The Nightmarys (14 page)

tinny female voice shouted, “If you’d like to

make a cal , please hang up and try again. If

you need help, please dial—”

A door slammed. Timothy dropped the

phone and glanced upstairs. “H-hel o?” he

cal ed. No one answered. Dizzy with fear,

Timothy stood, replaced the phone on the

cradle, and listened to the house’s

overwhelming silence.

Outside, an engine sput ered. His bus was

turning up Beech Nut Street. Timothy opened

the front door and ran to catch it.

23.

A stranger sat behind Mr. Crane’s desk—a

substitute. Mr. Crane was out sick.

Timothy snuck to his seat in the back of the

classroom. The rest of the students slowly

began to trickle in. Moments later, when the

class was nearly ful , a new girl with short

black hair appeared in the doorway. No one

seemed to notice her. She gave him the

smal est, most hidden smile he’d ever

witnessed. It was their secret now, one of many.

The bel rang, and the substitute teacher

stood up and read from a piece of paper.

“Please move to be with your partner, and

work on your project.”

Timothy got up and sat down in the desk

next to Abigail. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You

look a lit le odd.”

“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil

“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil

trying to recover from his frightful phone cal .

He kept remembering the sound of his

brother’s laughter.

“After you left last night,” she said, shaking

her head, “al hel broke loose at my house.”

“What do you mean?”

“My grandmother got real y upset that we

had been asking her about that book her uncle

wrote. She said she doesn’t want me to hang

out with you anymore.”

Timothy’s face burned. “She doesn’t like

me?”

“It’s not that. I think she’s trying to protect us

from something.”

“From what?”

“She didn’t tel me.”

“If we knew the truth,” he said, “we would

know what we’re up against.”

“To be fair, we didn’t tel her the truth

either.”

“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It

“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It

would be impossible to explain the events of

this week to anyone who hadn’t experienced

them too. “But should we? Your grandmother is

obviously keeping a secret. Maybe we should

tel her ours.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If she

wasn’t so weird about the whole thing …”

Abigail stared at her desk. “I slept on the couch

in the living room, if sleeping is what you want

to cal it. I waited al night for those girls to

show up. They didn’t, thank God. Maybe my

disguise worked.”

“I almost forgot! You’l never believe what

else I saw … or maybe you wil at this point,

actual y.” Timothy nal y told her about the

man he’d seen leaving her apartment building.

Abigail nearly fel out of her chair. “Why

didn’t you cal me?”

Timothy explained what had happened when

he’d got en home—about Ben’s transport to

Maryland and Mr. Crane’s cal . “I sort of forgot

about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”

about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”

Final y, he told her about Ben’s phone cal that

morning.

“Are you sure it was him?” said Abigail, the

color draining from her face.

“It sounded like him. Maybe someone’s trying

to screw with us?”

“But who?” she said.

Timothy was about to suggest that the cal

might have been from Abigail’s Nightmarys, but

she continued, “And who was the guy you saw

at my building? Was he real? Do you think it

was your shadow man?”

“Could’ve been anybody, I guess. Have you

seen anyone like that there before?”

Abigail shook her head. “No. But I haven’t

real y been looking.” After a moment, she said,

“Hey, did you check the jars yet?” When

Timothy gave her a blank look, she continued,

“Didn’t Mr. Crane say you left them on his front

steps? I wonder if the box you put in the

parking lot is stil there.”

parking lot is stil there.”

“Doesn’t mat er,” said Timothy. “Don’t they

empty the Dumpsters every night?”

Abigail sighed. “I can’t help remembering

what the Nightmarys said to me. That they had

‘helped’ me, and now I have to go with them.

Are they stil ‘helping’ me? You’re seeing and

hearing creepy stu . Mr. Crane is obviously

bugging out. Stuart’s in the hospital. If that is

al part of this, then the Nightmarys must think

I owe them. Maybe if I go with them, al the

rest wil stop.”

“No freakin’ way!” Timothy shouted. “Don’t

even think that.”

Abigail blushed. “But where do they want to

take me? And why?” She stared at the oor.

“What if they nd me? What if I can’t say no

the next time they ask me to go?”

“You always have a choice,” said Timothy,

unsure if it was the right thing to say.

Abigail seemed to shudder, then said, “I’ve

got an idea.” The bel rang, marking the end of

class. “Remember that Web site you said you

class. “Remember that Web site you said you

found with my great-great-uncle’s author

biography?”

“Ogden Kentwal ?”

“Right. Wel , I was thinking, since my

grandmother probably won’t tel us her story,

maybe we should write to the Web site. Try to

get some more information.”

Timothy nodded, excited. “Yeah. Like, how

does the book end?”

“Exactly. Maybe there is an actual clue to an

incomplete corpse.”

Together, they walked to the library and

opened the Web site. “We’l just ask her if she

can provide us with any more information

about the book’s history,” said Abigail. “Maybe

even a plot summary … I hope this woman, the

owner, won’t think we’re cheating on a class

project.”

Timothy shrugged. “At this point a lit le

cheating is in order. If she asks, we’l tel her

someone stole our only copy.”

someone stole our only copy.”

“Hey,” said Abigail, “at least it won’t be a

lie.”

Waiting for the end of the day, Timothy oated

through the rest of his classes. Then he met

Abigail, and Abigail logged into her e-mail

account. To their amazement, there was a

response from the owner of the bookstore.

From: frances@

To: lilbadwolf97@

Subject: The Clue of the Incomplete Corpse

Dear Abigail,

Thank you for your inquiry. I am always happy to

oblige a literature lover’s rare-book pursuit. I

understand your nancial and time constraints, so I

am absolutely willing to help answer your questions,

the rst obviously concerning the plot of Ogden

Kentwall’s debut mystery novel for children. As

you’ve stated, you understand the basic premise of

the book—Zelda Kite, girl reporter, searches for her

missing classmate. Fairly standard mid-twentieth-

century stu . But about halfway through the novel,

the story takes quite a dark turn. The darkness stems

from a magical object Zelda learns of, which

supposedly gives its user the power to control other

people’s fear. In this case, I think the object was the

jawbone of some sort of ancient goddess. I don’t

remember how it worked, except that whoever

wielded it simply targeted the person they meant to

frighten, and then made a wish. The jawbone’s magic

would penetrate the victim’s mind, driving him mad

in the process.

The plot of this book pales in comparison to some of

the creepy things children read nowadays, but as I

said in my online description, the book does have its

charms. Zelda Kite is a strong, quirky female

character, with oodles of savvy and wit. I do hate to

spoil the ending of the book for you, but since you

asked, I’ll go ahead with it. If you wish to be

surprised, you may want to stop here.

By closely examining a photograph she took at the

Fourth of July Parade, Zelda Kite realizes she’d

captured the moment of her friend’s abduction. She

uses this evidence to track down a professor at the

local college. Eventually she learns that this is the

man who has taken her friend, with the dubious

purpose of using the girl to somehow charge this

magical jawbone. You see, the bone maintains its

power through a sacri ce to the ancient goddess.

This professor has been keeping the poor girl locked

in a hidden room at the college where he works until

the time is right to make the sacri ce and charge the

bone. Lots more mumbo jumbo ensues, but the point

is, Zelda Kite rescues her friend and becomes a local

hero.

I actually sought out The Clue of the Incomplete

Corpse after I learned of its strange origin at a

booksellers’ convention several years ago.

Supposedly, in the 1940s, Mr. Kentwall’s niece was a

reporter, or maybe a photographer, for her school

newspaper. One of her classmates was in fact

abducted by a prominent local man, a professor at

New Starkham College, in Massachusetts. Mr.

Kentwall’s added mysticism aside, I’m not entirely

sure of the real story, but I believe that Kentwall’s

niece was not pleased to have been turned into a

literary celebrity. I imagine the real experience was

quite harrowing for her, especially since in reality

her own friend was never found.

I’m not sure how much more I can help you, other

than with the small bits of information I’ve already

provided. There do not appear to be any New

Starkham newspaper archives online from that time

just yet. But if you are curious and able to make a

visit to New Starkham, I’m sure one of the local

libraries would be able to help track down an article

or two to flesh out additional details.

I hope I was able to provide some worthy assistance.

Please let me know if you may be eventually

interested in a copy of the book. My own son and his

friends have enjoyed reading the series very much,

and I believe you may too.

Yours truly,

Frances May

Owner and Proprietress—

The Enigmatic Manuscript Bookstore

Gatesweed, Massachusetts

“Hmm,” said Timothy. “Do you think we’l

have time to make a visit to the library in New

Starkham? It’s so far away.”

At that, Abigail laughed, hard.

24.

Timothy and Abigail decided to go to the

hospital after their trip to the town library that

afternoon. He knew it would be weird to arrive

with Abigail but felt it was real y important

that they both hear Stuart describe what he’d

experienced at the pool. At the very least, they

would see how he was doing, even if Stuart

didn’t expect or even want to see Abigail.

When they arrived at the library, to their

extreme disappointment, they found the

micro che unavailable. The librarian explained

that al their lm and che were being

digitized, but they should try back next week.

Discouraged, they left and walked toward

Howard Square, where, several blocks ahead,

the ten-story tower of New Starkham Hospital

rose like a white marble monument.

In the elevator, Timothy felt claustrophobic.