The Boney Hand

by Karen Kane

Frog studied the graveyard as she thought about Charlie’s question.

  “Forever,” she signed. Then she turned another page and continued to pretend-read.

  But what about me? Charlie wanted to ask her.

  What if I fail? What if I forget my part?

  Mr. Willoughby would blame him for ruining the Legend of the Boney Hand.

  The other students would blame him.

  Charlie would never fit in.

  And Mrs. Castle would be disappointed. That hurt Charlie most of all.

  Charlie started to sign something else, but Frog had a Frog look on her face—the look that said, “I’ve made up my mind and no one is going to change it.” Charlie had seen that look many times before. While Frog turned another page in her book, Charlie turned and walked back to Boris.

  Boris dragged his eyes away from his phone. “You okay?” he asked Charlie.

  No, Charlie wasn’t okay.

  His anchor was gone. He was floating away, adrift on a wide-open sea—

  Someone nudged his shoulder.

  It was Frog.

  She stomped ahead, leading the way to rehearsal.

  “Yeah,” Charlie told Boris. “I’m okay.”

  Frog glowered at anyone who dared to look at her before sitting down in a pew between Charlie and Ruthella Jones.

  The students turned to one another and began to whisper-sign, keeping their hands low and close to their bodies, turning their backs so Frog couldn’t see what they were saying.

  Everyone was discussing what Vince Vinelli had said about Frog last night.

  Boris sat down behind Charlie. Ruthella opened a book and began reading. Ruthella read books at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every moment in between. Ruthella knew about everything. At least everything you could learn from reading books. As Frog slumped in the pew, Charlie studied his script.

  He only had two lines.

  The first line was the Boney Hand’s message to the caretaker: NO ONE SAW. Charlie was to fingerspell this just like the Boney Hand had fingerspelled it.

  Then Charlie was supposed to sign, “Saw what? Nobody knows!”

  When no one was watching him, Charlie did fine. When all eyes were on him, Charlie’s hands and brain felt like they were moving through molasses.

  Charlie glanced at Frog. She was here, but she wasn’t really here. He hoped Frog would return by the time Mr. Willoughby arrived and rehearsal started.

  Charlie then realized how selfish that was, thinking only of himself. Being a detective meant everything to Frog. To have someone like Vince Vinelli make her dream seem childlike and silly hurt her. A lot.

  The church door slammed. Charlie jumped. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Rupert Miggs grinning at him.

  If Charlie could pick just one thing to change about Castle School for the Deaf, Rupert Miggs would be it.

  Frog had taught Charlie the sign for “bully.” You make the letter Y with one hand and the number 1 with the other. You bump the knuckles of the Y upward against the middle of the number 1 twice. Bully.

  Rupert Miggs was the worst kind of bully—a stealth bully. Stealth bullies were bullies who didn’t seem like bullies. They didn’t look like bullies. Rupert, in fact, looked like a perfectly nice boy. Lots of people liked stealth bullies, especially grown-ups. But in reality they were mean kids who did mean things in a hidden and underhanded way.

  When Charlie first met Rupert, Rupert had been nice to him. Then slowly the stealth bully inside Rupert came out. The fact that Charlie was hearing gave Rupert lots of opportunities to be mean.

  Rupert slamming the church door hard was one example.

  Some hard-of-hearing kids had heard it, too.

  Some of the other kids felt it.

  But only Charlie, who was hearing, had jumped.

  After grinning at Charlie, Rupert turned to Jasper Dill, the boy who had come in with him. Jasper was Rupert’s best friend, but today it was Jasper’s turn to be bullied, even though Jasper was a lot taller, bigger, and stronger than Rupert.

  “You smell,” Rupert signed to Jasper.

  “That’s not true!” signed Jasper. “I showered last night!”

  “Did you use soap?” Rupert asked.

  “Yes!” signed Jasper.

  “I don’t think so.” Rupert waved the palm of his hand past his nose as he sat down. Several kids laughed. Rupert laughed, too. He had a friendly laugh if you didn’t know he was a stealth bully. Charlie hated that laugh.

  Boris was looking at his phone and missed this conversation. But Charlie didn’t need an interpreter for bullies. Charlie understood bullies perfectly.

  He also felt bad for Jasper, but not that bad because Jasper could be mean, too. Rupert stopped teasing him, reached over, and flicked Wendell Finch on the back of his head. Rupert did it so fast you almost didn’t see it.

  Wendell Finch never bothered anyone.

  Wendell’s eyes widened. He turned around and stared with fear at Rupert. He looked ready to cry.

  Normally it would have been Frog to tell Rupert to stop. Charlie was certain if Frog ever played dodgeball, she would be the kid in the front line daring the other team to hit her. But Frog was slouching with her arms crossed, staring at the floor.

  It was one thing for Charlie to ignore Rupert when Rupert was bullying him; it was something else entirely to ignore Rupert when he was bullying someone smaller and weaker than Charlie.

  Rupert flicked the back of Wendell’s head again.

  Charlie was gathering his bravery to stand and sign “Stop!” when Mr. Willoughby entered the church.

  Rupert stopped flicking. Charlie sighed with relief. Ruthella hid her book beneath her script, and Boris put away his phone.

  Mr. Willoughby wore a black pirate hat with a feather, a white ruffled shirt, and a stuffed parrot on one shoulder. He walked down the aisle like a bride at her wedding. He waited to sign until each student was looking at him. Frog was the last one to look up after Charlie nudged her three times.

  “This,” signed Mr. Willoughby as Boris interpreted, “is our final rehearsal before our performance tonight. A performance that honors not only our school, but my family.”

  Mr. Willoughby’s signing was grand and dramatic, like a king addressing his subjects.

  “I expect perfection—absolute perfection—tonight,” signed Mr. Willoughby. “Make sure you wear your school shirts and”—he looked down his nose—“make sure they are clean.”

  Mr. Willoughby pointed an accusing finger at the students he didn’t trust to have a clean shirt. One of those students was Jasper. Rupert snickered.

  “This evening,” continued Mr. Willoughby, “the Boney Hand will be on display. Treat this sacred object with reverence and respect. Do not forget the curse that has been placed upon this hand!”

  The students solemnly nodded. All except for Charlie.

  Curse? thought Charlie. What curse?

  This was the stuff Charlie had been missing because of his limited sign language skills. Luckily, Mr. Willoughby explained.

  “The legend tells us,” signed Mr. Willoughby with even more drama and grandeur, “that death shall fall upon anyone who dares to touch the Boney Hand!”

  Wait.

  Death?

  You’ll DIE if you touch the Boney Hand? Really?

  But Charlie hadn’t thought this just inside his head. Without meaning to he had also stood up and signed “death” and “really?”

  Every student stared at Charlie in astonishment. Even Frog.

  “It IS real, Charlie!” signed Wendell. “It is!”

  No one was laughing or kidding around. Not even Rupert. Charlie wished he would sink into the floor and disappear.

  “You may take it lightly,” Mr. Willoughby’s signs spit at Charlie as Boris interpreted, “but I can assure you we do not. Nor does the Boney Hand.”

  With a scathing look at Charlie, Mr. Willoughby signed, “Look over your lines and limber up your hands, while I limber up my voice.”<
br />
  Then, sticking one finger in each ear, Mr. Willoughby closed his eyes and began practicing musical scales.

  “La-la-la-LA-la-la-la,” sang Mr. Willoughby. Charlie winced. Wendell and Jasper, who were both hard of hearing, winced as well.

  Charlie standing and signing seemed to have shocked Frog back to herself. She looked at Charlie with concern.

  “Wow,” Frog signed as Boris quietly interpreted, “I have never seen anyone doubt the curse of the Boney Hand before.”

  “I wasn’t doubting!” whispered Charlie, so Mr. Willoughby wouldn’t hear him. “Honest, I wasn’t. Death just seems kind of harsh for touching something, that’s all!”

  Rupert waved to get Charlie’s attention. Most of the kids were also watching.

  “If you don’t believe in the curse,” signed Rupert as Boris interpreted, “then I dare you to touch the Boney Hand tonight!”

  “Double dare,” added Jasper.

  Rupert was twisting around what Charlie had signed.

  “I never said I don’t believe in the curse!” Charlie whispered as Boris signed for him.

  Students shook their heads. Some signed, “Don’t do it, Charlie! Don’t ever touch the hand!”

  “I never said I don’t believe in the curse!” Charlie repeated. To Boris he said, “Make sure you sign ‘I never said’!”

  “Got you covered,” said Boris.

  “I don’t think he believes it,” signed Rupert to the other students.

  “Ignore him,” Frog told Charlie, dismissing Rupert with a twist of her hand. “You need to practice your lines.”

  Rupert glanced at Mr. Willoughby to make sure his eyes were still closed.

  Then he did something awful.

  “Cute!” Rupert signed to Frog. “You’re so cute!”

  Frog stiffened.

  “No!” signed Charlie. If Frog started a fight, Mr. Willoughby would side with Rupert. Adults always believed Rupert. He just looked so nice. Too nice to ever be mean.

  “Frog is so cute!” signed Rupert.

  Frog crumpled her script in her fists.

  “Such a cute little girl!” he added.

  Frog stood. Charlie and Ruthella grabbed her arms and pulled her back down just as Mr. Willoughby opened his eyes.

  Rupert sat like an angel, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

  Stealth bully.

  Charlie could feel the fury inside Frog as he sat next to her.

  “Everyone stand up front,” ordered Mr. Willoughby. Not everyone had seen that Mr. Willoughby was done practicing and was signing to them again. Students tapped each other on the shoulder and waved their hands to let each other know that rehearsal was starting.

  “Leave your scripts!” ordered Mr. Willoughby as Boris interpreted. “You should have them memorized by now!”

  Since he was in a church, Charlie prayed. He prayed he would remember all of his lines and that Frog would stay calm.

  Mr. Willoughby adjusted his pirate hat to a flattering angle.

  “Remember,” signed Mr. Willoughby, “when I point to you, it is your turn to sign your part.”

  Mr. Willoughby took a deep breath and pointed to Frog.

  “Pirates!” he began speaking. “Pirates once sailed the Hudson River—”

  But Frog didn’t sign because Rupert and Jasper were teasing her in the stealthiest way possible:

  “Frog is cute! So very, VERY cute!”

  Frog lunged.

  Charlie and Ruthella lunged, too. They caught Frog around her waist before she could pummel Rupert and Jasper.

  Mr. Willoughby stopped his recitation. “What’s going on?!” he signed.

  Looking angelic and afraid, Rupert pointed at Frog.

  Frog kicked her legs and tried to break Charlie and Ruthella’s hold on her.

  Mr. Willoughby towered over Frog.

  “ENOUGH!” he signed. Frog stopped kicking.

  Charlie and Ruthella let go.

  Frog lunged again.

  They caught her once more.

  “Out!” Mr. Willoughby screamed with his hands. “NOW!”

  Frog shook off Charlie and Ruthella and stomped out of the church.

  Charlie was alone after all.

  Every Castle School for the Deaf student had at least one job, and one of Charlie’s was to help Obie in the barn.

  Because Obie was DeafBlind, he couldn’t see people walking by and start up a conversation. So even when Charlie didn’t have to work, he often stopped in just to say hello to Obie.

  Charlie loved the barn. He loved the smell of hay and horses. He even loved the smell of manure, though Charlie would never admit that to anyone. Somehow the mix of all those smells was just right.

  But today not even barn smell could cheer him up.

  Charlie had failed at rehearsal. He completely forgot his lines once Frog had left the church. He couldn’t even remember how to fingerspell. And the more everyone tried to help Charlie with his lines, the more confused he became until finally Mr. Willoughby had Rupert sign his part.

  Rupert.

  Charlie was dreading tonight.

  When he walked into the barn, Darius, Obie’s Deaf coworker and sometimes interpreter, was hammering a loose board into place. Obie swept the floor as one of the goats tugged on his pant leg. Max was napping in a pile of straw. Charlie stamped his foot on the wooden floor to let them know he was here.

  Max sat up. When Max saw it was Charlie, he settled back down but kept his eyes on Obie. Darius stopped hammering and went over to Obie, touching his shoulder. Obie lifted his hands. Darius placed his hands underneath and signed that Charlie was here to work.

  Darius sometimes used his voice, and he could even hear Charlie if Charlie was looking right at him and it wasn’t too noisy. Obie told Charlie what barn chores needed to be done as Darius interpreted.

  Charlie slipped his hands under Obie’s bigger ones.

  “Okay,” he signed. “I will.”

  As Charlie went to get the pitchfork, Obie stopped him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Charlie put his hands under Obie’s again.

  “How,” signed Charlie, “did you know something is wrong?”

  “It was how you signed,” Obie told him. “I can feel it in your hands.”

  As Darius interpreted, Charlie told Obie what happened last night on Vince Vinelli’s show. He explained how upset Frog had been this morning and how Rupert wouldn’t stop teasing her.

  “But all Mr. Willoughby saw was Frog starting a fight!” said Charlie as Darius signed. “He missed everything that happened before that! And now Frog isn’t allowed to be in tonight’s performance.”

  “Which means Frog won’t be there for you,” signed Obie.

  “That,” signed Charlie. That was exactly it.

  “What’s Rupert like?” asked Obie. “I don’t know him very well yet.”

  Rupert had only started at Castle School for the Deaf last year.

  “Rupert? He’s mean,” said Charlie as Darius signed. “But he’s mean in a way that sneaks up on you. When I first met him he was really nice to me. And then he—he changed! And I realized he’s really a mean person who just looks nice. He’s always misunderstanding what I sign on purpose, like this morning, when he told everyone I didn’t believe in the curse.”

  “I wonder why?” signed Obie. Above his milky-blue eyes, his white eyebrows furrowed.

  “Why what?” signed Charlie.

  “Why is he so mean?” signed Obie.

  “I don’t know why. He’s just mean!” Charlie couldn’t spend any more time thinking about Rupert.

  “I’m worried about tonight,” Charlie slowly signed to Obie. “I don’t want to mess up.”

  Charlie fingerspelled MESS UP as he didn’t know how to sign it. Obie showed him the sign.

  “I wish I could be there for you,” signed Obie. “But caretakers haven’t gone into the graveyard under a full moon since Boney Jack scared Silas P. Frankfurter to death
a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Do you believe the Legend of the Boney Hand is true?” Charlie asked as Darius interpreted.

  “Let’s just say I don’t disbelieve it,” signed Obie. “Stories are powerful things. They can get inside of you and stay there, and no logic or reasoning can get those stories out of your head. Besides,” Obie added, “it’s a bony hand crawling around with a death curse!” Obie shivered. “I don’t want it to be true, but is it true? As the legend says—nobody knows.”

  • • •

  By six thirty, visitors were pouring onto the castle grounds, jack-o’-lanterns shone in the darkness, and the scent of popcorn and hot cider filled the air. Around the bonfire overlooking the Hudson River, ghost stories were shared. Visitors toured the elaborately decorated castle. Kids bobbed for apples and made scarecrows.

  Lanterns lined the pathway to the graveyard church, and inside the church, they lined the windowsills.

  Charlie stood at the front of the church in a semicircle with the other students, all wearing their green-and-gold school shirts, waiting to perform. They were gathered around a dome-shaped object that was covered with a cloth and perched on a pedestal—the Boney Hand, waiting to be revealed.

  A screen covered the front wall of the church, ready to display Boris’s time-lapse film of the rising full moon. A restless crowd paced around outside, anxious to see and hear the legend.

  Wendell stared at the covered Boney Hand with shining eyes. Charlie might have enjoyed the excitement of seeing a real bony hand for the first time—except he was about to throw up. And Charlie could not throw up. He had to do well. He had to sign his part.

  Without Frog.

  Charlie’s hands were sweating.

  He wiped them on his jeans and practiced his lines once more. Next to him was Ruthella. Behind him stood Boris, who was there to interpret student conversations as Mr. Willoughby once again did his vocal exercises with his eyes closed. When the performance began, Boris would sit down in the audience.

  Ruthella looked happy, which surprised Charlie because Ruthella usually looked grouchy if she didn’t have a book in her hand.

  “There’s a new time travel book,” explained Ruthella as Boris interpreted, “about Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller that I’ve been desperate to read. And then someone”—Ruthella glanced meaningfully at Wendell, who was blushing and trying not to look at her—“left that exact book in front of my dorm room, with a bow on it! I love this time of year when Boney Jack does his secret good deeds!”