The boys dropped their bikes on the front lawn and walked to the window. “What’s with all the secrecy?” Carter asked. “First you call us at five-thirty a.m. and won’t tell us why, and now you’re whispering out the window like we shouldn’t even be here.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder. Still keeping his voice low he said, “We’ve got a problem.” He handed something out the window to Angelo.
“Holy crapolla,” Carter said, realizing what Angelo was holding. “Is that what I think it is?”
Nick stuck out his right hand with its small pink stump.
Angelo turned the finger over, examining the severed end like it was nothing more than an especially interesting biology project. “It was only a matter of time, I guess. When did it come off?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Come through the side door. But don’t wake up my parents.”
Nick told them the whole story as the three boys sat in his room. Carter, sprawled out on the beanbag chair in the corner, shook his head and scrounged through what was left of the Halloween candy his parents had returned to him. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to have seen Angie get a face full of mashed potatoes.”
“Do you think she saw the finger?” Angelo asked.
Nick shook his head. “Things happened too fast. My dad wasn’t exactly thrilled that I dumped dinner on his boss, but no one suspects I did it on purpose. I told them the bowl slipped out of my fingers.” He took his pinky from Angelo. “So what are we gonna do? If I take the amulet off, what happens to my finger?”
Carter started searching through Nick’s desk. After a bit of digging, he came up with a big silver roll.
“Duct tape?” Nick asked, clutching his pinky protectively to his chest. “You want to put my finger on with duct tape?”
“Why not?” Carter said. “My dad once held half his car’s front bumper on with duct tape.”
“Yeah, well, call me crazy, but I think there might be a little difference between your dad’s bumper and my finger.”
Angelo thought for a minute. “Get me some fishing line and a sewing needle.”
When Nick came back with the items, Angelo had him put his hand under the stand-mounted magnifying glass they used for attaching small model parts.
“That’s awesome!” Carter said. “Why don’t you sew it onto his left hand? Then he could be one of those guys with four fingers on one side and six on the other.”
“All I want is five normal fingers on each hand,” Nick said, wondering if all that candy had affected his friend’s brain. “Make sure you put it on straight though. I don’t want to end up with a backwards finger when this is all over.”
“Hold steady now.” Nick watched as Angelo stitched his finger in place like he was sewing a button back on. He could feel a slight poke as the needle went in and out of his flesh, but other than that there was no sensation at all.
Angelo took off his glasses and wiped sweat from his forehead. He tucked the needle and some extra line in his notebook. “I wouldn’t try wiggling it or anything until you’re human again.”
“And don’t pick your nose with it,” Carter added. “It would suck to get it stuck up there.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Nick took the amulet out from the front of his shirt. “Guess it’s time to finally take this off.” All three boys stared at the gleaming red gem in the center. He’d sort of gotten used to wearing it, and although he was ready to stop being a zombie, part of him knew he would miss it. “Do you think I’m supposed to say something first?”
Angelo looked unsure. It was an expression Nick wasn’t used to seeing on his friend’s face. “I couldn’t find anything about removing a cursed amulet in any of my books. I guess you’ll have to try and see what happens.”
Although his heart had slowed to nearly nothing, Nick thought he could feel it hammering in his chest. He gripped the amulet tightly in his left hand. Even after everything that had happened, there was a part of him that didn’t want to take the chain off—as if the amulet itself was telling him to keep it on.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Carter said.
“Give me a second!” Nick snapped. Nick’s palm was slick and the stone felt warm against his skin. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he pull it off?
“Do you want me to help?” Angelo stepped toward him and Nick jerked backward.
“Are you okay?” Carter asked.
“Yeah,” Nick muttered. “I just…” Just what? Did he want to stay a stinking creature with open sores and body parts falling off? In one swift motion he jerked the amulet over his head and pulled the chain from his neck.
All three boys sat silently, watching and waiting.
“How do you feel?” Carter asked.
Nick shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” He looked at Angelo. “Am I…human?”
Angelo pressed a finger to the side of Nick’s neck, frowning. After a moment, he put his ear to Nick’s chest and listened. When he lifted his head, his expression was grim. “I think we have a bigger problem than we thought.”
Nick ran a thumb across the base of his sewn-together pinky. “You’re saying I’m stuck this way?”
Angelo bit his lower lip, flipping through the pages of his monster notebook over and over. “I’m saying I don’t know.”
“Maybe he just has to wait a while,” Carter suggested, biting the end off a Tootsie Roll.
“Sure,” Nick nodded, wanting to believe. He could afford to wait another day or two if he had to. That was a lot better than explaining to his parents that they had a zombie for a son and it was only a matter of time before he turned into a mindless, drooling freak, driven by an insatiable desire to consume human brain tissue.
“Possibly.” Angelo nodded slowly. “Or maybe there’s something we’re missing. Maybe there’s a way to turn you back. But the longer we wait, the harder it will become. I say we try everything we can think of. If nothing works, then we wait.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” Nick agreed. “But we can’t do it here. I’m not grounded yet, though once my parents wake up, that could change. How about we each search for anything that might remove a curse and meet at the park in an hour?”
Sixty minutes later, Nick rode his bike up to the picnic tables beside the little playground at the center of Dinosaur Park. Clutched in his hand was a small brown bag. Carter was already there with a bag of his own. “What did you bring?” Nick asked, looking hopefully at the package.
Carter studied his feet. “Just, you know, some stuff. How about you?”
Nick leaned his bike against the table. “Stuff.”
Unable to meet each other’s eyes, the two boys waited for Angelo to arrive. If Carter’s bag held anything similar to what Nick had brought, their only hope was Angelo. Fifteen minutes later, Angelo rode up with a thick book Nick thought he recognized from the library and a green bottle.
Nick read the label on the bottle. “Lemon juice?”
“You have something better?” Angelo asked, holding up his hands.
“No,” Nick admitted. “Is that the book Mr. Blackham gave you?”
Angelo set the thick tome on the picnic table. “Yes. But let’s try everything else first.” He looked at Carter. “What did you come up with?”
Carter pulled out a small white plastic bottle.
“Acne cream?” Nick laughed.
“Hey,” Carter said, his face turning red. “My big sister’s skin looked ten times worse than yours before she started using this stuff. Of course she doesn’t look all that much better now. But if it makes zits go away…”
“I guess it’s worth a try,” Nick said. He squeezed a small puddle of the medicine into his palm and rubbed it across his face.
“Do you feel any different?’ Angelo asked after a couple of minutes had passed.
Nick shook his head.
“What did you bring?” Carter asked, reaching for Nick’s bag.
Nick wished he hadn’t laughed at Carter earlier. He opened his sack an
d pulled out a metal spray can and a jar of lotion.
Carter held his stomach as he roared with laughter. “Spot remover and Bald-B-Gone?”
Nick scowled. “One makes spots go away and one is supposed to get rid of baldness. It was all I could find. Besides, it’s not any dumber than zit cream.”
That quieted Carter.
Nick already knew neither of them would work, but he sprayed some spot remover on the back of his neck and applied a little of the hair restorer to the top of his head. The three boys stood around, looking at the swings and slides that stood eerily empty at this time of the morning. “Nothing,” Nick said when Carter finally peeked in his direction.
They both turned to Angelo, who held out the bottle of lemon juice. “This is supposed to clear up colds. But my grandma swore it could cure anything.”
Nick took the bottle. “What do I do with it?” From the look on Angelo’s face he could tell it wasn’t going to be good.
Angelo flipped through his notebook and studied the page, although Nick thought he might actually be using it as an excuse to keep from looking at him. “It says here, you, uh, put two drops of lemon juice in each of your nostrils.”
Nick stumbled backward. “Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how much that would sting?”
“Actually, by this point I doubt you’ll feel anything at all. But you don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.” Angelo rubbed the side of his face. “Who knows, maybe the spot remover will kick in.”
Grumbling, Nick unscrewed the bottle and filled the lid with juice. “I think you should try it first,” he muttered. But Angelo was right. He didn’t have a lot of choices. Tilting back his head, he poured a little of the juice into each side of his nose. Angelo was right. The only thing he felt was a sort of gagging as the juice ran from his sinuses into his throat.
“Rut wow?” he said, trying to keep from inhaling.
“I think he’s asking ‘what now?’” Carter said.
Angelo referred to the notebook. “Stand on one foot, and jump backward three times while repeating the words ‘out, out, out.’”
Nick stared at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Angelo was pulling some kind of terrible prank. But his friend looked serious. A little at a time, he lifted his left foot into the air. With his muscles starting to deteriorate, his balance was bad enough. With his head tilted back and his eyes watering, it was almost impossible to stand on one foot, let alone jump.
“Out,” he grunted, jumping backward. He almost fell, but by holding out his hands managed to catch himself. He began to sway. He was going to have to do this quick.
“Out.” He jumped backward. He felt himself toppling over and jumped again.
“Out.”
“Watch the table!” Carter yelled.
Nick’s leg hit the corner of the picnic bench. He flailed his hands, trying to keep from falling. Angelo reached for his arm but missed. Like a big, awkward flamingo, he flapped, spun, and flew for two or three feet before smashing headfirst into the ground.
“Are you okay?” Carter ran toward him.
Angelo got there first and pulled him to his feet. He said something, but Nick couldn’t make it out.
“What?”
Angelo held out his hand and moved to Nick’s right side. “I said, I think you lost something.”
Nick looked at what Angelo was holding. It was his left ear. “It fell off when you back-flipped over the picnic bench.”
Carter skidded to a stop on the damp grass. He looked from Angelo to Nick and scratched the back of his neck. “If you don’t want that, can I have it for a souvenir?”
Nick sat on the picnic table as Angelo sewed his ear back on. “How does it look?”
Carter made a square with his thumbs and fingers, like a photographer lining up a shot. “Has your nose always leaned to the left like that?”
“I’m not talking about my nose, you freakball,” Nick growled. “I’m talking about my ear.”
“Just trying to help.” Carter wandered away, searching through his ever-diminishing candy supply.
“You look fine,” Angelo said. “But we need to get this curse removed soon or you’re going to be sewing body parts on faster than Carter eats candy.”
“You don’t need to tell me.” Nick poked at his ear with one finger. It seemed okay. He glanced at the book Angelo had carried to the park. “What’s in that, anyway?”
Angelo picked up the heavy volume. The cover was made of something thick and pebbly that looked way too much like human skin for Nick’s comfort. The title was written in a language he didn’t recognize. “Les malédictions et les remèdes,” Nick read, stumbling over the words.
“It’s French,” Angelo said. “It means ‘curses and cures.’”
Carter stepped in for a better look. “I didn’t know you could read French.”
“I can’t,” Angelo admitted. “At least, not much. And most of it’s so old it’s not even written in the kind of French they teach in school. But I’ve been using a French-English dictionary to figure most of it out.”
“Does it say anything about zombie curses?” he asked.
“Sort of.” Angelo opened the book to a page with a picture of a corpse climbing out of a grave.
“Cool!” Carter said, stepping closer to get a better look.
Nick examined the picture closely and shuddered. The creature looked like a skeleton with a thin coating of peeling flesh. One of its legs was hanging by a thread and its left arm was completely gone. “Is this how I’m going to end up?”
“It’s possible,” Angelo said. “This doesn’t talk specifically about zombies. But it does say the only way to remove a powerful voodoo curse is to make something called a mojo hand.”
There was lots of writing on the page opposite the corpse and a drawing of what looked like a small bag. “If you already had this, why did you make me try all that other stuff?” Nick asked.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come this far.” Angelo exhaled. He ran a finger along the words on the page. “I’m not sure I got the translation completely right. But from what I can tell, the mojo hand we need to make requires nine items. A broken ring, a voodoo doll’s head, powdered bat, rat hair, human bone, the rotted flesh of a smoked pig, stench of death—whatever that is—a bloody dagger, and the ashes of an alchemist’s handbook.”
Nick stared at him. “Are you kidding me? Where would we get any of that?”
“It gets worse,” Angelo said. “We have to combine all these items in a red flannel bag and read these words over a lit black candle at midnight in a cemetery.” Carter opened his mouth, but Angelo wasn’t finished. “And all of this has to be completed within one week from the day the curse took effect.”
“Wait, that would mean tonight,” Carter said.
Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to ask: “What happens if I miss the deadline?”
Angelo looked down at the book, his lips pressed tightly together, and tapped the picture of the walking corpse. “Then the curse becomes permanent.”
Nick couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight. Why had he ever gone into that cemetery in the first place? Why had his aunt been a voodoo queen? Why had his parents made him go to her funeral? There were lots of whys, but none of them mattered anymore. Becoming a zombie had seemed totally awesome at first. Now that it was permanent, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. He was going to be a freak for the rest of his life—however long (or short) that might be.
Carter leaned forward and clapped his hands, startling both Angelo and Nick. He checked his watch. “Okay, it’s almost nine now. That gives us fifteen hours to collect the ingredients and get to the cemetery.”
“Are you kidding?” Nick blurted. “We can’t get that stuff.”
“So you’re just going to give up?” Carter ran a hand across his spiky hair and shook his head. “We’re the Three Monsterteers, and I’m not letting any friend of mine stay undead if I can help it
.” He looked down at the list, trying to sound out the strange words. “Okay. I’ll get the less preparation in powdered cheese swirls, sickly rat, and older day mort,” he said, butchering the French words so badly even Nick cringed a little.
“Préparations en poudre chauve-souris, sèche de rat, and odeur de mort,” Angelo corrected. “You’re going to find powdered bat, rat’s hair, and the stench of death?”
Carter blinked but didn’t look away. “Yes.”
Angelo swallowed. “I guess I could try for the bloody dagger, the voodoo doll’s head, and the human bone.”
Nick looked from one of his friends to the other. This was crazy. But if his friends weren’t going to quit, how could he? “All right,” he said roughly. “That leaves me with the broken ring, the rotted flesh of a smoked pig, and the alchemist’s handbook. I’ll see if I can find a red flannel bag and a black candle, too.” He put out his fist. Carter bumped it with his, and Angelo’s made three. “We’ll meet at the cemetery at eleven thirty.”
“Eleven thirty,” Angelo repeated.
“Eleven thirty.” Carter grinned. “This is going to be awesome sauce.”
Nick looked at the kitchen clock, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was after ten thirty and all he’d been able to come up with was the black candle (leftover from his dad’s fortieth birthday party), the red flannel bag (actually, it was a piece of his old flannel footie pajamas he’d stapled into a bag, but he figured that would have to work), and a plastic Oakland Raiders football ring he’d gotten from a gumball machine when he was ten. He still had to come up with the ashes of an alchemist’s handbook and the rotted flesh of a smoked pig. And he had a little over an hour till midnight.
“You’re up late,” Mom said, walking into the kitchen from the living room, where she and Dad had been watching a movie. “Everything okay?” She reached out to feel Nick’s forehead, but he pulled back. What would she do if she touched his skin and realized it was now nearly as cold as the inside of the refrigerator?
Case File 13 Page 11
