash, like a phosphorous bomb, went off in the room, followed by a dull
boom!
Miss Eells and Anthony fell to the floor. They were no longer paralyzed now—they were awake and aware and terrified out of their minds. They closed their eyes and covered their ears with their hands as flashes and explosions rocked the room.

Finally there was silence. Opening his eyes, Anthony peered out into the dark chamber. He could hardly see
anything. Odd discs of pale red danced before him in the dazzling dark air. The flashlight lay nearby, and he groped until he found it and then turned it on.

Stumbling to his feet, Anthony played the beam around. J. K. Borkman still lay in his coffin, and Miss Eells was kneeling and crying with her hands over her face, but she did not seem to be hurt. Anthony looked toward the candlestick that had fallen. Near it lay a crumpled black cloak. And across the floor, in a twisting, snaky pattern, wound a trail of grayish-white dust.

Miss Eells took her hands away from her face and peered blearily about. "What... what on earth...?" she muttered thickly. The steady beam of Anthony's flashlight still rested on the trail of dust, and suddenly Miss Eells understood.
"Dust thou art,"
she said in a solemn voice.
"And unto dust thou shalt return!"

Anthony was still so shaken up that he was having trouble understanding what had happened. "He... he's dead, isn't he?" he said in a dull voice. "The... the widget in the watch case... it... it..."

"It finished him," said Miss Eells grimly. "He didn't think that anything in the world could stop him, but he was wrong. What in heaven's name do you suppose that tube was?"

"I dunno," said Anthony, looking around. "Maybe it's on the floor somewheres. Let's look and see."

They searched everywhere—under the folds of Anders Borkman's cloak, under the coffin, and in all the corners of the ugly old stone room. But the tube had vanished.

Miss Eells stood totally still, listening. Her eyes shone, and a triumphant grin spread over her face. "Anthony!" she exclaimed. "Listen, the wind has stopped. There's no thunder. The storm is over!"

Anthony and Miss Eells stared at each other in wonder for a few seconds. Then, silently, they began collecting their things, and slowly they climbed the ladder. On the doorstep of the mausoleum they paused to gaze at the scene before them. The ice-covered snow in the graveyard had turned to slush, and a warm, springlike breeze was blowing. The sky was clearing fast. Stars were showing through torn holes in the clouds, and as Anthony and Miss Eells stood watching, the moon suddenly appeared, throwing a long silvery beam upon the statue of St. Boniface that stood on the arch at the entrance to the cemetery. His upraised hand seemed to bless the world and say that—after all the horrors—things were well again.

"Wow!" said Anthony softly. "We did it, didn't we?"

Miss Eells smiled wryly. "Well,
something
did it, that's for sure. Let's get out of this place." She paused and grinned. "Hmm... I wonder if those nuns over at St. Scholastica's would put us up for the night?"

Anthony and Miss Eells made their way down the stone steps that led to the valley below. It was easier going this time, because it was not icy, just wet. They went back to the building where the cop had left them, and, after pounding on the door a bit, managed to wake a nun, who
let them in. Miss Eells told her that their car had gotten stalled in the storm, and wondered if they could stay the night. The nuns were very kind; they fixed a late supper of roast beef and potato salad, and gave them warm beds to sleep in.

The next morning the two travelers woke up early and slipped silently out of the building. They found a public phone booth, called a cab, and went to the Hotel Duluth. Since they had reserved a room there, Miss Eells figured that they might as well use it to take baths and figure out what to do next. In the lobby of the hotel they ran into Mr. Johnson.

"Hi there!" he said, waving. "How're you guys? Whatcha doin' here, huh? How's your sister? Is she any better?"

Miss Eells had to think fast. "She's, uh... fine. It was a false alarm. So we, uh, we thought we'd come down to the hotel here and not bother the nuns any longer. Oh, by the way, I owe you money for bringing us up here." She fumbled in her purse.