“She called you. We’ll go up and check out the situation. If it’s something we can’t handle, then we call for help.”
They hopped the red rope and quietly climbed the stairs. They could get tossed out of the museum for this, but Jake found it exciting. Besides, if it was something serious, here was his chance to be a hero in Hannah’s eyes. How cool was that!
When they were about three steps from the top Jake got down on his knees. He motioned for Kayla to do the same. Just like Christmas, Jake thought. Sneaking upstairs to try to see what Mom and Dad were wrapping. Jake peeked over the top step. It was dark, but there was enough light that he was confident there wasn’t anyone else around.
Kayla held a finger to her lips, and Jake nodded. That made sense. If Hannah couldn’t talk, then obviously they shouldn’t make a racket by yelling for her.
Jake and Kayla stood up and moved across the main corridor to the shuttered gift shop. Light from the full moon came through the skylight, casting shadows and giving the flying machines the illusion of being alive and watching the two of them. Just like those Ben Stiller movies, thought Jake.
“Down there, right?” Jake whispered, pointing to the end of the corridor. Kayla nodded. They slid around the corner from the shop and into a side passageway. “Okay. I’ll go see what’s up. If I’m not back in three minutes, get help.”
Kayla shook her head and whispered, “We should go together.”
“If something…happens to me, someone else has to go get help.”
“Fine!” she hissed.
With his back to the wall, Jake started down the main corridor, keeping his eyes forward. It was slow going, but he eventually made it past the giant F-1 engine as big as his bedroom. The next room was the prep area. Jake tried the door’s metal handle and found it unlocked. He eased it open just a crack and put his ear to the gap.
“She’s tied up and’ll be quiet, guaranteed,” said a man. He sounded like he had enjoyed way too many cigarettes and his throat was starting to pay the price.
“What do we do with her?” a second voice asked. This one was squeaky, with a touch of desperation.
The rough voice spoke up again. “Forget her. Just let me finish with the rock and we’ll go.”
Jake was tempted to leave, but he had to see. He had to be sure that Hannah was okay.
He risked looking through the gap with one eye. Both men were dressed all in black. Something was making a small amount of light on the floor. Jake could see they were working on a display case, and about ten feet away was a second case. Beneath that, he could just make out the edge of a dress with two legs sticking out. Hannah was moving slowly, as if she were trying to wriggle out of whatever held her.
He turned around and started walking, full of determination. He was getting her out of there no matter what! He didn’t like the idea of leaving her even for a minute, but this required some backup.
He ran back down the corridor and turned at the side passageway to join Kayla.
He quickly told her what he’d seen.
“Get security up here.” He looked back around the corner. No one was coming. “I’m gonna stay here. You go down and get help.” When help arrived, he was going to lead the charge and rescue Hannah.
“I’m not going downstairs,” said Kayla. “Do you know what kind of trouble we’d be in?” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”
“What? You think we can help Hannah and no one will ever know we were up here?”
“If we’re careful.”
Jake smiled. “Okay.” That would be the best of both worlds.
“While you were gone, I had a quick look around.” She held up a flashlight and turned it on.
“Where did you–?”
“Follow me,” said Kayla.
Just a few steps down the passageway was a janitor’s closet.
“You know what Dad always says,” Kayla whispered, “It’s always time for chemistry.” Their father was a chemistry teacher at their high school, which made for some awkward moments.
Kayla opened the closet door and shined the light. The tiny space held the standard mop and buckets as well as a shelf with some rags and bottles.
Jake heard the music start down on the first floor. It was muffled but loud.
“Hold this.” Kayla gave Jake the flashlight, grabbed a bottle of chlorine bleach off the shelf, and began to pour the contents in a bucket. Jake knew that mixing bleach with other chemicals was a bad idea, but the circumstances were dire, and they had mixed much worse things with Dad in their basement.
Kayla grabbed another bottle and started pouring it in as well. While she was doing this, she said, “Jake, get a couple of rags off the shelf and get ready to hold your breath.”
There were only two cloths. “What’s your plan, Sis?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of fingernail polish remover.
“Be prepared,” said Kayla. “That goes for Girl Scouts as well as Boy Scouts.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Jake tied one the cloths over his mouth and nose, and Kayla did the same. Then she up-ended the entire bottle of the stinky fluid into the bucket.
“Oh, man!” she said. “We need another cloth quick. Something to cover the bucket while we carry it down to the prep area.” Kayla had just made chloroform: perfect for knocking out anyone getting a deep breath or two of the smelly concoction. But the vapors it was giving off wouldn’t last forever. “You should have worn a suit jacket with those pants. That would’ve worked.”
“I got ink from a printer cartridge on it.” Jake moved the flashlight beam around the closet. “A dust pan would cover it, but they don’t have one. They must vacuum everything.”
Kayla said, “I’ll go see if there’s anything we can use in the bathroom. Be right back.”
Jake stepped out into the passageway and watched her leave. He tightened the mask on his face. That would help a lot, but it was best not to get too close to the bucket of chloroform. He turned his back on it. He could hear another song playing down below. I’d give the shirt off my back to be dancing with Hannah right now, he thought. And then: Shirt! For smart kids, sometimes they missed the obvious. He could just take off his shirt for the bucket. That would–
“Are you trying to be a hero, you stupid kid?” Jake immediately recognized the squeaky voice. He turned around and faced one of the thieves, who said, “I thought I heard something going on down here.”
The thief shot out a hand to grab Jake, who ducked but slipped and ended up face down on the carpeted floor.
“And what’s with the mask?” laughed the thief.
Jake started to crawl towards the bucket. That was the only way. Make him think the bucket was important. Jake made it and looked inside as if he was searching for a cell phone or some weapon.
The man in black bent down to the bucket. “What have we here?” He looked inside and then, taking a deep sniff, said, “What’s this junk?” He then took a second, even deeper sniff. “Oh yeah, that’s horrible.” He left the bucket next to Jake’s head.
The thief straightened up, took one step, and toppled over.
“Jake, are you okay?” he heard his sister say right before he lost consciousness.
Kayla looked at both her brother and the thief on the floor and realized that she needed to hurry. The two of them were out cold. The contents of the bucket worked, but the gas would soon spread and loose strength. Dissipate: that was the SAT word for it.
Kayla hadn’t found anything she could use in the bathroom, but now she didn’t need to. “Sorry about this,” she said, as she quickly undid Jake’s face cloth. She stretched it over the bucket and gripped the rim hard to keep as much of the chloroform fumes inside as possible. She made her way up the passageway to the main corridor.
As she crept, she thought, Okay, be quiet, slide the bucket into the prep room, and then quietly walk away. That’ll knock them out, and I’ll run downstairs and tell everyone. The time for tr
ying to keep this secret was over.
She was almost to the door when a man in black stepped out and said, “Ray, what the–”
In the time it took him to realize that Kayla was not Ray, she’d dropped Jake’s face cloth and splashed the man in the face with the contents of the bucket. He was wearing glasses, but his knit facemask was soaked with the liquid. What wasn’t absorbed splashed back at Kayla. She closed her eyes, but the stuff soaked her face cloth as well, delivering a constant supply of chloroform vapor.
Kayla turned and tried to run, but his hand was on her shoulder. Both of them were breathing hard, taking in more and more of the fumes as they struggled. With a loud yell, she burst free from him and began to run. She could hear the roar of the music downstairs.
After two long steps, Kayla felt tired. Her feet were heavy. Forget running. Just walking was like swimming through a pool of sand.
It was so unfair. It was cruel fate. It was worse than cruel. It was…what was that SAT word? Ex-something. Ex-cr…she shook her head. Stay focused! She thought to herself.
She looked back. The man was slowly following her. She couldn’t go very fast, but he was moving through sand as well. The fumes affected them both, but if she could just make it far enough away from him…if she could just get someone’s attention down on the first floor. But no one down below would hear her. She was too high up, and the music was too loud.
If she could…he was closer. Where could she go? She was tired. She felt her back bump against the balcony railing. Behind her–below her–was a two-story fall into the entrance hall. Facing her was the Pioneers of Flight gallery. She’d always loved Amelia Earhart’s snub-nosed 5B Vega. Amelia had flown the Atlantic solo in that. It’s so red and shiny…Kayla bit her lips. Focus!
The man came closer. Then closer.
I can be Amelia Earhart, Kayla thought, turning around. I can fly.
He lunged towards her, and Kayla threw herself over the railing…onto a cold, black wing of the X-15 rocket plane. The plane jerked forward with a horrible creaking sound from the cables, but Kayla held on with a fierce grip. She looked back. The man was unconscious on the floor. She pulled herself onto the body of the plane and tugged the cloth from her face. She took a deep breath of clean air.
Kayla looked down. Dozens of people were dancing. She slipped out her cell phone and let it fall. It shattered as it hit the plastic surrounding one of the space capsules below.
A girl near the capsule screamed. People around her looked up and saw Kayla.
The music stopped.
LouisaWu: OMG! Kayla! I saw you in the Washington Post!
KaylaStrand: Yes, it really happened.
LouisaWu: How did you get down? Did you have to JUMP?
KaylaStrand: No. They didn’t want me to even TRY to move, on account of being so groggy. They brought in one of those super-long cherry-picker cranes and put me in that. It was TOTALLY embarrassing. It was slow, and everyone was standing around taking pictures with their cell phones. Some video of me on YouTube already has about a million views.
LouisaWu: So, are you, like, a hero now? Is Selena Gomez going to play you on TV?
KaylaStrand: No. Even though we saved Hannah and the rock, Jake and I got grounded for two weeks for going into restricted space.
LouisaWu: Ouch. Cruel.
KaylaStrand: Double Ouch. Excruciating.
Sometimes people just disappear. But as every aspiring young reporter knows, sometimes there’s a bit more to it than that…
THE MYSTERY OF RAVEN’S HOLLOW
Victoria Pitts Caine
“Listen, Debbie, you can hear the thundering hooves.”
Grams always said that when it rained. She told me the noises were the sounds of horses as they raced along the gravel strewn pathway down by Willowby’s Creek. To me it sounded like the branches of the old oak tree as they scratched on the roof when the wind blew. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Night had fallen and the January cold front dropped in on us making the wind whip rhythmically. The noise turned into a thump. The sound grew louder. Thump, scratch, thump, scratch.
As I walked to the window, I looked out onto the dark, barren yard of the old farm where we lived. The rain ran in little rivers down the panes of the wavy glass windows. Most of them had been replaced in the hundred year old house, but Grams was proud of those that hadn’t. They were the original glass from when her grandpa built his home in these Missouri backwoods. The wavy panes were the only ones that made rivers.
I couldn’t remember a time Grams wasn’t around. My parents died in a car accident when I was two. My mom, Opal, was one of three girls who belonged to Grandma Em and Grandpa James. When I was older and found out, I was disappointed that neither Aunt Ruby nor Aunt Pansy took me. They both lived in Kansas City and that would have been far more exciting than living out here in Raven’s Hollow, but then I’d never known the story of old man Parker and his daughter who drowned in Willowby’s Creek almost eighty years ago. I’d heard it all my life, the mystery that haunted this area. Their deaths brought shame to the little town up at the Four Corners and I planned to solve the mystery now I’d turned thirteen.
My name is Deborah Jean Woods. Back then, much to Grams’ dismay, I liked to be called D.J. My best friends were Kevin Finnegan and Tommy Miller. Kevin had a prissy sister, Katie, about my age. I used her for an excuse when I wanted to play with the boys. I’d rather climb trees or fish down by the creek than play with dolls or stupid dress up games, but if I told Grams I was going to Finnegan’s, she figured I’d be with Katie. Not wanting to disappoint Grams who wanted me to be prim and proper, Katie became an excellent excuse.
“Grams, tell me the story again.” I pulled the footstool next to her old rocker. When I looked into her wrinkled face, I thought about how old she was. Grams must have been in her thirties when Mom was born. She died at twenty-seven. Adding my age minus two, I did the math, my most hated subject, and figured Grams at around sixty-seven.
“Deborah Jean, don’t you ever tire of that old story? I’d think you’d have it memorized yourself by now.” Her wrinkles turned into little smiles all over her face while she talked to me. Soft wrinkled smiles. “Let’s move our chairs toward the fire. I always get a shiver up my back when I tell it.”
“Can I write it down this time, Grams? Act like I’m a reporter? You know I want to work in Kansas City for the newspaper when I grow up.” Yearning to learn everything, I needed details of what had happened. The boys and I planned a camping trip out to the creek once it got warm enough. There was an old house near the clearing, the Parker house. Our strategy was to explore it and look for clues. If I wrote down the story, I’d be ready once spring came.
“Go get that journal of yours. I’ll let you read it next time. Run along now. I’ll make some hot chocolate while you’re gone.” Grams got up and limped into the kitchen.
My small room suited me. It had been my mom’s. I slept in her same bed and read her same books. Grams had been slow to redo her girls’ rooms once they married and moved into town. She hadn’t even touched my mom’s room when I came back to claim it. Finding my journal, I returned to the living room.
Grams placed the steaming cups of chocolate on the small table between us then pulled her lap robe from the back of her chair and tucked it in behind her knees. She flinched some when she folded it beneath her bad leg. Moving my hand over hers, she smiled. “Ready, girl?”
“Ready, Grams.” I pressed the pages of my journal flat on my lap.
She began… “Back a long time ago when my grandpa lived here, there was a man named Parker. No one in town liked him. He wanted to be alone and lived down there by the creek in that old house, came to town when he needed something which wasn’t often, and raised his own food. He ran everyone off with a shotgun if they came close to his place.
“He came to Four Corners like clockwork. Every three months on the first. Dirty and dressed in near rags, he spoke in single words like he had no education. He’d point a
nd grunt for things at the mercantile. At the post office, he always picked up a single letter from the city.
“The odd thing about it was that some people knew him as a young man. They said he’d been a scholar. Sent back East by his family to college, but something happened. He wanted to marry a young woman whose parents despised him because he was from these hills. Her parents told him he wasn’t good enough for their daughter, even though he had a college degree and held down a promising job.
“Parker came back here to live after that. Never ventured out, never left Raven’s Hollow except for once. One day after the delivery of one of them letters he went back to the city and came home with a baby girl. His baby girl.
“When he got off the train at Four Corners, all dirty and ragged, someone saw him with the baby. They jumped to conclusions he’d kidnapped her and got up a vigilante group to go after him. By the time he’d recovered his horse and wagon at the livery stable, they were hot on his trail.
“He raced down the narrow road by the creek, branches cutting his face, the baby drawn close to his chest. Thunder bellowed overhead and lightening ignited the sky. The cold wind tore through his thin coat and pounding wind-blown raindrops turned into sleet and cut like razors into his exposed skin. When they were in sight of his place, there was a tight turn in the road. Pressing harder and harder the urgency to escape drove him to whip the horses, their backs marked by braided leather. The tail end of the wagon swung around sideways as they neared the sharp turn. His horses panicked and reared. The wagon overturned and he and the baby drowned in Willowby’s Creek.
“Later when the towns’ people found out the true story, there was so much shame brought to Four Corners. It’s on nights like this that you can hear the horses gallop. The stallion and the bay he switched to get home and the thundering hooves of the vigilante group. It was a sad day for Raven’s Hollow. Some people say you can see a light like a candle or an oil lamp in the old house going from room to room. Story is his ghost is still out there as he searches and calls for his little girl. ‘Elizabeth Ann. Elizabeth Ann.’”
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