Chris Grabenstein - The Hanging Hill

“Is it working?” Judy asked.

“Aya.” The creepy old man stood there and worked his lips around in slow circles like he was gumming a banana. “But you can’t take it to the basement.”

Judy smiled. “No problem. Our rooms, which, by the way, we do indeed have, are up on the fifth floor.”

“Elevator doesn’t go to the basement.” Now the grizzled old geezer squinted so hard you’d need a topographical map to trace all the craggy lines on his face. “Basement’s dark. Scary.”

“Right,” said Judy. “We’re going up to five.”

“Young person might think he could have all sorts of exciting adventures in the cellar, what with all the costumes and props stored down there. But that young person would be wrong!”

“We’re sort of in a hurry,” Judy said as sweetly as she could.

“I need to take our dog out for a walk,” added Zack.

The janitor waggled a finger. “Don’t take your dog to the basement, boy!”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Right. The basement is off-limits. Got it.”

Finally, Mr. Kimble stepped off the elevator. Zack and Judy climbed in. She closed the sliding door while Zack punched the button for the fifth floor.

“Going up!” Judy said when they started their smooth ascent.

The janitor stood in the lobby watching them.

“Boy,” said Judy. “He must be hiding something pretty incredible down there in the basement!”

30

“Do you have your key?” Grimes asked Hakeem as they hurried through the subterranean labyrinth of interconnected storage rooms in the basement.

“Of course, Exalted One.”

They reached the open door to the room where the antique theatrical trunk had been stored.

“Give it to me!” Grimes demanded.

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“You are not quite ready to receive it.”

“What? I read the book. All of it. I am the direct descendant of the high priest of Ba’al. You shall do as I command!”

Badir and Jamal, the two Tunisian strongmen, stepped into the doorway. Blocked it.

“You are not quite ready,” Hakeem repeated, much too serenely for Grimes’s taste. “Please …” Hakeem gestured toward the door. “Step into the room and learn what is required of you next.”

The two musclemen stepped aside, but Grimes could tell they were eyeing him warily.

“No!” he said. “I want you to open that final compartment! Now! You are my servant. You will do as I say!”

Hakeem bent his head in reverence. “I will, Exalted One.” He raised his head and glared into Grimes’s eyes. “Once you prove that Professor Nicodemus’s royal blood truly flows through your veins! That you inherited his natural talents!”

“Who?”

“Professor Nicholas Nicodemus.”

“The name embossed on the cover of the book!”

“Indeed. And your grandfather. The world’s finest necromancer!”

Grimes had heard the word before. Wasn’t quite sure what it meant. For the first time in a long while, he swallowed his pride.

“Necromancer?” he asked as casually as he could.

Hakeem grinned. His eyes twinkled. “One who communicates with the spirits of the dead in order to predict or influence the future.”

Badir and Jamal were grinning now, too.

Then the three men started to laugh.

A soft and low, devious and menacing chuckle.

It wasn’t long before Grimes was grinning and chuckling with them.

31

“Let’s go see what’s down there!” said Meghan as soon as Zack told her the janitor’s dire warnings about the basement.

They were walking Zipper along the river behind the theater. The little dog was having a great time cataloging all the new scents in this part of Connecticut. He seemed to particularly enjoy Chatham’s dandelions.

“Let’s go check it out right now!” said Meghan.

“I dunno,” said Zack. “He sounded pretty serious.”

“Grown-ups always try to scare kids away from stuff they want to keep secret.”

“Don’t you guys have rehearsal?”

“Nope. Not until tomorrow. I’ve already memorized all my lines and songs. Come on, Zack. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, but…”

Zack couldn’t think, thanks to something very loud racing up behind him, making the most annoying sound he’d ever heard. A high-pitched nasal drone. Like a mosquito with a microphone.

Then something hard and pointed and fast slammed into his ankles.

He tripped forward. Scraped his palms when he broke his fall and tumbled sideways.

“Whoops,” he heard somebody say. “Sorry.”

Zipper was barking, snarling at Zack’s unseen attacker: a radio-controlled monster truck with four hulking all-terrain tires the size of hockey pucks.

Derek Stone came running up the path, holding a pistol-grip control unit with an antenna bobbing off the top.

“You okay, kid?” he asked Zack.

Meghan helped Zack to his feet.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the LST2 monster truck,” said Derek as he scooped up his shiny toy. “I tweaked the Mach 427 engine. Haven’t quite mastered the steering servos.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Zack, dusting off his knees.

“So,” said Derek, “you guys wanna take a turn?” He held out the controller.

“No thanks,” said Meghan.

Zipper barked and wagged his tail.

“Neat dog,” said Derek. “Spunky.”

“I thought you were allergic,” said Zack.

“I am. But I have a prescription.” He tucked the truck under his arm so he’d have a free hand to gesture with. “Hey, I won’t let allergies stop me from living. I said that once. In a commercial. For a nasal spray.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Zack. “I saw it on TV.”

“Sorry. Can’t do an autograph right now. Catch me later.”

Zack didn’t want to appear rude, so he said, “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem. What’s your name again?”

“Zack.”

“How do you spell it?”

“Like Jack, only with a Z.”

“Weird name,” said Derek.

“I guess.”

“You should change it.” He sneezed. “Excuse me. August. Official start of ragweed season.”

“You used to be Derek Frumpkus, right?” Meghan asked.

“That’s right. My mom thought Stone had more zazz!”

“Is your mother an actress, too?” Zack asked.

“Used to be. She played a nurse on Beverly Hills Hospital .”

“Cool,” said Zack. “Which nurse?”

“Lots of different ones. She usually only said two or three words. Or pushed the gurney. Or answered the phone in the background.”

“Hey, Derek,” said Meghan, “want to go on an adventure with us to the basement? You can park your truck at the box office.”

“What kind of adventure?”

“A ghost hunt!”

“There’s this ghost girl haunting the stairwell,” Zack explained. “We think she used to perform here.”

“Vaudeville, probably,” Meghan added. “She’s a juggler.”

Derek’s eyes bulged. “Ghosts? In the theater?”

“Well, one or two in the stairwell for sure,” said Meghan. “The vaudeville girl and some kind of Pilgrim guy who makes a very dramatic entrance!” She yanked up on an imaginary noose and bugged out her eyes. “Aaaack!”

“I saw another one onstage last night,” said Zack. “And we think there might be more in the basement, because the janitor keeps telling me not to go down there.”

“Ghosts?” Derek’s voice cracked.

“Don’t worry,” said Meghan. “We’re bringing the dog.”

“Great,” Derek said, wheezing.

Zack figured he was allergic to ghosts, too.

32

Wilbur Kimble moved swiftly for an eighty-year-old man.

He draped the crumpled bedsheet against the far wall, propping it up on one side with the tip of a spear, hooking the other end over the antler of a moose head. Both pieces were props from shows done long ago, now stored in the dank basement.