Wrath of the Grinning Ghost (11 page)

CHAPTER TEN

At noon that day Johnny, Fergie, the professor, Dr. Coote, and Father Thomas Higgins met in the parsonage of St. Michael's Church. Father Higgins had returned from his conference the day before, and the others spent half an hour explaining to him what had happened. He frowned and nodded as he listened. He was a tough-looking priest, six feet tall with a square, grizzled jaw and bushy eyebrows set in a permanent scowl. Johnny knew he was a brave man. Father Higgins had served as an Army chaplain in the Philippines during World War II, and he had seen some heavy action. Despite his forbidding appearance, he had been a good friend to Johnny, and his kind heart occasionally showed through as a warm twinkle in his green eyes.

When Professor Childermass finished his quick summary, the priest shook his head. "Incredible," he said. "Roderick, I know you too well to think that you're mistaken about any of this. But if anyone else had told me such a wild story, I'd wonder about his sanity. And what do you have to say, Dr. Coote? Can you tell us anything about this strange book?"

Dr. Coote coughed. "Of course, I have not had time to examine it thoroughly," he said. "And I've had only a limited time to search for answers in my books. Roderick called me from Tallahassee last night, and I drove down to Boston to meet him at the airport at two in the morning. I spent all the rest of last night looking over this, um, odd artifact."

"Confound it, Charley, the man asked you a question," grumbled Professor Childermass, who had not had much sleep either. "Can you tell us anything at all about this blasted book?"

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to that," said Dr. Coote mildly. "Well, the book superficially resembles the Voynich Manuscript I told Roderick and Johnny about a few days ago. However, the lettering is very different, and the pictures are not the same. The paper is a good grade of vellum. From the type of vellum and the degree to which the inks have faded, I would guess that the manuscript dates from no later than the sixteenth century, and possibly from much earlier, depending on how well it has been kept. I know for certain that it was re-bound in 1883."

"How do you know that?" asked the priest.

Dr. Coote opened the book to the inside of the back cover. He pointed to a little pasted-in label, barely visible between the spine and the back flyleaf, that read "Southern Star Bindery, Jacksonville, Florida, 1883."

"Something I overlooked," admitted the professor. "But that isn't the important thing, Higgy. The book is some kind of gateway between this world and the infernal world. Or if not to the haunts that Dante explored with the ghost of Virgil, at least to
some
spiritual realm. That's what Brewster told us."

"And where is Brewster?" asked Father Higgins.

Johnny pulled the thunderbird figure from his pocket. "He's not talking again," he said.

"He kinda clams up sometimes," added Fergie.

"Irritating fowl," groused the professor. "I don't know how to force him to squawk, unless maybe we try some kind of super-duper Ouija board."

"Try it, Whiskers," said a faint, faraway voice. "Try it and see how far it gets you!"

Father Higgins blinked. "Well, Roderick, since I haven't heard of you taking up ventriloquism, I presume that is a spirit's voice. Brewster, I take it?"

"Brewster," said the professor. "And high time too!"

"Extraordinary," remarked Dr. Coote. "This occurrence reminds me of Jeanne d'Arc, who heard voices—"

"Can it, Charley," said the professor. "Brewster! We rescued this terrible tome from Florida, just as you advised us, and it took some doing. Now tell us about it, blast you! Let us know what we've got our mitts on!"

"It is a gateway," came the irascible voice of Brewster. "Just like I told you. Look, my friends, I have to explain a few things and I have to be quick about it. First off, Father Higgins, my world is
not
Hades or Purgatory or even Limbo. It's a universe of spirits that is different from those other places. It has always existed, as far as we spirits know—anyhow, none of us can remember a time when it didn't exist. Our natural laws are different from those of your world. You'd call them magic. Some of your human sorcerers and magicians have had glimpses of this realm in trances or dreams. Occasionally, one of them would put these visions down in books of magic lore. Sometimes spirits from my side have even helped them out."

"And sometimes," said Professor Childermass, "some of you have masqueraded as gods! Right, Horus?"

"Aw, lay off me," said Brewster. "So I get lonesome and want some human company once in a millennium or thereabouts! So my friends and I used to spend some hours in Egyptian temples, passing the time of day with priests and worshipers. Ya gonna sue me for showing up and demonstrating a little magic power now and again, Whiskers?"

"Please," said Father Higgins. "Look, ah, Brewster, we want to help Major Dixon. What can you tell me about him?"

The thin voice became even softer. "He is here."

"No," Fergie said in surprise. "He's in th' hospital."

"Only his body," returned Brewster's voice. "The spirit side of him is a captive. The one we call Nyarlat-Hotep is trying to cast him into such despair that he will die, body and soul."

"Why?" asked Johnny, his voice anguished. "What did Dad ever do to him?"

"Understand," replied Brewster, "that we spirits can occasionally enter your world. Nyarlat-Hotep first walked among you as a man many thousands of your years ago. He delights in pain and fear. They make him stronger. When he first came to earth, he took human form. He was so powerful that soon he dominated a whole continent full of frightened people. And he cast that continent into the sea, just to feed on the grief, the terror, and the agony of a million dying souls!"

"Lost Atlantis," whispered Dr. Coote. "Oh, merciful heavens!"

"Yes, but didn't old Gnarly die in the same deluge?" asked the professor. "I mean, it stands to reason! How can you drown a whole continent and escape high and dry yourself?"

"The body died," explained Brewster, "but the evil spirit lived on! It returned here! The Law is that when that happens, when a spirit returns to our world from earth, it must drink the Water of Forgetfulness—"

"Lethe," suggested Dr. Coote. "Mythology speaks of a river called Lethe, whose water makes anyone who drinks of it forget his whole past."

"Bingo," said Brewster. "But Nyarlat-Hotep broke the Law. He has never taken his drink from Lethe. Even worse, he keeps trying to force his way through to earth. Three hundred years ago, he took the body and appearance of the pirate Damon Boudron. We tried spells to bring him back, but he fought us. He sacrificed twelve humans in various gory ways so that he could remain on earth and repeat his coup. Except this time he wanted to wipe out the whole human race! Some of us on this side fouled up his plan at the last minute by causing an earthquake and drowning Boudron's body again—but Nyarlat-Hotep's spirit fled back here and hid itself. Even worse, it brought the skeleton of Boudron with it, so it is partly spirit and partly material. It does not belong completely either to our world or to yours, so it is hard to fight. Now it is trying to make that last sacrifice, unlucky number thirteen. If that happens,
your
world will be doomed, and
ours
will fall under Nyarlat-Hotep's cruel rule forever!"

"Why Dad?" asked Johnny, his voice shaky. "Why couldn't he have picked on anybody else?"

"Just anyone won't do," snapped Brewster. "The sacrifice has to be someone who is a brave warrior. His will to live must be utterly broken so he gives himself as a willing sacrifice. And he must be completely, eternally destroyed, both body and soul forever!"

"That's blasphemous!" exclaimed Father Higgins. "We have to stop this now!"

"But—" put in Dr. Coote in his mild, reedy voice, "but how, exactly, are we to do that? Can, ah, Brewster offer any advice?"

The voice of Brewster was becoming fainter and fainter. "You will have to come through to this side," it said. "You must put the enchanted book in a holy place. Gather around it. Command it to open the way, and then pass through."

"Hang it," thundered the professor. "Why are
you
so helpful? What is your concern in all this?"

For a few seconds it seemed as if Brewster would not answer. Then, in a small voice, he said, "Nyarlat-Hotep and I are, well, like brothers. We were created at the same time, back in the days of ancient Egypt. I could have stopped him when he first turned evil, but I did nothing. Now I must make up for that. Hurry! Time is short! I will wait on the other side! I can't speak to you anymore now..." The sound faded until it was as soft as a mosquito's droning hum, and then it was gone.

They all looked at each other. "A holy place," said Father Higgins slowly. "I suppose that means the church. I'll get some holy water, my breviary, and—"

Professor Childermass held up his hand. "No, Higgy. I don't think you should."

"Why not?" asked the priest. His face flushed with annoyance. "Rod, I'll have you know that I am not afraid—"

"I know you aren't," said the professor. "But I don't want to jump down this rabbit hole without leaving someone at the other end! So I think you should stay, and of course I'd never dream of asking you, Charley, to come along. Your legs aren't very strong, you know. I am certainly going." He was holding his Knights of Columbus sword in its scabbard. With a defiant look, he stood up, unfastened his belt, and hung the sword on it. "I am going," he repeated meaningfully, "and I am going armed!"

Johnny swallowed hard. "I have to go," he said. "It's for my dad."

Fergie beamed from ear to ear. "John baby, when I first met you at Boy Scout camp, I never dreamed we'd be doin' stuff like fightin' ghosts and zippin' off to La-La Land. But ya know what? I like it! Count me in, Prof."

And so it was settled. They took the strange book into St. Michael's Church and set it before the altar. Father Higgins blessed the professor, Johnny, and Fergie—even though Fergie made a face and said, "Aw, Father Higgins, you know I'm a Baptist. Ya sure this is gonna take?"

The priest smiled weakly. "Let's say it's like giving chicken soup to a man with a broken leg, Fergie. It can't hurt!"

Solemnly, the professor, Johnny, and Fergie shook hands with Dr. Coote and Father Higgins. Then Professor Childermass said, "Are we ready, troops?"

"Sure," said Fergie. "Bring on th' ghosts!"

Johnny could not speak. He had a huge lump in his throat, and his knees were shaking. But he managed to nod.

They stood around the book. Professor Childermass cleared his throat and said, "Open the gateway! We command it!"

With a flop! the book opened itself. The pages showed drawings of awful-looking plants with the faces of tortured, screaming people in the center of the petals. Johnny wondered if he had the courage to go through with this. He wondered if everyone would call him a coward if he backed out.

But then he looked at the professor's face. He could see that Professor Childermass was pale with dread. Still, the old man's chin was set in firm resolve. And Fergie kept swallowing.

We
^y
re all afraid
, Johnny realized. He knew in that instant that, whatever happened, he had to carry out his part. They had to depend on each other. If necessary, they had to borrow courage from each other. They had to do it for Johnny's dad.

The professor glowered at the motionless book. "Open the gateway!" he thundered. "By all that is holy, I command it! Come on, you rotten sheaf of worm-eaten paper! Let us through. I dare you! I
double
dare you!"

Something began to happen. A whirling gray cloud started to form in the air above the open book. At first it was only a puff of vapor the size of a baseball. It grew and grew until it was ten feet tall and five feet broad. It looked like a section of a tornado, all lashing, dark clouds, and eerie flashes of what could be purple lightning. A hollow, groaning voice said: "ENTER, MORTALS!"

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" mumbled the professor. Then he straightened so that his back was like a ramrod. Johnny had a glimpse of him as he must have looked in World War I, as a dashing, heroic Army officer. "Forward, march!" barked the professor.

They all took a step toward the center. Johnny entered the cloud. He tried to scream, but an infernal wind whipped the cry right out of his throat. He felt himself falling and falling. It seemed to go on forever, that terrible plunge into darkness.

* * *

"Good Lord in heaven," gasped Dr. Coote as his three friends stepped into the cloud and simply faded from sight, as if their bodies had dissolved. "It worked!"

"Watch out!" screamed Father Higgins, grabbing the older man's shoulders and dragging him back.

They both yelled in dismay. The book itself flapped and fluttered and then leaped up into the swirling cloud. The cloud swelled for an instant, then immediately shrank to nothing. A thunderclap shook the whole church, rattling the stained-glass windows and making both men stagger.

Father Higgins shouted, "No!"

Dr. Coote looked at the empty floor. "My stars! The book—it... it's gone too," he stammered. "My heavens, Father Higgins—
how will they get back?"

Father Higgins could only give him a sick look. That was a question no man alive could answer.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Johnny lost all sense of direction. He had the sensation of terrific speed, of air rushing past him, but he had absolutely no sense of
up
or
down.
Everything around him was dark. It was as if he had been launched into the darkest region of the universe, where not even a star shared his loneliness. He felt as if the vast nothingness around him were trying to tear at his mind, to rip away his sanity and his identity until he would be nothing but a bundle of terrors.

He tried to shout, but his voice made no sound in this terrible void. He could neither see nor hear the professor or Fergie. A horrible thought struck him: What if
they
had chickened out? What if, at the last moment, they had stopped short of the whirling gray cloud? What if he was truly and absolutely alone?