by Dan Poblocki
“Jessup’s Creek is a small town. Much smaller than Moon Hollow. There’s only one main street, and the direction the old woman pointed the cops in ended at a small overgrown plot of land within a rickety old fence: Jessup’s Creek Pet Cemetery. It dates back nearly a hundred years.”
“Oh, that sounds so sad,” said Rosie.
“And creeptastic,” said Sylvester.
Viola went on. “People still use it as a place to bury their beloved and departed animals. In fact, my mom says that on any given day, you might see a freshly dug grave and a new makeshift marker placed on the property.
“The police were pretty sure that the thief had entered the cemetery. So they stealthily made their way through the gate. The place was nearly empty, except for a figure hunched over a grave in the distance. He seemed to be mourning. The officers crept up to him. When he wiped tears from his eyes, he managed to smear dirt onto his wet cheeks, so he looked like a total mess.
“Ordinarily, when encountering someone in such a sad state, I think the cops might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But in this case, they thought they might have found their suspect. Why?”
“That’s obvious,” said Sylvester. “The guy must have matched the old woman’s description. He was probably wearing that green sweatshirt and light jeans. I doubt he still had his black ski mask, but that was probably easy enough to toss away.”
“Right,” said Viola. “And he was the correct height too. So the police had a suspect in view. But they weren’t positive the mourner and the thief were one and the same. He didn’t have the bag of jewels on him. And he insisted he was there to mourn his dog, Lark.
“Sure enough, he was standing in front of the tombstone of a dog named Lark. But there was one major clue that made his story sound impossible. Can you guess what it was?”
“I’m guessing there was something about the gravestone in front of him that gave him away,” said Rosie.
Viola raised her eyebrows, egging her on for a better answer.
“Yeah,” said Woodrow. “The one thing that could give the thief away was the date on the grave. I bet he’d chosen a spot at random — and accidentally stood in front of one of the older graves.”
Viola laughed. “Exactly. It turned out poor old Lark had passed away in the nineteen-thirties, way before the man was even born. Lark couldn’t have been his dog, so the cops had caught him in a lie.”
“They must have been pretty sure they’d found the guy who’d robbed the store,” said Rosie. “But where were the jewels? If he didn’t have them, where did he put them?”
“That’s a good question,” said Viola. “The cops took the man into custody. They found his ski mask in a bush near the cemetery’s entrance. But they couldn’t find the bag of stolen goodies anywhere.
“I told my mom they weren’t looking in the right place. He didn’t just toss the bag away in order to protect himself. He must have hidden the jewels in a place no one would think to look. That way, when he was free, he could make his way back to the hiding place and collect them.”
“But where was his hiding place?” asked Sylvester.
“Since the man’s hands were dirty,” said Woodrow, “I’m gonna guess that he buried the bag somewhere.”
“Yeah!” said Rosie. “In one of the fresh graves. That way it wouldn’t look like he’d done the digging himself. No one would have thought to look in a spot where a pet was recently buried. It was a perfect plan.”
“Well,” said Viola, smiling, “I had the same thought. And that’s what I told my mom. She contacted the Jessup’s Creek Police Department and told them my theory. They found the bag of jewels almost immediately. In the grave of a rabbit named Fluffy. And now that thief is going to trial.”
Rosie began to chuckle. The others looked at her funny. “What’s the matter?” Woodrow asked.
“With all the talk of ghosts and monsters we’ve encountered lately, I was picturing a dead rabbit’s revenge,” Rosie said dreamily. “Wouldn’t it just be horrible if the bunny’s spirit decided to haunt that thief in his jail cell?”
“He’d deserve it,” said Viola. “I would never have thought to desecrate a grave like that.”
“Yeah,” said Sylvester. “But you’d never think to rob a jewelry store either!”
Rounding a sharp curve, the train rumbled on the tracks, emitting a deep sound as if it were chortling in agreement.
9
THE LEGEND OF PORTAL LAKE
(A ??? MYSTERY)
“I asked my mom if she’d heard anything about that Tall Ted creature up in the Moon Hollow Hills,” said Woodrow. “But she didn’t know anything about it. I was relieved, since I took a stone from Purgatory Chasm. If there’s one thing I don’t need in my life right now, it’s a monster following me home.”
“Does anyone really need that in their life?” Viola asked.
The other three laughed. “The tale of Tall Ted was the most ridiculous story I’ve heard in a long time,” said Rosie. “Clea sure has a wild imagination.”
“I’m pretty sure the legend is real though,” said Sylvester, growing serious. “I’ve heard people mention a Moon Hollow monster while at the diner. I suppose they could have been talking about Tall Ted.”
“But how many of these tales turn out to be true?” said Viola. “Not many. That’s why they’re called legends. People tell those kinds of stories to explain what isn’t easily explained. As members of the Question Marks Mystery Club, we can’t jump to monstrous conclusions.”
“You’re right,” said Woodrow. “In fact, after I told my mom about Tall Ted, she mentioned another legend that her coworkers talk about up in the Moon Hollow Hills Park.” He smiled mischievously, making his friends wait for it. “How many of you have heard of Portal Lake?” When he got confused stares from Viola, Sylvester, and Rosie, he continued. “Mom told me that far off in the woods, deep in a valley away from any of the main roads, there is this body of water that the rangers have given the name Portal Lake. It’s so strange looking that a legend has sprung up about it: The lake is a portal to another dimension.”
“What?” said Rosie in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
“What’s so strange about the lake’s appearance?” Viola asked.
“First off,” said Woodrow, “the water is a bright turquoise color. My mom says it has an almost alien appearance. Second, they’ve never spotted any fish living in the lake. Third, and strangest of all, there’s no shoreline.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Sylvester.
“It means that if you walk into the water, you have to watch your step, because the ground just drops off a few feet in. Straight down into a blue abyss.”
“How deep is the water?” asked Rosie.
“No one knows,” said Woodrow. “Some say it might be hundreds of feet. Legend says that it’s endless, and if you try to swim it, you’ll end up in an otherworldly ocean.”
“No way,” said Rosie. “There are perfectly reasonable explanations for every strange aspect of Portal Lake. The first one being that it probably wasn’t originally a lake.”
Sylvester flinched. “If Portal Lake wasn’t a lake at first, then what was it?”
“It had to have once been a quarry,” said Rosie, “a place where people mine out rocks and minerals. Limestone. Granite. Stuff like that. Now though, it’s filled up with water.”
“That’s what my mom said Portal Lake actually is,” said Woodrow. “An old quarry. But how did you figure that out, Rosie?”
“First of all,” Rosie began, “the fact that the ground drops off so suddenly indicates that the rock was carved out. If you’ve ever seen an active quarry, you’ll notice steep cliffs on all sides. It just so happens that the water in Portal Lake rose high enough to cover the tops of the cliffs.”
“Huh,” said Viola. “Weird.”
“Another sign was the color of the water,” Rosie added.
“Yeah,” said Sylvester, sounding like he still needed
to be convinced. “I’ve never seen a lake turn bright turquoise before. How did that happen?”
“Every body of water reflects the light that hits it from above,” said Rosie. “The fact that Portal Lake is bright blue means that there are small particles floating in the water — particles that reflect that precise color. The turquoise is most likely the result of minerals from the quarry rock. And the fact that no one has spotted fish living in the water doesn’t mean the lake is a portal to another dimension. People would have had to put fish in the lake after the quarry had closed. And the quality of the water might not be ideal to support life. That could be the minerals’ fault.”
Sylvester sighed. “Sometimes I think we’ll never find anything supernatural in Moon Hollow. Wouldn’t it have been cool if Tall Ted had actually crawled out of Portal Lake and made his way to Purgatory Chasm?”
Viola shook her head. “I prefer my monsters to exist only in my imagination.” She thought for a second, then shivered and added, “Actually, I don’t even want them there.”
10
THE SECRET OF THE POISON RAINBOWS
(A ? MYSTERY)
A few minutes later, as the train came around another bend in the Hudson River, the four caught a glimpse of the George Washington Bridge up ahead. It majestically spanned the wide water, appearing as if it had been painted into the horizon. The train was coming close to Manhattan. But the group knew they still had a while to go. A perfect amount of time for one more mystery.
“You all know my locker is right next to Wendy Nichols’s,” said Sylvester. “Right?”
“Is that the girl who recently cut her hair short and dyed it maroon?” Viola asked.
“The one and only,” said Sylvester. “She told me a story this week that you guys have got to hear.”
“Shoot,” said Woodrow.
“Wendy’s family recently moved into a new house,” said Sylvester. “Her older siblings graduated from college last year, and her parents wanted a smaller place. Wendy told me she really likes the new house. Her bedroom is bigger and looks out on the large front lawn.
“Well, something strange happened at her house this past week. Something mysterious.”
“This isn’t another ghost story, is it?” asked Woodrow.
“How about you tell me what you think after you hear it,” said Sylvester slyly. “Wendy said that after the rain showers on Wednesday night, she woke up in the morning and glanced out her bedroom window to find weird puddles all over the front lawn.”
“Puddles after a storm aren’t that weird,” said Rosie, confused.
“These weren’t just ordinary puddles,” said Sylvester. “They were rainbow colored.”
“Rainbow colored?” Viola said, surprised.
“Yeah,” said Sylvester. “Wendy says the colors were a great big swirl and really pretty. She called for her mom to come, so she could show her what she’d seen. Her mom was just as perplexed as Wendy was. They didn’t know what to think. But Wendy went off to school, and nearly forgot about it for the rest of the sunny day. When she got home that afternoon, she noticed that the lawn had great big dead spots on it. Patches of brown grass had replaced the areas where the rainbow puddles had been that morning.”
“So maybe this isn’t a ghost story,” said Woodrow. “Maybe it’s really about magical grass-killing rainbow puddles?”
“Hardy har,” said Sylvester. “Just listen. Wendy’s mom and dad came home from work a short time later and Wendy pointed out the dead grass. Her parents freaked out. Wendy’s father ran inside to make an emergency phone call. Who do you think he called?”
“It obviously wasn’t the magical grass-killing rainbow police,” said Woodrow.
Viola squeezed his arm. “Obviously not,” she said. “But it must have been someone important if Sylvester said it was an emergency.”
“I guess the question is, what would make the rain puddles have a rainbow sheen on them?” said Rosie. “It sounds like what happened on my driveway after oil leaked out of my dad’s car….” Rosie’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. The puddles on Wendy’s lawn must have had oil in them. That’s what killed the grass.”
“Right,” said Sylvester. “And Mr. Nichols went to call …?”
“The oil company,” said Viola. “My parents get our heating oil delivered by truck. They hook up a tube to a pipe at the side of our house, and it fills a tank down in our basement with oil.”
“So then what happened at Wendy’s house?” asked Rosie. “Did the oil company mess up somehow?”
“To say the least,” said Sylvester. “The previous owners of Wendy’s house had an old oil tank buried in the front yard. They hadn’t used that one in years and were supposed to have had it filled in with sand. They’d installed a new oil tank into their basement, just like Viola’s house has. That’s the one the oil company is supposed to fill. But this week, the company accidentally poured the oil into the old tank’s spigot. The oil leaked out into the front yard, and after the rain, the oil glistened on the puddles Wendy had noticed from her bedroom window.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Rosie. “What a mess!”
“You bet,” said Sylvester. “It looks like the Nicholses might have to have their entire front yard dug up to keep the spilled oil from leaking any more.”
“And to think,” said Viola, “it all started with rainbows. I guess it goes to show that not all pretty things are necessarily good.” Then she batted her eyelashes and tossed her red curls over her shoulder. “Except for meof course,” she finished, with a guffaw.
11
THE TALE OF THE MEAN MARTIAN
(A ?? MYSTERY)
The four arrived at Grand Central Terminal right on time. Woodrow’s dad met them at the big clock in the center of the cavernous hall. Above, painted constellations shone down on everyone, glowing in the afternoon light.
The weather was brisk, but nice enough to walk back to Mr. Knox’s high-rise apartment on Fifty-seventh Street. Sylvester had been there before, but the two girls had not. They squealed with wonder at the magnificent view of Central Park from the wide living room windows. The trees were still bare, but the expanse of blue sky meeting the line of buildings in the distance was like something out of a storybook.
Soon Mr. Knox led them back out into the city. They wandered north through the park, to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sylvester begged everyone to follow him to see the Temple of Dendur in the Egyptian wing.
“Hey look, Woodrow,” said Sylvester, once the four had crowded up into the temple’s entry. “They had graffiti all the way back then too!” Someone named Leonardo had scratched his name into the soft stone, with a date of 1820.
Woodrow blushed. “Not funny, dude. It’s my birthday. I deserve a break, don’t you think?”
As they all came back down the stairs, Viola whispered to Woodrow, “I thought it was a little bit funny.”
Woodrow managed to crack a smile.
Late in the afternoon, after they rode the Ferris wheel inside a toy store in Times Square, Mr. Knox steered the group to Woodrow’s final birthday surprise. They crossed Seventh Avenue, and Woodrow released a loud whoop when he saw what was ahead. “Don’t tell me we’re actually going to the Milky Way Café!” he cried out. “I’ve wanted to eat there, like, forever!” Mr. Knox simply smiled and led the way.
The front of the restaurant was built to look like an old-fashioned diner that had been modified into a giant silver rocket ship aimed at the sky. Inside, two uniformed space officers greeted the group and brought them upstairs to a booth that resembled a space station escape pod. A wide circular table illustrated with a red Martian landscape stood between them. Flat screen monitors in the walls gave the illusion that they were racing through a streak of stars at warp speed, and eerie music from science fiction films floated in the air. Woodrow and his friends were impressed.
When their waiter showed up, Rosie nearly screamed. He towered over the table in a Martian costume. He wore the same uniform as t
he officers downstairs, but his head was large, bulbous, and green. Big black eyes stared blankly out at them, and an electronically modified voice asked in a high-pitched whine, “Can I get you anything to slurp on?”
They all laughed, then ordered Cokes.
There were different kinds of alien waiters. Some looked like demons, some like shimmery humans. And at least one resembled their own green Martian, only theirs was taller. When he — it — came back with their drinks, they ordered food. Woodrow couldn’t resist ordering the Meteor and Chicken Pie. Sylvester was tempted by the Rings of Saturn Pasta dish. Rosie was curious about Milky Way Soup. And Viola knew what she wanted as soon as she saw it on the menu: the Spicy Solar Flare Salad.
They had a great time. Woodrow was so pleased, he was able to forget about his poor judgment with Mickey Molynew for the first time in weeks. The group finished the meal with Dark Side of the Moon Cake, birthday candles, and that old familiar song.
Afterward, their waiter left the check. Mr. Knox took out his wallet and laid down cash. Everyone thanked him profusely, then stood to go. Immediately, the Martian waiter appeared and took the check from the table, almost poking Mr. Knox in the eye with its antenna. “Thank you for flying with us tonight,” it said with its strange electronic whine.
“No, thank you,” said Woodrow. “This was a blast.”
The group went downstairs. Just as Mr. Knox was reaching for the door, someone called out to him loudly. “Excuse me, sir!”
They turned around and found the Martian waiter chasing them down the stairs.
“Yes?” said Mr. Knox. “Is there a problem?”
“You need to pay the bill before you leave the restaurant. That’s how it usually works.” The Martian towered over Mr. Knox, and even with its silly voice, it clearly sounded annoyed.
