Drum, the Doll, and the Zombie

by John Bellairs

  "Sure," said Johnny. What a day this was turning out to be! Suddenly every grown-up Johnny knew seemed to be asking for his advice and help. "What do you want me to do?"

  The professor's voice took on a forced lightness: "Oh, not a very great task, Johnny. It should be simple for you. In fact, I believe you are the only person who could do it."

  "Do what?" asked Johnny again, bewildered.

  With an uncomfortable grin, the professor said, "Nothing much. Just steal something from your grandmother for me. Now, would you like a nice cool glass of milk with your coconut-fudge cake?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Professor Childermass sighed. "Is everyone here at last?" he asked in an exasperated tone. "I didn't want to make such a big production of this. Now pay attention, because I want to go through it only once."

  It was Thanksgiving night. Father Thomas Higgins, the pastor of Johnny's church, had joined the professor, Johnny, and Fergie in the professor's living room. A friendly fire crackled in the fireplace, and everyone sat in a semicircle close by. Father Higgins, who had iron-gray hair and a permanent threatening scowl, sniffed. "Come on, Rod. You've kept us in the dark long enough. Tell us what's up."

  "All in due time, Higgy," said the professor, looking mildly nettled. Except when friends his own age called him "Rod," he disliked the nickname. When Father Higgins called him that, usually it was to needle him. "Very well. At first I thought we would keep this matter only between Higgy and me, but then I realized that Johnny will be playing a part in this and Byron is also involved, so both of you deserve to know everything too. It seems to have been Byron's—ahem!—unusual drum solo that began this whole business in the first place."

  "Hey," cried Fergie, sounding insulted, "don't blame me! I didn't know that stupid ol' bongo had a curse on it."

  "Not a curse exactly," said the professor. "Something just as sinister, perhaps. Now, Higgy, you need to be brought up to date." The professor spent some time telling Father Higgins all about Dr. Coote, the drum, and the malevolent Mama Sinestra. The priest nodded with grim concentration. He had had some experience with evil spirits, so he took everything seriously. Not very long before, he himself had almost become the victim of a vengeful ghost, and only bold action on the part of the professor, Fergie, and Johnny had saved him. So he listened as the professor finished his unlikely tale: "And now this Mama Sinestra person has threatened Kate Dixon. She obviously thinks that I know where the drum is."

  "I take it that Dr. Coote didn't give it to you," said Father Higgins.

  "He did not," agreed the professor. "Although I'd stake my life that Charley knows more about this dark matter than anyone alive. Or knew, before Mama Sinestra's evil spell knocked him unconscious. However, what one person has discovered, another may learn. I have spent some weeks in research, and I honestly think I know as much regarding voudon as anyone else."

  "Hey," said Fergie suddenly, "is that what the whatzis the old dame showed us was? A voodoo doll, the kind witch doctors stick pins in t' kill their victims?"

  "It was indeed," replied Professor Childermass. "However, surprising though it may seem, I have learned that the use of such dolls is unknown in the proper Haitian practice of voodoo. But the natives of St. Ives have combined ancient European witchcraft practices—which did involve hex dolls—with the invocation of terrible voodoo spirits. I also found out about the drum, Byron, but I will get to that in a moment."

  Johnny was worried. "Professor, can she really use that doll to kill Gramma? Isn't there anything we can do?"

  The professor's expression became solemn. "The answers, John, are yes and yes. I am afraid that, under the right circumstances, the doll could indeed do your grandmother great harm, perhaps even be fatal. However, we do have some remedies. First, let me explain that the old hag who calls herself Mama Sinestra made that suspicious swap of a new hairbrush and mirror set for a reason: She needed some of Kate Dixon's hair for her cursed image. She has stuffed the doll with something—sawdust, perhaps, or cotton batting—but she has added a few strands of Kate's hair, and they give the doll its power over John's grandmother. But there is something else at work as well. Several weeks have passed since Mama Sinestra's visit. That is because the charm takes time to prepare, and that is why she has given Kate a week before she uses the doll. It will not gain its full wicked power until the night of the new moon, next Wednesday—exactly one week from yesterday. That means that the doll cannot hurt your grandmother, John, until then."

  Johnny felt confused and troubled. "But somethin' is making her feel bad right now," he said. "Somethin' that the doctor can't find!"

  The professor nodded wearily. "I know the doctor has failed, but I can find it. The source of her trouble is hidden inside her pillow. That is why I've asked you to steal something. What I want is your grandmother's pillow, John. I found out by talking casually to your grandmother that Mama Sinestra actually accompanied her upstairs when she went to get her old hairbrush. For just a moment while your grandmother was in the bathroom, Mama Sinestra was in the bedroom alone, and that is when she had a chance to do a very nasty deed. I believe she slit a tiny hole in your grandmother's pillow and put a small knotted cord inside. That enchanted cord will gradually grow into a horrible creature that will try to suck your grandmother's soul right out of her body. If it succeeds, and if Mama Sinestra uses her hateful doll, then your grandmother would become—well, like the awful creature that attacked us up at Charley's place."

  Johnny felt sick. He imagined his grandmother lurching around as a zombie, her skin pale and clammy, her eyes filmed and blank. "We gotta stop her!" he shouted.

  "Easy, Johnny," said Father Higgins. "Roderick, if anybody else had come to me with such a story, I'd— well, I don't know what I'd do. But as you say, we have been through some uncanny times together, so I believe you. What do we have to do?"

  "Higgy, I will want you over here tomorrow morning at eight sharp," answered the professor. "Bring with you your priestly bag of tricks—holy water, missal, relics, anything that will offer some protection. You will have to help us deactivate this dire spell. Johnny, you bring the pillow. And Byron, you could stay home and forget the whole thing, but knowing you, I suppose there isn't a prayer of that happening."

  "Nope," agreed Fergie with a grin. "Count me in, Prof! Say, is that the way that ol' Mama Sinestra made the zombie that grabbed John? By stickin' somethin' nasty in his beddy-bye pillow?"

  Professor Childermass frowned. "Probably not," he said. "You see, a zombie is a body without a soul. It is animated by a spirit, but it has no memory of its former life. That can happen if the soul is stolen away, as I suspect is happening with Johnny's grandmother, but it can also happen if a voudon witch doctor calls a spirit into a freshly dead body. Of course, the body must not have been embalmed—even the snazziest witch doctor could do little with a cadaver whose blood has been replaced by formaldehyde! I suspect that the zombie that John and I encountered was merely the unfortunate corpse of this wretched Mr. Jacques Dupont, activated by the abominable Mama Sinestra. Interestingly enough, Mr. Dupont's religion does not permit embalming."

  Fergie was grinning wickedly. He had seen some weird and supernatural events in his time, but he was a hard boy to convince, and he reveled in his skepticism. He said, "Yeah, an' maybe Mama Whatserface just hired an actor to clomp around an' scare the two of you silly."

  Surprisingly, the professor took this in stride. "Possibly, Byron, but I incline to the more sorcerous explanation. I would have broken the hand of any living man with that tire iron, and I would have killed any normal person when I ran over the creature with my car. The brute showed superhuman strength, just as zombies are supposed to do."

  "Maybe it was Gorgeous George the wrestler," said Fergie with a smile. "By the way, you said you had found out about that weirdo drum."

  The professor looked startled. "I almost forgot," he admitted. "I guess I'm getting old. Well, Dr. Armitage at Miskatonic U. tells me that classic voodoo dr
ums come in three assorted sizes: There is the largest drum, the maman or grande; the middle-sized drum, or seconde; and the wee little baby drum, or bébé. They are all used in magic ceremonies. The grande allows the voodoo priest, or bocor, to control spirits. The seconde guides the spirits so that they will possess certain living people. And the bébé, which must be the type that you pounded on, calls up those spirits in the first place. By the way, Byron, do you happen to recall the word you chanted while you were tapping away at the drum?"

  Fergie wrinkled his face. "Sure," he said. "I started singin' 'Babaloo,' just like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy."

  "Yes," agreed the professor in a dry tone. "Well, my unmusical friend, Mr. Ricardo's chant is actually taken from an ancient drum ritual. Dr. Armitage tells me that the word is really Babaloa or Papaloa, and it is one name for Baron Samedi, a voodoo spirit of great potency who has the ability to possess living people. When he appears, the first thing he does is to summon up power. You may recall how the electric lines went down the moment you screeched out the word. At the time we thought it was just the storm, but now I wonder. In real voodoo ceremonies, huge bonfires provide energy for the spirits. Couldn't electricity work just as well? And you are very, very lucky, Byron. The spirit could have dived right into your body instead of returning to its former dwelling place."

  "Where was that?" asked Fergie.

  The professor gave him an irritated glance. "Why, in the drum, of course," he said. "Why else do you think Mama Sinestra would be so anxious to get the blasted boom-ba-de-boom back?"

  Everything went as the professor planned. Johnny managed to slip into his house without anyone noticing the huge lump that swelled his jacket, and the next morning he tiptoed into his grandparents' room. He took Gramma's pillow from its pillowcase and substituted the one he had brought over from the professor's house. Then he made the bed up again very carefully. He stuffed his grandmother's pillow into an old satchel that he sometimes kept his skates and other sports equipment in and then went downstairs. Gramma was preparing breakfast, and Grampa and Johnny's dad were arguing about whether World War I or World War II was the greatest war of the century. Johnny took his place and ate a tasty breakfast of sausages and buckwheat pancakes. Gramma picked at her own food and muttered that she didn't have much of an appetite. Johnny could see that his dad was worried about her, and he had to admit that Gramma looked ill.

  As soon as breakfast ended, Johnny ran up to his room, grabbed the satchel, and headed out the door. He saw Fergie, and the two of them hurried across the street, where the professor swung the door open before they could even knock. "Ah, I see the booty is here," he said, taking the satchel from Johnny. "We've got the pillow and we've got the priest, so let's put the two together and see what happens!"

  They went up to the study. Johnny gaped at the transformation that Father Higgins had brought about. The huge desk stood with its top completely bare of papers, books, and the other clutter that the professor always kept there. A white cloth draped the cleared desk, and on the cloth a Bible rested beside a gold crucifix. Father Higgins was in what he called his work clothes, his priestly vestments: the long white robe, or alb, and purple stole. "Roderick, do you suppose we should let these boys stay?" he asked. "This might be ugly, from what you've told me."

  "Hey!" protested Fergie at once. "No fair, Father! We were in at the beginning of this, an' we oughta be here for the finish of it!"

  Professor Childermass nodded his agreement. "I think so too, Byron. Well, Higgy, tell us what to do."

  Briefly, Father Higgins explained that he had consecrated the room as a sort of substitute chapel. He had them pull the pillow out of the satchel and put it on the desk, near the crucifix. Then he led them all in prayer. Professor Childermass and Johnny, who both attended St. Michael's, had no difficulty in following along, but Fergie was a Baptist, and he stumbled over some of the responses. In a kind voice Father Higgins prompted him whenever he had trouble. Then Father Higgins produced a silver container of holy water. He sprinkled this over the pillow—and immediately something strange began to happen.

  "Look at that!" shouted Fergie as the pillow began to writhe and pulsate. "It's got some kinda animal in it!"

  The pillow did indeed look as if a rabbit or other small creature were trying to find its way out. It heaved and twisted, writhed and swelled. Speaking firmly, Father Higgins commanded the unclean spirit to depart in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. As Johnny stared with wide eyes, a tiny rip appeared in the seam of the pillow, growing larger and larger with a sound of tearing threads. They all fell back from the desk as feathers began to fly out of the hole. Something that looked slick and wet and gray thrust itself out, and suddenly the pillow ripped itself to shreds in a puff of feathers and down.

  Professor Childermass cried out in revulsion. At first Johnny could hardly see for the feathers, but then they settled. Flopping and thrashing about on the desk was a weird form, something like a skinned monkey without a tail. It had a tiny body, a head no larger than an orange, and four long, skinny limbs. It glistened a sick, wet, silvery-gray color, like the slimy belly of a slug. The head showed no eyes or nose, just a pouchy, drooling mouth. The creature mewed and squalled and flapped its useless arms and legs. The sounds it made were horrible, like the bawling of a baby animal in terrible pain. "My God!" exclaimed Professor Childermass. "What is it, Father?"

  "Something that does not belong on this earth," responded Father Higgins. "Depart, foul spirit!" And he sprinkled the holy water again.

  As the drops spattered it, the creature rose on its two spidery hind legs, screaming and yelping. Wherever the water touched it, its body began to smoke. Then a long, jagged rip appeared in its belly. The body turned inside out, and from it issued a flood of—

  Feathers. Wet, gummy, clotted feathers. An incredible quantity gushed out, falling with squishy plops to the floor. Piles of them lay steaming on the desk, filling the room with an ungodly stench. The creature shuddered and collapsed and then was still. Everyone took a step or two forward as the slickly gleaming membrane withered and shriveled like the rubber skin of a leaky old balloon. "Ya did it," crowed Fergie. "Attaboy, Father! Fastest crucifix in the west!" He leaned forward. "Say, Prof, what's this?"

  "Don't touch it!" shouted Johnny.

  Fergie ignored him. From the mess on the desk he plucked a brown, knotted cord about ten inches long. It dangled with a few wet feathers clinging to it. The professor gingerly took it from him and flung it into the fire. "That, Byron, was the heart of this unholy creature. That cord with its twenty-one secret knots was what Mama Sinestra slipped into Kate Dixon's pillow. Ever since, it has been absorbing life from her, creating this loathsome creature of feathers. Fortunately, Father Higgins stopped it before it had gone very far. Now, Johnny, your grandmother should feel better. At least this horror won't be drawing the life out of her as she sleeps."

  "Is—is it all over, then?" gasped Johnny.

  The professor looked very angry. "No, my boy, I am sorry to say that it is not. It is only beginning. Next we have to locate that foul doll, and then we have to do the same for Charley, and that may be the hardest thing we will ever have to do."

  "Any ideas on where the doll of Johnny's granma is, Prof?" asked Fergie eagerly.

  The professor nodded. "Yes, Byron, I have an idea or two, but this time you cannot tag along." He raised his hand to shut off Fergie's protest. "No use, Byron. I have already discussed this with Father Higgins, and he agrees with me. The place where we have to go next is—well, even in ordinary times it would be terrifying. And with Mama Sinestra around it may be deadly. So no, you may not come with us."

  To Johnny's surprise, Fergie said, "Okay, Prof, if you put your foot down, then so be it—but you know how I hate to miss a party!"

  The relief Johnny felt was very short-lived. A few minutes later, as he and Fergie left the professor's house, Fergie turned to him with a grin. "We're on stakeout, partner," he said.


  "Huh?" asked Johnny.

  Fergie winked. "The prof and Father Higgins may think they can ditch us, but all we gotta do is keep a watch on the house. I'll get my folks t' let me stay over, an' we won't let 'em get away from us. When those two close in for the arrest in the case of the killer doll, deputies Johnny Dixon an' Fergie Ferguson are gonna be right there with them!"

  Johnny's stomach churned as he remembered the feather monster and what the professor said were even worse things, but already he knew he was a goner. If Fergie wanted them in on the case, then he had to go along. He only hoped they would get out of the adventure alive.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nothing more happened that day, nor the next one. Gramma had perked up quite a bit, though, and Major Dixon began to look more cheerful. He and Johnny had a couple of chats about what each had been doing over the past several months. Major Dixon said that regardless of Johnny's decision, he and Johnny would vacation together next summer, and they spent some time dreaming up places they could go.

  Meanwhile, Johnny kept an eye open for any sign of activity at the professor's house, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Professor Childermass was at home: Johnny saw him come out to collect his morning paper on both Saturday and Sunday, and his maroon Pontiac stayed parked at the curb in front of his house. And Johnny saw no sign of Father Higgins' big Oldsmobile.

  Fergie spent both Friday and Saturday nights. During the day he and Johnny practiced throwing and catching a football in front of Johnny's house. It gave them the opportunity of keeping the professor's house under observation without seeming to spy on it. Johnny was lousy at sports. He was not well coordinated, so many boys didn't even want to play catch with him. But Fergie didn't mind, and since Fillmore Street was always very quiet, they could stand right out in the street and pass the football back and forth.