Scare Scape Page 15

  “Well, I better get going,” Wendy said. “I don’t want my parents to start asking questions.”

  “I’ve had enough of this place anyway,” Melissa agreed.

  The girls left first, and Morton, James, and Robbie resealed the hatch. As soon as they were finished James went straight to bed and locked himself in his room, no doubt to avoid Melissa confronting him further about his wish.

  “I can’t believe King was evil,” Morton said to Robbie as he walked him to the end of the driveway. “My dad says things aren’t always what they seem. You know, like the way the sun looks as though it goes around the Earth, but really it’s exactly the opposite.”

  Robbie pointed to the almost full moon that was just rising behind the bare branches of the trees. “Yeah, but sometimes things are exactly what they seem.”

  Morton realized that Robbie was right. The moon revolved around the Earth, just as it appeared to, and King was probably just a crazed lunatic who practiced dark magic. Unfortunately they’d already fallen into his web, and no matter how much they struggled, there didn’t seem to be any way to break free.

  Morton lay awake feeling utterly hopeless. After everything that had happened, learning that King really did practice dark magic was the most difficult thing for him to swallow. He had been wrong about King, and he had been wrong about Scare Scape. And yet, even as Morton gave in to that idea, his mind kept struggling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something, some tiny detail …

  The sound of the screen door opening downstairs interrupted his thoughts. It must have been long after midnight and no doubt James was stealing out into the streets again. This time Morton had no desire to follow him. The thought of James prowling down back alleys, feasting in garbage cans, and sniffing out appetizing morsels of decomposing food made his stomach twist in knots. He wondered again what kind of wish would make James need to eat rotting meat. Melissa had been right to try to confront him.

  Melissa, it turned out, was right about a lot of things.

  The next morning Morton decided to talk to James on the way to school, but unfortunately James had headed out early, pretending to have basketball practice again. Morton wolfed down his breakfast and ran after him, hoping to reach him before classes started, but as soon as he entered the school gates Robbie grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside.

  “Don’t look now,” he said, “but I think Brad and his cronies are out to get me again.”

  Morton looked over and saw Brad and his two band friends huddled in a circle casting sinister looks in their direction. Robbie tugged him around.

  “I said, don’t look.”

  “What’s going on?” Morton asked.

  “Apparently Inspector Sharpe searched his house last night looking for cats.”

  “So?” Morton said. “What’s that got to do with you?”

  Robbie sighed heavily. “Remember I told you the police came to my house?”

  Morton nodded.

  “Well, they started asking me questions and, well, Brad’s name came up.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Brad’s name came up’?”

  “You know, about how he’s always bullying me and trying to pin things on me.”

  “You ratted out Brad?” Morton exclaimed.

  “No!” Robbie protested. “It wasn’t like that! They kept pushing me to say something, as if I was supposed to know who was behind it all, and I remembered how you’d said it was much more likely to be a gang of kids, like Brad and his buddies, so I think that’s what I said.”

  Morton slapped his forehead with his hand. “Oh no! Why would you say that?”

  Robbie frowned angrily. “Like any of this is my fault! Let’s not forget who wished for those monsters to come alive in the first place.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Morton said apologetically. “It’s just … things are bad enough without Brad on our backs.”

  As Morton was saying this, shouting broke out among the band members. He and Robbie looked over to see that a fourth boy, also wearing a Wall of Noise shirt, was raising his voice. Morton had seen this fourth boy talking with them before, but for some reason he didn’t usually hang around with them.

  “That’s Nolan Shaw,” Robbie said. “He’s the keyboard player, and as far as I know he’s the one who writes all their songs, if you can call them songs.”

  “I thought it was Brad’s band,” Morton said.

  “That’s because Brad acts like it’s his band, but Nolan’s the real brains behind the thing. I think he just invited Brad because he looks like an angry goat and has a voice like a box of broken glass.”

  Nolan, who was quite a bit smaller than the fearsomely large Brad, suddenly pushed Brad hard on the shoulder, breaking the circle open, and stormed away from the group. With clenched fists Brad turned to watch him go. For a moment, Morton was sure Brad would run after him and thump him on the head, but he just turned back and began to conspire with his two remaining friends.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” Morton asked.

  Robbie swallowed hard. “I don’t know, but I can tell you one thing: I’ve never seen Brad looking so angry.”

  “Maybe we should tell Mr. Brown,” Morton said, beginning to feel desperate.

  “Brown!” Robbie said, in a surprisingly vehement tone. “Why would you go to him?”

  “Because he said he would help with this sort of thing.”

  “I don’t trust that guy,” Robbie growled angrily.

  “Why not?” Morton said, caught off guard by Robbie’s response. “He’s been really nice to me.”

  “Yeah, he seems that way, but he’s all talk. When I confessed about stealing the money, he said that I was brave for coming forward and that he’d put a good word in for me, but he never showed up at the court hearing. And there was no statement on my record from him. I never heard from him again until I came back here.”

  “Well, maybe you should give him a second chance,” Morton said. “Everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Robbie said defensively.

  “Nothing,” Morton said, growing ever more confused by Robbie’s hostile tone. “It means we should give Mr. Brown a second chance, that’s all.”

  “Look, you do what you like,” Robbie said, “just don’t mention my name. I don’t want anything to do with him.” And then Robbie stormed off across the yard and ran in through the main doors of the school.

  Robbie avoided Morton for the rest of the day. Morton decided it would probably be best to give him some space and spent morning recess and lunchtime in the library.

  Just after lunch Morton was retrieving books from his locker, on his way to geography, when somebody snuck up behind him.

  “Hey, kid!”

  For a horrible moment Morton thought Brad had cornered him, but he turned instead to see Nolan Shaw, the band’s reticent leader.

  “You’re Morton, right?” Nolan said, glancing cautiously up and down the hall.

  Morton nodded.

  “Listen, did Robbie tell that inspector woman that Brad’s been stealing the cats?”

  “No,” Morton said. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “You sure?”

  Morton began to feel angry. “Listen, I don’t care what you guys think,” he said. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

  “You’re missing my point,” Nolan said. “I believe you. I don’t think Robbie’s that stupid. The problem is, Brad figures everyone’s as dumb as he is.”

  “Why won’t he just leave Robbie alone?” Morton said.

  “Yeah, well, he’s after both of you now. Thinks you’re in it together.”

  Morton groaned. “We are not stealing cats!”

  “That’s what I told him. I figure there’s got to be something bigger going on here, what with the police all over the place and that little kid’s weird story about the skull-faced man. Brad doesn’t care though. He just wants to get
mad at someone, preferably Robbie and his friends.”

  “I figured.”

  “Anyway, my point is, I told him to leave you both alone or leave the band. He said what happened outside the band was his business, so I threw him out. Glad to be rid of him to tell you the truth. It’s all going to his head, and he never shows up to rehearsals anymore. But the thing is, my throwing him out of the band is probably only going to make him madder. The way his mind works, he’ll blame you guys for that too.”

  “Great!” Morton said sourly.

  “I just thought you should know. He’s not very rational at the best of times, and the police really spooked him yesterday. My advice: Steer clear of him.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Morton said, although he’d already made up his mind to do that.

  Nolan grunted in a friendly sort of way and swayed off down the hall.

  Morton felt even more nervous now. If Brad really was as angry as he looked, there was no telling what he might do. Robbie might even get hurt.

  By the end of the day Morton was so worked up that, despite his disagreement with Robbie, he decided to pay an unscheduled visit to Mr. Brown. As soon as the bell rang he made his way to Brown’s office, taking care to inspect all the hallways before going down them. He even went so far as to avoid going past his own locker, because that would be the obvious place for Brad to find him.

  Following the map that Brown had given him on the first day, Morton finally found the frosted glass doorway with STAFF ONLY printed on it in black letters. He hadn’t realized Brown’s office was the same room where Sharpe had interviewed him.

  Morton knocked timidly. Nobody answered. He knocked again, a bit more boldly this time. There was still no answer, and Morton began to have second thoughts. Maybe Robbie had been right. Maybe Mr. Brown wasn’t the best person to confide in. In fact, maybe it was just plain cowardly to get a teacher involved at all. He had just about talked himself out of the whole plan when the door swung open. Mr. Brown was eating a sandwich and the strong smell of onions and mustard wafted out of the room.

  “Morton! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I wondered if I could talk to you,” Morton said.

  “Certainly. Come in, come in.”

  Morton, still carrying several books and his heavy schoolbag, shuffled in to the empty room. There was nobody else around. Mr. Brown closed the door firmly.

  “Don’t you have an office of your own?” Morton asked.

  “Yes, this is it,” Brown said, sitting back down behind his desk.

  Morton looked around. The room was as cold and bare as before. Mr. Brown noticed the look on Morton’s face.

  “Oh, I know, I know. You’d think after two years I would have found time to move in properly, but they just work me to death here.”

  “You’ve only been here two years?” Morton asked.

  “Yes, I’m a relative newcomer to Dimvale, just like you. You don’t mind if I finish my lunch do you?” Mr. Brown took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Lunch?” Morton said. “It’s almost suppertime.”

  “Like I said, they keep me so busy I don’t even have time to eat.”

  Morton looked around the room again. There was only one book on the shelves and it was the history textbook they used in class. Somehow it didn’t seem right, a teacher with no books in his office.

  “Don’t you have any books, sir?” he asked.

  “Oh, mountains of them,” Mr. Brown said. “Boxes and boxes. Too many to fit in here. You know me, a real history nut. Anything ancient or old or historical, I can’t resist it.”

  Morton had a curious thought. If Mr. Brown had so many books, and he was a history buff, then maybe, just maybe, he might know something about ancient magic. “Do you have any books on ancient magic?” he said.

  Mr. Brown, who had just taken a sizable bite of his sandwich, took a sudden sharp intake of breath. He then froze and the color drained from his face until it was a pale blue. For a moment Morton thought he looked the way people do in murder mystery movies when they’ve just been stabbed in the back by an unseen killer. His eyes grew wider and redder, and Morton was certain he was about to keel over onto the desk, dead. Fortunately this didn’t happen. Instead, he began thumping his own chest violently. A second later he broke into an explosive, choking cough and a small red projectile shot out of his mouth, landing on the desk directly in front of Morton.

  Mr. Brown stood up and continued to cough for a few more moments. His face went from deathly white to dark purple, which Morton thought was probably a good sign. The projectile, it turned out, was a small cherry tomato.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Morton said, feeling bewildered.

  “I do beg your pardon,” Mr. Brown said at long last, clutching a napkin to his face. “That will teach me to eat and work at the same time.”

  Morton found himself unable to take his eyes from the slightly ruptured cherry tomato on the desk. Mr. Brown followed his gaze and spotted the object that had, moments before, barricaded his windpipe.

  “Oh, goodness,” Mr. Brown said, and quickly whisked up the tomato in his napkin and threw it in the wastebasket. “Again, very sorry.”

  Mr. Brown coughed a few more times and then, discarding the remainder of his sandwich, settled back into his chair. “Now, what was it you were asking?”

  “Magic, sir. Do you know anything about ancient magic?”

  “What a curious question.”

  “It’s for a geography project.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Houston’s class. I see.” Mr. Brown nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I really don’t know about that sort of thing. Not my area of expertise. Now, ask me about Napoleon, and I’ll keep you here until the middle of next week.”

  “It has to be ancient magic, sir.”

  Mr. Brown shrugged. “Sorry, I really can’t help you.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist and jumped up. “Well, I must be getting on. Sorry to rush you …”

  “But, sir, that’s not why I came, I just …”

  “Sorry,” Brown said in a hasty voice, “I just remembered I have a dentist’s appointment. If there’s something else, maybe we can discuss it tomorrow? Not too urgent, is it?”

  Mr. Brown rushed to the door and held it open in an almost hostile manner.

  “I guess it can wait,” Morton said, gathering his books and bag hastily.

  “Tomorrow it is, then,” Mr. Brown said curtly.

  Morton limped out of the door, trying not to drop anything.

  “Thank you,” he said, although he didn’t feel he should be thanking Mr. Brown for anything. Mr. Brown smiled and gave a small wave before practically slamming the door on his back.

  Morton was still puzzled as he left the school grounds. Every other time he’d spoken with Mr. Brown, the teacher had bent over backward to let Morton know he’d be there to help him, and yet now, when he really needed help, Brown claimed to be too busy to hear him out. Maybe he was just embarrassed about the whole choking-on-the-tomato incident. But he’d seemed normal until he’d mentioned ancient magic. Could Brown know something about the strange events going on in Dimvale? This possibility was just beginning to take root in Morton’s mind when he rounded the corner to cut across a small park and saw something that made his heart sink.

  Brad and his two dedicated followers, Dave Michaels and Sid Jones, had Robbie facedown on the ground with his arm twisted behind him. Sid was holding Robbie’s arm and pressing his knee into the middle of his back. Dave, meanwhile, sat lazily off to one side on a large hockey bag, his pale acne-ridden face grinning and nodding eagerly. The moment they spotted Morton, Dave and Brad raced toward him, and before he knew what was happening he too was flat on his stomach with his face pressed hard in the grass.

  “Let Robbie go!” Morton shouted. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Brad said, grabbing Morton’s hair and pushing his head down. “I know you’re in this toget
her.”

  Morton twisted his neck around in an attempt to make eye contact with Brad. To his own surprise he wasn’t even slightly afraid. He was just angry. “Robbie’s got nothing to do with it!” he yelled.

  “Listen, I don’t care what you do for a bit of money on the side,” Brad said, increasing the pressure on Morton’s face, “but telling Sharpe it was me that stole the cats, that was a big mistake, especially since my record isn’t exactly clean to begin with.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Morton said fiercely.

  “Everybody knows this thing started right after you arrived in town and got together with Robbie. Robbie’s not smart enough to do it alone. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a joke or if you’re making money, and I don’t care, because as of right now you’re going to admit to what you did, or I’ll break Robbie’s arm and your nose, and that’s just for starters.”

  Morton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Brad genuinely believed that he and Robbie were behind the cat-nappings.

  “You think Sharpe is going to believe you’re innocent if you beat us up?” he said, hoping to make him see reason.

  “But we’re not beating you up,” Brad said. “We’re all in a rehearsal right now with our new band, aren’t we boys? And we’ve got each other as witnesses.”

  “Yeah, well, what about me?” a voice said from behind Brad. Morton had never been so happy in his life to hear James’s voice. Brad jumped to his feet and stood facing James. Morton was still pinned down by Dave, but he managed to twist onto his side to see what was happening.

  “Let them go or I’ll call the police,” James said. Morton could hear the nervous tremor in James’s voice, and no doubt Brad could too, but he couldn’t help thinking that there was something unusual about the way James was holding himself. He was taller than he used to be, that was part of it, but there was something else too — something a little menacing in his stance.