The Dark Secret of Weatherend

by John Bellairs

  Miss Eells and Anthony looked quickly at each other, but neither of them moved an inch. Normally Miss Eells would have rushed over and thrown her arms around Emerson. But she was afraid. He had not been acting like himself when he left her house, and his sudden reappearance... Miss Eells bit her lip and tried to fight down the fear that was rising inside her. How had Emerson known that she and Anthony would be here?

  "Hello, there!" he said, raising his mittened hand and waving. But the wave was a weak one, and his smile seemed cold and formal. His pale blue eyes glittered coldly behind his spectacles.

  Again Miss Eells glanced nervously at Anthony. Then she took a couple of uncertain steps forward. "Em!" she exclaimed. "What... what on earth are you doing here? How did you know... I mean, I tried to get you on the phone, but..."

  Emerson beamed reassuringly. "Oh, I just guessed," he said blandly. "I've always thought that I might be blessed with ESP or some such power. In any case I'm glad my instincts led me here." He glanced quickly toward Miss Eells's wrecked car. And he added, in the same calm, lilting tone, "I gather that you two are in need of some assistance. Am I right?"

  Anthony watched Miss Eells intently, wondering what she would say. If Emerson was in the power of Anders Borkman, then would they want his help? Miss Eells walked slowly forward until she was standing only a few feet away from her brother. She stared steadily into his eyes.

  "Em, are you all right?" she asked.

  Emerson seemed slightly startled, but the bland smile did not fade. "Of course I'm all right," he said evenly. "Whatever made you think that I wasn't?"

  Miss Eells said nothing, but the puckered frown on her face told Anthony that she was definitely wary.

  Emerson's smile faded, and for an instant there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "I'm here to help," he said, "but I get the impression that I may not be wanted."

  Again Miss Eells was at a loss for words. She began to stammer, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, no, Em, not... not at all! I'm awfully glad to see you, but... but, well, you seem sort of odd."

  Emerson laughed. "Odd? I'm just trying hard to be calm, which I gather is not the correct thing to be doing right now. But we're wasting time, aren't we? It's clear that you were going somewhere and that you've had an accident. Were you on your way up to see me?"

  There were a few tense moments while Miss Eells seemed to be debating with herself. Finally she spoke. "We're going up to Duluth, Em, and we need a ride badly. Can you drive us?"

  Anthony gasped. Miss Eells was taking a chance, and he felt in his heart that she was wrong. But she was older and wiser than he, and Emerson was her brother. Maybe it would work out.

  Emerson looked strangely surprised. "Duluth? Why do you want to go there?"

  "Never mind. It's... it's private business. But the question is, will you drive us? If you won't, I can rent—"

  Emerson cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense! I won't hear of it! If you don't choose to tell me why you're going to a ridiculous place like Duluth at this time of year... well, I suppose you don't have to. My car's outside, so if you will just finish what you're doing, we can go. But we'd better hurry—there's a storm brewing, you know."

  Miss Eells hesitated again. Then she turned to Mr. Johnson, who had been watching the two of them. On his face was his normal look of dopey amusement.

  "I guess I won't be needing your car-rental service after all," said Miss Eells half-apologetically. "So if you'll tell me what the towing bill is, I'll pay it and we'll be on our way."

  After Miss Eells had written Mr. Johnson a check, she sent Anthony out to the Dodge to bring back the tool bag. Then they followed Emerson out of the garage and down the street. There, parked by the curb, was Emerson's car. He drove a 1938 La Salle, the big, bulky old-fashioned luxury sedan with the high metal grille and teardrop-shaped headlights. Miss Eells smiled when she saw the old car. Somehow it seemed reassuring—a reminder that Emerson was still the same person he always had been. When the tool bag had been stowed in the trunk, Anthony climbed into the backseat, and Miss Eells got in front with her brother.

  They drove for miles. Snow was still falling, but the road had been plowed, so it was not as slippery as it had been. However, it was obvious that the weather was going to get worse. Behind them, to the south, the sky was black, and the wind seemed to be getting stronger.

  Hard gusts hit the car, making it sway and shudder. Anthony peered out of the windows, but all he could see was trees and snowy fields.

  It was really getting dark now. Anthony took his pen-lite out of his pocket and played the beam on the face of his watch. 4:15. He wondered how long it would take to get to Duluth. Miss Eells had reserved a room at the Hotel Duluth, and they planned to check in before driving to the cemetery. But the accident had messed up their plans, and this storm was going to mess them up even more. Anthony sighed and began to imagine the hotel room: flowered wallpaper, a warm bed with a blue fuzzy blanket, a table with a lamp and... Suddenly Anthony stopped daydreaming. A disturbing thought had just occurred to him. The two people in the front seat had been silent since the beginning of the trip. Usually Miss Eells and Emerson talked like crazy together. Anthony looked toward the motionless heads in front of him, and he was afraid.

  Suddenly Emerson broke the silence. "Myra?"

  "Yes, Em?" Miss Eells's voice sounded cold and a bit trembly.

  "Why are you going up to Duluth? I really would like to know."

  A pause. The motor purred on, and a gust of wind shook the car.

  "I'd... I'd rather not tell you," said Miss Eells, in a strained, guarded voice.

  "I see," said Emerson coldly. He paused again and then added, in an unpleasant, biting tone, "I must say it all seems strange to me. We're brother and sister, after all, and we're used to confiding in each other. So, why won't you tell me?"

  Miss Eells took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, Em, if you must know," she said at last, "I haven't felt like trusting you lately. Ever since our visit to Anders Borkman's estate, you've been acting strange. I was wondering if he... well, maybe, hypnotized you. There! I've said it, and it's a relief to get that off my chest!"

  Anthony sat up, tense and rigid, on the seat. His heart was pounding now. What would Emerson say? Would he be hurt, or angry, or worse? When Emerson spoke, his voice had a sly, mocking tone that chilled Anthony. "You don't know what kind of person Borkman is at all! You don't have the slightest, tiniest, idea. And because you are ignorant and foolish, I say woe unto you! May you perish from the surface of the earth!"

  Anthony's body grew rigid with terror. These last hateful words were spoken in a resonant voice that was not Emerson's. It was the voice of Anders Borkman. And as Anthony watched, the car slowed and Emerson's body began to dissolve, literally unravel into strands of gray smoke till it disappeared. Then the windshield and windows melted and ran, like water. The rest of the car turned to bluish-black smoke, and the seat Anthony was sitting on shriveled and dwindled until Anthony was dumped, with jarring, painful suddenness, on the hard snowy surface of the road. Miss Eells landed near him, and with a clunk the tool bag fell nearby. Suddenly they were alone, stranded on an empty highway in the black night, with a howling storm coming on.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Anthony sat there stunned. But after a few moments, the biting wind and the awful fear of this lonely cold place jolted him into action. He scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly. Miss Eells was sitting in the middle of the road, her arms folded on her knees, shaking her head. Carefully, with his hands under her armpits, Anthony began to ease her to her feet.

  "Is Em dead?" she moaned. "What happened? Oh, my poor brother!" Miss Eells began to cry, letting out big, gulping sobs.

  "It's okay," said Anthony soothingly. "We're alive, and... I don't think that was Emerson. It must've been some kind of a trick or a phantom. We have to find someplace where we can get out of this storm." Gently Anthony took Miss Eells by the arm. He pointed off toward the sw
aying, blurry evergreen trees in the snowy field beyond the road. "Let's go look, okay?"

  Miss Eells shivered and did up the snaps on her winter jacket. She had stopped crying and even managed a wry little grin. "Who knows?" she said, shrugging. "Maybe we'll find a sleigh and some horses."

  Anthony picked up the satchel, and together he and Miss Eells started off across the snow-covered field. The wind whistled, and a sudden fierce blast made them both stagger sideways. With his free hand Anthony pulled his red leather cap down over his ears as far as it would go, and struggled on. But he had only taken a few steps when Miss Eells stopped him.

  "Anthony, this is madness!" she yelled. "There isn't anything over there but wilderness! We'd better walk on the road and hope that somebody comes."

  Anthony realized instantly that Miss Eells was right. They stood in the ankle-deep snow on the side of the empty, dark road and waited. Several long, dragging minutes passed. Miss Eells hung her head, and tears began to flow down her cheeks. "A-Anthony," she sobbed, "we... we're g-going to die! No one would be crazy enough to come out on a night like this. No..."

  Miss Eells's voice trailed off. They stood dead still, listening. The sound of a motor rose above the roar of the wind. Now they saw headlights and a flashing yellow dome light. A bulky shadow materialized out of the gloom, and they could see what it was—a truck with a snowplow on the front. As they watched, the big curved yellow blade shot a plume of snow off to the right. Anthony jumped up and down and yelled. As the truck got nearer, the roar of its motor was deafening. The two travelers started to get out of the way, but the truck began to slow, and then it stopped. A window rolled down, and a familiar long face appeared. It was Mr. Johnson.

  "Hi there!" he called. "You folks need a ride?"

  Miss Eells and Anthony looked at each other in utter astonishment. Then, with a joyful yell and a wave of her hand, Miss Eells started forward. She climbed up into the truck and slid over to make room for Anthony. Slam went the door. They were inside, in the warm cab that smelled of pipe smoke and grease. Mr. Johnson was there, in his coveralls, a parka, and—as usual—his baseball cap. His straw-colored hair stuck out from under the bill of his cap, and the expression on his face was calm, as if he was used to picking up stranded people on lonely roads during snowstorms.

  "Your ride leave you in the lurch, did he?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Miss Eells, grinning from ear to ear. "We're so happy to see you! What on earth are you doing up in this neck of the woods?"

  Mr. Johnson shrugged. "I was jist goin' t' plow some back roads. It's a long ways from Eau Claire, but I got friends up here, an' if I don't plow the roads for 'em, chances are nobody will. After I get finished with the plowin', I'm gonna go on up to Superior, to my sister's place, an' get a cuppa coffee. I heard you say you were goin' to Duluth. I c'n take you as far as Superior once I get done with my plowin'. How'd that be?"

  Anthony's heart leaped. He had been looking at the road map in Miss Eells's car, and he knew that Superior, Wisconsin, was right next to Duluth. "How... how far are we from Superior?" he asked excitedly.

  "Only jist a coupla miles, er, maybe three," said Mr. Johnson, pointing at the dark windshield.

  For the last minute or so Miss Eells had been silent. But her mind was working furiously. Finally she spoke. "Mr. Johnson, we have to get to Duluth! We simply have to! We have a terrible emergency. I'm the sister of a nun who's up at St. Scholastica's College. She's dying, and I have to be with her. If you'll forget about your plowing and drive us straight up to St. Scholastica's, I'll give you a check for a hundred dollars. Will you do this for us? Please?"

  Anthony held his breath. Would Mr. Johnson ever believe this tale?

  For about half a minute, Mr. Johnson said nothing. He rubbed his chin and stared at the two of them. Then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a hard thin line. "That guy that picked you up at my garage—was he your brother?" he asked.

  Miss Eells hesitated a second. Then, with an odd half-smile on her face, she said, "Yes, he was. Why?"

  Mr. Johnson looked indignant. "Well, if that's the case, he's a real louse!" Mr. Johnson heaved a disgusted sigh and threw the truck into gear. It began to move forward down the road. "Look, lady," he said, "I dunno what's goin' on in your family, an' I don't wanta know. But I'm gonna take you up there to that college tonight, an' you can pay me what you feel like payin' me. Jist sit back 'n' enjoy the ride!"

  Miss Eells and Anthony were ecstatic. According to what Miss Eells had said earlier, the college was near their destination, St. Boniface's Cemetery. Soon they would be there.

  As the truck raced down the road Mr. Johnson sang "Yon Yonson" and offered them a Thermos full of hot coffee. As they drank the hot liquid Anthony reached out and turned on the radio. Through the waves of static they heard a frightened announcer talking about the wild storm that had come roaring north from the region around Hoosac. He told of strange glaring lights that had appeared in the sky and of rumblings deep down in the earth. People were panicking, and the National Guard had been called out to keep order in some towns. Although the announcer continued in his trembly, nervous voice, Miss Eells had heard enough; she leaned over and switched the radio off.

  They rode on in silence. Outside the windows of the truck the snow swirled as flakes danced madly through the headlight beams. Far ahead was St. Boniface's Cemetery, and Anthony could not help but wonder what would be waiting for them there. Finally they saw the Duluth city-limits sign. In the dead of winter Duluth looked like a frozen, run-down San Francisco with its steep hills rising above the ice-locked harbor. They were riding down the main business street of the city, but there was no traffic at all. The streetlights burned brightly, and the cars parked along the curb looked like white, snowy humps. Mr. Johnson forced the truck forward, sending jets of snow over the already buried cars. "Snow's changed," he muttered. "Gettin' wetter. Windshield's icin' up."

  "Oh, great," said Miss Eells. "Look, Mr. Johnson, we have to get up to the college as soon as we can. How far is it?"

  Mr. Johnson pointed off to the left, toward the steep streets that ran up into the hills. "It's up there somewhere. Not sure which street's the best one t' take. So I guess we might's well try this one that's next. Hang on, everybody!"

  Mr. Johnson braked at the intersection and paused. The street had been plowed recently, but it was covered with a white, slick, sparkling layer, and the truck swerved as it started up the hill. It went a few yards, but then it stalled. Mr. Johnson jammed down the accelerator, and the engine raced. From beneath the truck came a loud, futile whining. The wheels spun madly, and then slowly the tow truck began to roll backward. Swerving from side to side, it went careening back down through the intersection, leaped a curb, and with a loud reverberating boom flattened a mailbox and came to a halt against the side of an office building.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Anthony checked his arms and legs—to his surprise he was not hurt. Then Mr. Johnson spoke.

  "That was dumb of me!" He groaned. "I shoulda had my brakes checked! Boy, was I dumb!"

  Miss Eells wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. "I think I've read this script before," she said sourly. "Between your bad brakes and my half-bald, chainless tires we make a great pair. I think we're all lucky to be alive."

  Anthony looked out at the snowy, windy night and saw a traffic light swaying wildly on its thick, black wire. Snow gusted around the dark buildings. All the stores were closed up, and there was no one to be seen anywhere. Anthony's heart sank. How were they ever going to get to the cemetery now? He wondered if Borkman had iced the streets just to keep them from getting there.

  Miss Eells started to talk, but her voice trailed off. She had seen and heard something outside. Now Anthony and Mr. Johnson heard it, a rising roar. Into the deserted intersection crawled a U. S. Army weapons carrier, a strange-looking contraption that was made to move around in the worst possible weather. It had been repainted in the blue and white colors of the Dul
uth Police Department, and it looked like a tank with its top half sawed off. Instead of wheels it had a rotating cleated belt, and in the driver's seat was a policeman wearing a helmet and goggles. As they watched, the weapons carrier turned slightly and began crawling toward them. It stopped in front of the truck, and the policeman vaulted down from his seat.

  "Uh, oh. Now we're gonna get it!" said Mr. Johnson as he rolled his window down.

  The policeman stopped below the window and glared up. In his gloved hands were a pencil and a ticket pad. "Gonna hafta ticket ya, friend!" he growled. "Know it's bad weather, but ya still shoulda had more control over yer vee-hickle. Yer from Wisconsin. What're you'n yer truck doin' around here, anyway? They call you in to help plow the streets?"

  Mr. Johnson was just about to answer, when Miss Eells cut in quickly. "Officer, this gentleman was on an errand of mercy. You see, our car broke down on the way to Duluth, and he gave us a ride. We'd have frozen to death out in the wilderness if it hadn't been for him."

  The policeman looked at Miss Eells. His eyes were hidden by the shiny polarized goggles, but his mouth was curved into a skeptical scowl. "Oh, yeah? Well, that was real nice of him, wasn't it? And may I ask where the heck you were goin' in this storm?"

  Miss Eells struggled to keep her self-control. "Officer," she said in a polite, sugary voice, "I am the sister of one of the nuns at St. Scholastica's College. She is dying, and I want to be with her. My nephew and I have been invited to spend the night at the college. Mr. Johnson was trying to take us there when his truck had an accident. Do you suppose you could take us?"

  Anthony gave Miss Eells an amused sidelong glance. He had seen her do her imitation of a sweet, helpless little old lady before and always enjoyed it. But would the cop fall for her line?

  The policeman took off his helmet. He did not look quite so grim and forbidding without it. "Look, lady," he said almost apologetically now, "we're in the middle of one of the weirdest storms I ever saw in my life. People're scared half outa their wits, and I don't blame 'em. I hafta go up and down Main Street in this thing here and make sure that cars get moved an' stores don't get broke into. St. Scholastica's is way up that way. How'm I gonna patrol down here an' take you up there, huh?"