The Monsters of Morley Manor

by Bruce Coville

  Mr. Perkins glared at us from his perch in the corner of the kitchen, clearly nervous about the weird little creatures that had invaded the house.

  And Sarah and I were dressed and ready to head for Morley Manor.

  Before we left, we divided the monsters between us. Albert was riding in the right pocket of my yellow raincoat, Bob in the left. Ludmilla and Melisande were riding with Sarah. As for Gaspar, he was sitting on my collar, clinging to my ear to help him keep his balance.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Ready,” said Sarah, though the quaver in her voice made it clear she still wasn’t sure about this.

  “Ready,” said Gaspar.

  We stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but that appeared to be a temporary situation; dark clouds hid any sign of the stars and moon, and thunder was rumbling ominously in the distance.

  “So much for finding out whether Bob should have returned to his own shape or not,” muttered Gaspar, glancing up at the pitch-black sky.

  It felt weird to have Gaspar clinging to my ear like that, but the position allowed him talk to me, and as we slogged through the wet streets, he began telling me his story. Sarah moved closer, and he shouted a bit so that she could hear, too.

  “I was born in Transylvania,” he started, “nearly a century ago. I was the second of a set of twin boys. My brother, Martin, beat me into the world by thirteen minutes and thirteen seconds.

  “In those days Martin and I were identical not only in face but in feeling. Our minds and our hearts were as one. We thought the same thoughts, felt the same feelings. And the thing we felt most strongly of all was curiosity.

  “One evening in the summer of our twelfth year—both our sisters had been born by then, though Melisande was still but a toddler—Martin and I scaled the wall of an ancient, half-ruined castle that stood a mile from our village.”

  Lightning streaked down in the distance, and Gaspar paused to let the thunder rumble past us before he continued his story.

  “The castle was said to be haunted. Martin and I set out to prove that it was not, though we half hoped that it was. We had told our parents we were going to be camping for the night. Our real plans were more daring. I doubt either of us would have attempted such a thing on our own. But together we would try anything, no matter how foolhardy.

  “We spread our blankets on the floor of the great hall. As night fell, we heard strange rustlings and stirrings. We tried to explain them away—rats in the walls, the wind coming through a broken window. But then we heard, coming from below us, a moan that was unmistakably human—or at least something like a human.”

  I shivered, and noticed that Sarah and I were walking closer together than we had been a minute earlier.

  “‘Are you ready for this, brother?’ asked Martin.

  “I’m at your side,’ I affirmed.

  “Martin always took the lead in this way, claiming it was his right as elder, a fact that sometimes annoyed, sometimes comforted me. But when it was time to move, we always went together.

  “Side by side, we descended the castle stairs, searching for that moaning. Suddenly Martin grabbed my arm. We stopped. In the darkness ahead of us loomed a tall, robed figure—not solid, not real flesh, but seeming to be just a milky glow. It reached out to us, and the sight sent autumn leaves whirling through my heart.”

  Gaspar fell silent for a moment, lost in his memories.

  “Who was it?” demanded Sarah. “What did you do?”

  “My first thought was to flee. I probably would have, had I not had Martin at my side. Together, we stood our ground. ‘What do you want, strange spirit?’ asked Martin.”

  “Why did you think it wanted anything at all?” I asked.

  “Ghosts always want something,” said Sarah knowingly. “Otherwise they would just move on.”

  “Precisely,” said Gaspar. “This spirit, as if freed to speak by Martin’s question, told us it was a wizard named Wentar. His unhappy shade was imprisoned in the castle halls as punishment for his misdeeds in life.” He paused, then added in a bitter voice, “I have since learned that this was not the complete truth.”

  We heard a car coming, and ducked behind some bushes to hide. Its wheels hissed on the wet street, and it sent up a spray of water as it passed.

  “Anyway,” Gaspar continued, once the car was gone, “Wentar asked for our aid in freeing his soul from its curse. Martin and I were glad to give that help, for it seemed like a grand adventure. However, the task he assigned us—finding and retrieving a huge jewel called ‘The Heart of Zentarazna’—turned out to be more terrifying than we could have imagined.”

  “What did you have to do to get it?” asked Sarah eagerly.

  “It’s a long story,” said Gaspar, “and I don’t have time to give you all the details right now. Let it be enough to say that in order to free him, we had to use a book hidden in a secret library in the castle’s eastern tower.” He chuckled. “When Wentar told us how to enter that well-concealed room, I do not think he suspected how Martin and I would react to those books. He had offered us gold for our help, but the real reward was the books themselves.”

  “Why?” asked Sarah, stepping around a deep puddle. “Didn’t you have any of your own?”

  “We had plenty of books,” said Gaspar. “Our father was a great scholar. But these books—ah, these books were filled with ancient and forbidden wisdom, the kind of secrets my twin and I had dreamed of finding, had spoken of in low whispers late at night, but had never truly believed we could possess. Oh, how those pages fired our imaginations! What strange paths of discovery they led us to!”

  “Sounds exciting,” I said enviously.

  Gaspar sighed. “It was. But there is a reason much of that knowledge is forbidden. Soon Martin and I were tampering with forces far beyond our comprehension, walking an edge of danger that we barely understood. Then one night Martin fell through a hole in the world.”

  “Huh?” I said, not very intelligently.

  “It was the most terrifying moment of my life,” said Gaspar, his voice heavy. “Worse, even, than the first instant when we saw Wentar. It happened one midnight when Martin and I were in the forest, tracing a maze in the center of a clearing. It was stupid of us; the magic we were playing with was far beyond our understanding. But we had talked ourselves into thinking it was a good idea. This is a specialty of teenage boys. Martin, who always insisted on going first, was walking the path ahead of me. I followed, holding a lantern. All of a sudden I heard him cry out. Then, in an instant, he disappeared—just vanished, right before my eyes.

  “I was terrified—and frozen by uncertainty. Should I keep walking the maze, so that I would follow wherever he had gone? Should I wait for him? Should I run for help? I called his name over and over, but there was no answer, no sound at all save that of the wind whispering through the trees above me.”

  Gaspar’s voice was heavy now. “I have never known if it was wisdom or cowardice that kept me from taking those next steps along the maze. Nor do I know how long I stood there, unable to turn back for fear I would break the spell and ruin Martin’s chance of returning, unable to move forward for fear I would disappear myself. I only know it was long enough for my body to ache with the effort of holding still, yet not long enough for morning to come.

  “Finally, in a burst of green light, Martin did return. He was Martin, yet not Martin, for something about him was different. His spirit was darker. Sorrow colored his eyes. And of what had happened, where he had been, he would not speak at all. As time went on that reticence grew; where once there had been no secrets between us, now there were many. I no longer knew his heart as once I had.

  “Despite this horrifying experience, we did not cease our visits to the castle library. If anything, Martin was more eager than ever to continue our investigations. They were thrilling. Yet my heart was heavy, for my twin and I were never again as close as we once had been. The years rolled by. We grew stronger and bolder in our knowledge. Albe
rt came to work for us, which is a story in itself. Our family prospered. When our parents died, Martin and I took on the care of Ludmilla and Melisande. The war came, and we survived that. Then, shortly after peace arrived, Martin decided we should move to America.

  “‘Something terrible is coming.’ he kept saying. ‘An evil almost beyond imagination.’ He was right, of course. The communists came, and a grayness descended on our homeland.”

  Gaspar fell silent, and I could sense that he was fighting back painful feelings. He was about to continue his story when we turned down Willow Street.

  Ahead, rising against the darkness, dark clouds massed behind it, was Morley Manor. A streak of lightning sizzled out of the sky, illuminating its rickety towers.

  “Home,” said Gaspar, and in his voice was such love and anger that it frightened me.

  6

  The Five Little Monsters and How They Grew

  THE GATE TO MORLEY MANOR was about twelve feet tall and had fierce spikes on the top. I was afraid it would be locked, but I guess the new owner figured that since the place was going to be torn down, there was no point in bothering to keep people out. Or maybe he just figured that no one with a brain in his head would go in there, anyway.

  When I tried to open the gate, I realized there was another reason not to bother with a lock: The hinges were so badly rusted that I couldn’t budge the thing. I wondered how they had gotten it open for the sale.

  “Sarah,” I grunted. “Give me a hand with this.”

  She came up beside me. I looked at her and nodded. We clutched the wet metal bars and began to push with all our might. Suddenly the gate lurched forward about a half a foot, letting out a terrible screech as it did.

  The rain was starting again, and, of course, we couldn’t hold our umbrella while we were pushing. I shook my head to get the water out of my eyes and said, “Again!”

  Another screech, nearly lost in a rumble of thunder from overhead, and the gate lurched open just far enough for us to squeeze through if we turned sideways.

  My hair was soaked, and I wished that I had bothered to put up the hood on my raincoat the way Sarah had. Gaspar was soaked, too, so at least I wasn’t alone. Bob and Albert, on the other hand, had ducked under the flaps on my pockets and so they stayed dry. It was weird to feel them moving around—almost as if I had a hamster in each pocket.

  Lightning crackled through the sky as we started up the walk. Thunder boomed and crashed. I expected Sarah to say she wanted to go home, but she didn’t. I think having the monsters with us made us both feel braver. Spooky as Morley Manor was, it seemed like a natural home for our new friends. And since we were here to do them a favor, it somehow felt safe.

  It was a relief to get up on the porch and out of the rain. The front door was unlocked, too, and opened much more easily than the gate had. As we stepped inside, a clock began to strike midnight.

  “That’s weird,” said Sarah nervously.

  “What?” I asked, barely able to get the word past the dryness in my throat.

  “There aren’t any clocks here. I watched a lady buy them all this morning.”

  I shivered.

  We let the monsters out of our pockets. The furniture was almost all gone—sold or hauled away—but we found a wobbly table where we could set them. Then Sarah swung her flashlight around the room.

  Melisande started to cry. “Our beautiful housssse,” she hissed, clutching Ludmilla’s arm. “Oh, ssssister, look what hassss happened to our beautiful housssse.”

  The snakes on her head drooped mournfully.

  Ludmilla patted her on the shoulder, but her lip was trembling and she looked as if she were about to cry, too.

  Gaspar just looked angry.

  Sarah and I knelt in front of the table so we could talk to them.

  “What next?” I whispered.

  “We climb the forbidden stair,” said Gaspar.

  “I should have guessed,” I muttered. “All right, where is it?” Remembering the roped-off stairway I had seen that morning, I said, “Never mind, I think I know. You guys wanna walk or ride?”

  They decided to walk, so we put them gently on the floor—except for Ludmilla, who turned into a bat again and flew instead.

  The sign saying ABSOLUTELY NO ONE PAST THIS POINT was still in place. “What’s up there?” I asked when we stood at the base of it.

  “My laboratory,” said Gaspar. “At least, I hope it’s still there.” He sounded a little nervous.

  “And the Sssstarry Door,” hissed Melisande’s snakes.

  The stairs were too high for the monsters to climb, so Sarah and I picked them up again—except for Ludmilla, who was still flying. Swallowing hard, we started toward the top. Suddenly something crashed below us, so loud and hard that I cried out and nearly stumbled.

  “What was that?” screamed Sarah.

  “Just the house,” said Gaspar, from his perch on my shoulder. When it was clear that we didn’t understand, he added, “It makes sounds all by itself,”

  I could feel my eyes bulge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just don’t open any doors vithout asking us first,” whispered Ludmilla, who was driving me nuts by fluttering around a few inches from my head.

  Suddenly a cold wind whistled past us, as if someone had opened an upstairs window.

  Sarah shivered. “Where did that come from?”

  “It’s just the house,” said Gaspar again.

  “Maybe you guys should go the rest of the way on your own,” I suggested, stopping a few feet from the top.

  “We can’t open the laboratory door when we’re only five inchessss high!” hissed Melisande, sounding as if she thought I was some sort of idiot.

  I sighed and walked on.

  All too soon we were at the top of the stairs.

  Sarah lifted her flashlight.

  A long hallway stretched ahead of us. Several doors opened off from it. At the end of the hallway was a bookcase.

  “Okay,” I said. “Which door?”

  “None of them,” said Gaspar.

  “But you said—”

  “We don’t use the doors,” said Gaspar. “We use the bookcase. Take out the second book from the right on the fourth shelf.”

  We walked down the long hall. I pulled out the book Instantly the whole bookshelf slid up, disappearing into the ceiling.

  “It’s like a metaphor,” said Gaspar smugly. “The bookshelf is the true door to greater knowledge.”

  I didn’t know about greater knowledge, but this was definitely a greater hallway. It stretched ahead of us for an absurd length, clearly going far past the walls of Morley Manor. I couldn’t see all the way to the end of it; after about a hundred yards or so, it was shrouded in mist.

  “This is too weird,” said Sarah.

  “On the contrary,” said Ludmilla, who had turned back into human form and was sitting on Sarah’s shoulder. “It’s just weird enough!”

  “Take the third door on the right,” said Gaspar.

  The floor creaked beneath our feet. The door groaned and complained as I pushed it open.

  By the light of Sarah’s flashlight, I saw what appeared to be a mad scientist’s laboratory crossed with a wizard’s hideaway. The room looked like no one had entered it in fifty years. The walls were so high I figured the original ceiling must have been taken out so that the room could extend up to include the attic. Or maybe not. Given the hall we had just traveled, it was hard to be sure how this place was built.

  Medical tables stood side by side with tall wooden stands that held thick, ancient books bound in leather and stamped with titles written in some strange alphabet. The shelves were filled with test tubes, beakers, and green glass bottles with labels like EYE OF NEWT, POWDERED BAT WING, and TOASTED TOAD TOES. Dust lay thick over everything. Nets of cobwebs stretched from table to shelf, from shelf to floor.

  On the far side of the room, on a raised area almost like a little stage, stood five glass cylinders, each a
bout seven feet high.

  “Thank goodness they’re still here!” cried Gaspar when he spotted the cylinders. “That’s where we will be enlarged.”

  I felt a rustling in the pockets of my raincoat. “Let us out!” cried Albert.

  Sarah and I found an empty table. I took Albert and Bob out of my pockets, then took off the raincoat. Sarah set Ludmilla and Melisande on the table beside them, then took off her raincoat, too.

  “All right,” said Gaspar. “Let’s get busy. You will have to operate the controls, Anthony.”

  “What are you going to use for power?” I asked. “The electricity has been cut off.”

  “We don’t have to fly kites to catch lightning or anything, do we?” asked Sarah nervously.

  Gaspar laughed. “There are many other sources of power in this world. See that metal box over there, the one on the table near the center of the room? Take me to it, please.”

  The box had a glass top, and I could see, through a layer of dust and cobwebs, that it held an enormous green jewel.

  “This is The Heart of Zentarazna,” said Gaspar. “The jewel I told you of.”

  “I thought you gave it back to Wentar,” said, staring at it in awe.

  “We did. We later earned it back from him. Another story altogether. Place it in the control box over there.”

  Nervously, I took the jewel from its container. Though it was smooth as glass, it seemed to pulse with energy. When I closed my hands over it, I could see a green glow through my fingers. I placed it gently in the control box.

  “Now throw that switch,” said Gaspar, pointing to a lever as big as my arm.

  I did as he directed. The five glass chambers rose about seven feet into the air.

  Albert shouted in triumph, which started Bob howling. With Ludmilla fluttering excitedly around our heads, we carried the other four monsters to the raised area. Eagerly they took their places, one beneath each glass chamber.

  When they were all ready, Gaspar said, “Now return the switch to the original position. When the chambers have lowered and been sealed, press the three buttons next to it—first the red one, then the green one, then the black one.”