The Nightmarys (19 page)

bot om.” When Abigail read the names, she

dropped the papers she’d been holding. As she

bent down to retrieve them, Timothy looked

closer at the portraits and whispered, “Carlton

Quigley. Bucky Jenkins. And Mr. Leroy ‘Two

Fingers’ Fromm.”

32.

A few minutes later, they were seated in the

dusty leather chairs. Abigail examined the

framed col ection of basebal cards, then picked

at the frame’s backboard, which was held in

place by several stubborn nails. Timothy

ipped through the articles she had printed.

Headlines leapt out at him. Confession!

Kidnapping Tragedy! Professor Tied to Evil

Cult! On one page, Timothy thought he saw a

photograph of Abigail herself, but realized it

was a picture of her grandmother. Zilpha

Kindred, Hero, read the caption.

Timothy glanced at Abigail, who had

managed to pry away one of the frame’s rear

prongs. “What are you doing?”

“These cards have secrets,” she said. “Can’t

learn them if they’re locked away.”

“Speaking of secrets,” he said, as she

continued to pick at another stubborn nail,

continued to pick at another stubborn nail,

“what did you nd? There’s too much here to

go through.” Abigail sighed. Timothy chuckled

in disbelief. “You stil don’t want to talk? Fine,

then I wil .”

Timothy told Abigail about seeing Ben the

night before. Abigail listened, but she did not

seem as astounded as he expected her to be.

She hung her head and wouldn’t look at him.

Back to her old tricks, he thought, but when she

nal y began her own story, he changed his

mind.

“Last night,” Abigail began, “the Nightmarys

came back.”

“Oh,” he whispered. Zilpha hadn’t told him

this part.

“I’d been so upset by what had happened

earlier—you know … on the bus—that after I

lay down on the couch and they showed up, I

final y fol owed them.”

“After everything we’ve been through?” said

“After everything we’ve been through?” said

Timothy. “How? Why?”

Abigail pul ed her hair away from her face

and leaned back into the chair. “I didn’t plan

on it. They wore me down. I felt like I was

sleepwalking down the hal way, but I knew I

was awake, and I couldn’t stop or even scream.

Something inside me actual y wanted to fol ow

them, tel ing me that I deserved whatever

happened next.

“Gramma found me at the elevator. I told her

everything. I promised her I’d stay out of it, but

you know that’s impossible now. I won’t see

her get hurt. This morning, I wrote a note that I

was going back to New Jersey. I snuck out

early so no one could stop me. I came here to

the campus. Like I said downstairs, I didn’t

want you involved, because I don’t want you to

get hurt either. And here we are, together

again.”

Silence fil ed the room.

Final y, Timothy said, “But I’m a part of this

now. You know that. I need answers as much as

now. You know that. I need answers as much as

you do.”

“You’re right, Timothy,” said Abigail, smiling

weakly. “We are real y close to guring out

something huge.”

“Dr. Hesselius is behind al of this.”

Abigail nodded, stil pul ing at the frame.

“But there’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

She glanced up. “Dr. Hesselius is dead.” She

took the papers from Timothy. Flipping

through them, she stopped at an article near

the back of the packet. Mad Doc Hangs, read

the headline.

“That’s what Zilpha told me. He was

executed?”

“No,” said Abigail. “He did it in his cel a few

years after the trial. Here, start at the

beginning.” She shu ed through the pages

again. “We’ve got a nearly complete biography

here. The New Starkham Record has snippets

of Dr. Hesselius’s career going back to the early

of Dr. Hesselius’s career going back to the early

nineteen twenties.”

“What does it say?”

“Wel , here’s a blurb from when New

Starkham’s history department hired him,” said

Abigail, perusing the article. “His family was

real y rich. He played basebal at his Ivy League

school. He was a private in the army during

World War One. The article goes on, stating his

specialties in ancient civilizations, particularly

the histories of warfare and engineering, which

he taught here.”

“Sounds normal for a professorish type of

person,” said Timothy. “But where’s the ‘bad’

part?”

“This is only the rst article. There’s tons

more,” she said. She held up another page. “He

was real y generous. He gave to al sorts of

foundations—museums, sports programs,

schools. He was involved in local elections and

helped his favorite candidates win. He donated

money to build that lighthouse across the river

and even helped design it. People here seemed

and even helped design it. People here seemed

to love him.”

“I’m stil not hearing the ‘bad,’” said Timothy.

“That’s because there’s not much ‘bad’ to say

about him,” said Abigail, looking up. “Not yet.”

She shu ed some more pages. “Here’s his

marriage notice. And here’s a smal piece about

the birth of twins.”

“He had kids?”

“Two boys,” said Abigail. “He lost one of

them in World War Two. A bomb …” Abigail

stopped.

It took Timothy several seconds to realize

why she didn’t nish her sentence. Timothy

spent several seconds forcing Ben’s zombie face

out of his head. He leaned forward. “And?”

“The other one never served. Didn’t pass the

medical exam, I think. The death of his son

seems to have been the turning point,” said

Abigail. “Dr. Hesselius was devastated. He’d

been proud to send one of them to ght for his

country, just like he had in the rst war. He

never expected …” She blinked and pressed her

never expected …” She blinked and pressed her

lips together.

“Go on,” he said.

“Let’s see. Here, from the col ege paper,

History Professor Takes Leave of Absence.” She

read through the page quickly. “The article

hints at some sort of breakdown. Exhaustion.

Psychiatric treatment. It doesn’t go into details.”

She shrugged. “There’s no other mention of him

until a few years later.” She ipped through

more pages. “After the war ended, he was back

…”Timothy took a deep breath. “Here comes the

‘bad’?”

Abigail nodded. “Local Professor Questioned

in Disappearance of Child,” she read. “From an

article in the New Starkham Record.” She

handed the page to Timothy, so he could read

it.

July 7, 1946 – New Starkham – Dr. Christian

Hesselius, a local professor, is being questioned by

police about the July 4 disappearance of 14-year-old

Delia Benson of Dreyer Street. Zilpha Kindred, a

student at Thomas Je erson High School, brought to

the authorities’ attention a photo she had taken at the

city’s annual Independence Day Parade. The blurry

image appears to show the professor with Miss

Benson in a Johnson Street alleyway. According to

Miss Kindred, “Delia was interviewing the crowd,

while I took pictures for the rst issue of the school

paper. My camera captured what my own eyes did

not.” Ms. Benson’s younger sister, Emma, who was

marching in the parade, also places Hesselius at the

scene. She boldly stated, “I will testify. Anything to

nd my sister.” Dr. Hesselius has taught at New

Starkham College for over twenty years. He has yet to

be charged with any crime.

Timothy looked up from the page. “That is

real y freaky. Your poor grandmother.”

“I know,” said Abigail, shaking her head.

“But that’s nothing compared to the article a

couple days later.” She handed him another

p age. “Hesselius Charged with Kidnapping,”

she said. “Formal charges were made and bail

she said. “Formal charges were made and bail

was set real y high. He confessed to kidnapping

Delia a few days after that, but he refused to

say where he’d taken her and what he’d done

to her.”

Timothy shuddered. The o ce wal s

encroached, as if the room itself was listening.

“Why did he confess if he wasn’t going to tel

anyone where she was?”

“According to the article,” said Abigail,

scanning the page, “he knew the evidence was

against him, but he also said Delia wasn’t ready

yet.”

“Wasn’t ready for what?”

“It’s kind of crazy. According to court

transcripts, he’d locked her away as a sacri ce

to …” Abigail shook her head. “The Daughter

of Chaos?”

Timothy blinked. “What the hel is that

supposed to mean?”

“The paper says Hesselius had uncovered an

ancient Scandinavian tribal sect that

worshipped obscure gods, goddesses, giants,

worshipped obscure gods, goddesses, giants,

and spirits. They believed they could harness

ancient magic during their rituals using strange

metals.”

“The Daughter of Chaos … Like what the

placard at the museum said.” Timothy gasped.

“Abigail, Zilpha said after today, al this wil be

over. Do you think she was at the museum that

day looking for the jawbone?”

Abigail nodded. “The Daughter of Chaos was

one of the obscure goddesses worshipped by

the sect. They believed that if you appeased

her, she gave you great powers.”

This was starting to sound familiar. Zilpha

Kindred’s uncle hadn’t strayed very far from the

headlines for the plot of The Clue of the

Incomplete Corpse. “Such as?”

“Such as the ability to control fear,” said

Abigail.

“And … how would they appease this

goddess?” he asked, though he felt like he

already knew the answer.

“The sect built temples at the locations of

“The sect built temples at the locations of

great natural ‘chaos.’ Waterfal s. Chasms. Caves.

Volcanoes. The tribe would place a corpse

inside the temple. A chip of the tribe’s sacred

metal was inserted into a tooth socket of the

corpse. This metal ‘tooth’ infused the corpse

with a connection to the spirit of the goddess.

Then a ritual was performed to ‘charge’ the

tooth. A person, often an enemy of the tribe,

was locked in the temple with the corpse as a

sacri ce. Supposedly, at the ful moon, the

corpse rose, al vampirelike, and drained the

life essence of her victim. With the goddess

satis ed and the metal charged, the corpse

would again fal into slumber.”

“So Delia was the … sacri ce?” said Timothy,

feeling sick. “The bat ery?”

Abigail nodded again. “Once the tooth was

charged, the cult would remove the jawbone

from the goddess corpse. From here on, the

story pret y much mirrors what we read about

my great-uncle’s book. Whoever holds the

jawbone controls the Daughter of Chaos’s

jawbone controls the Daughter of Chaos’s

power.”

“The fear thing?”

“Right.”

“The placard at the museum said you needed

to grasp the jawbone and speak the victim’s

name, and then the soul’s charge inside the

metal tooth would place a curse on the victim.

The user could control the victim by psychical y

manipulating what they were afraid of.”

Timothy paused. “So what did Doctor Crazy

plan on using it for?”

Abigail took a deep breath. “Revenge.”

“On who?”

“The people he blamed for his son’s death.

Nazis? I don’t know. He never real y said.”

Timothy glanced around the room. Certain

objects were now l ed with new meaning: the

photographs, the ags, even the basebal -card

col ection. “So the jawbone was a weapon.”

“Delia, he claimed, was his rst experiment.

Hesselius never revealed where he’d taken her.

Hesselius never revealed where he’d taken her.

Once he realized that people thought he was

total y insane, he never spoke about the ancient

sect again. At least not publicly. Then, a few

years later, he was gone.”

“So that’s that?” asked Timothy. “The end?”

Abigail raised her hands, gesturing to the