by M. E. Eadie
Chapter Seven: Seven for Dinner
Even though Rhea’s mom continued to visit the house periodically, Grizzelda showed no sign of allowing the children to go to school. During these meetings or, rather, arguments, Spike would apply his newly-acquired super hearing, and relate the details back to Melissa and Colin, who were waiting anxiously for the interpretation of the verbal explosions happening downstairs. The meetings always followed an order. First, Mrs. Li would try to reason with Grizzelda, appeal to her sense of justice, then, after being rebuffed by Grizzelda’s cold, impersonal refusals, she would plead with her, and when that didn’t work, she’d descend into the hopeless world of threats. “By the law,” she’d cite, “the children have to be in school, if they are not, then the authorities can take the children from you.”
Needless to say, Grizzelda’s response was always the same: aggressive. “You think that your authority frightens me? You have no authority here. If I wanted to, I could command the floors of this house to open up and swallow you! I permit you to come here only because you amuse me. I am the only authority here! Send them! Send your so-called authorities! Try to take the children, and then you will see. Now, leave my house. This interview is over!”
There would be a pause as Mrs. Li departed through the front door in frustration; but before she escaped outside, Grizzelda would blast away with one last salvo.
“Oh, and please come back. I do enjoy our little tête-à- tête!”
And so each meeting ran, more or less.
When Grizzelda was at home, they avoided her. When she was out, Colin and Spike were able to do their cleaning quickly, which allowed them the time to search for the treasure -- and, Zuhayer’s crypt.
On several occasions, under the pretense of being sick or having a doctor or dentist’s appointment, Rhea slipped away from school to join them. She and the boys would explore the shadowy stone passages in the dungeon.
Initially, they encountered a few problems. There was no electricity in many parts of the dungeon. Normally, they would have just grabbed a flashlight, however, under Grizzelda’s dominion, there were no working flashlights allowed. “Light, or the true nature of light, should come from within,” she had said in her familiar encrypted language. They had no idea what she was talking about and just put it down as a side effect of her growing peculiarities.
This posed somewhat of a barrier in that the only alternative was to use candlelight. They scrounged up a small supply of candles, but these lasted only a few afternoons. This is where the eternally eavesdropping Sergeant Peary, guardian spirit, proved handy -- for once. He called them into the supply room, next to the wine cellar, walked over to a well-stocked cabinet labeled “Candles”, and pointed to it with his smoldering stogie, complaining how it should be something more explosive.
So it was, by the light of flickering candles, which cast unsettling ghoulish shadows on the walls that seemed awfully real at times, that the children did their investigating.
On one such visit, Rhea held the light out in front of them while Colin and Spike ran their searching hands along the cold, damp sides of the passage they were walking down. Colin found something on the stone wall, a circular eyebolt, the same type as on the front door, except the entwined snakes here were actually moving. He jerked his hand back in fright.
“Awesome,” said Spike putting his nose closer to the circuit-running snakes than he needed to.
Rhea took a step back, fumbling with the candle, startled by the sight. “Gross! This is definitely weird. You’re not going to touch it again are you?” she said, watching Colin’s hands.
“You think we should call Sergeant Peary?” asked Spike.
Rhea had already met the ghost and wasn’t impressed by his smoking. To her, bad habits were bad habits, whether you were dead or alive.
Sergeant Peary hadn’t materialized very often lately. Ever since their discovery in the library, and their sharing of Horwood genealogy with Sergeant Peary, his facetious jocularity had turned to a morose moodiness.
“I suppose I should try to talk to him,” said Colin continuing to stare at the writhing snakes. “Sergeant?” he called timidly into the dark. The word seemed to fall away just beyond the light of the candle like a lead weight.
When he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, Sergeant Peary’s unshaven face popped into view, a black beret angled on the side of his head. It looked as though he hadn’t shaved for days, not that ghosts could shave; for a moment he wondered how he could so easily change his appearance. Then Sergeant Peary’s blood-shot eyes turned on him accusingly.
“Oh, you. What do you want now? Come to tell me that I’m related to Ghengis Kahn or Adolf Hitler?”
“This,” said Colin pointing at the snakes.
“Looks like a door handle. Now if that’s all you want, I’ll be off to wallow in my misery, if you don’t mind?” He turned to leave but Rhea said something that stopped him, making his shoulders go narrow.
“We’re trying to find your father’s crypt,” said Rhea.
“I know,” said Peary, his shoulders shuddering, “I know exactly what you’re trying to find. I spent years dreaming about escaping this place, about getting free of the Old Man, but here I am, back here. You think they could’ve sent me to haunt some Bavarian castle with kegs of beer, but no, they had to send me back here! Do you know why I never visit his crypt? It’s not because I can’t. I can go through the walls if I want to. So, watch my lips, homies, so you won’t be mistaken. It – is – because – I – don’t – care! Now, if you don’t mind, there’s a bottle waiting to take a spin in the wine cellar!”
“Then this is the crypt?”
“Yes, it’s the crypt.”
“Before you go, how do we get in?” asked Colin, trying to ignore Peary’s snippiness.
“To get in, just grab the handle!” With that he disappeared.
Overcoming his apprehension, Colin took hold of the ring. Immediately he realized it was a mistake. If he could have run, he would have, but the ring held his hand fast, as if it had been cemented there. The snakes detached themselves from the metal, and began crawling up over his knuckles and onto his arms.
“Sergeant Peary!” cried Colin, his voice breaking with fear.
“Don’t worry,” sighed the soldier, his tired voice emerging from somewhere down the dark passageway, “it’s just the lock mechanism becoming disengaged. It’ll all be over in a few moments.” Then he mumbled something that sounded distinctly like ‘nasty old goat.’
Colin stared with horror at his arms as the slithering snakes proceeded up his sleeves. He tried to remain calm, but when they slithered up his neck and onto his cheeks, he lost control.
“Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!” he cried.
Spike reached over and tried to do just that, but they were glued to Colin’s skin and couldn’t be removed.
Rhea stared, frozen in place, not knowing what to do. “Get them off,” was all she whimpered. “Get them off him, Spike!”
“I can’t!” cried Spike, and he tried again, but the little snakes kept up their progress slipping over his own fingers every time he tried to block them.
Colin stopped breathing when they entered his nose, slipped down his nasal canal, and dropped into his mouth. He wanted to scream, and when he opened his mouth to do just that, the snakes slithered out and down his arm, back onto the ring. He gasped for air, and a large, audible CLICK sounded and the door to the crypt opened. As soon as he could, Colin pulled his hand free from the handle. He flexed his fingers to see if they were his, and stared balefully at Spike.
“Next time, you open the door!”
Spike laughed nervously, glancing at the little snakes that were back doing their perpetual circuit on the ring.
The door swung inwards revealing a series of steeply descending steps: Down below, a dull green glimmer of light flickered.
“Somebody is down there,” whisper
ed Rhea.
“You think so?” answered Colin, whose mouth had gone suddenly dry.
“I suppose we should go down,” said Spike who waited for Rhea or Colin to lead the way. “You’ve got the candle.”
“Here, you take it,” said Rhea thrusting the candle at Spike who backed away from it.
“We can always come back some other time,” said Spike.
“Give it to me,” said Colin, sounding braver than he felt. “I’m not coming back, unless one of you two wants the snakes crawling up your nose?”
“No thanks,” answered Spike, and Rhea just shuddered. “Thought not,” said Colin.
He began the descent into Zuhayer Horwood’s crypt, Spike and Rhea following him closely. The illumination for the room came from a greenish orb in the ceiling, seemingly floating without any connection. It cast a sickly, unhealthy pallor over everything. The Crypt wasn’t very big; it was unadorned, no elaborate carvings, just enough room for the two black marble sarcophagi and room to walk around them. One was lidded and closed. The other wasn’t. Its lid stood upright at the far end of the open box. Hugh Dundas’ claim that Zuhayer Horwood’s body was missing from the crypt seemed to be correct.
On the black shiny surface of the lidded sarcophagus was a freshly cut red rose. Rhea, drawn hypnotically by the flower, was the first to go forward, until she stood beside it. She read the bronze plaque on the lid: “Charlotte Horwood: ‘Until in life again we meet’.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Spike in his usual clueless manner.
“I don’t know,” answered Colin who couldn’t take his eyes from the blood-colored rose. Someone had to have put it there, and very recently, because droplets of dew lay on its petals.
They turned and slowly, ever so slowly, edged their way closer to the gaping mouth of Zuhayer’s sarcophagus until they could see inside. They hoped, but only half-heartedly, that it wasn’t empty, and shivered at the thought. Mostly, they were hoping Hugh was right. They bent forward and peered in.
“Oh, man! What a rush!” blared Spike.
“Spike? What is the matter with you?” Rhea whispered loudly, her heart jumping into her mouth.
Colin had lived around Spike long enough to know exactly what to expect from him, so he only sighed with relief that the box was, indeed, empty. However, the moment of relief was somewhat overshadowed by the realization that if Horwood wasn’t here, he had to be somewhere else.
Just then a deep, dark spot on the roughly hewn granite wall of the crypt began to form. Dilating rapidly, the Shadow Nix grew so fast all they could do was stare in horror. It grew beyond human form, flooding the crypt with darkness. The green light flickered as though it was about to go out. Darkness oozed around the walls, encircling them like a rampant poison.
Spike’s guardian spirit leapt to life, the snarling coyote materializing in full fighting form, hackles raised, teeth bared. But its form wasn’t as solid here in the crypt. There was something about the crypt that gave more power to the Nix. The coyote dashed in at the shadow, only slightly managing to slow its advance. In a few moments there would be no escape; the Nix would have them fully enveloped. Despair began to overtake them. Then a movement from behind jolted their attention away from the Nix. Someone was behind them!
“I hoped I wouldn’t have to come down here,” said Sergeant Peary in a slow painful drawl. He strode through them to regard the empty coffin, shaking his head sadly. The cigar between his teeth glowed brightly. With his free hand he did up the strap on his helmet; in his other hand, he tossed up and down, an armed grenade. “You kids are definitely pushing your luck.” He shook his head, as if to say, ‘Why me?’ and regarded the Shadow Nix. “This is a big one. Ya know, if I were you, I’d run,” he said in a calm, determined voice, and then when they hadn’t responded, he yelled, “RUN!”
Finding their legs, they half-ran, half-stumbled up the stairs. Behind them the grenade exploded in the air shattering the dark with an orange-blue flash of light. They fled, Rhea’s candle blown out, down the dark passage, through a warren of passages and up the stairs to the main floor. How they negotiated this, unfailingly was a mystery to them.
