The Hand of the Necromancer
Page 12
"And was the hand hollow, as you suspected?" asked Father Higgins.
"Hollow?" echoed Johnny. "I thought it was carved from a single block."
The professor shrugged. "It looked that way, but it actually was only a thin shell. It had to be. And it was not carved, but rather created by magic. Esdrias Blackleach somehow managed to cut off his own left hand—"
"Cool!" whispered Fergie.
"And thrust it inside the hollow wooden shell," continued the professor, ignoring him. "Blackleach then sealed the wrist end of the shell so cunningly that no one could see a seam. His flesh-and-blood hand was now inside the wooden one."
"Why?" asked Sarah. "Was he crazy?"
The professor snorted. "Crazy like a fox! He had found a spell that would allow someone—perhaps his son—to use the hand to resurrect his spirit. He wanted to live again and enjoy the ill-gotten fruits of his wizardry. For just as I suspected, Blackleach was the one real magician in Massachusetts in the year 1692." With a sickly grin, the professor said, "John, you remember the hideous dreams you described. I had a few myself, as I told you. It's clear to me now that Mattheus Mergal used old Blackleach's mirror to haunt us."
After a moment's thought Johnny nodded. "You know," he said, "I was almost convinced that it was Eddie Tompke up to no good. But that was a trick to keep me from blaming Mergal, wasn't it?"
"Bingo!" said the professor. "And Blackleach did the same thing in Salem Village. He sent dreams, or hallucinations, or whatever they were, to victims like Samuel Parris' daughter and niece. They thought the people they saw in these terrible visions were witches, and they accused these people of witchcraft. Imagine the wicked joy that Blackleach felt when no one suspected him of anything!"
"What a repulsive man," said Dr. Coote. "And so the spell I found in the old grimoire did the trick, did it?"
"Indeed it did, Charley," returned the professor. "You were right about the necromantic charm Mergal wished to use for his resurrection. The catch was that the incantation would work on only one day in the year, on the anniversary of Blackleach's death."
"On August first, Lammas Day," said Johnny.
"Quite right. So Mergal was facing a deadline. But there was something else Charley discovered that I believe Mergal completely missed: Chanting the spell on any day opened the gates between Life and Death. But it was only on Lammas Day that the Life side would be stronger, and the spirit of old Blackleach would be pulled through to inhabit Mergal's body. If you did the chant on any other day, the Death side of the equation was stronger. I said the chant on July 27, four days too early. So the hand locked onto Mergal and pulled him through the gate. Blackleach did not come into the world of the living, but Mergal passed, body and soul, into the realm of the dead."
Fergie blinked. "Boy," he said. "That's scary."
The professor's voice became somber: "Not as scary as what Mergal would have done if he had succeeded in drawing Blackleach's spirit into his body. For all his wickedness, Blackleach was very small-minded. All he wanted was to get rich at his neighbors' expense. Mergal was another kettle of tainted squid. The man had delusions of grandeur. He imagined himself as Emperor of the World, and he would have tried to carry out his ambitions if he had succeeded in his nefarious scheme. I, for one, would not care to sample the kind of world that such a twisted man would have forged for himself."
"Are we safe?" Sarah asked. "Could Mergal come back here?"
"Yes, we are perfectly safe, and no, he cannot return," said the professor. To Dr. Coote he said, "By the way, Mergal had an assistant in Boston, a weak little man named Crouder. He was the one who occupied Mergal's hotel room and pretended to be Mergal when the authorities began to look into his whereabouts. They haven't arrested him, because he was just a dupe who gave his boss an alibi. But the police did discover a set of lock picks and nearly all the missing artifacts from the museum in a basket Mergal had placed in his car trunk. Even Miss Ferrington had to admit that John was innocent, and she offered him his job again."
"I didn't take it," Johnny said. "I would have to quit when school starts anyway, and I didn't much want to work in the museum anymore."
"Well," said Professor Childermass, "the police released the stuff that Mergal stole from the museum to me. I had Father Higgins come over with holy water and scripture to bless the whole kit and caboodle, and then we disposed of it in a bonfire. Someone kick me if I ever clutter my house with such tomfool gimcracks and gee-gaws again."
They arrived at Fenway Park and watched an exciting Red Sox–Yankees game. It was a close contest, but when the Yankees came to bat at the top of the ninth, the Red Sox led four to two. They easily put the first two Yankee batters out. That was when the professor stood up and started to razz the Yankees in a loud, obnoxious voice that startled Sarah, delighted Fergie, and embarrassed Johnny.
The Yankee player at the plate was the young slugger Mickey Mantle. He took a couple of practice swings, ignoring the professor's shouted insults. The Red Sox pitcher went into his stretch and put a fastball over high and hard.
Crack! Mantle hit the ball and it soared away. "Oh, you dirty dog!" yelled the professor. "That's a home run!"
It was a very long home run. Mantle trotted around the bases. But the next Yankee batter struck out, and the game ended with the Red Sox winning four to three. Professor Childermass made his way down toward the field, and when he was close enough, he yelled, "You! Number seven!"
"Oh, gosh," groaned Johnny. "He's gonna get in a fight!"
"Yes, you!" bellowed the professor. He tipped his battered old fedora. "Well played, sir! Very well played!"
The surprised Yankee fielder grinned shyly. "Boy, Prof," said Fergie, sounding astonished. "I've never heard you say a kind word for a Yankee until today."
"Byron," returned the professor quietly, "one can always recognize ability and talent in one's adversaries." He raised his voice to a roar: "Especially when the poor dumb Yankees are six and a half games behind the Cleveland Indians!"
All the Red Sox fans around the professor looked at him and chuckled. He beamed and tipped his hat right and left, and even Father Higgins and Dr. Coote joined in the laughter. Johnny, Fergie, and Sarah laughed too, and then they joined the stream of people leaving the ballpark under the clean, bright afternoon sky.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by The Estate of John Bellairs
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-1443-7
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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