The Dark Secret of Weatherend (5 page)

Anthony
didn't
see, but he also didn't feel like arguing anymore. So he shrugged his shoulders and asked Miss Eells if she would like to play a game of Scrabble. She was delighted. Miss Eells was an avid Scrabble player, and she played for blood. Out came the old battered set, and the two of them went happily out to the dining room table to play. Meanwhile the rain rattled against the windows, and the wind moaned down the chimney of the living room fireplace. It was a dreary sound, but a perfectly natural one. As he arranged the letter tiles on the rack in front of him Anthony told himself that Miss Eells was probably right.

All the same, he was scared. And the fear would not go away.

As the end of October drew near, the Hoosac Public Library began getting ready for the opening of the Genealogy Room. Miss Eells was looking forward to this event about as much as the average person looks forward to an attack of the flu. The big day had been set for October
29.
In the privacy of her office Miss Eells sourly confided to Anthony that the ceremony ought to be a Halloween party, with Mrs. Oxenstern coming as the Goodyear blimp. Miss Eells was still quite bitter about the Genealogy Room, and she was even angrier about the fact that she would have to be present at the opening ceremony and the reception afterward. But as head librarian she could hardly stay away. And so she grimly
began to prepare herself to say nice things to everyone, even to Mrs. Oxenstern.

On the day of the opening ceremony Anthony came to work at the library as usual. He arrived around three thirty in the afternoon, and as he walked in the front door he saw a man standing at the main desk talking to Miss Eells. He was about medium height and wore an expensive-looking coat over a pin-striped suit. Drawing close, Anthony was able to get a good look at his face, and what he saw was not pleasant. Above a well-trimmed black beard the man's cheeks were sunken, and there were dark circles around his eyes. The curve of his full red lips made it look as if he were about to say something very cruel or very sarcastic.

"Hi, Miss Eells!" said Anthony. He waved cheerfully at his friend and cast a nervous glance at the strange man.

Miss Eells turned and gave Anthony a hard, meaningful stare. In a strained, tense voice she said, "Anthony, this is Mr. Anders Borkman. He's the gentleman who owns the Weatherend estate out near Rolling Stone. He's come to apply for a library card."

Anthony's mouth dropped open. Was he the one who had waved pleasantly while he had turned the dog loose on them? Maybe so—he sure looked mean enough. And if he was the one, did he recognize Anthony and Miss Eells as the two trespassers he had chased away?

Mr. Borkman smiled coldly and held out a long, pale hand. "How do you do, young man," he said in a flat, toneless voice.

Anthony hesitated a second, and then reached out to shake hands. Mr. Borkman's hand felt lifeless and surprisingly cold. But the man's stare was hard and hostile. It hit Anthony like a slap in the face, and in that instant he thought,
He knows who we are. He knows us both, and he hates us.

Mr. Borkman withdrew his hand from Anthony's grasp and thrust it into his overcoat pocket. He turned back to Miss Eells. "Now, then," he said in a crisp, businesslike tone, "do you have all the information you need?"

Miss Eells looked at the white card on the desk in front of her. "Yes," she said, nodding. "I think this will be sufficient. There'll be some delay while we process this, but you ought to get your card by—"

Mr. Borkman cut her off. "The delay is unimportant to me. But if we have finished with this I would like to talk to you and this young gentleman in the privacy of your office."

Miss Eells had been writing something on the card, but now she laid down her pen and looked up. Her eyes were wide with fear. Normally she would have said "Sorry, some other time." But there was a command in Borkman's voice, and when Miss Eells's eyes met his, she felt a numbing shock. Suddenly she envisioned four rugged stones standing on a grassy hilltop. The grass was long and rank, and behind it was a dark, stormy sky. When the picture faded, Miss Eells found she had no will of her own. She had to do whatever Anders Borkman asked.

"All right," she said dully, and she dragged herself to her feet. Anthony felt confused and frightened. Why didn't Miss Eells tell this creep off and make him go away? But as he was about to open his mouth to protest, Borkman turned his gaze upon him. Suddenly he felt the same sensation Miss Eells had. It was as if there were an invisible electrical field around this sinister-looking man that surged out and enveloped him. It numbed him and made him unable to resist. Moving woodenly, he followed Miss Eells and Borkman through the tiny reference room and down the long, narrow corridor that led to Miss Eells's office.

Miss Eells paused to unlock the heavy paneled door, then the three of them filed in. The door closed softly, and Miss Eells and Anthony shuffled across the room like a couple of windup metal soldiers. Stiffly Miss Eells sat down behind her cluttered desk. Anthony sank into a slouchy leather armchair, and Borkman carried a tall stool that was standing against a wall out to the center of the room and sat down on it. He looked from one to the other with an air of haughty authority. He would be making all the big speeches while Miss Eells and Anthony would just sit, glassy-eyed, as if they had been drugged.

Borkman folded his arms across his chest. He stared at a point on the wall above Miss Eells's head, and he began speaking in a calm, measured voice.

"I have been observing you for some time. Trespassers need to be watched—you are dangerous, lawless types. But I have no wish to prosecute you." Borkman coughed.

"You took a diary in a metal box from the carriage house of my estate. My father told me of its existence, but he neglected to mention where he had hidden it. Recently, when I was in the carriage house, I found a hole in the floor and saw a square indentation in the earth underneath. It occurred to me that the diary must have been removed from that spot—by you. Am I correct?"

Miss Eells and Anthony sat as still as statues. Neither of them moved a muscle.

Borkman glared coldly at the two of them. "I shall ask you both again," he said in a harsh, menacing voice. "But first I see that you need further persuasion."

He raised a pale hand. Until then the October sunlight had been streaming in through the windows of Miss Eells's office; now the windows went dark. The two electric lamps in the room burned yellow and dim and then went out, and a sickly greenish light, like a halo, appeared. It hovered about the dark, menacing shape of Anders Borkman. Miss Eells and Anthony were still unable to move. They found that it was hard to breathe, and yet their minds were clear—horribly clear. They knew that they were helpless in the presence of someone or something that was unutterably evil. Evil, and not of this world.

"I will not tell you now who I am," said Borkman in a voice that echoed oddly, "but there will be a time in the future when you will know me better. For the moment I will tell you only this: I need the book that you have stolen so that I may complete the great work that
my father began. You find it hard to breathe, do you not? Well, I can make it harder. I can cause torments of the mind and body that you never believed possible. So I will ask you once more, and once only, before I show you a worse side of myself:
Did you steal the book?"

Miss Eells nodded. So did Anthony.

Borkman. grinned evilly. "I thought so. Which of you has the book now?"

Miss Eells remained silent and motionless. But in a slow, dreamy voice, as if he were talking in his sleep, Anthony spoke:
"I
have the book. It's in my room at home."

Borkman turned toward him. His face was a scarcely human mask of grinning malice. "Is that where it is?" he crooned. "Well, then, my fine burglarious friend, I have a small request to make. Tomorrow night at midnight I want you to bring me the book. I'll be on the front steps of the Hoosac City Hall. And you'd better do as I say, or else you and this old woman here will suffer. And I mean
suffer.
Do I make myself clear?"

Anthony answered haltingly. "I'll bring... the book to you. Don't... don't hurt Miss Eells. Please don't."

Borkman's evil smile broadened. "Oh, don't worry. Your friend will remain unharmed if you fulfill your part of the bargain. And now I must go. But I command you both, and I order you by the Sign of the Four and the God of Storms!
Neither of you will remember this conversation or anything that has just transpired in this room. You, Anthony, will do what you have promised,
but you will not know why you are doing it. So be it, so be it. Amen.
"

Borkman clapped his hands. The darkness drained away. The lamps came on, and sunlight streamed into the room. And there they were, the three of them sitting in their places and looking as if they had just finished a very pleasant conversation.

Nimbly Borkman sprang down off the stool. He shook hands quickly—first with Anthony, then with Miss Eells. "It's been very pleasant to make your acquaintance," he said smoothly. "And now I must be going. I can expect that library card in a week or so, can I? Good. Have a pleasant afternoon." And with that, Anders Borkman swept out of the room and closed the door behind him.

For a few seconds neither Anthony nor Miss Eells moved. Then Anthony shook himself and blinked. He felt a bit confused but generally cheerful.

"Gee, Miss Eells," he said, smiling vaguely, "that Anders Borkman is kind of a nice guy after all, isn't he?"

Miss Eells leaned forward and rested her arms on the desk. She folded and unfolded her hands and stared hard at the green marble penholder. "I guess so," she said in a faraway, abstracted voice. She looked troubled and seemed to be on the point of saying something. But instead she shook her head, sighed, and got to her feet.

"I've got work to do," she muttered as she headed for the door. "There are eight zillion things that have to be done before the big wingding tonight. And you had better get back to work too. I'll see you later."

Anthony went out into the library stacks, and for the next hour he trundled the book cart up and down the aisles putting books back in place. Every now and then, though, he would stop in the middle of what he was doing and try to figure out what was wrong inside his head.
Something
was out of whack, that was for sure. It was as if there was a blank space, something he couldn't account for. But then he would laugh and tell himself that he was being silly and go on shelving books.

The party that evening in the Genealogy Room went very well. Miss Eells was there in a stunning blue silk dress and a pearl necklace. The dress was a bit on the dramatic side, but Miss Eells felt good in it, and needed the boost to help her through the whole stupid affair. Anthony was there in a busboy outfit, handing out cups of punch to people and carrying around trays of hors d'oeuvres and cookies. Sometimes he would run into Miss Eells and they would both smile and make little jokes. And then—for no reason—they would both frown in a puzzled way. They knew something was wrong, but they didn't know what.

The next day, Saturday, was sunny and unusually warm. Anthony played a game of touch football with friends in the afternoon, and later he saw a movie. When he went to bed that night, he felt the very odd sensation that he had something to do. This was idiotic, and he knew it. Tomorrow was Sunday, another free day. Oh, well, thought Anthony, Miss Eells always says that people get funny ideas at bedtime because the human
machine is worn down then and needs rest. Feeling slightly relieved, he yawned, turned out the light, and went to bed.

At half past eleven the Monday house was dark and silent. A full moon threw pale silvery streaks across the floor of Anthony's bedroom. Anthony stirred and got up, padding across the room to his desk. He took something out of the desk drawer and went to the chair where his clothes were laid out. Soon he was dressed. He picked up the diary, tucked it under his arm, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

A short while later Anthony was standing on the steps of City Hall. The huge old building, a fortress of black stone, cast its shadow over him and hid him from sight. Across the street the illuminated clock in the tower of the Methodist church said it was one minute to twelve. A cold night wind sent leaves scuttering across the street. Anthony stood dead still, waiting. And as the clock began to toll midnight a car came crawling around the corner. With a soft purring sound it crept along the curb and stopped in front of City Hall. One of the car's doors opened, and Anthony walked slowly and stiffly down the steps, heading for the car. He paused by the opened door as a hand reached out and took the diary from him. The door closed, and with a sudden accelerating roar the car sped away. Anthony stood staring after it for a full minute, and then he turned and walked down the street back into the silent darkness.

When Anthony woke up the next morning, he felt as if he had been hit on the head with a hammer. Woozily he turned his head and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was five minutes after ten! Luckily it was Sunday, and there wasn't anything crucial that he had to do that morning. Anthony sat up and peeled back the covers. He swung his legs out of bed and looked down, and then he got a shock. He was wearing his socks! How in the heck had
that
happened? Anthony never wore his socks to bed. Curious, he turned and looked at the chair that stood at the foot of his bed. He always draped his shirt and pants neatly over the chair if he was going to wear them the next day, and laid out tomorrow's underwear and socks on top of the pants. But the chair was
bare, and his clothes lay scattered over the bedroom floor. Anthony was frightened. He thought about the blank feeling he had had yesterday, and he became even more upset. What was going on?