“Already downstairs,” said Grimes. “He was kind enough to come by early and help us blow up balloons. Shall we?” He gestured toward the elevator. “I thought we might go upstairs first, take a quick tour of Dracula’s castle. You’ve seen the show?”
“Yes, sir,” said Derek. “It’s awesome!”
“Thank you.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Derek?”
“Were we supposed to wear costumes like you guys?”
“This?” The director laughed. “No. I’m going to perform a few of my grandfather’s magic tricks at the party! Thought I should dress the part.”
“Cool.”
“But first, I want to take you folks backstage, give you a guided tour. Show you how we pull off some of the illusions.”
He gestured toward the elevator.
They all stepped into the waiting car.
Hakeem pulled the accordion cage door shut. Pressed a button. The elevator rose.
“I wish Zack was here,” said Judy. “He loves magic tricks.”
“I gave your stepson a private tour earlier,” said Grimes.
“Really? That was nice.”
“I know.”
Hakeem held out a cloth sack.
“Cell phones, pagers, and beeping watches, if you please,” he said.
“Why?” asked Mrs. McKenna.
“I despise electronic interruptions,” said Grimes. “Your valuables will, of course, be returned to you immediately after our little party.”
Judy looked at Mary McKenna. They both shrugged. What the heck? They placed their cell phones into the sack. Meghan added hers. Derek tossed in his PlayStation Portable.
The elevator car stuttered to a stop.
The doors slid open.
Badir and Jamal were waiting on the other side.
They were both armed with pistols.
93
“I’ve had seventy years to think about what I said that night,” Kimble mumbled. “I memorized those Latin words. Found a priest who translated ’em for me, taught me all about Moloch.”
“Who is he?” Zack asked.
“Pagan god. Phoenicians worshipped him. Folks who lived in Carthage, what they call Tunisia these days.” Kimble reached for the bottle of juice Zack had found in the lunch bag, and took a long swallow. “A lot of ancient civilizations used to practice child sacrifice. Aztecs. Incas. Carthaginians.”
“And the parents let them do this?”
“Aya. In some cultures, the families had so many children they were willing to sacrifice one of it meant they’d receive some sort of special favor from the gods for all the rest. Good crop. Wealth and riches. New life for a bunch of dead criminals so you can send ’em out into the world to do your bidding. That’s what Professor Nicodemus was up to.”
“He was a necromancer,” said Zack, remembering the poster.
“That’s right. And he was the real deal. Could actually call forth the dead, have ’em float across the stage. I’ve seen it. Clara and I were on the same vaudeville bill with him.”
“You saw him call up demons from the dead?”
“At every show. He knew all the ancient rites. Carried around this big leather book. The Book of Ba’al. He figured he could run the resurrection ritual and all of the demons would come back to life beholden to him.”
He’d be the mayor of demon city, thought Zack. Pandemonium.
“Wish I’d known what he was making me say,” Kimble continued. “Clara and I thought we were auditioning for roles as his juvenile assistants.”
“He killed your sister? Burned her alive?”
“Aya. But, he forgot to vent his grill properly. Smoke billowed out all the windows. Fire trucks showed up. Police, too. I lived. Clara died. The professor was shipped off to the loony bin. The sacrifice was not completed. Moloch’s promise remained unfulfilled.”
“So you stayed here all these years to protect kids from falling into the same trap you and your sister did?”
“That’s right. I never knew when the next descendant of the high priest of Ba’al might show up, try to kill another child like my sister, Baby Clara. The best juggler in all vaudeville.”
“Juggler Girl!”
“What?”
“And your name’s Wilbur! She sent Zipper and me down to rescue you. Dropped one of her balls down the stairwell.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“You saw Clara?”
“Sure. I’ve seen her a couple times.”
Kimble’s lips quivered. “How does she look?”
“Fine. Has on this frilly dress. Juggles all sorts of stuff. Balls. Bowling pins.”
“Is she burned?”
“What?”
“Is she scarred from the fire?”
“No. Like I said, she looks fine.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart!”
Kimble swiped his rough hand across his damp eyes. “What I wouldn’t give to see her face again.”
“Well, most adults can’t see ghosts…”
“It’s because I killed her. That’s why I could see that ugly ghost in the closet but not my baby sister!”
“No. It’s just how it is. Besides, you didn’t kill Clara. That psycho professor guy did.”
“But it was my fault.”
For a split second, Zack wondered if that was why he could see all sorts of spirits but not his own mother’s!
Was it his fault she was dead?
“You’ll see her,” Zack said, trying to comfort the old man.
“When?”
Zack didn’t know the answer to that one, so he made something up. “Just as soon as we stop these people from killing Meghan and Derek! Where’s the nearest phone? We need to call the police!”
“Upstairs,” said Kimble. “Stage manager’s desk in the wings backstage.”
“Let’s go!”
Kimble hauled himself up off the floor. “We need to be careful, son. Moloch is mighty!”
Yeah. So Zack had heard. In the original Latin, too.
94
“This way, ladies!” snarled one of the thugs, waggling his pistol at the three mothers. “Into the vault!”
The other giant had his weapon trained on Meghan and Derek.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Judy demanded.
The big man snorted a laugh. “Locking you three inside Dracula’s tomb. Hurry up. It’s nice ‘n’ cozy.”
“Forget it,” said Judy.
“Silence, infidel!” screamed Grimes. “Do not dare to interfere with my destiny! You are nothing! Nobody! I am the high priest of Ba’al Hammon!” He roughly grabbed hold of Meghan’s shoulders. Hakeem snatched Derek.
“Mom?” Derek cried.
Mrs. Stone fainted and fell to the floor.
She wasn’t going to be much help, Judy realized.
“Into the box!” The swarthy man jabbed the muzzle of his pistol into Judy’s back.
“No!” said Meghan’s mom. “Let go of my daughter!”
The other thug thumbed back the hammer on his revolver. Aimed it at Meghan’s head. “Do what my friend Jamal says or I blow out this one’s pretty little brains.”
“Come on, Mary,” said Judy. “They mean business.”
“Indeed we do!” said Grimes. “Tie them up! Blindfold them! Put them inside Dracula’s tomb!”
Ropes wrapped tight around her hands and ankles, a thick cloth covering her eyes, Judy was forced into the set piece that had been Dracula’s sealed tomb in the show. She figured it was a version of a magician’s substitution box, a classic magic trick she’d learned about while researching one of her books.
Judy heard Mrs. McKenna crying as she was shoved into the dark box.
“Grab hold of this other one’s legs,” snarled the thug named Jamal. “I’ll take the arms.”
Mrs. Stone’s limp body was dumped between Judy and Mary McKenna.
Someone slammed the tomb door shut.
Judy heard heavy chains being wrapped around and around the box. Locks snapping into place. Yep. Just like in the magic trick.
Now she just hoped she could remember how the trick worked.
How the magician escaped!
95
Zipper watched the old man start climbing a ladder bolted to the basement wall.
“This’ll be faster,” the man said. “Take us straight up to the wings and the stage manager’s desk.”
“I’ll be right back, Zip,” Zack said as he grabbed a ladder rung.
Zipper knew Zack to be a boy of his word.
So he sank down on all fours. Panted a little.
He’d wait.
“Hurry!” Zack called out to the man climbing up the ladder ahead of him.
“Movin’ as fast as I can.”
“We need to move faster!”
Zipper barked. Zack was right. The old guy was slow.
He heard their feet clunk-clunk-clunking up the ladder.
Real slow.
Now he heard a hiss. He perked up his ears. Swung his head to the right.
His hackles shot up like porcupine quills.
The cat.
The crazy thing was back.
96
The goons named Badir and Jamal shoved Meghan and Derek down the switchback ramp leading to the storage room.
And the Minotaur, thought Meghan.
She could smell something burning. Oily. Foul. Like a malfunctioning furnace.
Mr. Grimes and Hakeem shoved open the swinging barn doors.
“Inside!” growled Badir.
Meghan felt the pistol muzzle being jabbed into her ribs. “Now!”
“Shall I lock the doors?” Hakeem asked.
“No need,” Grimes chortled. “We’re all alone. Leave them open wide so my army of demons can march forth to conquer the world!”
“What about the other boy?”
“The playwright’s son? Bah! The child is a weakling! He is no match for Moloch and me!”
Meghan would’ve disagreed with the lunatic but she was too busy staring at the brass man-beast.
There was a barbeque grill between its knees and it was glowing, turning red like a burner on an electric stove top.
The bull’s horns were acting like chimneys, sending streams of wavering heat and smoke straight up to the exhaust hood.
Grimes raised his arms toward the statue.
“King of the two regions, I invoke you!” he cried out.
Meghan stared toward the ceiling. She knew they were about two stories below the stage-right side of the theater. That was where the scene shop was—the place where they constructed all the set pieces for shows.
If this was a storage room for scenery, that meant there had to be some sort of freight elevator. A trapdoor. Some way to raise and lower heavy objects. Otherwise, how did they get the statue down here?
Now Hakeem, Grimes’s assistant, stepped toward the statue. “Mighty Moloch, for lo these many years have we waited for this moment!”
Meghan looked over at Derek. He was trembling.
“We have longed for a high priest of Ba’al, an heir to the royal bloodline, to journey forth to this portal under the full dog moon to unleash our avenging army of demons!”
Okay. Now Meghan’s knees were knocking, too. She’d met one demon—Lilly Pruett. But a whole army?
“Brotherhood of Hannibal, prepare to reap your reward!” cried Hakeem. “Prepare to raise a legion of merciless mercenaries to restore the glory that was Carthage! My brothers, prepare for Pandemonium!”
Meghan knew what that meant.
They were going to reestablish the capital city of Hell!
97
“There has to be a sliding panel!” said Judy.
“What?” said Meghan’s mom.
Mrs. Stone didn’t say anything. She was still passed out, squeezed in tight between Judy and Mrs. McKenna in the claustrophobic substitution box.
“That’s how magicians do this trick! They slip off the ropes, then slide out the secret panel to switch places with their assistant.”
“Where do they put the secret escape hatch?”
“Well, it can’t be on the front or the two sides,” said Judy. “The audience would see the magician sneaking out. So, it has to be on the bottom or the back. Feel around for it!”
They both slid down as far as they could with their hands tied behind their backs, their ankles bound. Judy patted her palms against the rear wall, then the floor, feeling for a hidden switch or lever. Being blindfolded didn’t make the search any easier.
“We need to get out of here,” said Mrs. McKenna, sounding frantic. “Those men have Meghan!”
“We’ll find her. Derek, too. And Zack! Where’s Zack?”
“With Wilbur,” said a young girl.
Judy and Mrs. McKenna froze.
They couldn’t see who the little girl was.
But they both heard what sounded like rubber balls bouncing around on the crate’s wooden floor.
98
Mr. Kimble crawled through the trapdoor first.
“I’ll go phone the police!” he shouted down the ladder to Zack. “Meet me at the stage manager’s desk! It’s behind the black curtains stage right!”
“Hurry!” said Zack. He hauled himself up the final four rungs of the ladder, came up through the trapdoor.
The curly-haired ghost was waiting for him.
“Hello, Zack.”
He could finally see her face.
It looked just like it did in the theater program.
Young and happy.
His mother.
His real mother. Susan Potter. When she was in her twenties and her hair was wild and curly, not flat and straight like Zack remembered it. This was his mother before Zack had been born. Before she had even met his dad.
“It’s so good to see you again. Let me look at you!”
Zack retreated two steps. Bumped up against some ropes and sandbags.
“W-w-what do you want?” he stammered.
“To help you! That’s why I moved the gloves. To point the way to the statue! Then I led you to the trunk and protected you from Lilly Pruett and helped you find the hidden script. Don’t you see, Zack? I want to help you and Judy.”
“You leave Judy alone!”
“No, Zack. You don’t understand. I’m trying to …”
“Shut up! I know what you’re trying to do!”
For a moment, the ghost of his dead mother said nothing. Then she smiled. “You were always so different, Zack. So very special.”
Was she mocking him?
“I think it’s because you were born under a full moon.”
Oh, yeah. She might be dead, but she was still the same.
“You should be downstairs, Zack. He can’t complete the ritual without children born under a full moon.”
So that was why she’d saved him from Lilly Pruett. She was making some kind of deal with Moloch. Offering Zack as another kid to be fed into the fire.
“You were spying on me at the hotel back in North Chester, weren’t you?”
“No, Zack.”
“You were there with that guy in the electric chair! He called you Doll Face.”
“Yes, but…”
“Is Mad Dog Murphy one of your new pals?”
“No, Zack.”
“Yeah, right. You broke the picture frame in my room, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You could only do that if you were really, really mad.”
“Or happy.”
“No, you’re mad because I’m finally happy!”
Her terrifying smile broadened. “Are you, Zack?”
“Absolutely!” He spat the word at her. “Happier than I ever was with you!”
And then Zack figured it out.
“You hate that, don’t you? You hate that I’m happy!”
“No, Zack.”
“You’re lying! I know what you’re tr
ying to do! You’re trying to slow me down! You want Judy dead!”
“No, Zack. Listen …”
“Shut up, you wicked witch! I didn’t kill you and I won’t let you kill Judy or Meghan or even Derek!”
The ghost of his mother stopped smiling.
“I’m sorry, Zack.”
“Why? Because I figured out your stupid plan?”
Susan Potter disappeared as quickly as the fog off a mirror when you throw open the bathroom door.
Hah! Got her!
One demon down, who knew how many more to go?
“Zack!” It was Mr. Kimble. Off in the shadows. “Help!”
99
The sleek gray cat was fast.
Very fast.
Zipper chased it up the spiral staircase.
Across the lower lobby.
Up the curving staircase.
Very, very fast.
Into the main lobby. Around the box office. Under the velvet ropes, over the stack of playbills, down the side of the lobby, through a door.
A closed door.
Zipper hit the brakes.
Smacked into the door.
He wasn’t a ghost. Couldn’t run through solid objects. The cat could. Cheater.
100
“Don’t be afraid,” said the soft, childish voice.
“Who are you?” Judy asked the darkness.
“Clara Kimble. Mr. Harry Houdini showed me how to do this trick, ages ago. Feel on the floor. Near your feet.”
“I don’t feel a thing,” Mrs. McKenna grunted.
“Not you, silly. You!”
Judy felt a rush of cold air, as if she had just stuck her head inside the freezer case at the supermarket to check out the ice cream. She slid her feet around on the floor.
“Got it! Found it!”
“Great!” said Meghan’s mom.
“Push it sideways,” said the girl. “Push it now!”
Judy pushed. She heard a soft thunk. A panel flopped open under her feet and she tumbled out onto the floor.
“What about the rope? My hands?”
“Move the knots around,” whispered the girl. “Find the slack. There is always slack. Houdini said so!”
The Hanging Hill Page 16
