Puddlejumpers (22 page)

As twilight fell, the cicadas screamed in the dry pine needles and some crows cawed from the trees. Keeping their vigil, Ernie and Joey avoided each other's gaze. Both were frightened by the coming darkness, but determined not to show it.

“Holsapple!” he whispered.

Below them, Holsapple, Cobb, and the twins walked across the courtyard and got into the Cadillac. Ernie and Joey watched it motor down the long drive and turn onto the highway. When it was out of sight, they probed each other's eyes for a glint of fear.

“We might get in, but I'm not so sure we're going to get out,” she warned.

“Keep your eyes out for any kind of clues or evidence,” he instructed.

“I'm keeping my eyes out for Holsapple,” she muttered, gathering her backpack.

“If by some miracle we find Shawn, he's probably brainwashed, so be prepared to take him by force.”

Joey swallowed. “If we don't get decapitated first.”

Looking her dead in the eye, Ernie presented his thumb. “Brothers.”

“Sister,” she countered with a nervous laugh as they cranked their thumbs a quarter turn.

Ernie grabbed the rope, tied one end around a pine, then tossed the coil over the edge. He descended hand-overhand down the cliff. Joey followed. Touching down, they bounded across the courtyard to the manse portico, where they slowed to a stiff walk. The gloomy walkway was covered in thorny vines and lined with pillars and statues like something from ancient Rome.

Up ahead, two stone Chimeras guarded the steps leading to the front door. The sentries had enormous wings on lion bodies, with dragon tails, vulture claws for feet, and reptilian heads, whose granite faces seemed to leer at them as they passed.

At the massive door, Ernie drew Holsapple's keys from his pocket. He studied each key before inserting one into the lock. “Get Shawnie's rattle out of the pack.”

“What for?” whispered Joey.

“For luck.”

“Won't make no difference.”

“Go on, shake it,” he insisted.

She reluctantly retrieved the rattle from her pack and gave it a shake. Satisfied, he tried the key. The door clicked open. Suddenly a car started up the driveway, its headlights washing over them. They collapsed in a heap and belly-crawled across the threshold into the manse. Ernie eased the door closed as Joey peeked out a window.

“It's the sheriff!” she exclaimed.

“What's he doing here?!”

In the courtyard, Sheriff Dashin got out of his cruiser and trained a spotlight on the front door. Joey ducked down to avoid its harsh beam. “We are so dead,” she moaned.

Dashin cautiously approached the door. He shined his flashlight through the window and peered inside. The intruders pressed against the wall as his flashlight beam washed just over their heads. The light illumined an enormous oil painting of Harvey and his twins on the wall facing them. Too scared to even breathe, Ernie and Joey looked at each other as if they'd just entered their worst nightmare. They didn't blink until the sheriff's flashlight went out. They didn't budge until they heard his car motoring away.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she muttered.

“C'mon,” he said, then started off. Joey wanted to go home in the worst way, but it was too late to back out now. So she did the only thing a blood brother could do—she followed.

A chill swept over them as they crossed through the vestibule. The air felt dank and cold. Rugged stone walls were framed by long black drapes and adorned with iron sconces holding thick candles. Two lifelike mannequins, dressed like Samurai warriors, threatened with upraised swords. Joey put a finger to her throat and drew it slowly from ear to ear.

Doing his best to ignore her, Ernie noticed something on the stone floor. He knelt down to touch a tiny red spot, then held his finger up to Joey's flashlight.

“Blood!” gasped Joey. “If it's a baby, Holsy killed it, or worse.”

“Shhhh,” hushed Ernie, trying to stay calm, “or we'll be next. Keep your eyes peeled—there might be more.”

He grabbed her flashlight and proceeded past a grand staircase that led upward into the dark. It was Joey who saw the second spot of blood. He found the third. They tracked the trail down a corridor into a large room with a vaulted ceiling made of rough-hewn timber. Ernie scanned the walls with the beam of light. It was as if they'd entered the stronghold of Genghis Khan. A collection of Mongol and Chinese swords covered one wall. Around the room were sculpted busts of fierce warriors, golden figurines, and jeweled icons from the Far East.

“These people are even weirder than I thought,” whispered Joey.

“Look, more blood.”

They followed the trail into the next room, which was ornate and lavish. The antique French furniture was upholstered in red and purple velvet. Huge paintings of gory battles adorned the walls.

“Where'd these creeps get all this stuff?” wondered Ernie.

“Stole it, probably.”

They crept into another room. This one looked like the Old West, with cowboy and Indian paraphernalia and a stuffed buffalo whose glass eyes were frozen in a dead stare.

The blood trail led to the dining room, its walls lined with hunters' trophies—heads of lions, tigers, bears, and a black panther. They gagged at the sight of flies buzzing around a half-eaten hog's carcass splattered across a long wooden table.

“This is too sick,” shuddered Ernie, backing away.

“Watch out! Stop!”

He shot her an exasperated look. “What?”

“Look what you almost stepped in,” she said, pointing at a pool of black slime.

He crouched down to examine it, recoiling from the smell. “This is the same gunk we saw up by the fence. What's it doing here?”

“Maybe Holsy drinks it with his dinner, how should I know? C'mon, let's keep moving—maybe we can save that baby.”

They pressed on into the next room, which turned out to be the kitchen. Everything was oversized. There were four ten-foot doors and cupboards that stretched from floor to ceiling. But what riveted their attention was the blue flame surging on the stove and the sound of something bubbling inside a big iron pot. They stood on tiptoes to peer inside.

“What is that?” asked Ernie.

“I can't tell. It looks like something with a bone.”

“It smells awful,” he said, on the verge of throwing up.

“All I know is my mom never leaves the house with something on the stove. I don't like this, Cubber, let's go, let's get out of here.”

“Wait.”

Ernie traced the drops of blood across the polished floor. His light froze on the blanketed cage Dicky Cobb had carried in from the Caddy. It was set on a butcher's block below a rack of medieval knives. A bloodstained cleaver lay beside it. Horrified by the prospect of what they might see, Joey took a step backward and covered her mouth in case she needed to scream. Ernie slowly pulled off the blanket. It was a birdcage. And it was empty.

“Poor little thing,” said Joey softly. “That's probably him in the big pot, half eaten.”

“Never had a chance,” added Ernie.

“Cannibals, right here in Circle, Illinois,” she said, repulsed.

“Yeah. It's probably what happened to Shawn Frazier.”

From another room, an antique clock struck the time. Its gong echoed eerily throughout the manse. Nine strikes. Once the final gong rang out, Joey was adamant. “All right, that's it, I'm leaving!” she declared, grabbing the flashlight.

Ernie didn't need any convincing. He draped the blanket back over the cage so no one would know they'd been there, but, just as they turned to go, two black wolfhounds bounded through a dog door into the kitchen. Scrambling, Ernie and Joey escaped into separate rooms, slamming the doors behind them. The wolfhounds barked viciously.

“Ernie?” she called.

He answered in a loud whisper, “Joey!”

“Where are you?”

Ernie was in complete darkness. Her voice sounded far away. “I don't know, you've got the flashlight.”

Joey'd forgotten it was in her hand. She panned the light across the windowless room. The shelves were stocked with foodstuffs she'd never seen before, with strange labels in unreadable languages. There were animal parts floating in murky glass jars along with pickled snakes, centipedes, and worms. Something smelled rancid and she tried not to breathe. “This place really stinks!” she called.

Ernie heard but didn't answer. He dug the pack of matches from his pocket and struck a match. His pupils dilated with the sudden flare. He could see that he was on the landing of a steep cellar stairway. A collection of bizarre African and Asian masks lined the walls. When the flame singed his fingers, he was again in darkness. He cracked the door to peek into the kitchen. A wolfhound lunged with bared teeth and he slammed the door on its nose. The dog howled angrily.

“You okay?” shouted Joey.

From below, Ernie could hear a faint whimpering. “There's a baby crying in the cellar. I'm going down.”

“Ernie, no, don't do it!”

Ignoring her warning, he descended the stairs, striking a new match each time one went out. From up above, he could still hear Joey calling his name. When he reached the cellar, he tracked the whimpering to a large storage bin set in the floor. The lid was secured by a padlock in the shape of a skull. He tried to force open the lock. The whimpering got louder. He fumbled in his pocket for Holsapple's keys. Choosing the skeleton key, he inserted it into the skull's eye socket. Its jaws popped open. He removed the lock and opened the bin. An iron ladder disappeared into the darkness. It wasn't a storage bin, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was. He clenched his jaw and listened. The whimpering had stopped.

In the pantry, Joey was frantic. “Ernie!” she shouted again. The only reply was a low growl from the other side of the door. She swept her flashlight in every direction to find another way out. Nothing. She felt like the walls were closing in around her. She leaned her forehead against a shelf, closed her eyes, and tried to calm herself.
What was I thinking, breaking into Harvey Holsapple's? Stupid!
When she opened her eyes, she realized she was staring into a jar filled with eyeballs. Recoiling, she bumped against a hidden switch, which triggered a secret panel. It creaked open to reveal a dark passageway. She listened. Everything was quiet. Desperate to find a way out, she hurried into the passage, turning left then right then left again, until it dead-ended at a brick wall. She tried to retrace her steps, but soon realized she was lost in a labyrinth of passageways. Like a rat trapped in a maze, she kept moving, but her light was growing dimmer and dimmer. When her flashlight finally died, she couldn't stifle the sobs escaping her throat. She was in a darkness so black, she didn't know if her eyes were open or closed.

Ernie felt his way down the ladder, one step after another. It delivered him to the steel floor of an oval chamber with walls of rusted iron fastened by thick rivets. There was some kind of instrument panel in the center, and round windows, like portholes, around the perimeter. Ernie stood on tiptoe to look outside one of the portholes. All he could see was a vast blackness and, far below, an eerie, reddish glow.

An anguished whimper spun him around. Straining to see in the dark, he could barely make out a crumpled shape beside a mesh of hydraulic gears. When the shape moved, he struck his last match. In the flickering light, he saw a tiny, badly beaten creature struggling for breath. He gasped aloud, amazed. He'd never seen anything like it in his whole life, and yet something about the creature felt familiar.
How could that be?
She was no bigger than a ruler and wore colorful clothes that looked like they were made from plants.
She? Yes!
It was a girl.

The spell was broken by noises from above. Ernie instinctively scooped up the injured creature and clambered up the ladder into the cellar. When the kitchen door opened above, he dove beneath the staircase. A pair of heavy boots clopped down. His blood pounding in his ears, Ernie watched Axel Holsapple track suspiciously to the open bin.