Still More Tales For The Midnight Hour

by J. B. Stamper

  Cemetery Road

  Susan looked up at the sign on the corner of her new street: Cemetery Road. At the end of the block she could see the cemetery -- row after row of tombstones behind a high iron gate. Susan knew the view well by now. It was the same view she had from her bedroom window.

  Just a month ago, she'd lived in a pretty house with a view of a park. Then her father had been transferred to this city. And the only house they could afford was on Cemetery Road. Susan's friends had laughed when she gave them her new address. They thought she was joking.

  "Hey, aren't you the new girl?" a voice called out from behind her.

  Susan turned around to see two boys and one girl riding on bicycles. She recognized them from school. They were in some of the same classes with her.

  Susan nodded her head in answer to their question and kept walking.

  "What's it like living on Cemetery Road?" one of the boys asked. "Pretty spooky?"

  Susan felt a flush creep into her cheeks. "Not at all," She said. "I'm not one bit afraid of living here."

  The girl and the boys kept riding their bikes beside Susan as she walked quickly toward her house.

  "I guess you haven't heard the stories about that cemetery," the girl said. "It's haunted by a black cat."

  "Sure," Susan said. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

  "It's true," the other boy said. "There's a big tomb in the middle of the graveyard -- it has a statue of a black cat on top of it."

  "What's so scary about that?" Susan asked.

  "The cat comes alive at night," the girl said. "And haunts the cemetery."

  "I don't believe in things like ghosts," Susan said.

  "I dare you to visit the black cat at night," one of the boys said.

  Susan glared at them. "I wouldn't be afraid to do that."

  "Dare you to take off its collar," the girl said. "It has a leather collar around its neck, just like a real cat."

  "Bring that collar to school tomorrow," the other boy said, "and you'll prove how brave you are."

  "Dare you," the girl taunted.

  "It's a dare," Susan said.

  She ran away from their mocking faces toward her house. She would show them that she wasn't afraid. But the thought of going into the graveyard at night made her shudder. She had to get the collar this afternoon, before it got too dark out.

  Susan's house was the second from the end of the road that led into the cemetery. A rickety old house that no one lived in sat right next to the graveyard. Susan pushed open the door to her house, went inside, and threw her books onto the bench in the hallway.

  Before she could run up to her room to change, her mother rushed into the hallway. She told Susan that they were meeting her father at his office and then going out to dinner. Susan tried to protest, but it did her no good. Ten minutes later, she was driving downtown with her mother, worrying about when she would go to the cemetery.

  They didn't come home until 10:00 that night. Susan went up to her room, put on her pajamas, and nervously stared out the window. The tombstones in the graveyard were bathed in the eerie light of the moon. Susan wondered how she would find the black cat there.

  Finally her mother came in to say good night. Susan lay on her bed, waiting for the house to fall silent. When at last everything was quiet, she looked at the clock. It was 11:38.

  Susan slipped out of her pajamas and into a T-shirt and jeans. Outside her screen window, the September night was still warm. She picked up the flashlight she used for camping trips and quietly stole down the stairs and out of the house.

  Susan crept through the darkness past the rickety old house next to the graveyard and then through the arched entrance to the cemetery. She was afraid to use her flashlight in case someone in a nearby house saw her. The full moon shed enough light on the white gravel path for her to find her way in the dark.

  Suddenly the stillness in the cemetery was broken by the weird call of a night bird. Susan froze in her steps. Until now, she had not been afraid. But the call reminded her that other things were out there in the night, watching her. She switched on her flashlight and swung it around it a wide circle. The beam lit up the cold, white marble tombstones around her.

  Susan kept walking toward the middle of the cemetery, where the black cat was to be found. The gravel path sloped upward at a slight angle, and soon she found herself standing on a small hill. From the streetlights around the edge of the cemetery, she could tell she was near the center.

  Susan shone the beam of the flashlight onto the nearby tombstones. The face of an angel stared back out of the darkness, making her catch her breath in fear. Then she saw it. The black cat was like a dark shadow in the night, crouching on top of a huge, white marble tomb.

  Susan made her way on trembling legs over to the statue. The night bird shrieked again, sending a chill through her body. She stood underneath the cat and shone her light on it. The animal was made of smooth black marble, except for its eyes, which were of shining green stones. And around its neck, just as the girl had said, was a leather collar.

  Susan climbed onto a step of the white base and read the inscription etched into the marble:

  DISTURB NOT THE DEAD

  For a second, she wanted to turn and run away, as fast as she could, from the tomb and it’s warning. But there, only inches from her hand, was the collar she had come to get.

  She set down her flashlight beside the cat and reached both hands around its marble neck to unfasten the collar.

  She whispered grateful thanks as its buckle came easily undone. But at that very moment, the bell on a nearby church began to strike the midnight hour. It frightened Susan so that she almost dropped the collar. On the fourth stroke of the bell, Susan picked up her flashlight and shone it into the cat's face. To her horror, the green eyes gleamed back at her like a real cat's. On the eighth stroke of the bell, Susan climbed down from the tombstone and heard a wicked hiss come from the statue. On the twelfth stroke of the bell, Susan ran down the gravel path of the graveyard, her heart in her throat and her mind in a frenzy of fear.

  The light from the flashlight wavered on the path in front of her as Susan ran away from the black cat. She tried to tell herself that she had imagined the cat's hiss. But then, from behind her, she heard the soft thud of animal paws on the gravel path. And a long, angry hiss sounded through the night air. Susan turned around and saw what she feared. Two big green eyes were following her in the darkness.

  Finally Susan reached the entrance to the cemetery. She could see her house ahead. It was only yards away now. She ran faster and faster until she reached the front door. With trembling hands she twisted open the knob and ran inside. She shut the door behind her, double-locked it, and then ran up the stairs, panting with fear.

  She slipped into her bedroom and shut the door. From outside her screen window, she could hear a neighbor's dog howling weirdly in the night. Susan looked down at her trembling hands and saw the leather collar. Quickly she went to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and hid the collar inside. Then she put on her pajamas and lay down between the sheets, trembling with exhaustion and fear.

  Susan stared out her window at the ghostly shapes of the tombstones in the moonlight. She listened to the dog's weird howl. And finally, after a long time, she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Susan woke with a start. She had been having a terrible nightmare. In the dream, a black cat had been sitting on her chest, hissing down at her. Susan opened her eyes and stared into the darkness of her room. Then she remembered the collar. She switched on her lamp and ran to the dresser. Quickly she pulled out the top drawer.

  The collar was gone.

  Then Susan
saw the deep claw marks of a cat on the top of the dresser. She whirled around and saw the big ragged hole torn in her window screen.

  And there, on the windowsill outside, she saw the black cat... staring back at her with glowing green eyes.

  The Wax Museum

  "There's nothing to be scared of," the oldest boy in the class said in a bragging voice. "The people are just made of wax, like candles."

  Still, the group of boys had slowed down to a shuffling pace, stepping on each other's heels and unconsciously herding together for safety. They were walking through the dimly lit entrance to the wax museum. Mr. Archer, their history teacher, was busy back at the admissions desk paying for their tickets.

  "I hear this place has all the murderers in history," one young boy said nervously. "Hitler, even."

  An uneasy giggle swept over the group. They had all heard stories about Hitler. What would he look like? Mr. Archer had said the wax figures seemed so real that you sometimes forgot they were wax.

  Just as the boys came to a wooden door at the end of the hallway, Mr. Archer hurried up from behind them.

  "All right, boys," he said in his deep, official voice. "We're ready to begin our tour. The museum director has agreed to let me take you around -- since I've been here so often. Now everyone pair up and stand in a straight line."

  There were a few minutes of pushing and shoving as the boys found partners and lined up. Mr. Archer looked over the group and noticed that, as usual, Andrew and Robbie had paired up together. He would have to watch them. But perhaps they would be good today, for once.

  "Come along, then," Mr. Archer said importantly, opening the door in front of them to reveal a long, narrow room. An aisle ran down the center of the room, and on both sides were displays of people in historical costumes. The boys slowly filed in, their faces lit with amazement.

  "They look so alive... it's creepy," a young boy said.

  "There's Julius Caesar, being stabbed by Brutus and his friends," one said, pointing his finger at a group of men in Roman togas.

  "Ooh, look at the blood!" another boy said. "It still looks wet!"

  Mr. Archer chuckled as the boys broke out of line and scrambled up to see the exhibits. Then he saw Andrew and Robbie standing together by the door, whispering to each other.

  "Boys, come on in the room!" he said impatiently.

  Andrew and Robbie stopped whispering and obediently walked up to the first exhibit. They stared down at Julius Caesar's body, which was covered with knife wounds. Caesar's eyes were staring up at his murderers, and his face was twisted in the agony of death.

  "This gives me the creeps," Robbie said.

  "Not me. I think it's great." Andrew said. "It's like all these dead people have come alive again."

  "You're weird," Robbie said.

  "So is the museum," Andrew answered. "I wonder what we could do to add a little more excitement to this place."

  Both boys turned to look at Mr. Archer, who was watching them with distrustful eyes.

  "Why don't we just look at the exhibits?"

  Robbie said, turning away from Caesar's bloody body. "I don't want to get into any trouble here."

  Robbie stopped in front of another group of wax figures. In the center was Henry VIII, standing with his hands on his hips and his eyes staring straight ahead. Behind the king stood the wax figure of an executioner holding a double-edged ax in his hands. On the ground below him was the wax figure of Anne Boleyn, one of Henry VIII's wives. She was waiting to have her head chopped off at the orders of her husband, the king.

  "Look at that ring on Henry's finger," Andrew whispered. "What a great souvenir it would be."

  "Andrew!" Robbie said in a scared whisper. "Don't!"

  But Andrew didn't pay any attention to him. He checked to see if Mr. Archer and the other boys were looking. Most of them had walked farther on down the aisle of exhibits. Andrew reached his hand out toward the king's left hand. He touched the cold wax of the fingers. Then he put his fingers around the ring and tugged at it. It slipped down a bit, but got stuck over the finger's waxy knuckle.

  "Andrew, Robbie!" Mr. Archer's voice called from down the aisle. "Don't lag behind. Come along."

  Andrew quickly pulled his hand away from the ring. He glanced up at the wax image of King Henry's face before leaving. The hard eyes were staring straight at him. They even seemed to follow him as he walked away.

  "This place might be getting to me," Andrew said to Robbie. "I thought old Henry looked a little angry."

  "You're going to get us into trouble," Robbie mumbled.

  Andrew looked at him with a sneer. "You're turning out to be some coward, Robbie. Maybe I should get a new friend."

  Robbie shook his head so hard that his glasses almost fell off. Andrew was his only friend. The two boys walked down the aisle to catch up with Mr. Archer and the rest of the class.

  "Who knows the name of this great man?" Mr. Archer asked as he pointed toward a short man in military uniform standing in front of a map of Europe. The man had a scowl on his face and one hand pushed inside his jacket front.

  "Napoleon Bonaparte, emperor of France," said the smartest boy in the class.

  "That's correct," Mr. Archer said, beaming at the boy. "This is Napoleon, the great conqueror of Europe who was finally defeated at Waterloo. Now if you'll move along, we'll visit the more modern exhibits in the next room."

  The class followed Mr. Archer through a set of heavy velvet curtains into the next room. Robbie started off after them, but Andrew pulled him back.

  "Look what I just found," Andrew said, opening his hand to show Robbie something. Robbie peered down at the shiny piece of metal on his outstretched palm.

  "It's a pin. Where did you get it?"

  "I found it on the floor at home, just before I came here. I thought -- "

  "No!" Robbie said. "You can't do that. We'd be arrested...."

  "Calm down," Andrew said. "Nobody will ever know. I just want to find out if these things are really made of wax."

  Andrew picked up the pin and leaned his long arm over the railing in front of the exhibit of Napoleon. He could just reach the emperor's left shoulder. With a quick jab, he pushed the pin through the costume and into the wax.

  Robbie let out a short scream.

  "Be quiet! What's the matter with you?" Andrew said, quickly pulling out the pin.

  "Napoleon moved. I saw him move," Robbie stammered. "When you stuck that pin in, his face moved like it hurt."

  Andrew looked at Robbie in disgust. "I can't believe you're such a coward. Look, you can see the wax on the pin. These people may look real, but they're just wax."

  Robbie saw the coating of white wax on the pin. Then he looked again at Napoleon's face and ran off down the aisle to join Mr. Archer. Andrew trailed behind, hiding the pin in his pocket.

  Mr. Archer was standing in a large round room that had exhibits all around its edges. He was telling the class a story. Robbie and Andrew just heard the end. "...and still today, we think of him as the monster of the twentieth century."

  "Hitler," Robbie said and pointed to the man with a short mustache in a brown Nazi uniform.

  "All right, boys," Mr. Archer said. "There are many more interesting exhibits in this room. You can look around and ask me any questions you like." He paused and looked at his watch. "But in half an hour we'll be boarding the bus. I promised that I'd have you back in the school parking lot at three-fifteen."

  "I don't have to be back," Andrew whispered to Robbie. "My parents are both away on vacation, and I'm staying at home alone."

  "You're lucky your parents trust you," Robbie said.

  "Especially since they shouldn't," Andrew added. "Let's take a closer look at Hitler."

  The rest of the class was looking at different figures in the modern history room -- Winston Churchill, Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, Mahatma Gandhi, and others. Andrew and Robbie stood alone in front of the exhibit of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi officers.
<
br />   "Even his mustache looks real," Robbie said, staring at Hitler's short, dark mustache.

  "I wonder if it's made of real hair," Andrew said. "Turn around, Robbie, and keep a watch on everybody else. Tell me when they're not looking."

  "What are you going to do?" Robbie asked in a worried voice.

  "Just be quiet and tell me when nobody is looking," Andrew insisted.

  Robbie watched nervously for a few minutes. Finally, the moment came when everyone's back was turned to them.

  "Now!" he whispered.

  Robbie turned around just as Andrew reached his hand out to Hitler's face and pulled at the hair of his mustache.

  "It won't come loose!" Andrew hissed under his breath. He gave another hard tug.

  Robbie screamed as Andrew's hand came back holding a small tuft of hair. Everyone in the room turned to stare at them.

  "What's going on, boys?" Mr. Archer asked, hurrying over.

  "Nothing, nothing, sir," Andrew said, hiding his hand behind his back.

  "I thought I saw Hitler's hand move," Robbie stammered.

  "He has a wild imagination," Andrew broke in to say.

  Mr. Archer looked from Robbie to Andrew to the wax figure of Hitler. "Don't be ridiculous, Robbie, that is just a wax figure." Then he walked away, shaking his head.

  "His hand did move, Andrew...." Robbie whispered in a scared voice. "Just when you pulled part of the mustache out. He started to hit you."

  "Sure, Robbie, sure," Andrew said, ignoring his friend. "How do you like my souvenir?" He displayed the tuft of hair in his outstretched hand. "I just wish I had that ring on Henry the Eighth's finger." Suddenly, Andrew's face lit up with a smile. "I know what I'll do. And you've got to help me, Robbie."

  "No, Andrew, forget it," Robbie said.

  "Come on, all you have to do is tell Mr. Archer that I went home early because I felt sick. My parents aren't home to miss me, and I can spend the night in the museum."

  "What!" Robbie said.

  "I'm going to spend the night here. Think of all the things I could do with nobody around watching me." Andrew glanced quickly around the room. Then he walked over to a wall that was covered by long, heavy velvet curtains. He pulled the curtains aside and looked behind them.