Mystery Busters, The Curse of the Monster's Tooth

by R L Wagner

“Yes, it is ‘cool’ Benjamin, and much more, but first things first.” O’Malley produced a blank card and a fountain pen from his desk. “Now you two artifact returnee’s get a card of your own which I will cross reference to your uncle’s card,”

  “Oh, how specific!” I blurted out, thinking that might have sounded like I was mocking him.

  “Exactly. Sally, if you would please write your full name and your brother’s full name, your address abroad, a two-line explanation of your business here tonight, and of course date it please.”

  Benny shot a quick glance at me and jumped in. “What is the full date Dr. O’Malley?” he asked.

  “It is 11 March, 1883, of course. The evening of the museum’s Spring Gala

  Fundraiser, which sadly I must return to as cohost.”

  “1883!”

  Benny and I looked at each other as we both said it. Everything about it seemed right. I felt I might be overwhelmed, but I wasn’t. Tonight, 1883, felt like the key to this opened door and it made sense. The look, touch, smells, and sounds, of this old world. March 11,1883, London. Wow!

  “Here, Dr. O’Malley.” I stood up and handed him our file card. “We are most anxious to find our Uncle Scott.”

  “Thank you, Sally. Give this to a carriage driver out front. He will take you to this address, Mulligan’s Pub. It is about a 20-minute ride to the harbor from here. Your uncle may still have his apartment there above the pub. That’s where we first met.”

  Benny and I stood up.

  “So you are sure that Uncle Scott is still in the area?”

  “Oh, I should think so. Your uncle is a weekly writer for the Post. Actually, he quickly made a name for himself with his photography. Quite chilling really, printed crime scenes and such right there on the newsprint page.” O’Malley reached into his pocket and pulled out a handfull of coins. “This is for cab fare to that address and back if you should so need it. I’m here until midnight this evening,” he said, smiling warmly.

  “Doctor O’Malley, thank you, but I don’t think we could take this money,” Benny said. It was good to see Benny being polite without having to be told.

  “Nonsense, after your generosity, it is the very least I can do. Besides, I may need your assistance sometime in America, and I am most certain you will return the favor. And Benjamin, just consider it payment for the confection. Imagine caramel and nugget! They are most yummy!” The curator led us to the front doors of the museum. “I will take my candy bars to the laboratory in the morning. I simply must know how they do it,” he said in a new, jolly tone.

  Benny and I shook the curator’s

  surprisingly gentle hand. “Thank you for your kindness, Uncle Scott’s address, and the cab fare,” I said.

  “Maybe we could visit you again some time, and bring more candy bars.” Benny’s smile was huge.

  “Delighted, and on behalf of the museum, I must extend our most sincere gratitude for the recovery and return of our plesiosaurus tooth. And now you two know where to find me and my sweet tooth!” O’Malley chuckled with a snort at his double tooth joke.

  The crowd at end of the hall pointed at us again, taking notice of our clothes. “It’s your abroad fashion attire, quite unique to be sure. Look there.” The curator pointed through the front doors to the carriages on the curb. “The flat-top buggy there will get you to where you are going. Good bye, my thanks, and good luck children,” he said.

  Benny and I said our good byes, exchanged handshakes, and rushed out, completely forgetting our pledge to make this a “quick” test run. Now we had Uncle Scott’s address!

  We skipped down the museum’s front steps in an excited hurry, hailed the precise cab that the curator had pointed out, and handed Uncle Scott’s harbor address to the carriage driver. The coachman opened the shiny, black, wood and glass door for us to enter. A

  springboard step bounced us upward and into the passenger’s diamond-quilted, leather

  compartment. Before the coachman shut the door, I froze. I heard his awful, low, growling voice.

  “Grazie,” he said to the coachman.

  The man in black burst through the carriage door and leaned into the compartment. That crooked-tooth smile threatened us again. We could only guess what his possible intentions might be. He pointed a small, black, metal box at us. A blinding pale green light lit up the carriage like a flash. The man in black choked, laughing through his smile. The door slammed shut and, like the flash, he was gone. I looked out and saw him scurrying away toward the carriages behind ours.

  “Wow,” Benny said startled, “I guess the curator was right about our clothes. He took our photograph.” Benny was shaking.

  Frantically I leaned forward. “Benny, where did he go?” I must have sounded scared because he quickly shot up and looked out the open carriage door window.

  “What, Sis? What’s wrong?” Benny sounded anxious. He turned back facing me.

  “Nothing maybe, but I think that the man in black might have gotten into one of the carriages behind ours. He might be following us, Benny. I’m not sure. Can you see?” I asked.

  He leaned out of the window. “I know he’s really creepy, Sis. Maybe he only took our picture,” Benny said.

  I leaned out of the street-side door window. Again, the green light flashed, reflected for a half-second across the wet cobblestone street. The sudden jerk of forward motion bounced Benny and me back onto our leather seat. “Look around Benny, do you see any cars?” I said.

  Benny looked onto the downtown London street. Horse-drawn carriages were everywhere. The night fog glowed, reflecting the light of gas street lamps. “I see chestnut stands, scarf venders, busy crowds, but no, I don’t see any cars. It’s 1883.” Benny sounded confused.

  “Exactly,” I said. “I don’t think there would be a man with a modern hand-held flash camera taking our picture either.” Benny and I nestled into the seat. Chilling thoughts ran through my mind. “Maybe we aren’t the only ones traveling,” I said.

  It got quiet for a while. Benny sat for a moment and looked at his lap as he thought about what I had said. With a deep sigh, he moved to the seat across from me. “I don’t know about that, but I do know that someone just took our picture. And you’re right! He’s probably following us!” Benny answered back.

  Nervously I suspected that this wouldn’t be the last time we would worry about his presence, or worse.

  How true we found that to be!

  8 Cab Ride

  “Give it a chance, Sis,” Benny said, hanging on to the seat’s armrest. The cab rocked up and down, forward and back. I closed my eyes for a moment trying to make sense of it. We’d been ambushed – like a surprise party. We were almost asleep maybe just two hours ago. We had brushed our teeth, pulled up the covers of our new Clayton beds, closed our eyes, and then 1883 London

  screamed, “Surprise! Gotcha!” Now what happens next?

  I opened my eyes and looked out the window. It was really spectacular; a lively, Saturday night in London’s downtown district. Funny, it was Saturday back in Clayton too. Here people were out strolling, working, chatting in their finest hats, suits, lavish cloaks and long dresses.

  “Mom has to see these costumes!” Benny said, laughing.

  “They’re not costumes, Benny. They’re the real deal,” I said. It was thrilling. “It’s all real! And we are here! Here! Living in the past!” I said, trying hard to accept the adventure.

  The carriages beat a steady rhythm in the night. Hundreds of horse hooves clopped as they trotted forward. The cabs wooden and metal wheels clacked like drumsticks against the slick, cobblestone streets. Our cab squeaked and bounced over every pothole. One hole was so deep, it jolted Benny and me up and down like a rattling amusement park ride. We burst out laughing.

  “Ok, it is wonderful, it’s all wonderful!” I had to confess.

  As we trotted on, the windows of the cab looked to me like small movie screens playing a travel flick depicting a downtown tour of the brick and stone
residences. Most buildings were four to six stories tall. Rows of glowing streetlamps lit the fine elegant entries that lined the street. Ornate, black, iron gates topped with metal arches led into narrow garden areas. Up the stone stairs were tall, carved front doors painted in glossy black or dark green. Windows above the entries displayed large black and gold numbered addresses. It was the same block after block. Long windows, some with gaslights on inside, gave a peek into the lifestyles of those who lived behind thick draperies amongst ornate carved wooden furniture in the dark apartments. The historic architecture spoke to me, and I wanted to know every name for every style and distinction.

  We bounced to a rocking stop. Loud yelling rang out from ahead at a corner

  intersection of storefronts.

  “Never you mind that! That’s none of your concern!”

  Men were very angry. Our eyes got wide. We looked at each other. We were both thinking it: yikes! We leaned out the open window trying to see if we could make out the problem through the night’s light fog.

  Shouts of “Now’s you’s sees ‘ere you!” and “Don’ take that tone with me!” brought on the repeated shrills of a loud whistle blowing from the officers who attempted to gain control. Ahead, past the long row of cabs, a Bobby swung his arms forcefully attempting to direct traffic around two vender carts that had collided and spilled overturned basket loads of beautiful flowers onto the street. Another Bobby tried to calm the two shouting, finger-pointing men responsible for the loud disturbance.

  “It’s almost comical isn’t it?” I giggled to Ben. “I don’t think anyone got hurt,” I added, sitting back.

  “Do you remember the antique stagecoach we sat in near the bank on Montgomery Street in San Francisco?” Benny asked. “It was sort of like this cab. It had black leather upholstery and…” Suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence and stared across the street.

  I followed his stare out the window. I saw him too. A man, dressed in black, got out of his cab, stopped and looked at the Bobbies ahead. Then he turned in our direction. He stared directly at us. The fog settled between the man and our cab. He looked like the man who took our picture, but he was not wearing a hat or coat. I wasn’t completely sure it was the same man, but he was looking straight at us. Benny and I frantically sat back in our seats, away from the window, trying desperately to get out of sight.

  “Was he looking at us, Sis? I think he was staring right at us!” Benny whispered.

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure it’s the same guy. What about you?” I whispered back.

  “Maybe…I don’t know. No. I’m not sure either,” Benny said as he slid to the floor and leaned back on his palms.

  I slid down too. Now with both of us hiding on the floor, it dawned on me: this man could be walking up to our cab right now, and the door wasn’t even locked. We were sitting ducks.

  “Is there a lock on this door? Where’s the lock on the door?” I pulled at the thin side- curtain trying to look under it.

  “There!” Benny reached up from the floor, fumbled for a moment, and flipped something brass under the door handle.

  I paused for a moment, and then slowly inched up to the window to get a peek. The cab jerked forward and my head slapped hard against the glass.

  “You okay?” Benny jumped up next to me looking out the window too.

  “Yeah, I don’t see him,” I said.

  “Maybe it wasn’t him.” Benny stared into the street.

  “Maybe, but whoever he is, he’s gone now.” We slowly climbed back onto our seats.

  The cab was moving again. Benny and I sat across from each other. Benny looked scared. My heart was racing. If he wasn’t the man in black from the museum, then who was he? I closed my eyes again. This place was

  spectacular but dangerous and confusing too. I felt dizzy and disoriented. Past, present, future: are they separate places? And where was my home right now? Were my city’s streets bustling and busy right now like this London? Or was my home lost somewhere in the future, maybe not even dreamed of, or existing yet?

  I missed San Francisco at night. I wanted to see the strings of yellow lights hung on the Golden Gate Bridge from my bedroom window and see them glisten as they reflected across the Bay’s dark, moving water. I always thought that it was so cool that the Golden Gate Bridge, all lit up, was my own personal nightlight. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Not in front of Benny. I even missed Clayton, the house, Mrs. Krebs, the cat, and of course, I missed Mom the most. I opened my eyes.

  “We didn’t do what we said we were going to do. This was supposed to be a test of the camera, not a night out in London. Maybe we’re taking this a little too far.”

  Benny was slumped over and looking out the window with one hand under his chin. He looked like a little boy who needed a nap. It made me realize I was tired too. He turned from the window and looked at me.

  “Sally, I was really happy when Uncle Scott came and helped Mom get her costume shop. It made me feel like he was really part of our family too, and that he wanted to help all of us; especially with Dad dying, you know? I’ve always felt safe ever since. Knowing he was out there. Knowing that he was there always looking out for us.” Benny stopped a moment and took a deep breath. Then he looked like he wasn’t scared anymore. “I know it’s all happening pretty fast tonight, Sis. But if Uncle Scott is trapped here, I want to help him come home.” He looked at me until a small smile came across my face. He moved over and sat next to me. “Let’s give it another hour. Uncle Scott might be at his apartment,” Benny said in a reassuring voice.

  We both sat there. Benny was right. Uncle Scott might be at the apartment just waiting for us to bring the camera and go home.

  The cab rocked and swayed. Two sleepy kids in a carriage, I thought. The street noises were far less now. Benny put his head on my shoulder. That was my cue. Now I had to stay awake. I hoped Mom was still asleep. I really hoped we could make it home before she found out that we were gone. Another hour here in 1883, and in Mom’s time, if Uncle Scott’s rough estimates were right, would mean we’d only been gone for a few minute tops. However, one thing I knew for sure, if Uncle Scott was with us when we got back, I would have a bunch of trouble explaining it all.

  Benny bolted up, startled. “It smells like the beach.” He pointed to the cab’s window. “Sis, are you looking at this?” Benny said slowly.

  The sudden cold was unexpected. Outside, an ominous, thick fog that looked like blankets of cotton candy hung over us, and the air smelled like salt. The light of the carriage’s side lamps gave the mist a faint amber and green glow.

  “Creepy!” Benny whispered slowly in a cheesy accent “ It looks like a spooky dream, in some – frightening mystery movie!” I bopped him hard on the arm to get him to knock off his vampire voice. I spoke much louder.

  “Yeah, and that’s pretty much what we’re in Benny – a mystery. If Uncle Scott, Mr. Mystery Buster, is in London, then he’s

  probably out there somewhere.”

  In this soup, our eyes didn’t tell us what our ears did. This was very different from the downtown district noises; we were the only carriage on the street now. We rolled forward, listening to the horse’s shoes clomp slow and steady against the wet cobblestone street. An occasional whinny from our horse was the only recognizable outside voice. The fog grew brighter, dimmed, and then brighter again, being lit from behind by each passing street lamp.

  I looked at the clock on my cell phone. It still worked! The digital numbers glowed across the dark cab. The phone had no service, but the clock was still going! “We must be getting close. It’s probably been nearly 20 minutes since we left the museum,” I said.

  A raucous chatter came from the footman and driver, and the horse whinnied loudly. Benny and I jumped to the windows. We rolled through the outer thick wall of glowing fog and like a magician’s trick, the harbor d istrict appeared out of nowhere.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Benny yelled out.

  The cabb
y laughed and the footman’s deep voice yelled back. “There’s the lad, five tick tocks further children.”

  “Sis, look! It’s a pirate’s moon!” Benny said, impressed. High above the harbor hung the largest full moon I’d ever seen. She wore an enormous ring of blue and orange around her outer glow. Like cannonballs, her light split through the massive mountains of gray and black clouds that covered over the sky. Her light was so exceptionally bright. It cast night shadows across the harbor from every corner it landed on. A bay of three-mast schooners, smaller one-mast sailboats, and tug boats with chimneystacks glistened as they floated atop the shimmering water.

  London’s enormous silhouetted skyline twinkled before us. Like candles, the streetlamps blanketed over the city floor and dotted the buildings, angles, and heights. Its grand size made it seem I could just reach out and grab hold. The nearly completed construction of London Bridge glistened in the center of the horizon; each end flanked by tall buildings with triangular rooftops capped with a forest of tall chimneystacks. To the right, a large dome sat like a royal crown atop the city’s head. To the west, I think, sat Buckingham Palace and Parliament.

  At the edge of the street, docks and tall loading cranes covered the surrounding sea wall. Crowded piers covered with heaps of barrels and crates, coils of ropes, large metal anchors, and piles of enormous rusting chains lined the quiet harbor. The wooden decks shot over the dark water like a hundred strong, stretching fingers. Dry docks held ships out of water for repair and overdue hull painting. Wooden post and beams made repair racks for the numerous webs of tattered nets.

  We rolled forward, passing eight and ten story, brick warehouses, each fronted with enormous wooden doors lettered across with company names painted in the font of an old typewriter. Thin rays of moonlight reflected across banks of skylights on the rooftops. High up, rows of windows mirrored the shimmering water of the harbor. These were working buildings worn from the hard, daily pounding of dockworkers and their marine labor.

  “Gross!” Benny said pointing to the hissing cats scratching and growling over a large dead rodent.