The Tell-Tale Start

by Gordon McAlpine

  Had he been here all along? If so, he must have been standing very still, the boys thought.

  He wore a well-tailored suit and a skull-shaped earring, and as he drew near, they realized he was even shorter than they were (and they were somewhat small for their age). When he smiled, his teeth flashed a blinding white.

  “My name is Mr. Archer, boys.”

  “Nice earring,” they answered without sarcasm. They liked skulls.

  Mr. Archer nodded. “I wore it especially for you two.”

  The boys glanced over to Mr. Mann, whose eyes had gone shifty.

  “Leave us,” Mr. Archer instructed the principal. “We require a moment’s privacy.”

  Mr. Mann looked surprised. “You’re asking me to vacate my own office?”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Archer said.

  Mr. Mann slunk out of the room without another word, closing the door after him.

  The boys turned back to the little man. They couldn’t help admiring his style.

  “Are you from some kind of reform school?” Allan inquired.

  “Egad, ‘reform school’ is such an outmoded term.”

  Actually, the boys could think of few things more outmoded than the word “egad,” a slangy exclamation introduced to the language more than three hundred years ago.

  “My institution is oriented more toward research than education,” he continued.

  Institution?

  “You’re not talking about a…mental institution, are you?” Edgar asked.

  Mr. Archer laughed and shook his head no. “We’ve been observing you boys for a long time,” he continued. “And we’ve concluded that this is the moment to take control.”

  “Control of what?”

  “The two of you.”

  “Hey, nobody controls us,” the boys snapped in unison, wondering if they might have overestimated the skull earring as a sign of the man’s good character.

  “Boys, boys, boys,” Mr. Archer said, holding out his small hands in a reassuring gesture. “What I meant was control of your case.”

  “We’re not a ‘case,’” Allan said.

  “OK, perhaps that’s not exactly the right word either,” Mr. Archer admitted, his eyes narrowing.

  “Maybe you should go back to school to study vocabulary,” Edgar suggested.

  Mr. Archer’s face froze, like a mask, and he fixed the boys with a glare. How could such a small man suddenly seem so big? “Don’t mistake my organization for the PTA, boys,” he said with a growl.

  Edgar and Allan kept silent.

  Then Mr. Archer smiled, suddenly friendly again. “Do you boys like science experiments?”

  They looked at each other. “Yes, particularly messy ones,” they answered cautiously.

  Mr. Archer nodded. “Egad! Indeed, we’re very ‘messy.’”

  He moved quickly toward the boys as if to shake their hands, but instead removed something shiny from his jacket pocket—tweezers! In a flash, he reached up and plucked several hairs from each of their heads.

  “Ouch!” they shouted, jumping away.

  He slipped each sample into its own small plastic bag and tucked the bags into his jacket.

  The boys started toward the little man, their faces set in identical expressions of anger. But before they got close enough to snatch back the bags of hair, the office door burst open.

  It was Mr. Mann, followed by their uncle Jack and aunt Judith.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Poe have arrived a few minutes early,” Mr. Mann announced apologetically as he bustled in.

  Mr. Archer turned toward the trio of adults and froze. After a moment, he murmured, “Excuse me,” and without another word disappeared out the door.

  Gone.

  “That was Mr. Archer,” the principal said to Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith. “Pay him no mind. He’s, um…a school custodian.”

  “Custodian?” the twins exclaimed, their scalps still stinging.

  Mr. Mann brushed past Edgar and Allan to stand behind his desk. “Mr. Archer’s profession is neither here nor there, boys.”

  “Mr. Mann, we’re not here to talk about a custodian,” Uncle Jack snapped. He cleared his throat and began to roll up his sleeves, something he did whenever he was nervous, angry, or both. “Edgar and Allan may create a stir from time to time,” he admitted. “But they never really hurt anybody.”

  “No?” Mr. Mann replied. “What about the time their computer hacking knocked out the electrical grid for the entire city of Baltimore?”

  “That was accidental,” the boys answered.

  “And since then we’ve forbidden them to use computers or cell phones,” Aunt Judith added.

  “This isn’t about computers.” Mr. Mann said, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s about cheating on their standardized test.”

  A tell-tale vein in Uncle Jack’s forehead began to pulse. “These boys aren’t cheaters!”

  Mr. Mann cleared his throat. “Allow me to express my regrets that it’s come to this,” he said. “Please sit down, Mr. and Mrs. Poe.”

  Neither Uncle Jack nor Aunt Judith sat. Instead, they took up positions on either side of their nephews.

  “As a retired schoolteacher, I understand a lot about standardized testing,” Aunt Judith said. The boys had always considered her “a good egg” (and not only because of her shape). Usually her eyes were kind and her voice soft. But now her eyes had narrowed, and her voice had an edge. “As my husband said, these boys do not cheat.”

  “Well, their answer sheets indicate otherwise,” Mr. Mann said.

  “That’s because we’re identical!” the boys said in unison.

  Mr. Mann shook his head. “This has nothing to do with your appearance,” he said.

  He just didn’t get it.

  “So what are you proposing, Mr. Mann?” Uncle Jack asked, his patience clearly strained.

  “They’re kicking us out of the whole school district,” the boys answered.

  Uncle Jack stared at the principal. “The whole school district?”

  Sheepishly, Mr. Mann nodded. “Until we can make other arrangements.”

  “Other arrangements? It sounds like you want to send our nephews, the smartest students your district has ever seen, to some kind of reform school!”

  “We don’t like that terminology,” Mr. Mann answered.

  Uncle Jack glared at Mr. Mann. “We don’t like anything about it, whatever you want to call it. And you can bet we’re going to talk to the superintendent first thing tomorrow morning!”

  Aunt Judith put her arms around the boys. “Let’s get your things and get out of here,” she said.

  Edgar and Allan had never been more proud of their aunt and uncle.

  Later in the car, the twins leaned over the front seat.

  “Trust us, Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith, we’re the victims of some kind of treacherous fix,” Edgar said.

  “Yeah, it has something to do with an ‘institution’ dedicated to messy science experiments,” Allan continued.

  “And unauthorized hair removal,” Edgar added.

  Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith merely shook their heads—over the years, they’d heard too many tall tales from their nephews.

  WHAT THE POE TWINS DID NOT KNOW…

  ENCRYPTED E-MAIL MESSAGE—TOP SECRET

  From: archer@The-poes.net

  Sent: Tues, Oct. 25, 3:18 pm

  To: perry@The-poes.net

  Subject: CONTACT

  Professor,

  I made contact with the twins today as planned and obtained hair samples for final DNA analysis. Oh, how useful the brats will be to our revolutionary project!

  The school principal followed our instructions to the letter. The boys will soon be ours for the taking.

  I await further direction.

  Your humble servant,

  Ian Archer

  P.S. The boys’ guardians, Jack and Judith Poe, remain unaware of our interest in their nephews and so should prove no problem to us. I recommend against their elim
ination at this time.

  HOME SCHOOL

  THE morning after being expelled, Allan and Edgar lingered over the Denver omelets Aunt Judith set out at breakfast.

  Afterward, they played with their black cat, Roderick Usher, whom their mom and dad had brought home as a kitten just two weeks before the launching pad accident that claimed their lives. Roderick meant everything to Edgar and Allan. (It didn’t hurt that he was probably the smartest cat in the world.)

  When Roderick retreated for a morning nap, curling into a ball that concealed the furry white figure eight on his chest, the twins turned their attention to a few of the household projects they’d had to put off for the past few weeks.

  First they made precise measurements of the shadowy, oddly shaped rooms on the top floor of the large white clapboard house that had been in the Poe family almost back to the days of their famous great-great-great-great granduncle.

  They used the measurements to draft a detailed architectural drawing that they hoped would reveal some unaccounted-for space between the rooms, which might indicate a hidden chamber. Who knew what such a chamber might contain?

  But no such luck.

  Why would anyone build a house like this without a secret room? they wondered, frustrated by some nineteenth-century architect’s lack of imagination.

  It was a good thing they had other projects.

  Next, they went to the attic, tethering themselves like mountaineers to a crossbeam, and climbed out the small window and onto the steeply angled roof. From here, they enjoyed a good view of the whole neighborhood, though that wasn’t the reason they were there. Edgar held a heavy lead ball the size of a baseball. Allan held a lighter lead ball the size of a golfball. The twins had customized each ball with its own built-in stopwatch. Cautiously, they ventured to the edge of the roof and looked straight down into the backyard.

  It was a long drop.

  In a famous experiment, the sixteenth-century Italian scientist Galileo had dropped cannon balls of different weights from the Leaning Tower of Pisa in order to prove the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle’s theory of motion wrong. Now, Edgar and Allan wondered if they might redeem Aristotle’s reputation with new evidence (might some phenomenon of quantum physics have altered the fabric of the universe since Galileo’s time?).

  “One, two, three,” they said in unison, dropping the balls.

  After climbing back through the window and untethering themselves, they raced downstairs to check the results.

  No luck. The speeds proved identical—Galileo remained right. The twins had suspected as much, but it would have been nice to make history. Poor Aristotle.

  Still, they didn’t lose heart.

  Instead, they went into the garden to pick asters.

  Returning to their uncle Jack’s study, they placed the flowers between the pages of two old leather-bound books, flattening the petals. The twins’ hypothesis was that a flower pressed in a book of Shakespearean tragedies would fade in color more quickly than one pressed in a book of Shakespearean comedies. They knew it was a long shot. And that it would take months or even years to determine. But they believed in the scientific method.

  “Lunchtime!” their aunt called.

  It had been a busy morning, but by the time the twins were seated again at the kitchen table, their thoughts had turned from their experiments to the well-being of their classmates. Who would secretly reprogram the GPS on the school bus next week so that the seventh grade would “accidentally” arrive at a miniature golf course rather than at the sewage plant for their planned (boring) field trip? If not us, then who? the boys wondered.

  “What’s wrong?” Aunt Judith asked.

  “Now that we’re gone, there’s nobody looking out for the kids at school,” said Allan.

  “Oh, your friends will survive,” Aunt Judith assured them as she set out their lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple slices, and snickerdoodles. “The real problem is what we’re going to do to educate you two.”

  “Maybe it’s time we went to Harvard,” Edgar suggested.

  “I don’t think being expelled is the sort of recommendation that Harvard’s looking for,” she answered.

  “Then how about if you teach us, Aunt Judith?” Allan asked. “Here at home.”

  She stopped chewing, letting the words sink in. “What a lovely thought. You know…yes, that could work.”

  “Or we could go to Yale,” Allan added.

  Aunt Judith laughed and shook her head. “Why don’t you boys go outside and spend some time with your friends?”

  “It’s lunchtime. Our friends are all in school.”

  “Doesn’t the high school get out early today?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  There were some things Allan and Edgar didn’t talk about with their aunt and uncle. They avoided topics that were too brainy—for example, dead languages or advanced mathematics or the microbiology of hummingbirds. Nobody could keep up with the twins when it came to such things. And, more important, they avoided any personal topics that might make their guardians feel helpless or sad, keeping quiet about situations they determined were best taken care of by themselves. Things like this:

  Many of the older kids were very unkind to the Poe twins.

  It had been going on for years. Every time the bullies in the neighborhood saw Allan and Edgar, they sang out, “Gruesome twosome, gruesome twosome,” pointing and making faces. At first, the boys didn’t mind too much. After all, they were a twosome, and (as far as they were concerned) there were worse things to be than gruesome. But the lack of originality in the rhyme—“gruesome/twosome”—eventually grated on their literary sensibilities. As poetry, it left a lot to be desired. A first-grader could have done better. And there were even less imaginative names:

  The Twisted Twins

  The Weird Brothers

  The Creepy Couple

  The twins knew they were unusual. But what else would they want to be—usual?

  Still, it was aggravating.

  More recently, “anonymous” kids who left size 11 and 12 footprints in the flower beds had begun to ring the Poes’ doorbell every night at the stroke of midnight (neither their aunt nor uncle heard it, because they both wore earplugs to bed). Only after Edgar and Allan wired the ringer to shock anyone who pressed it after 11 p.m. did the prank fall out of fashion.

  Next, kids in the same size 11 and 12 shoes toilet-papered the elm tree in the front yard of the Poe house. Not once or twice, but three times. And they’d have continued if Edgar and Allan hadn’t connected the sprinkler system to a motion detector they switched on every night before bed.

  “On second thought, maybe you ought to stay away from those older boys,” Aunt Judith said.

  Had she heard some neighborhood talk about the bullies?

  She lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret. “Mrs. Ward told me she thinks they’re planning to cause even more trouble this Halloween than they did last year.”

  Worse than last year?

  The boys put down their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  Last Halloween, the gang had not only egged ten parked cars and stomped to pieces countless carefully carved jack-o’-lanterns but they had also terrorized dozens of little kids who were trick-or-treating, knocking them down and stealing their bags of candy.

  This had to be stopped.

  Edgar and Allan determined then and there to head off the bullying by exposing these thugs for what they truly were—cowards. To shame them into submission. And now that the twins were temporarily out of school, they had time enough to pull it off. But how? They considered, two minds acting as one.

  The bullies needed to be taught a lesson…

  Halloween was this Monday…

  The Poe family’s old house might be made very spooky indeed…

  In past years, Allan and Edgar had decorated the front porch for Halloween. This year, they had something more ambitious in mind. They assured Uncle Jack and Aunt Judith
that it would all be good fun and that they’d take care of everything themselves—and clean up afterward.

  The next afternoon, Edgar and Allan distributed to the smirking clan a hand-lettered, blood-red invitation that read:

  Then they set to work.

  Monday night, when the battalion of bullies arrived, Edgar and Allan met them on the porch costumed in funereal shrouds and disguised by corpselike masks daubed with what appeared to be blood—twin versions of the frightening medieval harbinger of doom in their great-great-great-great granduncle’s story “The Masque of the Red Death.” The two phantoms silently beckoned with rotting fingers toward the front door, allowing their “guests” to enter the house only one at a time.

  That’s when the fun began.

  In the entryway, each bully immediately had to drop to his hands and knees to avoid a huge, swinging scythe that looked as if it could take a boy’s head clean off.

  And it only got worse from there.

  Next, each had to crawl through a dark, narrow passage that Edgar and Allan had constructed from fitted rubber sewer pipe. The slimy creatures that felt like worms actually were worms, bought at a local bait shop. In the dark, the writhing worms felt extra squishy. Mixed among the worms were long, tangled strands of intestines, mushy lungs and livers, stomach linings, softball-sized hearts, gooey kidneys, and assorted exotic animal glands that the boys had retrieved from refuse bins at a sausage factory near the harbor.

  The passage wound through the entryway, across the sitting room, and finally to the basement stairs, which were invisible in the darkness. The unsuspecting older boys tumbled screaming, one by one, into the basement, which Edgar and Allan had turned into a medieval dungeon.

  There, recorded bursts of thunder crashed in sync with lightning flashes, while bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air. Authentic-looking ghostly apparitions appeared, some headless and bloody. And scariest of all, there was no visible exit. The boys’ guests could do nothing but scramble around like bugs in a jar. Meanwhile, the younger neighborhood kids, some of the boys’ classmates, and their friend Stevie “The Hulk” Harrison gathered upstairs, gleefully watching it all on a closed-circuit TV.