by James Somers
Percival passed very few people while riding his bicycle into town. There were more pedestrians than cars, though he wasn’t sure why. He had tried to speak to several people along the way, but they acted just as weird as his and Violet’s parents had.
Mrs. Waddell had been walking her dog, or so it had seemed at first. Percival had stopped to ask her a question, only to realize that Fifi carried the controlling end of the leash in her small poodle mouth while the collar and cord were fastened around Mrs. Waddell’s neck. The elderly woman, whom Percival often passed on his way to school in the mornings, flitted nervously from a mailbox to a bush, then to the back tire of Percival’s bike, saying, “Oh, I do like taking walks. So much fun. Do you have a treat for me, hmm?”
Mrs. Waddell only vaguely remained aware that Percival was there, quickly finding other objects of interest to sniff at. Percival decided he didn’t want to see the conclusion of this bizarre behavior and quickly pedaled away. Fifi pulled the leash, and they both continued on their walk down Princeton Street.
Others he passed along the way stood on their sidewalks, staring off into space, as though not even a direct meteor strike would have fazed them in the least. The entire town had seemingly gone mad. At least, that’s what Percival would have supposed had he not known the Lonely Manor’s involvement. That Mister Lonely has done his somehow, he thought.
Percival was both disturbed by it and impressed. What sort of power must he be dealing with that they could accomplish all of these things? To have affected the entire town this way was beyond Percival’s comprehension. It had even occurred to him that this all might simply be some illusion or dream. Still, he continued on into the center of town until he found what he was looking for.
Percival left his bicycle parked outside, practically bursting into the police station, swinging both glass doors open as he ran in, hoping to find a sympathetic ear to his plight. The glass on the door, immediately to his right, exploded. Percival jumped nearly out of his skin, looking toward the main desk where the police chief, Arthur Kittridge, stood pointing his revolver in Percival’s general direction.
He froze in place, not knowing if Kittridge had meant to shoot him and missed, or if the shot had been misfired. “What are you doing out of school, Percival?” Kittridge asked. He waved the barrel of the revolver around, but didn’t put it away, or even apologize for scaring the wits out of him.
Percival kept his eyes on the gun. Mr. Lonely’s strange influence, or not, this had just turned into a life or death situation. “I wanted to find out—” Percival began.
Kittridge suddenly squinted his left eye and fired the gun again. This time at a picture frame sitting atop one of his detective’s desks. Percival jumped again. The detective in question, who had been typing on his computer, picked up his mug of coffee, sipped on it then returned it to the desktop without even looking away from the screen. Kittridge fired again, shattering the coffee mug just as it was set down. The detective didn’t take notice, staring straight ahead at his blue computer screen as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Kittridge watched Percival, pointing the revolver at him. “Didn’t I ask you a question, boy? Why are you not in school?”
Percival stammered for an answer, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “I just came in about Violet Charms, Captain Kittridge.”
Kittridge smiled wistfully. “Oh yeah, well, all’s well that ends well…glad her old man found her.”
Percival tried to ignore the gun still pointed toward him. He wanted to approach the Captain’s desk, but couldn’t get his legs to agree. “But they haven’t found her, sir. That’s not Violet…I mean they think it is, but it’s not.”
Kittridge looked confused. He scratched his right temple with the barrel of the gun, frowning. “Is this some kind of joke, Percival? Of course it’s her. I saw her myself,” he said.
“But, Captain, if—”
Kittridge stopped him cold, pointing the gun back at Percival, punctuating his words with shakes of the barrel. “Look, kid, I know you’ve had a rough couple of days worrying about your friend, but I’ve got better things to do than listen to wild stories all day long. I have to get back to my target practicing. The Qualifying is next week, Percival. Now, if you don’t mind.”
“But, Captain Kittridge—”
Kittridge sighed heavily, then pointed the gun directly at Percival’s face. He pulled the trigger as Percival gasped, terrified. The hammer fell, clicking loudly. Kittridge looked at the weapon, disappointed, then squeezed the trigger several more times while looking down the barrel. Percival waited for his own heart to start beating again.
“Darn thing…I’ve ran out of bullets already,” Kittridge said. Percival let out the breath he’d been holding with a great sigh of relief. Then Kittridge opened up his desk drawer, pulled out a box of shells and began to reload his revolver.
Percival wiped a thick layer of sweat from his upper lip and started backing away, crunching on shattered glass as he reached the doors. “Well, I had better get back to school now, Captain. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Kittridge stopped loading his gun for a moment as he comprehended Percival’s statement. “Oh hello, Percival…what are you doing here at this time of day?” He seemed to have completely forgotten what had just happened.
Percival pushed the door open and started through. “Oh, nothing,” he answered. “Just on my way back to school.” He tried to smile, like the police captain hadn’t just tried to shoot him. “See you later.” Percival dashed out of the building, got on his bike then rode down the street. He only had one option. He had to go back to the Lonely Manor and accept Mr. Lonely’s terms for the real Violet’s release.
PREPARATIONS
Percival hurried back to the old manor house in the woods. He didn’t have any time to lose in securing Violet’s release. When he had gone as far as he could go on his bicycle, Percival left it behind and ran the rest of the way.
He ran past the barrier of trees, only half concerned of anything unusual happening at this point. When the gloom and wind stirred up around him, and a few zombies came up from the ground, Percival delayed his sprint to the front door only long enough to shout back, “Just can it!” To which, the zombies took on bewildered expressions, shrugging boney shoulders and murmuring to themselves about “kids these days,” before slinking back beneath the sod.
The front door of the house opened before Percival could reach it. He ran through, stopping inside the parlor where many drippy candles already lit the room. Percival took a moment to slow his labored breathing, but his anger urged him to get this over with. “Mr. Lonely? Mr. Lonely!”
“No need to shout, my boy, no need to shout,” Mr. Lonely said.
Percival found the old man standing in front of the staircase—a pleasant smile spread across his pale lips. “You don’t have to be so smug about it,” Percival said, disgusted.
Mr. Lonely walked toward him—a puzzled expression on his face. “Why, whatever do you mean, Percival? Is something troubling you, dear boy?”
Percival walked to the musty couch and plopped down upon it. He ignored the cloud of dust that sprang up around him. “I know you did something to the people in my town. They’re all acting crazy…you did it, didn’t you?”
Mr. Lonely put his hand to his chin then hunched his shoulders innocently. “You never know.”
“Well, I came back to say, you win,” Percival confessed. “What do I have to do to get Violet back?”
Mr. Lonely smiled. “Very sensible of you, my boy. As a matter of fact, the first thing is as simple as coming to dinner.”
Percival looked confused. “Dinner?”
