Will Wilder #3

by Raymond Arroyo

  “Help,” the voice whimpered in the hall. “Somebody help me…”

  As Will pushed through the swinging doors of the locker room, the mournful cries grew louder. He carefully edged toward the noise. From a side hallway leading to a maintenance room, a scratchy voice cried, “Can you help me get down from here?”

  In the shadows, squeezed onto a high metal shelf, was the pale, bony boy who had been on the bleachers. Gray tape bound his ankles and wrists.

  “How’d you get up there?” Will asked, grabbing a pair of garden shears hanging nearby.

  “The same way you got roughed up in the locker room. I told the quarterback that I heard everything that went on in there. He grabbed me, shoved me up here, and told me to shut my mouth.”

  “Caleb’s a bully,” Will said, cutting the tape around the boy’s ankles and wrists. “And maybe something more.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, looking down the hallway. No sign of the small black creature or Caleb anywhere.

  The kid jumped down with Will’s help. He swept the mousy brown hair off his brow and offered an embarrassed “Thank you.” His moist eyes avoided Will’s glance, though his nostrils were well represented. “I’m Renny Bertolf. This is my first year. I’m a transfer from Sorec Middle School. Should we tell somebody what happened? The coach?”

  “Nah,” Will said, collecting his backpack. “That’ll only make things worse. I’m Will Wilder.” He offered a hand, which the boy awkwardly accepted. His skin was clammy to the touch.

  Renny followed Will toward the back exit, his hands shoved in his pockets. “So you’re going to let Caleb get away with this? You’re not going to get even with him?”

  “There are lots of ways to get even, Renny,” Will said.

  “Like getting on the team?” Renny’s eyes danced in anticipation, but Will said nothing. “Are you afraid of him?”

  “See you later,” Will barked over his shoulder. He put his pith helmet on and burst through the rear exit. He didn’t want to talk about Caleb or think about how small Caleb made him feel. With vengeful thoughts bubbling up in his mind, Will ran toward Peniel, the museum founded by his great-grandfather.

  Everyone in Perilous Falls knew it as “the museum.” The Jacob Wilder Reliquarium and Antiquities Collection was too long a name to remember. Though Will thought it a mistake to call it a museum since the items inside were more lively (and unpredictable) than the people ogling them.

  His great-aunt Lucille, who ran the cluster of castle-like buildings at the high end of Main Street, always referred to the place as Peniel since that’s what her father had called it (for reasons Will had yet to discover). The public wrote the place off as a curiosity erected by their town’s founder. They knew nothing of the secret community that lived within the walls of Peniel. To them it was like a small village from another age at the edge of town separated from the present by a high, black wrought-iron fence. Will ran along the front of that fence and headed inside.

  On certain Fridays after school, Cami Meriwether, her brother Max, and Will would join his great-aunt Lucille at Peniel to tidy up and explore the place. Peniel was a constant adventure for the kids, especially the secret passages, spiral staircases, and twisting stone hallways. Will sped through the expansive Bethel Hall, dodging the exhibit cases, and headed toward the door marked PRIVATE at the far end of the room.

  “Wait awhile. Wait awhile,” Bartimaeus Johnson, Aunt Lucille’s assistant, bellowed at Will’s approach. The gray-haired black man balanced on a pair of wooden crutches, fishing keys out of his tweed coat pocket. “Ya know, when you’re on time, you don’t have to run.” Bartimaeus slid the key into the door, grinning.

  “Guess that’s why I’m always running.” Will laughed, patting Mr. Bartimaeus on the arm.

  “And that’s why they’re always waitin’ for ya. Get ya butt upstairs. Your aunt took ya friends up already.” He shook his head and returned to a King David exhibit he was arranging. Will darted up the winding staircase to his great-grandfather’s office. He walked in on Aunt Lucille, who was midsentence.

  “Anyway, that is how we acquired the locks of Samson,” Lucille Wilder told Cami and Max, dangling a silver amulet from its chain between her fingers. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said to Will with a slight sharpness. “I’m glad you made it.” Aunt Lucille returned the amulet to the freshly dusted glass case in the corner of her father’s office. “I was just telling your friends that this amulet and that helmet up there on the top shelf are the only artifacts in all of Peniel that both my mother and father had a hand in securing. Isn’t that something?”

  “Why are you so late?” Cami Meriwether asked Will, cutting right to the chase.

  “I was trying out for the football team and got”—he rubbed the side of his forehead, which suddenly hurt—“a little delayed.”

  “You’re bruised there,” Cami said, moving closer for a look.

  “This jerk on the team threw me into a— It’s a long story. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. I was worried,” Aunt Lucille said, pointing to the brooch on the lapel of her light blue jacket. The liquid inside was boiling like tomato soup on a high flame. “I wondered why this was so active all afternoon. And Max has been telling me about a dream he’s been having.”

  Will checked the ring he wore, the companion to his great-aunt’s brooch. He held it out for his friends to see. The blood inside was still churning away.

  “It wouldn’t be agitated unless one of us were in danger—supernatural danger, dear.” Aunt Lucille folded her arms across her chest. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary today, Will?”

  He hesitated and then spoke quickly. “My nose was burning all afternoon. Before this kid Caleb came into the locker room, I saw a little black thing. Like a small monkey.”

  “Caleb Gibbar? From our class?” Cami asked.

  “Yep.” Just the thought of Caleb dumping him into the trash can made Will hot with anger. Feeling his ears warming and jaw tightening, he said nothing more.

  “Describe the ‘black thing,’ ” Aunt Lucille urged him.

  “It was about this big.” Will extended his hands nearly two feet apart. “A little hunched…I’m not even sure I saw it. It was there for like a split second and then it was gone.”

  “An imp. It might have been an imp,” Aunt Lucille mused gravely. “Similar to your dream, Max.”

  For weeks, Max Meriwether had been telling Will and his sister about a recurring dream that woke him in the night. He often received glimpses, warnings of things yet to unfold. Max rolled his motorized wheelchair from the corner of the room toward Will. The Duchenne muscular dystrophy had weakened his muscles, but not his mind or his spirit. Max’s head lay off to the side, held erect by a leather pillow attached to the chair. “Last night I dreamed that you were running very quickly. Running. Running.”

  “You told me that before,” Will said.

  “I know, but last night you were screaming for help and no one could hear you. Everyone was shaking and ignoring you. Then I saw what you were running from.”

  “Well, what was it?” Will lowered himself to face Max.

  “Tiny, hunchy black devils. Little devils. There were hundreds of them. Then a big one showed up and the little ones ran away. They were all so scared. The face of the big one kept changing, like pictures flipping on a TV screen.”

  The boy seemed to be reliving the dream as he shared it. Aunt Lucille laid a hand on Max’s shoulder to calm him.

  “And then what happened?” Will asked.

  “You dove into a pool…a dark, dark pool of water. That’s when I woke up.”

  Will turned to his great-aunt Lucille. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “What you must always do, dear: take note of what he says, remain on guard, and continue your training.”

  Cami had
heard Max speak about his dream so often that she occupied herself studying the artifacts on the bookcase on the side wall of the office. There were twisted knives, a bottle with a swirling blue substance inside, a pair of shriveled eyeballs under a domed glass. But for all of that, it was a framed picture at the edge of the cluttered, middle shelf that attracted Cami’s attention. The young man in the black-and-white photo had slick hair and high cheekbones and wore a leather jacket.

  “Miss Lucille, who is this? I don’t remember seeing him before,” Cami asked.

  “Oh, I just found that last week in an old box and put it…” Lucille was uncharacteristically flustered. “He was an old beau, a friend—a long time ago. Cosmo Doheney was his name. We were close”—her voice fell into a regretful register—“until we weren’t.”

  Cami picked up the photo, smiling as she studied it. “Was he your boyfriend?”

  Aunt Lucille puckered her lips, her wide blue eyes scanning the ceiling. “Why don’t you give me that?” She took the photo, deposited it in a drawer of her father’s big mahogany desk, and slowly shut it.

  “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Aunt Lucille,” Will said playfully.

  “There’s rather a lot you don’t know, Will.” She tried to shake away whatever she was thinking. “An old song Cosmo used to hum came back to me the same day I found the photo and, well, I just put it up. Cosmo always fascinated me. He was funny and tough. He taught me something, though: Love is more than fascination. Sooner or later love requires honesty and sacrifice.” She clapped her hands and moved about the room with her usual gusto. “Well, that was a loooong time ago and it’s all in the past now.”

  Will didn’t budge. “Weren’t you the one who told me ‘the present is always in dialogue with the past’ so ‘we should never forget’?”

  “You’re a very impertinent boy, Will Wilder.” She placed her arms around Cami and Max. “Now, why don’t you two take your friend here down to help Bartimaeus with that David exhibit. He could use a hand.”

  Cami followed instructions and held the door for Max and Will. “Come on, guys. That’s Miss Lucille’s nice way of saying ‘get out.’ ” She giggled to herself, training her green eyes on Will, who lingered.

  “Aunt Lucille,” he whispered, “what exactly is an imp?”

  “What you are at times!” she said in her husky tone. “It’s a minor demon, a Fomorii. One invisible to everyone but a Seer. Perhaps that’s what set your ring off.”

  “Where do they come from?”

  “They’re dark spirits that literally come out of those enchanted by evil. They’re like a rapidly spreading virus. The imps tempt and harass the spirits of the pure. Imagine a shadow cast by a person caught in evil’s sway. Now imagine that the shadow had a mind of its own and you pretty much have an imp.”

  “What should I do if I see one again?”

  “Run and call us for help.” Aunt Lucille clapped him on his shoulder. “Keep your eyes open and do be careful in town. Now, go on downstairs. There should be no imps there. Bartimaeus could use your assistance.”

  Will for once followed her instructions to the letter.

  Lucille Wilder found herself suddenly humming that tune from so long ago, the one Cosmo Doheney would hum during long drives or while they were walking hand in hand along the Perilous River. It was a catchy thing, a bewitching melody. She yanked at the drawer of her father’s desk and stole a glimpse of the picture of Cosmo at the bottom. Her face hardened. “What are you afraid of, Lucille?” That’s what he’d be saying if he were here. I should have been more afraid. Then with disgust, she slammed the drawer shut and busied herself with paperwork, trying to put the melody Cosmo never tired of humming out of her mind.

  In the warm back room of the Burnt Offerings Café, with its bowed wooden floors and low ceiling beams, Simon Blabbingdale and Andrew Stout fought over a muffin basket. Cami, Max, and Will tried to continue their conversation through the melee. The kids regularly met at the restaurant, owned by Simon’s cousin Rhonda Blabbingdale, for their Saturday-morning brunches. And they always sat in “their room”: the small dining room in the rear.

  “You can have anything in the kitchen. But those are my organic, gluten-free, non-peanut muffins. Rhonda sent them out for me. I don’t need any more allergic episodes, lummox.” Simon’s slender fingers held his side of the basket as if his very life were in danger of being snatched away from him.

  Andrew clung just as fiercely to the other side of the basket. “It’s a muffin. I know it’s one of your tasteless muffins. But since I don’t see no others, that’s the one I want.”

  “Well, you’re not getting this one.” Still holding his side of the basket, Simon reached in with his other hand and shoved the whole muffin in his mouth. “Yaaa caaah allwaah haa whaat yaaa waaan….” Bits of the muffin sprayed all over the table.

  Cami, who really wanted Will to finish his Caleb story, glared at the boys. “Can you all just chill for a minute? Andrew, you’re on like your third breakfast and there’s still food on your plate. And, Simon, could you for once just calm down?” she asked. “We don’t even know what you’re saying.”

  A quaking Simon pointed to the water pitcher in the center of the table and made a pouring motion. Andrew dropped the muffin basket and filled the boy’s water glass. After he downed it, Simon heaved, “I said, you can’t always have what you want—and you can’t.”

  Will and Cami instinctively reached for Andrew’s shoulders. The beefy boy was already jumping at Simon, but under the grip of his friends, quickly calmed himself and took his revenge out on the eggs before him. “I’m trying to listen to Will’s story.” Andrew’s face was nearly as red as his hair. “If you touch my food, I’ll break your finger.” He jammed a forkful of eggs and sausage into his mouth.

  “I don’t make it a habit to take other people’s food,” Simon muttered in his nasal tone.

  “Listen to the story!” Cami and Andrew said at nearly the same time.

  Max rolled his eyes and took a sip from the straw in the orange juice on his wheelchair’s tray.

  “Go ahead, Will,” Cami urged, turning her attention back to him. She played with the end of her ponytail, focused on Will as if they were alone.

  “There isn’t much more to tell. He threatened me and warned me not to come back to the field. He said none of the guys wanted me on the team.” Will eyed Andrew. “Is that true?”

  “Nah. Most of the guys don’t care.” Andrew was a lineman and got along with everybody. “Caleb and his friends don’t want you there. You know why that is, Will-man: You make him look bad in class. He’s not too bright.”

  “That’s why I plan on being at the tryout on Monday. I’m a lot smarter and quicker than he is.”

  “That’s true.” Andrew put his fork down and folded his arms in front of him. “But he’s also a lot bigger than you—and angrier. His mom died a few years ago and he lives with his uncle, I think. Anyway, he’s one tough dude. I’ve seen him smash guys bigger than me like LEGO figures.”

  “So I should give up and let him win?” Will asked.

  Andrew stabbed a sausage. “What’s he winning?”

  Cami sighed and put on her take-charge voice. “You’re a really talented guy. You see things none of us do. You’re smart, sort of good-looking, and brave when it counts. But, and I mean this in the nicest way, you’re not exactly football player material, William.”

  “If you go to that field on Monday, Caleb’ll slaughter you. He and Harlan and Boyd will put a hurt on you—bad. I’ve seen ’em do it,” Andrew said ominously. “Will-man, I’ve got your back no matter what you do. I just don’t think it’s worth it. Cami’s right. Some people ain’t supposed to play contact sports.”

  “You’re too skinny for that stuff anyway,” Simon announced. “Come back to the Scouts. Our big campout’s in a few weeks and who
is better at exploring than you? We’ll have a great—”

  “No Scouts. Unless I’m going to be a netmaker or an undertaker, I don’t need to learn any more about knots or ditch digging.”

  “Actually”—Max dropped the straw from his mouth and looked sideways across the table at Will—“ditchdigging might come in handy for you.”

  “Huh?” Will asked, half irritated, half bewildered.

  “Here comes the dream,” Cami said, drum-rolling with her fingers on the table. “Go ahead, tell him.”

  “The little devils chased you in my last dream; then you dove into the dark water,” Max said through gritted teeth. “Well, last night I had the same dream again. After you dove into the water, something weird happened. Dead people started rising from graves. Dead people!”

  “Wait a minute. A lot of dead people?”

  “I could only see about seven or eight in the dream. They were dead and they came out of the ground.”

  “Nobody has cheery dreams like you, Max,” Will said nervously.

  “The dead people were walking.”

  Simon stopped eating. “So you’re thinking real dead people are going to rise? Dead…dead people?”

  “Dead until they crawl out of the ground,” Max said calmly. “They looked pretty alive once they were up and moving. They left empty holes in the graveyard.”

  Will swallowed hard and suddenly reached for his backpack and pith helmet, breaking the spooky silence. “I gotta go, guys. Training session at Peniel. I’ll check in with you all later.”

  “Think about what I told you, Will-man. Football might not be for you this year,” Andrew added quietly.

  “I don’t know whether I should be more worried about Caleb or the zombies in Max’s dream.” Will slipped on his pith helmet and hastily headed out. “Later, guys.”

  “He took that well, I thought,” Cami said to Max once Will disappeared down the hall. Max nodded.

  “You know that Caleb has a punchable face,” Simon said.

  “A what?” Andrew muttered.