Missing on Superstition Mountain

by Elise Broach

  The boys looked up, startled.

  “You should check out the local history area.” As he walked away, he gestured to a low bookshelf across the room, beneath a colorful map of Arizona.

  “Thanks,” Henry said shyly, though he wondered … how could the man be so sure there was nothing in the papers?

  When the man was out of earshot, Simon returned to the newspapers. “He doesn’t know what we’re looking for. Let’s go through these first.”

  Of everything about Simon, it was the thing Henry most envied, how he was always certain he knew best, even when adults disagreed. It had less to do with being smart than being sure, Henry thought, wishing he were more that way himself.

  They began leafing through the newspapers, pages crackling noisily.

  “I can’t read this,” Jack announced.

  “That’s because you can’t read,” Simon said.

  “I can read.” Jack glowered at him. “I can’t read this. The letters are too small, and it’s got too many big words.”

  “I’ll help you,” said a familiar voice.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE MISSING

  THEY TURNED TO SEE DELILAH standing by the shelves watching them.

  “You followed us,” Simon said accusingly.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I just felt like coming to the library,” Delilah said nonchalantly. She pulled up a chair next to Jack’s. “Here,” she said. “That says ‘Pioneer Days Draw Big Crowd.’”

  “He doesn’t need your help,” Henry said. “Jack, just read the headlines. If anything important happened, it’ll be in big letters.”

  “Look!” said Jack. “It’s a picture of the parade.”

  The top newspaper on Jack’s pile had a grainy black-and-white picture of the Pioneer Days Parade. Delilah’s ribbon-festooned bike was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.

  “What are you looking for?” Delilah asked.

  Henry and Simon exchanged beleaguered glances. “Nothing,” they said simultaneously.

  “Just tell me. I’ll look too.”

  Henry hesitated. There were too many newspapers to cover by themselves, especially with Jack not able to read very well. He glanced at Simon. “It would go faster.…”

  “Yeah,” Delilah echoed.

  Simon relented. “Okay, you can go through Jack’s pile with him. We’re looking for stories about Superstition Mountain. About anything bad that happened up there.”

  Delilah scooted her chair closer to the table and gamely sifted through the pages. “Why do you think something bad happened on the mountain?” she asked.

  Henry slid over to make more room for her. “Well, are you allowed to go up there?”

  Delilah considered. “No. When my mom’s at work, I’m not supposed to go anywhere outside the neighborhood. She’s afraid I’ll get lost. Or somebody will take me.”

  Simon snorted. “Are you kidding? Nobody is going to take you.” Delilah scowled at him, but he continued casually, “Is your mom at work right now?”

  She nodded, turning newspaper pages.

  “Aha!” Simon crowed. “When we were at your house, you said she was napping.”

  “That was this morning,” Delilah said calmly.

  Henry studied her. “So she really was napping?”

  “No,” Delilah replied, unperturbed. “She was at work.”

  Jack jumped to his feet on the chair and thrust his finger in her face, shouting, “You lied!”

  “Shhh, Jack,” Henry and Simon both hissed at once.

  “No, I didn’t,” Delilah said evenly. “My mom might have been napping at work. Her job is really boring. And anyway, I’m not supposed to tell strangers I’m home alone.”

  Henry shot a defeated look at Simon. This girl had an answer for everything. But he was mildly interested in the idea of Delilah being left home on her own. Mr. and Mrs. Barker claimed that even Simon was too young for that yet. Another kid’s family was like a whole other civilization, Henry often thought—different rules and habits, different snacks that were allowed or forbidden, different bedtimes and acceptable television shows.

  “Well, you are still a LIAR,” Jack declared, undeterred, and Henry felt glad, in this case, that it was impossible to reason with him.

  Delilah ignored him. She shuffled through the papers as he leaned over her, peppering her with deafening whispers, “What does that say?” “What’s that one?”

  After a few minutes, she sat back in her chair and said, “It’s a boring town. Nothing happens here. This is a waste of time.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed.

  Henry sighed. “It’s all little stuff—the school’s having a concert … somebody won a contest … a road’s closed. There are a lot of power outages, and the fire department is always being called.”

  “Okay,” Simon agreed, standing up. “I don’t see anything either. Let’s look in the local history area, like that guy said.”

  They wandered over to the section marked “Arizona History” and crouched in front of the bookshelf labeled “Superstition and Its Surrounds.” It was crammed with fat, worn volumes. They smelled musty, like somebody’s attic. Simon pulled out a book and showed them the cover: Legends of Superstition Mountain. “Take out anything that looks like it would tell us about the mountain,” he directed.

  So Henry and Delilah began sorting through the shelves, while Jack stood on tiptoe, looking at the map of Arizona. Simon quickly assembled a pile of books at his feet. After a few minutes, Delilah sat cross-legged on the carpet with a stack of her own, including the book of legends that Simon had chosen.

  “I’ll see what’s in here,” she said.

  Henry continued to scan the shelves. There were books about the Old West, about cowboys and outlaws, and about the Apache Indians. He thought about Uncle Hank crossing the plains as a scout for the U.S. Cavalry. He didn’t see anything specifically about Superstition Mountain, but any of these books might mention the mountain, he supposed. He found a book called Ghost Towns of the Old West. “Hey,” he said, showing it to Simon. “I wonder if the ghost town that policeman was talking about is in here.”

  “What ghost town?” Delilah wanted to know.

  “It doesn’t have real ghosts, silly,” Jack told her condescendingly.

  “Some abandoned frontier town that’s near here,” Simon said. “We’re going to explore it sometime.”

  Henry glanced at him, surprised. That was exactly what they weren’t supposed to do. The summer was sounding more and more interesting.

  “Really?” Delilah’s raised her eyebrows.

  “Girls can’t come,” Jack declared. He flopped onto his stomach on the carpet. “These books are too long. We can never in a million years read all of them.”

  As much as Henry loved to read, he felt discouraged himself. They were long, with tiny type, and most of them didn’t have pictures. And there were so many! Did Simon really mean they had to look through every book? He tried to find a short one for Jack. At the end of the bottom shelf was a cluster of thin pamphlets, held in place by a metal bracket. These were very short, Henry thought, cheered. But they seemed to be tourist brochures. They were covered with colorful photos advertising various attractions in the area: horseback riding, an old mining town, rafting on the Verde River. Wedged at one end was a thin white booklet, stapled down the middle, with black type on the front.

  “Jack,” he said, “take a little one instead. Here’s a really short one—”

  Henry stopped. The title read Missing on Superstition Mountain: A faithful record of disappearances since 1880, compiled by the Superstition Historical Society.

  “Hey!” Henry waved the booklet under Delilah’s nose. “Look at this! Simon, look!”

  Delilah scrambled to her knees. “Ooooh…”

  Simon crowded next to them. “Read what it says.”

  Henry dropped to the carpet and flattened the booklet open with one pal
m. “Huh,” he said. “It’s mostly a list.”

  “What kind of list?” Simon asked.

  “Yeah,” Jack clamored, propping himself up on an elbow. “Read it!”

  “Okay.…” Henry started reading from the top of the first page: “‘Superstition Mountain has long been known as a site of unusual disappearances and deaths. In the interest of preserving our town’s history and heritage, and as a resource for those who are considering exploring this area, the Superstition Historical Society offers this record of disappearances, accidental deaths, and suspected murders on the mountain from 1880 to the present.’”

  Henry felt a chill slice through him. Simon, Jack, and Delilah stared.

  “Murder?” Delilah asked. “Nobody said anything about murder.”

  “Nobody said anything about anything,” Simon said. “No wonder Mom and Dad won’t talk about it.”

  Henry read slowly, “‘1880 … two soldiers found shot in the head. 1881 … prospector found dead after mine cave-in.’”

  “What kind of mine?” Simon asked.

  “It doesn’t say. It’s just a list.” Henry leaned over the tiny type. “‘1896 … Elisha Reavis, the Madman of Superstition Mountain, found de’”—he had to sound out the word—“‘cap-it-ated.’”

  “Decapitated?” Delilah repeated. She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck.”

  “What’s decapitated?” Jack wanted to know.

  “When somebody chops your head off.” Delilah whacked the heel of her hand against his neck to illustrate.

  Henry glanced at her in surprise. It was a word he hadn’t heard before.

  “Ewww,” Jack said, simultaneously grossed out and impressed.

  “I wonder why he was called the Madman of Superstition Mountain,” Delilah said.

  “Shhh, you guys,” Simon scolded. “Keep reading, Hen.”

  Henry took a deep breath. “‘1910 … unidentified woman’s body found in cave near Weaver’s Needle—’”

  “Hey, that’s the pointy rock,” Jack noted.

  “Listen,” Henry insisted. “‘Cause of death unknown. 1931 … disappearance of federal employee Adolph Ruth…’ oh!” Henry gasped. “It says his skull was found on Black Top Mountain with two bullet holes in it.”

  “Hey,” Jack cried, “like when we found the three—”

  Simon glared at Jack, while Henry shook his head quickly. Delilah knew nothing about the skulls. Jack stopped, his cheeks turning bright red. “Um,” he said.

  “The three what?” Delilah looked at him curiously.

  “Nothing,” Jack said.

  Henry turned the page. “‘1936 … body of Roman O’Hal of New York City found, cause of death: fall from cliff. 1937 … body of Guy Frink found, cause of death: gunshot wound to stomach. 1947 … body of James Cravey recovered in La Barge Canyon—’” Henry squinted at the small print. “‘Decapitated.’”

  “Another one?” Delilah raised her eyebrows.

  Henry nodded uncomfortably. No wonder the mountain was off-limits! So many people had died there. He got to the bottom of the page and read, “1949,” then looked up, puzzled, and held out the book for them to see.

  “Hey … that’s weird. The next page is torn out.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ASKING FOR TROUBLE

  THEY ALL STARED at the tattered edge of the paper.

  “Just that one page is gone?” Simon asked. “What does the rest say?”

  Henry turned the booklet around to show them. “It’s a list of the Superstition Historical Society members. See? Emmett Trask, President.”

  They sat in silence for a minute.

  “Wow,” Jack said. “That’s a lot of people dead!”

  “Or missing,” Delilah added.

  “No kidding,” Simon said. “That’s why our parents are acting so strange about the mountain.” He took the booklet from Henry and leapt to his feet. “We should take this home with us. I’ll check it out.”

  A few minutes later, he came back with the black-haired librarian.

  “I’m sorry, this one doesn’t circulate,” the librarian said firmly, but in her same nicey-nice voice. “It’s part of our reference collection.”

  “But it doesn’t have a label,” Simon protested. “And look, it’s not even a whole book. Somebody tore out a page.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?” the librarian said. “It ruins the book for other patrons. I’ll take it back to the office and see if it can be repaired.” She held out her hand for the booklet, which Simon reluctantly gave her.

  She turned to leave, but then looked back at them thoughtfully. “I’m Mrs. Thomas, the library director. What are your names?”

  “Simon,” Simon answered quickly. “This is Henry, and he’s Jack.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to each of them in turn. Henry took it awkwardly, noticing that it was cool and bony, and her fingertip was smudged black with ink. “What grades are you in?” Henry felt the familiar flood of panic that overcame him whenever a stranger was about to make a wrong assumption about his size or his age.

  Simon jumped in quickly, “I’m going into sixth, Henry’s going into fifth, and Jack will be in first.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Thomas said, her skinny eyebrows arching in surprise. “I thought—”

  “And this is Delilah,” Simon continued smoothly. Henry glanced at him gratefully.

  “Your sister?” the librarian asked, turning to Delilah.

  “No!” the boys chorused.

  Delilah only smiled sweetly at Mrs. Thomas. “I’m Delilah Dunworthy.”

  “What a pretty name,” Mrs. Thomas said. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? Perhaps I can help.”

  Henry wasn’t sure. What if she reacted like their parents had? Maybe there was some big grown-up conspiracy to keep quiet about Superstition Mountain, the way grown-ups would never tell you all the bad stuff they did as kids because they were afraid you’d try it yourself. On the other hand, she did work here in the library, and it was her job to help people find out what they needed to know. Simon seemed to be making the same mental calculation.

  Henry cleared his throat. “We … we wanted to know more about the mountain. If anything interesting has happened up there.”

  Mrs. Thomas’s keen eyes fixed on his. “Things have been happening on that mountain for hundreds of years,” she said. “It is not a place for children.”

  “Why not?” Jack piped up. “What kinds of things?”

  Mrs. Thomas continued smiling, but her eyes hardened.

  “Bad things,” she said.

  When she said nothing more, the silence seemed to expand uncomfortably. Finally, Delilah asked, “Are there other books besides this one that we could check out?”

  The librarian’s forehead furrowed. “None of the books on this bottom shelf circulate. But you can check out anything from the upper shelves … that volume of legends, for instance.” She motioned to the one Delilah had been reading earlier. “Just bring them to the circulation desk when you’re ready.” She gave them a final piercing look of appraisal, then walked away.

  Henry eyed the booklet tucked under her arm longingly. He chose a book on the history of Arizona from the top shelf. Delilah picked up the book of legends.

  “That was weird, huh?” Delilah said. “She wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  “Probably because those people died in a really gross, bloody way,” Simon speculated. “Grown-ups never want to talk about that.”

  This was particularly true of Mr. Barker, Henry thought. It was well-known family lore that he had fainted when Simon was born and was barred from the labor and delivery room ever after. He looked sick to his stomach whenever the boys mentioned any number of fascinating topics, like the size of a hairball Josie threw up or the way their cousin Brendan’s finger bent sideways when he fell off his scooter. Mrs. Barker, on the other hand, could be counted on to show the appropriate level of curiosity about even the most grotesqu
e physical condition or injury, because she usually had had to illustrate something similar at some point in her career.

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed. “And it sounds like a lot of people are still missing. Superstition Mountain is kind of like the Bermuda Triangle, except on land.”

  “What triangle?” Jack asked.

  “It’s a place in the ocean where planes and ships disappear,” Henry told him. “They fly through this one area, and then, nobody knows why, but they lose all radio contact and are never heard from again. The other name for it is the Devil’s Triangle.”

  “Well,” Simon amended, “not all the planes and ships that pass through there disappear … just a few of them. And lots of people think there’s a normal explanation. Like whirlpools or storms. Things like that.”

  “Probably there are a bunch of wrecks at the bottom of the ocean in that exact spot,” Delilah said.

  “Nope,” Henry told her. “Whole entire ships and planes have disappeared without a trace.”

  “Well, that’s freaky.” Delilah twisted one braid. “But everyone’s heard of the Bermuda Triangle, and nobody talks about Superstition Mountain that way. If people disappear up there all the time, why haven’t we heard about it?”

  Henry couldn’t think of a good answer for this, but Simon said, “Maybe it does happen all the time, or at least a lot, but the grown-ups are keeping it quiet because they don’t want to scare us.”

  They carried their two books to the circulation desk, where Mrs. Thomas was waiting for them.

  “Now, who has a library card?” she asked.

  The boys looked at one another in surprise—they’d been to the library several times, but their mother had always been the one to check things out—when Delilah pulled a small plastic card from her pocket.

  “I do,” she said, sliding it across the counter, to the boys’ relief.

  Mrs. Thomas pushed the two books toward Henry. “It was nice to meet all of you. Delilah Dunworthy … Simon, Jack, and … Henry, was it? Henry what? What’s your last name, dear?”

  Henry felt oddly hesitant to tell her, but there didn’t seem to be a good reason not to. “Barker,” he answered, reaching for the books.