The Nightmarys (20 page)

room. “Obviously not.”

“You mean …?”

“What you said on the bus last night, Timothy

… You were right. Al of this … everything that

has happened … It al makes sense. Someone

has that jawbone and has been using it against

us.”“Why?” said Timothy. “What did we do?”

Abigail closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Timothy stood up, “But, Abigail, if the

jawbone is a weapon, then we have our

defense.” He wandered to the back of the chair,

trying to sort out the situation. She stared at

him quizzical y. “Your Nightmarys. Stuart’s

him quizzical y. “Your Nightmarys. Stuart’s

monster. Al of it. Fear. It’s not real.”

“We don’t know that,” said Abigail. “It al

seems pret y real!”

Timothy paused to think. “Wel , what do we

know? Stuart ended up in the hospital. Mr.

Crane cal ed me about the specimen jars. You

nearly fol owed those girls out into the rain….

Maybe it doesn’t mat er what’s real. Maybe al

that mat ers is what we believe? The jawbone

controls fear. And fear controls us.”

“Yes!” Abigail said. “If my grandmother

hadn’t shown up at the elevators when she did

last night, I’d be in big trouble right about now.

It’s not the Nightmarys who want me to fol ow

them. It’s someone else. If the jawbone gives

the user the ability to read minds, he’s

control ing my fear of them to get me where he

wants me.”

“Where would that be?” said Timothy.

Abigail shook her head. “My grandmother

said Hesselius wrote her a let er from his cel ,

promising that someday, she would pay for

promising that someday, she would pay for

tel ing on him.”

“Pay how?”

A cold draft swept past them. The oor

creaked slightly. Timothy and Abigail both

spun. The plastic tarp outside made a crinkling

sound. A tal silhouet e stood framed in the

opening. Timothy felt the room start to spin.

He clutched the back of the leather chair, as

Abigail leapt to her feet. A deep voice said,

“What are you doing in here?”

33.

“We were—” Timothy began, but the man

interrupted with a wave of his hand.

“Save it.” He stepped inside. His dark hair

and beard were salted with white. He wore

black jeans, an untucked dress shirt, and a dark

blazer. “Wendy told me she gave a couple of

visitor passes to some middle-school students

earlier this morning. I didn’t see anyone

downstairs who fit that description, so I thought

I’d do a lit le exploring, and what do I nd?”

The man smiled, revealing crooked yel ow

teeth. “Trespassers.”

“Um, sir?” Timothy raised his hand.

“Technical y, we’re not trespassing. There

wasn’t a keep-out sign on the door.”

“I guess common sense is a di cult concept

for today’s youth,” said the man. “Come on.

Time to go.”

Time to go.”

“We’re wicked sorry,” said Timothy, heading

toward the door. “We didn’t mean any harm.”

“Yeah, total y no harm meant,” Abigail

whispered, trailing behind him.

When they reached the door, the man

stopped Abigail. “What’s this?” he said,

glancing at the framed basebal cards.

“Oh, that’s, um …,” said Abigail, but she

wasn’t quick enough.

The man took the frame from her. “I recal

these sit ing in front of the safe on that

bookshelf over there. At least, that’s where they

were the last time I checked.”

The safe? thought Timothy. What safe? He

glanced at Abigail. She looked as shocked as he

was. The man brushed past them, crossed

through the room, and slid open a smal wood

panel in the bookshelf. Inside the cupboard

was a metal door, a combination lock plugged

into its center. “Locked,” said the man, closing

the door and replacing the frame. “Strange, if

you ask me,” he continued, “but then again, in

you ask me,” he continued, “but then again, in

my opinion, this whole situation is strange.

Beyond strange.” The man ushered Timothy

and Abigail out the door, past the plastic

curtain, and onto the landing. “You’d think

after almost fty years, the col ege would have

left this room alone,” said the man. “They were

the ones who put up this wal in the rst place.

But no. Now we need space. Space! We cannot

waste the space! And I have to deal with the

mess.”

“You mean,” Abigail said, fol owing the man

down the stairs, “the col ege put up that wal ?”

“One of the old librarians asked them to,”

said the man. “Sealed that of ice right up.”

“But why?” said Timothy.

Once they reached the bot om of the stairs,

the man stopped and turned around. “And I’d

be tel ing you for what reason?” He squinted at

them.

“Actual y,” said Abigail, “it’s kind of weird,

but we’re here doing research about the man

who used that of ice.”

who used that of ice.”

“Dr. Hesselius?” said the man. Surprised, the

kids nodded. Abigail pul ed the micro che

pages from under her arm and handed them to

him. The man ipped through them with a

curious expression. “Why would you want to

know about him?”

A few minutes later, Timothy and Abigail were

behind the front desk, helping the man, who’d

introduced himself as Gavin Engstrom, load

heavy books onto a wobbly cart. Abigail had

convinced Gavin to tel them the history of

Hesselius’s strange o ce in exchange for a

round of reshelving. He’d sent the blond

assistant away for the moment.

Gavin leaned against the desk and folded his

arms. “The plans began last year when

someone up in the admissions building noticed

the window anomaly.” Both Abigail and

Timothy stared at him. “There were more

windows outside than we could account for on

the inside,” Gavin continued. “The O ce of

the inside,” Gavin continued. “The O ce of

Building and Development soon rediscovered

the room at the top of the stairs. As I was

saying, space is quite a commodity at this

institution. Of course, I’ve been ful y aware of

the room ever since I started here. After the

library erected the wal , the abandoned o ce

was secret sta knowledge, passed down

through these last few generations, like an

heirloom. I had come to the conclusion that the

room had actual y become invisible.”

Timothy snickered. “Wel , that’s just…,” he

began. Just what? Sil y? A moment later,

Timothy realized it wasn’t sil y. After

everything he’d just learned, it was actual y

real y creepy.

“I’m assuming you know a bit about the

former occupant,” Gavin went on, nodding at

the pages Abigail had stacked on the book cart.

“Scary story, right?” Abigail and Timothy

nodded. “Supposedly, the librarians at the time

knew Hesselius pret y wel . They liked him.

Early on, during the trial, there had been talk

Early on, during the trial, there had been talk

about whether or not Hesselius might return, so

they saved his o ce for him, just the way he

left it. But after the government put him away,

no one wanted to go in there. With al the talk,

people didn’t know what to believe. I think it

was … Percival Ankh, the head librarian at the

time, who locked up the o ce. And so it

remained, for several years, a closed door,” said

Gavin. “Hesselius died. People said they heard

noises in there. Rumors of voices. Cults. Dark

magic. No one even used that staircase

anymore. Creepy. Mr. Ankh was a superstitious

man. I’m pret y sure it was his idea to seal up

the room behind the wal too.”

“Did people think Hesselius’s ghost was in

there?” Timothy asked. “Did you ever see

anything?”

“Me?” Gavin laughed. “No. I’m not the seeing

kind.”

Abigail bumped into the cart. It squeaked.

“Upstairs, you seemed a lit le freaked out.”

“Wel , yes, I was nervous,” Gavin said. “I

“Wel , yes, I was nervous,” Gavin said. “I

heard your voices. I didn’t expect to nd a

couple of kids up there gathering dust.”

“Then why’d you make us give back that

frame?” said Timothy.

Gavin laughed. “You wanna know why?” he

asked. “First of al , it didn’t belong to you.

Second of al … it didn’t belong to you!”

“Then it’s not cursed or anything?” Timothy

blushed.

“It very wel may be, if you believe in

curses,” said Gavin, “but that’s not my concern.

Nothing can leave that room. You see, there’s a

lawsuit. Turns out, news of the room’s

discovery got back to Dr. Hesselius’s relatives.

They insist everything in that room belongs to

them. No one’s supposed to touch it until the

col ege set les the issue.”

“Who are his relatives?” said Abigail.

“His son, speci cal y,” said Gavin. “A sweet

old guy who stil lives in New Starkham. I don’t

blame him for trying, the economy being what

it is.”

it is.”

“You’ve met him?” said Timothy.

“Sure,” said Gavin. “Came by the library a

couple months ago. He hobbled up those stairs

himself. Technical y, he wasn’t al owed, but I

gave him some time to look around. Unlike

some people I know, he left without touching a

thing. I actual y hope he gets everything he

wants, though most of what’s left in there is

worthless, in my opinion. Stil , I couldn’t help

feeling sorry for the guy. Losing his father the

way he did.”

“You mean, his father, the child snatcher?”

said Abigail, tossing a book onto the cart.

“Hey, careful with that,” said Gavin. He

sighed. “Please. You know what I mean. He lost

his twin brother too. Imagine how you would

have felt if you were him.”

“I don’t think I real y want to,” said Abigail

quietly, “but thanks anyway.”

Gavin stared at her for several seconds, then

shrugged. “People don’t inherit the sins of their

parents.”

parents.”

“Thank God,” said Timothy and Abigail at

the same time.

“Let’s go,” said the librarian. “Enough chat.”

He pushed the cart from behind the desk

toward the bookshelves. The squeaky wheel

echoed through the large room. “More action.”

Moments later, Timothy fol owed Abigail into

the Ancient Religions section. “We’ve got to get

back up there.”

“Where?” said Abigail. “The of ice?”

“That hidden safe,” said Timothy. “The

basebal -card frame was right in front of it. It’s

got a be a clue. We should check it out.” He

pul ed a book from the cart, matched up the

number on the spine, and shoved it into its

place on the shelf. “Besides, after everything

we’ve been through, there’s no way I’m leaving

those cards up there. I don’t care if Gavin tries

to stop us. I’d be wil ing to do some evasive

action to get past him. Whenever we play

basketbal in gym class, I play pret y good

basketbal in gym class, I play pret y good

of ense.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Abigail,

lifting another book from the cart.

Timothy shook his head. “What do you mean,

not necessary?”

Abigail placed her book on the shelf. “The

evasive action already happened, sil y.” She

reached into her back pocket. “I doubt we can

get back up there without being noticed, but at

least we’ve got these.” When she pul ed out the

three basebal cards, Timothy had to cover his

mouth to keep from whooping. She held her

finger up to her mouth and said, “Shhh.”

34.

They nished shelving the books and returned

the cart to the front desk, where Gavin was

hunched over some paperwork.

“Excuse me one last time?” said Abigail. “Say

we wanted to … find Dr. Hesselius’s son?”

Gavin looked up, perturbed. “I’l ask again,”

he said. “Why should I be tel ing you this?”

With a tiny smile, Abigail simply waved the

micro che printouts. Gavin rol ed his eyes.

“Research. Right.” He sighed. “I think I have his

contact information in my o ce. Just a

second,” he said. He went through a door

behind the front desk. Moments later, he