The Road to Nevermore

by Christopher Lincoln

  “That’s where we’ll employ a little pirate stealth,” Pete said casually. “Don’t ye think I learned a trick or two in all me years at sea?”

  But at this, even Jenkins squawked skeptically.

  Ned dipped a look toward Roger. “I’ll get you to the Receiving Department and that’s it … even if it means less gold in my pocket.”

  “Well I’m going every bit of the way,” Billy insisted. His resolve felt pieced together by plasters and splints, but he promised himself he wouldn’t let Millicent down no matter how his knees wanted to wobble.

  As the group prepared to leave, Minnie Lumbus wished her son a stiff (even by skeleton standards) goodbye, then turned to Billy. “You take care of Pete, you hear?” She sniffed and wiped a foggy tear with her sleeve. “And take care of yourself, too. There’s a mighty big chance I’ll never see you again if you make the smallest slipup.” She patted Billy’s bottom, pushing him on his way. “So don’t!”

  On his way out, Pete reached up for a package on top of the coat rack. It was wrapped in brown paper and string, but Billy was sure it contained something special. Some kind of magical talisman to ward off evil? Or a cloak to make us invisible?

  “Ye’ll just have to wait and see,” said Pete, his glass eye glimmering.

  Chapter 15

  Dreads

  Shadewick Gloom snatched Millicent’s hair and glided her farther into the depths of Nevermore. It was a discombobulating sensation, even for someone not altogether there. Along with the tombs and tippy mausoleums, some plots were filled with freshly dug graves. Scattered here and there were a number of smaller structures housing underground burial chambers. Shadewick’s smile was especially fond whenever they passed these crypts.

  Not everyone was trapped inside. Several blocks away, a small group of groundskeepers were pruning hedges, digging holes, and raking dead leaves. Sniffing the air, they turned slowly as Millicent and Gloom passed.

  A battered skeleton was digging a grave. He was only a head taller than Millicent. At first she thought he was a skeleton boy, but on a second examination, he moved like an older man. The skeleton paused as they approached. A gelatinous gob encased his head, held on by a squishy mass of tendrils.

  “What’s that?” Millicent gasped.

  As architect of Nevermore, Gloom took delight in explaining such things. He dangled Millicent over the lip of the grave and held forth. “That, my dumpling, is a dread.”

  “It’s disgusting!”

  “How kind!” Pleasure shimmered through Shadewick’s smile as he gestured toward the skeleton’s head. “See how the creature’s sack envelops the victim and the tendrils reach inside to penetrate the brain? Saddled up there on the head, the dread plants fear like seeds, then reaps the resulting nightmares and screams. Being trapped by a dread is the worst way of all to spend your eternity here in Nevermore.”

  “But, why do you need dreads? This place seems bad enough,” Millicent asked, literally breathless.

  “Why? What a ridiculous question, my dear … you might as well suggest prisons abandon their guards, or the dungeons dispense with their thumbscrews. Outrageous!”

  He chuckled as he leaned over the grave, inspecting the skeleton’s work, and continued, “Along with keeping us well stocked in nightmares, they’re very useful for keeping order around here. They can shatter the wills of my most resistant guests.”

  Inside its gelatinous casing, the dread unwrapped its tendrils from the skeleton’s head, then probed them hungrily toward Millicent and the shadow hounds.

  Shadewick jerked Millicent back from the grave’s edge. “Such greedy things. Once they’ve defiled a victim, they’re instantly hungry for something fresh … wouldn’t want one latching on to you … leastwise, not yet,” he snickered, dragging her to the carriage road.

  Millicent looked back at the grave, with more white in her eyes than a hen’s egg.

  “For now, you’ll take up residence in the snug little crypt right over there. And Tongs will be nice enough to keep you company, won’t you, boy? Yes, you will. Such a good, little, snarly, ripping, vicious doggy you are, tooooooo.”

  Tongs wagged his tail, prancing with excitement, but when he turned to Millicent, he was all business—big spiky teeth business. And that’s how he continued to regard her as he and she were installed into the crypt. From the outside it looked like a small classical temple. Inside, a large stone staircase limited floor space. It led to the dank vault below.

  Despite Tongs’s watchful eye, Millicent managed to get close enough to the barred windows to see Gloom stop to admire the statuary lining the roof and other ornate touches, then sweep off toward the shadowport with Hammer frisking at his side.

  Millicent drifted, rubbing her forehead and thinking, All in all, this is NOT a very nice place.

  Chapter 16

  By the Bell of St. Dunstable

  Through Houndstooth-on-Codswattle they came, scores of skeletons, clattering into the graveyard next to St. Dunstable’s. In its long history, the blocky Norman church had never seen such an unusual flock.

  Mr. Bones surveyed the crowd with growing annoyance. What had him nettled was not the skeletons, most of whom had shown up on time. It was the church bell. Vicar Parsons had been ringing it when time stopped, locking the bell in a long CLONNNNNNNNGGGG ever since. The old codger stood frozen in the tower, oblivious to hundreds of skeletons rattling by.

  At least Mr. Bones could count his blessings about the rain. The drops were still stuck in place.

  Mr. Bones nodded to the Bunyons, residents of a local farmhouse, as they and their sons elbowed to the front of the crowd. The Headleys were also there, from the manor next door.

  A few feet away, Mrs. Bones chatted with Mrs. Wormwood, the skeleton in charge of the town mortuary. Mrs. Wormwood was deaf as a deadbolt, so Mrs. Bones was forced to yell into her ear horn. Mrs. Bones excused herself with a genteel shout and took her place beside Mr. Bones.

  The churchyard was well past capacity by now. Many skeletons were forced to clamber up on the crumbling walls or balance on tipping headstones. Mr. Bones consulted his pocket watch. Being set to Afterlife time, it was ticking merrily along.

  “Right!” he clicked the lid shut and addressed the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen! Your attention, please!”

  But the crowd was still in a talkative mood.

  He began again, “There is an F.A.D. emergency.” Skeleton jaws stopped clacking. “And this is of particular importance to me because my brother, Grim, is the missing field agent.”

  Nearby, an old voice creaked, “Grim Bones has been kissing? What kind of emergency is that?” Mrs. Wormwood strained to hear more through her ear horn.

  Mr. Bones ignored her. “I would like you to separate into groups of four, and work out to the edge of our jurisdiction. Be on the lookout for Grim’s blue glow. It’s a stroke of luck we have such a dreary day. It should make spotting him easier.

  “Whatever overpowered Grim must be extraordinarily dangerous, so any skeletons under twelve years old should stay here. We’ll use you as runners to gather reinforcements in case there’s a need.” Mr. Bones scanned the crowd. A sea of ivory faces looked back at him—some determined, some drained by fear. “Any questions?”

  Mrs. Bones cast him a gentle smile as the jawing started up and a bony hand shot up in the crowd.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Bones?” The hand belonged to Mrs. Ribtuck. Her knobbly features were reminiscent of a potato.

  Mr. Bones, consulting a map, looked up. “Eh?”

  Mrs. Ribtuck said, “My neighbor’s not here.”

  “Who is it?”

  Her reply —“Liam Slackbones”— left everyone shaking their heads.

  Mr. Bones looked in the direction of Stonehamm Cottage, home of Mordecai Cleansington, and sighed. “Well, I guess that’s no surprise. Probably sleeping on the job.” Liam Slackbones’s lazy reputation was well known. “I’m sorry, everyone. Looks like we should carry on.”

  But
before the skeletons could turn again, Mrs. Bones said something that later caused Mr. Bones to thank his blessings he’d had the good sense to marry her, though at first he was quite annoyed.

  “Lars,” she whispered, “don’t you think we should have a look anyway? You never know.”

  “I’ll look a fool for changing my mind,” he whispered back.

  “Lars …” Her voice was beyond a whisper now. “How foolish will you look if something did happen and we’re too late to help?”

  Mr. Bones sighed and said, “Er … sorry, everyone. It’s best we check.”

  Mr. Bunyon seemed amused by what looked to be a good spat brewing. He grinned like a picket fence. Mrs. Bunyon frowned at him. “I wouldn’t smirk. You’ve been far more mulish.”

  With Mr. Bunyon properly shushed, the secrets-closet skeletons set off, each wondering what kind of power could overwhelm the most formidable skeleton in the Afterlife.

  Chapter 17

  Gateway to Darkness

  A few blocks from the Boneyard, Ned assumed his official Skeleton Guide duties by collecting his transferees. They were twenty of the scruffiest ghosts Billy had ever laid eyes on. Billy was not happy to see Martha’s Uncle Mordecai among them, but had to admit that he was not particularly surprised. Condemned prisoners in hand, the group marched out of Edgeton and crossed a quarter mile of barren plain. Ned drove the shackled ghosts double-time, so there was plenty of grumbling.

  Like: “What’s the rush? Dark Side running low on souls?” and, “I just died—you’d think a fellow could have a few minutes’ peace.”

  When they arrived at the checkpoint, the sight greeting them quickly silenced their complaints.

  A huge wall marked the Dark Side. It was a thousand feet high and bristling with spikes. Nestled at its base lay a bustling skeleton cavalry encampment.

  “How come bad guys don’t go directly to the Dark Side when they die?” Billy asked. “You’d think that would be a lot simpler than collecting them all on this side and then sending them over there.” Billy turned to Pete, who was fiddling with his package, so Roger answered. “The beings in the Realms Above trust us Lightsiders to do a better job of administrating judgment procedures. It’s something like applying to university.” He closed his eyes. “Let’s see if I can remember all the steps.

  “I arrived through the Tunnel of Light. After docking at the Hall of Reception, I was conducted to an immense lecture room, where a lengthy application form was waiting. That had to be filled out—then there’s the biographical essay, of course. These were then packed off to the Realms Above. Sadly, no amount of family pull can help you there.” Roger looked back toward the Edgeton sky. “Then, I had to wait.” He gripped Billy’s sleeve, turning his white knuckles whiter. “It felt like an eternity.”

  “Clackers! Were you nervous?” Billy was curious.

  “I should guess I was! Felt like I was about to die all over again. But at last I had letter in hand, and when I finally worked up the nerve to open it up, it sparkled with a golden light. I was in!” Roger clacked his jaw into a bony grin.

  The skeleton’s smile was contagious, but melted from Billy’s face when he turned toward the looming wall. Of all its spiky darkness, it was the gate that surprised him the most. Only the width of a single man, it shot up the towering wall in a ragged slash.

  “Why’s the door so narrow?” he asked Roger.

  “I keep forgetting you’re not from around here.” Roger tipped back his top hat. “The gate into the Light Side is much the same. It has to do with responsibility.”

  “Responsibility?”

  “Well, it’s a narrow path with high-reaching consequences, good or bad. There’s only enough room for one person to pass through, no matter how much we would like to blame others for our choices.”

  Billy squinted into the shadows atop the wall, feeling as if bats were flying through his missing belly.

  A loud wail spilled over the wall. Billy turned to see Uncle Mordecai cringe. He was standing at the front of the line, about twenty yards away, and so wrapped in his worries he didn’t notice the latest irregularity. But Billy did and couldn’t help giggling.

  The mystery of what had been in Pete’s parcel was bouncing with a bustle right in front of him. The old pirate had slipped behind the guardhouse and was now sporting a lavender dress.

  Pete muttered, “The things a fella’s got to do to put things right,” as he pulled a veiled hat over his head. It covered his features in what Roger insisted was a most becoming way.

  The disguise didn’t do much to cover Pete’s ship-deck stride, and Billy thought his parrot, Jenkins, was a dead giveaway, too. So did Ned.

  Pete gathered Billy close to his skirts. “Grim made up some documents for me. Has me travelin’ as a skeleton. I’ll tell the guards yer me grandson and that should get us through. There’s a note attached says I’m to join up with a tour group at the Hornsley Hotel.” He smiled at Billy from under his veil.

  “A tour group?” Billy wondered. “Is there really such a thing?”

  “Sure as a parrot’s got pinfeathers.” Pete nodded. Jenkins presented his wing in a sweeping bow.

  “Some Lightsiders visit all the time”— Roger slipped into the conversation —“to remind themselves of how good they have it, but others like to strut around and lord it over the unfortunates.”

  Clops and jingles announced the approach of an officer mounted on a skeleton horse. He adjusted his monocle when he saw the group, but his gaze lingered on Pete. Tipping his helmet, he cooed, “We don’t get many ladies traveling out here. It pleases me to see such an elegant flower.”

  Pete fluttered a whalebone fan, tittering in a squeaky voice. “Thank ye young man, yer a darlin’.”

  “He really has been out here a long time if that’s his idea of a looker,” Roger whispered to Billy.

  Pete elbowed Roger in the ribs. Billy bit down hard, trying not to laugh.

  “Not at all, madam … charmed.” The officer bowed, his monocle dropping out of his eye socket. “My name is Colonel Siegely, commander of the Afterlife’s third regiment of the Light Cavalry. Not sure if you’ve been apprised of the situation, but seems an Afterlife emergency’s been declared—some kind of Hall of Reception foul-up.”

  “Try to act surprised,” Pete whispered.

  Billy did his best.

  “‘An extra-high level of security will be in effect, starting today,’” Colonel Siegely read from an official document he’d retrieved from a tunic pocket. “‘We will be screening travelers for dangerous items such as shampoo and toothpaste. And you will also have to remove your shoes.’”

  Pete fluttered his fan at the colonel. “Might we have a few words in private on that very point?” He twittered.

  The colonel trotted his horse over at once, his bony face plastered with delight. “Certainly, madam.” Siegely grunted as he dismounted.

  “It’s mademoiselle to ye. I’m unattached at present.” Pete tapped him with the tip of the folded fan. “Perhaps you could do a kindness to a lady and her grandson.”

  “Grandson, it can’t possibly be! I was certain that you were going to say brother.”

  “Again, ye have me blushin’. But ye see, we have a little dilemma.” Pete stationed Billy between the advancing officer and himself. “Perhaps ye’ll be good enough to help us.”

  “Your servant, mademoiselle!” The colonel responded with a bow.

  “We need to sneak a few golden wishes in, so we can wish our way out if we don’t like the accommodations. I’m a touch finicky, ye see.”

  “Understandable, but normally out of the question. If a Darksider ended up with a golden wish, he could wish himself over to the Light Side, too.” The colonel adjusted his monocle, his eyes focusing for the first time. “I do get that request every so often, but not from skeletons. Never seen one rich enough to manage it.”

  “Err …” Pete hemmed.

  The colonel frowned. Billy had to think of something qui
ck. And as luck would have it, he didn’t have to stray very far from the truth. “Candy!” he blurted.

  “Ehhh?” Both Colonel Siegely and Pete turned to Billy.

  “Candy,” Billy repeated. “We’ve made our fortune in candy. We’re very well-to-do.”

  “How delightful!” Colonel Siegely hitched in his paunchy jacket and puffed out his chest. “Even I like a tidbit now and again. Perhaps I can overlook the golden wishes for today.” He looked at Pete longingly and took another step forward.

  Not good. Billy winced. Come on. Think of something!

  The colonel’s horse snorted.

  “What’s your horse’s name?” Billy asked frantically.

  Colonel Siegely looked down at Billy. “What’s that, young man?”

  “Your horse … he’s a real bruiser. What’s his name?”

  The colonel locked an admiring glance on the animal. “His name is Clattershanks, and I say he’s the finest in the Afterlife.”

  Clattershanks lifted his head and whinnied proudly. But Billy was pretty sure Fleggs could vaporize this horse with one hoof.

  Billy asked all about the horse: how many times he’d seen action, what was his favorite saddle, and how fast he could gallop.

  The colonel answered. And about twenty minutes later, he gave a cursory look at their documents. Before Colonel Siegely clacked back to the guardhouse, he left Billy and Pete with a warning. “Keep your coins well hidden. If someone were to find out I let them pass, well, they’d be leading me in there next—and all for a pretty girl.” He tipped his helmet to Pete. “I’ll count the days until your safe return.”

  Pete curtsied, then he and Billy and all the shackled ghosts headed toward darkness. Seconds later a horn blew notes so deep they could have been ripped from a thunderstorm’s belly. The gate ratcheted open, and a blast of heat nearly boiled the marrow in Billy’s bones.