by Sam Fisher
“That could take days,” Morton said, “and we don’t have days. The rats are going to swarm the streets at midnight tonight!”
“Midnight!” Melissa said, as if she hated the very word. “Why does it always have to be midnight? What’s so great about midnight? Why can’t it just be half past ten?”
Morton had often wondered that himself. Just what was the fascination with midnight? Almost every issue of Scare Scape had a story where something happened at midnight, as if there was something magical about both hands of a clock lining up to the number twelve. In fact, even the special edition that he’d found in Nolan’s locker had a story called “The Midnight Door” in which …
At that very moment Morton had the overwhelming sensation that his brain had started spinning in his skull, and thoughts and memories started flashing around in his head like arcs of lightning. Visions of his encounter with Crooks raced before his eyes, and he suddenly remembered the fact that there had been a clock right above the velvet curtain and that the clock had been set to midnight….
“I think I know where King’s library is,” he said, his whole body going numb.
Everyone turned to face him expectantly, but he couldn’t think quite how to explain it, so he ran to grab Nolan’s tattered copy of King’s Gold from his bag in the mudroom.
“It’s easier if I just show you,” he said when he returned, and opened the issue to the story he’d noticed before but not bothered to reread. “The Midnight Door” told the (as always, tragic) tale of a fugitive who was hiding out in an abandoned train station where he found a painting of a door on the wall at the end of an alcove.
One night while hiding from the authorities, he discovered that whenever the station clock was set to midnight he could pass through the painting into the world beyond.
“I didn’t think about it until now,” Morton explained as the others pored over the comic, “but there was a clock over the velvet curtain and the first time I saw Crooks go behind it, it was set to twelve o’clock. I thought it was just broken, but now I think it must be magic. I think that might be where Crooks is hiding King’s books.”
James, who was now holding the comic, made an odd grimace. “I think you might be onto something,” he said. “Listen to this: King’s comments at the end of the story.”
And so you see, our tragic hero, like so many before him, was trapped by his own lack of knowledge. He did not understand that the power to bring a mere illustration to life is perhaps the purest, most coveted magic of all. For as I have said many times, magic is the act of opening the veil to another dimension — but where most magic is a mere pinprick to let a drop of another world seep through, this power to bring drawings to life is like opening a river. So it is with the power of the Parchments: with infinite creativity, comes infinite danger!
“The Book of Parchments again!” Melissa said. “How often does that show up in stories?”
“To be honest, almost never,” Morton said. “I only even remembered it because I’d reread the Snarf story just recently.”
“So if you’re right and Crooks has this secret curtain, then does that mean he’d also have to have The Book of Parchments to make it work?” Wendy asked.
“According to King,” Morton said. “But there’s only one way to find out for sure.”
Wendy frowned and looked down at Morton. “Are you suggesting we break into Crooks’s bookshop?”
“We don’t have any choice,” Morton said. “We have no other clues and the rats are going to swarm the streets tonight.”
“You know what I hate?” Melissa said, “I hate the fact that you’re right.”
“Are we sure about this?” Robbie said, licking his lips nervously. “Because this sounds like it could be very dangerous.”
“Dangerous and stupid,” James said, “but Morton’s right. We’ve run out of options.”
“Oh well,” Melissa said. “Just another fun Clay family outing. Bring lemonade and a sharp sword.”
Nobody laughed, and Morton could tell by the look on Melissa’s face that despite her flippant words, she too was afraid, and with good reason. He can’t have been the only one to consider the possibility that Crooks might not only be King’s brother but also the mysterious enemy King had written about in his diary. And if that was true, then Crooks would be far more dangerous than anything they’d encountered before.
After the kids had happily wolfed down a makeshift supper of canned spaghetti, Mrs. Smedley arrived wearing a white cable-knit sweater and a pair of faded jeans. Wendy and Robbie had left a couple of hours earlier, and they’d agreed to meet up at the park at ten o’clock, by which time they hoped Mrs. Smedley would be asleep.
Dad seemed embarrassed about the lingering smell of charbroiled rat in the kitchen and apologized profusely. Mrs. Smedley insisted it didn’t bother her in the least, and she ushered him out of the house with assurances that everything would be fine.
“Well, you all look like you need cheering up,” she said to James, Melissa, and Morton as Dad’s car pulled away. “Why don’t I bake you some cookies?”
“That would be nice, if the oven didn’t smell of dead rat,” Melissa said.
“Good point,” Mrs. Smedley said, pulling open the oven door and turning up her nose. “I guess I’ll have to give it a good clean first.”
“You can’t do that!” Melissa shrieked. “You’ll ruin your sweater.”
Mrs. Smedley laughed. “That’s also a good point, but I think I should make the effort. James — I mean, your father, has a lot on his plate right now. It can’t be easy running a household, raising three kids, and working a full-time job. He needs all the support he can get, so I’m not about to worry over a few stains on an old sweater.”
James, who had been fiddling with his tennis racket in the mudroom, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I’ll, uh, I’ll help you clean the oven,” he said.
Melissa turned and stared at James with a look of complete surprise.
Mrs. Smedley seemed particularly happy about this and smiled warmly at James, even though he was still looking down at his feet. “That’s very nice of you, James, but honestly, I don’t think youth should be wasted on menial chores. Heaven knows you’ll spend most of your life doing them anyway, and there must be more fun to be had in this big old house.” Mrs. Smedley glanced around as if she were in a museum. “Tell me, do you still have bat problems in the attic? John always seemed to have an infestation of the things when he lived here.”
James, Morton, and Melissa let out simultaneous squeaks.
“You … you knew John King?” Melissa said.
Mrs. Smedley looked curiously at them. “Of course. He was my neighbor.”
There was a long moment of silence and Morton guessed they all looked shocked or disturbed, because Mrs. Smedley’s expression changed to one of sympathy.
“I’m guessing you heard how he died,” she said.
They all nodded.
“A terrible tragedy,” Mrs. Smedley went on. “He was such a nice man —”
“He was a nice man?” Melissa interjected. “I thought he was a spooky hermit.”
Mrs. Smedley pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, I can see why some people might have thought that,” she said. “But really, he was a very sweet man underneath. He used to help out at local charity events, and he did a lot for children’s literacy. I think he let people think of him as a spooky old man because it was good for business. He used to be a comic book creator, you know.”
“We do know,” Melissa droned. “Morton reads his ghastly comic.”
“Oh, really?” Mrs. Smedley said, giving Morton an encouraging smile. “Well, I’ve never read it myself, but I’ve heard it’s very good. I think his only problem was that he spent too much time working. He was always working, day and night. They say that’s why he went blind, but you know, I never quite understood that.”
“Why not?” Morton asked. “We read a magazine article that said he worked in
the dark too much.”
“Yes, I think I read that too, but it never sounded right to me. I mean, that kind of thing is usually a degenerative disease, that is, it comes on slowly. But with him, one day he could see perfectly, and the next, he was completely blind.”
“You never asked him about it?” James said.
“I thought it would be impolite,” Mrs. Smedley said with a regretful tone. “We weren’t that close. I mean, I’d check up on him every once in a while, to make sure he was okay, but it’s true he liked to be alone. Poor man.”
The three kids continued to stare at Mrs. Smedley, waiting to see if she would continue, but she simply shrugged. “Well, I wish I could tell you more,” she said, “because by the looks on your faces I’m quite sure I could talk about him all night and you’d listen. Unfortunately that’s all I know about the mysterious Mr. King and, as you know, I do have an oven to clean.”
James made a point of offering to help Mrs. Smedley clean the oven one more time, but she repeated her insistence that she do it alone, and the three of them shuffled up the stairs and ended up pacing restlessly in James’s bedroom.
“So, imagine that. Our very own babysitter baking cookies for King,” Melissa said.
“I wonder what else she knows about him,” Morton said.
“She said she doesn’t know anything,” James said.
“Nothing she thinks is important,” Morton said, “but she probably knows things that might be useful. Like the whole thing about King going blind suddenly.”
“I don’t see how any of that matters,” Melissa said. “King’s dead, and if we don’t get down to business, we’ll soon be joining him. I say we get armed and ready.”
James and Morton reluctantly agreed with her and set to preparing for the night’s expedition. Melissa decided to wear all black and retrieved three swords from under her bed and offered one each to the boys. Morton declined because they were too heavy, and James declined because he was fairly certain that if he had a sword the only person he’d injure would be himself.
Shortly after nine o’clock they said good night to Mrs. Smedley and went through the charade of going to bed. All three of them stuffed pillows under their blankets just in case she popped her head in, then James led the way down the hidden staircase and out through the oak door.
A moonless sky scattered with deep blue stars stretched to the horizon, and a cold breeze caused bare branches to wave their gray skeletal arms overhead, as if warning them away from danger. All three of them looked out and shivered.
“I guess there’s no turning back now,” James said.
“There never was any turning back,” Melissa said. “What’s that thing Mum always used to say, about going forward?”
“The only way forward, is through the truth,” Morton said.
“That’s it. So, here’s hoping we find some truth,” Melissa said.
“Here’s hoping we come back alive,” James said, and they set off at a trot for the park. Once there, they were greeted by the eerie sight of two dark figures sitting alone on the swings, whispering in the dark.
“Robbie, is that you?” Morton called, unable to see much of anything in the almost total blackness of Dimvale’s night. The two figures jumped up and ran toward them.
“We were worried you wouldn’t be able to sneak out,” Wendy’s voice said a moment before Morton was able to make out her profile. “It’s past ten.”
“Yes,” Morton said. “Which gives us less than two hours before they release the gas.”
“How far is it to Crooks’s shop?” James asked.
“About twenty minutes, if we move fast,” Wendy said, and she set off in the lead, taking them up side streets and through parking lots, much as she had done on Halloween.
Morton found that all he could see in Dimvale’s deep night were the silhouettes of buildings, dark hollow forms with hazy outlines, which reminded him of King’s black sketches from countless macabre tales.
“It’s so dark,” Morton said to James as they bustled along, trying to keep up with Wendy.
“Here, try these,” James said, handing him the X-ray Specs. “They work just as well at night as they do in the day.”
Morton put the glasses on and was amazed to see the streets light up like a neon sign. Just like when he had tried them on in Mr. Noble’s class, suddenly he could see everything. The buildings and trees all fluoresced brightly in a way that reminded him of an old video game, and Wendy and Melissa, who a few moments before had been indistinguishable in the dark, suddenly appeared as bright blue wiry forms on a black background.
“Wow! I think they’re even more useful at night,” Morton exclaimed. “I can see everything.”
Just then Wendy came to a sudden stop. Through the glasses, Morton saw her skull bobbing about in a curious way, and he guessed that she’d heard something. Melissa stopped at her side, and the three boys caught up to them.
“Now what?” Melissa asked.
“Shh!” Wendy commanded.
Everyone obliged and stood silent, barely breathing. Morton peered out ahead to see if he could spot anything unusual. They were passing beside an old industrial strip on the south side of town, which consisted of derelict brick buildings with rows and rows of broken windows. With the glasses on, Morton could see their outlines clearly and could even see what looked like large pieces of abandoned machinery inside, but there was no sign of movement. He looked right through the buildings to the streets beyond, which also appeared to be deserted, but then, very low to the ground, he did see something. At first it looked like a faint mist rolling slowly toward them, but as it grew closer he realized that it wasn’t a mist at all. It was a densely packed clutter of fine-boned, four-legged skeletons stretching as far as his eyes could see.
He whipped the glasses off instantly and turned to face Wendy.
“Rats,” he said. “They’re behind that factory.”
“How many?” Wendy said.
“Thousands!” Morton said. “Hundreds of thousands.”
“But it’s too early!” Melissa said. “We’re supposed to have more time.”
“Well, never mind that now!” Wendy said. “We should get off the streets.” And she turned and ran back in the direction they’d just come.
Everyone followed at an accelerated pace, and Morton kept glancing behind to see if the rats were in pursuit. Unfortunately they were, countless scores of them, and they were rushing along the road like a turbid river that had burst its banks in a storm.
Suddenly Wendy stopped again, and everyone practically skidded to a halt beside her. This time nobody spoke, because the reason Wendy had stopped was obvious. There was a loud metallic rattling, almost as if an earthquake were shaking the ground. But this was no earthquake. Morton saw that several of the metal manhole covers on the street ahead were vibrating like lids on a pan of boiling water. With the X-ray Specs on, he could see a mass of tangled skeletal forms pushing feverishly up at the heavy metal disks. Suddenly the manhole cover nearest to them burst open and a swarm of long-tailed Two-Headed Mutant Rodents bubbled up and spread across the street like a grotesque hairy lava.
At that same moment, the swarm that had been chasing them from the rear closed in at the top of the street, and before they could react they were completely surrounded, trapped on a rapidly diminishing island of asphalt in a sea of carnivorous teeth.
Morton removed the glasses. He no longer needed them to see the nature of his impending doom.
Melissa pulled her sword out of the makeshift sling on her back and held it up in a futile defensive gesture. Morton suddenly wished he’d taken her up on her offer of a sword, although he knew it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference. What was one extra blade against a million needle-sharp teeth?
The circle of rats tightened steadily around them, like a living noose, and they each instinctively took a step toward one another.
“Okay, Morton,” Melissa said. “This is the point where you come up w
ith a brilliant idea to get us out of this mess.”
Morton swallowed hard and tried to concentrate. As he’d feared all along, the real problem was one of sheer numbers. There were so many Mutant Rodents now that Morton couldn’t imagine any non-magical solution, short of burning the city to the ground.
“We’re waiting,” Melissa said as their island of asphalt continued to shrink.
“I … I can’t think of anything,” Morton said.
“What, no musical note that dissolves their brains, or special food that turns them into friendly pets?”
Before Morton could answer, a paralyzing shudder of intense fear rippled through his entire body. At the very same moment, Melissa and Wendy gasped and Robbie made a desperate choking sound. Only James remained silent and motionless.
The Two-Headed Rodents seemed to feel something too. They stopped creeping forward and began squeaking so loudly that Morton clasped his now trembling hands to his ears.
“What’s happening?” Wendy shrieked.
“I know that feeling,” Robbie yelled. “I’ve felt it before, when I saw —”
Robbie’s words were cut off by a sound so terrifying that if Morton hadn’t already heard it before, he would have run in the opposite direction, regardless of the sea of rats waiting for him.
“It’s the cry of the Snarf!” Morton shouted. “Whatever you do, stay calm!”
The rats, which had been approaching as if with one purpose, began racing in wild erratic patterns at the sound of the cry. Morton saw that the open manhole was now teeming with rats pressing back down, trying to escape, and the approaching swarm had turned away, like a brown wave rolling back down the beach.
Despite the suddenly receding attack, Morton’s sense of fear continued to mount. The five kids huddled still closer together and grasped at one another for safety and comfort.
In a matter of moments the immense swarm of Two-Headed Rodents had entirely vanished. Silence closed in around them, and Morton felt everyone’s grips loosen just as his own sense of fear subsided slightly. Then at the far end of the street a large lumbering shape approached. Morton braced himself for action, and Melissa tightened her fingers around the hilt of her sword.
