The Combination (Night Fall ™)

by Andrew Karre

  “Shoo!” snorted Mrs. Konstantinos. The bats took one look at her and fled.

  Mr. Konstantinos smiled, pulled a black shawl over her shoulders, and followed the bats into the hallway.

  9

  Bats. They were definitely bats. The first few times something swooped inches above Dante’s still-wet hair as he ran for the stairs, he’d told himself it was a very big moth. Now there could be no doubt.

  As he turned onto the second flight of the stairs out of the basement, he ran directly into a wall of bats. If he’d felt naked in his tiny running shorts before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. But he didn’t slow down. Dante covered his face with his forearm, imagined the bats were an opposing offensive line, and barreled through.

  At the top of the stairs the bats thinned out somewhat. Dante could see empty hallways on either side. Right would take him to the main entrance, so he took a step.

  And then he couldn’t see anything because the lights went out. Before he could panic (again), the lights snapped back on, and now the hallway to his right wasn’t empty. An oddly familiar female silhouette was slowly walking toward Dante. He instinctively stepped back. He prepared to turn in the other direction. Then the lights snapped out again. Dante stopped dead.

  This time the lights stayed out. As Dante’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the occasional bat circling in the gloom. He couldn’t see the woman, so he was pretty sure she hadn’t seen him. He wanted it to stay that way. Something was very wrong.

  And over the sound of the bats’ flapping and screeching, he heard something else. A clicking of shoes. A combination lock spinning. The clicking of a latch. And then whoosh, the sound of falling. A few more footsteps, and then another combination spun.

  Dante pressed himself against the bank of lockers behind him.

  “Get me out of here!” came the terrified whisper through the locker vent inches from his ear. “Please, just get me out of here. I’ll do anything.”

  Dante jumped halfway across the hall. “Mother of—” He clapped his hand over his mouth just in time to hear another click and whoosh! And this time the whoosh came with a scream.

  The lights clicked on again. Dante saw that the woman was Mrs. Konstantinos, the librarian. She turned toward him, placed her finger to her lips, and whispered, “Shhhhh.”

  Dante was in a full-on sprint when she turned back to the locker. He couldn’t hear her whispering to herself, “Soon, Ivor. Very soon we will be rid of all these filthy children, and the world will know how right you were.”

  Click. Whoosh. Scream.

  10

  When Miranda opened her eyes, all she could see was Vincent’s face. His breath smelled like spicy Cheetos, and it was making her nauseous. Or maybe that was the giant lump on the back of her head.

  “I have a concussion,” she moaned.

  “C’mon, get up. We have to get going before he notices we’re gone,” said Vincent anxiously.

  “People with concussions are supposed to lie still,” Miranda murmured, closing her eyes again.

  “Miranda. Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Tufts— these mean anything to you? Get up!”

  “I’d never go to Tufts,” Miranda snapped, opening her eyes. “Please. OK, what happened?” Miranda got to her feet slowly. Vincent tugged on her arm.

  “Dunno. There was this weird shaking and you fell.” Vincent started jogging down the hall. Miranda tried to keep up, her bag banging on her hip and her head throbbing.

  “But I heard screaming,” she said breathlessly as they passed closed classroom doors. “And I think I saw something, too.”

  “You said yourself you have a concussion,” said Vincent over his shoulder. “Just hallucinations.”

  “You really think I have a concussion?” Miranda said, alarmed. “Wait up! My bag is heavy!”

  Vincent paused and grabbed her bag, slinging it over his shoulder on top of his own.

  “I did hear some screaming, but that’s hardly strange. Like the chemistry teacher said, just kids messing around in the hallway.”

  “But—” Miranda’s words died as they rounded the corner to the stairs. Across from the stairs, where a row of lockers used to be, was a giant hole in the wall.

  “What’s that?” said Miranda. Vincent looked but didn’t break stride. He pulled open the door to the stairs.

  “Maybe they’re doing construction or something on those. C’mon.”

  Miranda hesitated.

  “Harvard, Yale—”

  “Shut up,” she said, following him down the stairs. Through the window to the first floor, she saw another hole where lockers used to be.

  “Vincent, look! Another one! That’s too weird—maybe we should tell someone.”

  “Your locker’s in the basement. We’re almost there!”

  “You can go ahead if you want. The office is right here. I’m just going to ask the secretary about it.” Miranda went into the hallway and across to the school office. Vincent trailed after her, huffing to himself.

  Miranda stepped into the office and said to the back of the secretary’s head, “Umm, I’m out of class on a bathroom pass, but I noticed that there are some lockers missing and—”

  “Save your breath,” said a guy on the other side of the office, by the copy machine. “She fainted.”

  “What?” Miranda said.

  “Because of the bats.”

  “Bats?!” Miranda squeaked. Vincent looked around nervously.

  “They’re gone now,” said the kid impatiently. “But look at this, man. The copier just keeps spitting out these symbols, no matter what I do.”

  He handed a piece of paper to Miranda.

  “I mean, there’s nothing even on the glass,” the kid stared down at it. “It’s awesome.”

  “There’s no one here to tell,” said Vincent, tugging on Miranda’s arm as she stuffed the paper in her pocket. “Let’s go.”

  “Well, you should wipe her face with cold water. And can you tell her or someone about the lockers?” said Miranda as Vincent pulled her out the door. The copier kid didn’t respond—he was too busy gazing at the symbols.

  “That was odd,” said Miranda, “maybe we should—”

  But Vincent was already in the stairwell, heading for the basement. Miranda sighed and followed.

  11

  As Dante jogged down the hall toward the back doors of the school, he noticed how strangely quiet it was. Where is everyone? he wondered. When he reached the doors, he threw himself against the closest one. It was locked. He pushed on the next door handle— locked.

  Sometimes only one is unlocked, he thought frantically. He pushed at the next set of double doors. Nothing. He tried all four doors again, slamming his weight against the metal bars. They wouldn’t budge. He started to look around for something he could use to break the glass.

  He thought he could still hear the librarian in the hallway around the corner. Part of him felt like he should want to go back. To try and stop whatever crazy thing she was doing and save anyone she was hurting. Part of him argued he had to find someone to tell. And all of him just wanted to get OUT!

  And once I’m out I can get help—there’s no one here, he thought as he paced around, looking for something he could pick up and swing.

  Then he noticed the junior varsity trophy case. If he could get in there, he might be able to break the door glass with a trophy. He wondered if any of the trophies were heavy enough. As he circled the case, he noticed there were a lot more certificates than trophies anyway.

  Dante heard running footsteps behind him and spun around, fists up.

  A pasty-looking old guy jogged toward him. His mouth was open. He gasped for breath. His shirt had come untucked, and his tie flapped.

  That guy looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, Dante thought, watching him warily.

  “You!” gasped the man. “Come with me—I think I know how stop—but I’ll need—” He stopped and bent over, coughing. Dante could hardly
understand him. He couldn’t tell if it was because the man was out of breath or had a strange accent.

  “Come where?” Dante asked, suspicious.

  “Basement,” the man panted, gesturing back the way Dante had come.

  “Nuh-uh,” said Dante emphatically. “I ain’t going back down there! We got to tell someone—there’s bats or something, and then the librarian lady is, like, making the lockers disappear and I heard screaming and—”

  “I know, I know,” said the man, finally getting his breath back. “I think I can stop it. But I have to have some help, and everyone seems to have disappeared. I’m afraid they’re all trapped. Now come along before something worse happens!” He grabbed Dante’s arm and started pulling him down the hall.

  “But that’s where she is!” said Dante, pulling back and stopping the man in his tracks. This out-of-shape guy was no match for Dante’s strength.

  “We’ll just have to risk it—that’s the fastest way to the basement from here. Now stop arguing and wasting time! Young people in America are so difficult,” the man said. He charged on down the hall. “Or maybe you’re just frightened,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “I’m not scared,” snarled Dante as he caught up in a few strides. “Who said I’m scared?”

  As they approached the corner, Dante pulled the man back. “She’s down there,” he hissed.

  They listened for a moment. The guy peeked around the corner.

  “AAAARRGHHH!” he screamed, jumping back, knocking into Dante.

  “Well, well,” said Mrs. Konstantinos, gliding around the corner. “If it isn’t the great Dr. Spangler. This is not a good time for a sniveling little coward like you to be out and about.” She paused. “You know, Dr. Spangler, I read your so-called biography of my Ivor.” She stared at him for a moment. “Trash!” she hissed. “That’s what I think of it. I keep it in my bathroom to use as TOILET PAPER,” she shrieked.

  Whoa, that lady is messed up, thought Dante, backing up.

  “Ex . . . excuse me?” blinked Dr. Spangler. “What, ma’am, are you talking about?”

  “The things you wrote about my Ivor’s visions! You dismissed them as a family strain of mental illness—” Mrs. Konstantinos was breathing heavily now.

  “It’s well documented in my book that Ivor Shandor’s parents were both—” Dr. Spangler sounded huffy now.

  “And such sloppy research! The footnote on page 145 is entirely off-base! What do you have to say about that, Dr. Spangler?” Mrs. Konstantinos looked triumphant.

  “Wait, are you sure about the footnote? I caught that mistake as well, but my editor assured me it would be fixed—dear, dear,” Dr. Spangler shook his head.

  They’re both crazy, decided Dante as he began to inch away.

  “But what exactly is your connection with Ivor Shandor, ma’am? Surely you are too young to have—”

  Mrs. Konstantinos let out a wild crackle that froze Dante in his tracks.

  “There is so much you don’t know, Dr. Spangler, especially for one who claims to be the expert on Ivor Shandor. Well, you shall see soon enough just what a genius Ivor is and how real his visions are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Mrs. Konstantinos walked to the next set of lockers. She spun the lock rapidly back and forth while Dante and Dr. Spangler watched as though hypnotized. She pulled on the locker handle, and the rest of the locker dropped away.

  “Stop—you can’t—” Spangler tried to get between Mrs. Konstantinos and the next locker, but she pushed him away impatiently.

  “Go away, doctor, and do whatever it is you think you can do. And Dante,” she looked at him over her glasses. “I don’t think those . . . clothes meet the dress code. And you’ll want to be properly attired for what will occur soon.” She cackled again, pulled on the locker handle, and watched the locker disappear with satisfaction. They all heard a faint scream from below.

  Dr. Spangler grabbed Dante’s arm and pulled him toward the basement stairs. Dante didn’t resist.

  12

  Miranda almost ran right into Vincent at the bottom of the stairs. He had stopped abruptly.

  “What—ohhh . . .” she said, peering around him into the dark of the basement hallway.

  They were quiet for a moment. Miranda thought she heard flapping.

  “Remember how that kid said there were bats? I think I hear . . .”

  “Shhh,” said Vincent. They could hear someone walking, and then they could see a light wavering at the end of the hallway.

  “That must be a janitor,” said Vincent, starting to walk slowly into the hall. “Must have blown a fuse or something down here. If we can borrow a flashlight or something, I can get your locker open and we can be back in class in minutes.”

  “I can open my own locker,” Miranda muttered, reluctantly inching into the dark hallway. “Vincent, why don’t you just use your cell-phone screen for light?”

  “Shhhhh! Do you want to ruin everything? It’s against the rules to have a cell phone on school property, and my mother said it was only for emergencies!”

  Miranda threw up her hands. “This isn’t an emergency?!”

  The light was getting closer. “Hello?” Vincent called, feeling his way along the wall. “Uh, sir? Can we borrow a flashlight to get something really important from a locker? We have a pass from our AP Chemistry class—”

  They heard talking. The footsteps quickened as the light bobbed toward them.

  “Who goes there?” called a voice with a British accent. “I warn you, we’re armed!”

  “That’s not the janitor,” said Miranda, stopping. “Vincent, come back here!” She shuffled along the wall until she found Vincent. She grabbed his hand. The light and footsteps came closer as they held their breaths, uncertain what to expect.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Vincent murmured. “Did I miss it? Is it like Pretend You’re British Day? Or Medieval Castle Day? I never remember to wear my pajamas on Pajama Day during homecoming week, but I can’t believe I’d miss this . . .”

  Soon they could see faces in the bobbing light. Miranda blinked. That was Dante Grant behind the man she didn’t know. Dante looked so much bigger than she’d remembered. She’d known him since the beginning of elementary school, but they hadn’t had a class together since middle-school gym. They probably hadn’t talked since then, either. What was going on?

  “Are you friend or foe?” the man demanded as the light from his lighter flame fell on Miranda and Vincent.

  “Uh, friend, I think,” said Vincent. “Care to tell us what’s going on? We need to get something in my girlfriend’s locker and get back to class.”

  Miranda saw that Dante recognized her. His eyes flicked to her again when Vincent said “girlfriend.” In a split second Miranda remembered the Snoopy valentine Dante had given her when he was in fifth grade and she was in sixth. Just a little hi from someone who’s feeling kind of shy. She’d always wondered if he was trying to say something or that was just a dumb joke. She shook her head to clear it. Dante looked at her again.

  The man studied them carefully. “Are they friends?” he asked Dante finally.

  “Uh, what?” Dante seemed surprised that someone had addressed him.

  “Are they actually students? Do you know them? Or are they zombies or vampires masquerading as students?” the man said impatiently.

  “Oh, yeah, I know them—that’s Miranda and that’s—” Dante paused. “Uh . . .”

  “Vincent,” said Vincent, annoyed. “President of the St. Philomena Numismatic Club.”

  “Oh, lovely,” said the man, holding out his hand to each of them. “Dr. Spangler. We must talk shop sometime—I have a little coin collection myself. But not now.”

  He was suddenly serious again. “You seem to be blissfully unaware, but there is danger afoot and my young companion and I are out to stop it. What did you say your name was again?” he asked, turning to Dante.

  “Dante,” Dante muttered, yanking on his
shirt. Miranda squinted at him in the wavering light—what was he wearing?

  “Very apt,” said Dr. Spangler dreamily. Miranda raised her eyebrows at Dante. He shrugged but looked nervous.

  “Now,” said Dr. Spangler briskly. “The school seems to be attacking, or at least trapping, everyone. I have reason to believe from my extensive research on the architect, Ivor Shandor, that this is the result of a plan he put in place when the school was built one hundred years ago. Shandor was a genius, but he was also unbalanced. He believed he could bring about an occult occurrence with certain rituals. I did not until today realize that he connected these rituals to this school, but given all that’s happening and some things that woman said—” he paused, frowning.

  “Who?” asked Miranda.

  “The librarian,” said Dante.

  “Mrs. Konstantinos? What does she have to do—?”

  “Duh,” said Vincent. “She’s perfect for the part. He vas my boyfriend!” he yodeled, making everyone jump.

  “What’s your problem, man?” Dante said aggressively.

  Vincent rolled his eyes. “Jeepers, Muscle Man, guess you’re not so familiar with the works of Mel Brooks. I mean, it’s obvious—“

  Miranda put her hand over Vincent’s mouth. “Vincent!” She turned to Spangler. “What do you mean, ‘occult occurrence’?”

  Spangler rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, well, it’s rather a long story and very complicated. I’m not really sure there’s time or that you’d understand—“

  “Hey, some of us are future Ivy Leaguers,” said Vincent.

  “One of us,” muttered Miranda.

  “Vincent’s right.” Everybody turned to Dante. “Well, I don’t know about the Ivy League crap, but you’d better tell us about Shandor. Something is seriously screwed up here, and this building isn’t letting us out without a fight. So we better know what we’re up against.”