by Ronald Kidd
The blade swung again.
I leaped, grabbing the cable above the blade and hanging on for dear life. The force of my jump pushed the blade sideways, so it whistled past Jake. As it swung away from him, I felt the cable give way, and suddenly I was falling. The blade hit the stage and stuck in the wooden floor, vibrating like a knife. I landed on top of the pendulum, where it was hard but not sharp. I ended up sprawled there, gazing dully at the audience, with the cable coiled in my lap.
Libby hurried over. “Are you all right?”
I grunted.
Mr. McGill was the first to reach Jake. Pulling out a pocket knife, he cut the ropes and pulled off the gag and blindfold.
Jake shook his head, struggled to sit up straight, and turned around to face me. Even though it was Jake, I have to admit I expected some kind of thank you.
Instead he screwed up his face, pointed an accusing finger at me, and yelled, “He did it!”
Chapter 20
Welcome to My Nightmare
“Are you nuts?” said Libby. “David just saved your life!”
Jake shook his head furiously. “Who else would do this?”
“Did you see him do it?” asked Mr. McGill.
“Well, no, I was blindfolded. But I know it was him.”
For a second I thought Jake was trying to frame me, to get back at me for beating him up. Then I saw the look in his eyes. It was fear. What he was saying wasn’t true, but he believed it.
Someone came hurrying over, and I saw that it was the school nurse, carrying a first aid kit. Leaning over Jake, she examined the cut on his chest.
“You’re a lucky boy,” she said. “This is just a scratch. Your shirt took the brunt of it.”
She swabbed the cut with alcohol and applied a bandage. By that time, half the faculty had crowded onto the stage, led by Ms. Fein, who was trying unsuccessfully to restore order. As they milled around, Mr. McGill noticed a sheet of paper. “What’s this?” he said.
He set it on the bench and smoothed it out with the side of his hand. Libby and I leaned over to read it, and Ms. Fein joined us.
Blood, blood everywhere—
This is what I love!
Dark pit down below,
Pendulum above.
Hands clench. Hearts pound.
Stomachs lurch and heave.
Welcome to my nightmare.
Now you’ll never leave.
—The Raven
This wasn’t an empty gesture. We were way past that. It was dark and twisted. It was evil.
Ms. Fein whipped out her phone and made a call, then threaded her way through the crowd and back to the podium, where she tapped the microphone.
“Is this still on?” she said. “Attention, please. Everything is fine. The assembly is over. Go back to class.”
Turning off the microphone, she pointed at Jake, Libby, Mr. McGill, and me. “You, you, you, and you—stay here.”
I glanced over at Libby. She moved closer, and her shoulder touched mine.
As the crowd broke up, I heard a siren in the distance. It was a sound I was beginning to hate. A few minutes later, Sergeant Clark entered the auditorium. For some reason I thought of my dad. I wondered where he was and what he was doing, whose life he was making miserable.
Ms. Fein hurried up to Sergeant Clark and told him what had happened. He checked to make sure Jake was all right, then inspected the blade.
“It’s as sharp as a butcher knife,” he said. “Another swing…”
“David saved him,” said Libby. “He jumped on the blade and knocked it sideways.”
Jake said, “He hates me!”
“Then why did he save you?” asked Clark.
Jake looked from me to Sergeant Clark and back again. He didn’t have an answer.
Mr. McGill handed the poem to Clark, who read it and shook his head. “The Raven,” he said. “It figures.”
“Who is he?” said Ms. Fein. “Are there clues?”
“I was just thinking about that,” said Clark. He turned to me. “David, help me with this. A student gets wrapped up like a mummy, and you find him. A cat is strangled, and you’re there. A pendulum swings, and you’re watching from the front row. If I had a brain in my head, which my wife claims I don’t, I’d say it’s obvious who the Raven is. Jake Bragg swears that he knows, and I’m starting to think he’s right.
“There’s no mystery here. The Raven is you.”
Chapter 21
Oh, Shut Up
I gaped at him. “Me? You think I’m the Raven?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Libby. “Why would he do it?”
Sergeant Clark shrugged. “I’m a cop, not a psychiatrist. But I’ve seen it before. Some people attract trouble. They draw it to them, like a magnet. Some of them find out they like it. It’s exciting. It makes them feel important. Maybe they start doing things—little stuff at first, then bigger. It’s like an addiction. They have to feed it.”
“That’s crazy,” I said.
Clark studied me. “The funny thing is, I like you. I always have. But I think you’re one seriously mixed-up kid.”
“So that’s it?” said Libby. “That’s your theory?”
“It makes sense, in a sick way,” said Clark. “You wrap up the mummy, then save him. You hang the cat, then hurry over to help. Neat, huh? You cause the trouble, then get to be the hero. Like today. Hang the pendulum. Set up Jake Bragg, then rescue him.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Ask Libby. I couldn’t have done it. She was with me.”
“When?” said Clark.
“This afternoon,” I said.
He looked at Libby. “The whole time?”
“Well, most of it,” she said.
“So, there might have been time for him to do this?” asked Clark. “Theoretically?”
“Sure, theoretically,” said Libby. “But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. He’s not that kind of person.”
Clark said, “Okay, then, explain this. Of all the people on campus the Raven could have picked for this stunt, why did he choose Jake Bragg?”
I noticed Ms. Fein eyeing me. “Interesting,” she said.
Jake pointed at me. “He did it!”
“Oh, shut up,” said Libby.
I tried to appear confident, but inside I was shaking. Somewhere out there, the Raven was lurking. Wherever I went, he went. He thought my thoughts and dreamed my dreams. When I got angry, he struck back. Maybe, like William Wilson, I really did have an evil twin, and he wasn’t inside me. He was outside, in the world, doing things I longed to do.
Sergeant Clark shook his head sadly. “Sorry, son, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in.”
“You’re not serious. I’m under arrest?”
He said, “I just need to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
My head was spinning. I didn’t want to go to the police station. They would grill me, call my mom, maybe even put me in jail.
I looked at Libby. Seeing the panic on my face, she turned to Sergeant Clark. “We’ve got homework tonight. Can he at least get his books?”
I knew that we didn’t have homework. When I started to say something, she poked me with her elbow.
Clark said, “I guess that would be okay.” He nodded at Mr. McGill. “I have a couple of things to finish up here. Could you walk him over to get his books?”
“Sure,” said Mr. McGill. “Let’s go, David.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Libby.
On the way, we passed the band room. Libby glanced inside as we walked by, then did a double take.
“Hey,” she yelled through the doorway, “that’s a clarinet, not a baseball bat!”
Mr. McGill skidded to a stop, pushed past Libby, and lunged through the doorway. As he did, Libby grabbed my hand, pulling me around the corner and out the front doors.
I stopped on the steps. “What are you doing?” I squawked. “Sergeant Clark’s taking me in.”
“Ar
e you the Raven?” asked Libby.
“Of course not.”
“All right, then, having you in custody doesn’t help anyone,” she said. “In fact, people could be hurt.”
“Really?”
“Think about it. You and I are the only ones who know you’re innocent. If we don’t do something, the Raven will strike again, and this time it could be worse.”
She was right. Sergeant Clark wouldn’t stop it. No one else would either. It was up to us.
I followed her down the steps and into the streets of Baltimore. Somewhere in the shadows, the Raven was waiting.
When you discovered the room, my spirit pounced. It inhabited you. It filled you with words. You didn’t write those—I did! You were my hand, my pen, my bridge to the world. Oh, it felt good—years of stories, trapped inside, surging onto paper.
After a few days, though, I learned a surprising thing. The coffin had changed me.
Trapped inside, my spirit had brooded and festered. Inspired by the carving, I began to think of myself as the Raven—stronger, bolder, my strengths and flaws multiplied.
Writing, which had always defined me and satisfied my appetites, was no longer enough. The stories were pale and insubstantial. The characters, like me, were ghosts—wispy things, bloodless creatures you could see right through. I needed more. I wanted life itself.
I had to escape the coffin. All I needed was a bell.
Chapter 22
Something That You Fear
There was a laundromat across the street. We ducked inside and ran out the back, down a series of alleys until we were blocks from the school and Sergeant Clark.
“Okay, we got away from the police,” I panted when we stopped to rest. “Now what?”
“Find the Raven,” said Libby. “He’s planning to do something bad—I can feel it. Where could he be hiding?”
“It’s been over a week since this started,” I said. “He has to be staying someplace.”
“Could he be at your house?” asked Libby.
“In the room? I don’t think so. I would have noticed something.”
We were silent for a few minutes, thinking.
I remembered the napkin outside our window. It was from Faidley’s. I remembered the beer bottle too. It seemed that the Raven needed food. Suddenly I thought of the abandoned building. It was so obvious, I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me before.
“I think I know where to find him,” I said.
* * *
The abandoned building was dirty and broken. Across the street, perched on a hillside, the house leaned back and watched. Behind it, dark clouds rumbled by, threatening rain.
It was midafternoon when we got there. At school, classes would be winding down, though after the assembly I doubted many people were studying. As for the Raven, our homework was done. The pop quizzes were over. It was time for the final examination.
“He’s got to be here,” I told Libby, looking up at the building. “It’s quiet. No one bothers him. And he has a perfect view of the house.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” said Libby, shivering, “but I think you’re right.”
I pulled back the board that covered the front door, and we went inside. The last time I’d been there it had been nighttime, and I’d ended up splattered with beer. Now, in the daylight, I saw how truly filthy the place was. There was trash everywhere. Ants swarmed over it, and cockroaches skittered by. The windows were broken, and the walls were covered with graffiti.
“What a dump,” said Libby in a low voice.
I put my finger over my lips. “He might hear us,” I whispered.
Trying to move as quietly as possible, I led her up the same staircase I had climbed that night. On the third-floor landing, where I’d found the beer bottle, a note was taped to the door.
When you come in,
The fun will begin.
Libby and I exchanged glances. The color had drained from her face. We had thought we were smart to find him, but the Raven was smarter. He’d been watching us all along. He knew we were coming. More than that, it seemed, he knew what we were thinking.
For a moment I wanted to leave—just turn, run down the stairs, and never come back. If I did, though, people might get hurt. Besides, I knew he would follow me into my house and into my dreams. The only way to stop him was to face him.
Libby must have been thinking the same thing. She tilted her head toward the door and gave a quick nod. Whatever happened, we were in it together.
I opened the door. Inside, in an empty hallway, a dirty blanket was spread on the floor. Next to it was a flashlight, a box of matches, a half-eaten candy bar, and an empty beer bottle.
The Raven was nowhere to be seen. On the blanket was a note, written in the same blocky printing as before.
Think of something that you fear.
Think of someone you adore.
Think of how you long to see her.
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”
“What does it mean?” asked Libby.
“That last line is from ‘The Raven,’ by Poe,” I said. “He was referring to death.”
“Is someone going to die?”
I picked up the poem and studied it. Something that you fear. Someone you adore.
“The house!” I said. Then I gulped. “My mom!”
Chapter 23
A Perfect Moment
Stuffing the poem into my shirt pocket, I turned and raced down the stairs, with Libby right behind me. We squeezed past the board covering the front door and sprinted across the street.
The old house loomed ahead like a giant tomb. We climbed the steps. I unlocked the front door.
“Mom?” I called. There was no answer.
We charged through the house, checking the rooms. When we finished the first floor, we searched the second, saving my bedroom for last. Peering inside, we found nothing.
I whispered to Libby, “Now, for the big one.”
I grabbed a flashlight from my dresser and switched it on. We stepped into the closet.
I pushed aside the clothes and placed my fingers in the crack on the back wall. It swung away, revealing the door.
I imagined my mom on the other side, tied to a chair, with the Raven next to her. She was the picture of terror. As for the Raven, he started out looking like me, but his face slid away, leaving a space as blank as the paper I’d found in the desk. Who was he? Why had he invaded my life? What did he intend to do with it?
I turned the knob, and we entered the room.
No one was there.
Stepping inside, I set down the flashlight and turned on the electric lantern. Shadows jumped out at us. The quill pen was there, as usual. So was the carved raven. The floor was littered with ancient, yellowing paper. The clock stood silent against the wall.
I took the poem from my pocket and read it again. Libby peered over my shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
As I spoke, we heard a sound. It seemed to come from below us. Motioning for Libby to follow, I tiptoed through the closet and into my bedroom. There was another sound. Someone was downstairs. If it was the Raven, would he know we were here? I tried to remember if I had left the front door unlocked.
We heard footsteps, slow at first and then faster. He was coming for us. I scanned the bedroom, searching for a place to hide.
“Under the bed,” I whispered.
We dove to the floor and slithered beneath the bed. The footsteps were outside the door. I was amazed at how quickly and lightly he moved. I was breathless with fright but couldn’t help myself. I had to see what he looked like. Pulling back the edge of the bedspread, I peeked out. A shadow fell across the doorway.
My mom stepped inside.
She glanced around, taking in the bed, the dresser, and the rest of the room. If she noticed that the closet door was open, she showed no sign of it. Pulling out her phone, she punched a couple of buttons and brought it to her ea
r.
“Sergeant Clark?” she said. “I checked the house. He’s not here. Yes, I’ll stay put. If I see any sign of him, I’ll call you.”
She put away the phone, glanced around one last time, and left the room. We listened as she made her way down the stairs. Then it was quiet again.
We slid out from under the bed and stood up. Libby said in a low voice, “Your mom’s talking to Sergeant Clark. He must have told her his theory.”
“Great,” I said. “Even my mom believes I’m the Raven.”
“It’s okay, David. We’ll find him. We can do it.”
“If he’s not here, where is he?” I asked.
Libby thought for a moment, then said, “I think our best chance is that building. If we wait there, we can also keep our eye on the house.”
I noticed that Libby seemed troubled. She tiptoed to the bedroom doorway, peered into the hall, and carefully closed the door. Then she turned to me.
“Look, David, I want to help, but I need to see my parents. The police probably called them too, since I was with you. I bet they’re worried. I have to tell them I’m okay.”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course. You go on home.”
She nodded, but I wasn’t finished. “Libby, thanks for helping me. This is dangerous. You don’t have to come back. I’ll take care of it.”
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t talk like that.”
I said, “It’s my battle, not yours.”
She reached up and gently touched my cheek. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said.
It was a perfect moment. In spite of the house and the Raven and all the bad things that had happened, Libby and I were together. For now, that was all that mattered.
She patted my cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”
I led her to the window and opened it. Just outside was the big oak tree. I shot Libby a shy grin.
“My private entrance,” I said.
I stepped through the window onto a big branch, and Libby followed. We made our way toward the trunk, then scooted down and dropped to the ground. We crossed to the gate, pulled it open, and ducked behind a row of bushes outside.
