Chris Grabenstein - The Hanging Hill

“Yeah?”

“I think her name is Princess Nepauduckett. There was this etching that looked just like her—the buckskin dress, the beads, the hairdo—in this obscure Native American history book my mom brought back from the library.”

“Cool.”

“Not really. It was an etching of her execution. They hanged her for stealing food from the first settlers. The Pilgrims.”

Zack pretended to be surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. Hey, I wonder if Princess Nepauduckett knows your Pilgrim Guy!”

“We’ll have to ask her next time we see her.”

“Yeah! We know where to find her. I figure she’s stuck downstairs.”

Zack wanted to say No. She also rides the elevator. Especially real early in the morning .

But he didn’t.

58

Reginald Grimes sat behind the cluttered desk in his office on the second floor, staring at the wall filled with framed posters from the many shows he had directed over the years: Put On Your Shoes; My Gal Sal; Sing, Sing, Sing .

All had received rave reviews.

All had brought him glory.

But none of those triumphs could compare with the glory awaiting him when the full August moon rose in the east and he, the anointed one, performed the sacred resurrection rite with the two children.

His worldly cares and concerns, his fears and his hates, his loneliness and isolation, all of it was fading away now.

He reached into a desk drawer and found the special hat Hakeem had given him to wear in his role as high priest. A purple turban with a luminous emerald clasp at its center. Just like his grandfather’s. He placed it on his head. Felt its plump lushness.

There was a knock at the door.

“Mr. Grimes?”

It was Judy Magruder Jennings. The author.

“Yes?”

She was staring at his hat.

“Is that a costume piece?”

“Yes.”

“For Curiosity Cat?”

“No.”

“Good. Because none of my characters is a genie.”

Grimes assumed that the woman was attempting to be funny.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Jennings?”

“Yes. I wanted to talk to you before rehearsal. I don’t think the lyrics should be changed.”

“I see.”

“So I’m not going to change them.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“It was simply a suggestion.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“Is that all?”

“Yep. See you at rehearsal. Ten a.m., right?”

Grimes nodded slowly. He wasn’t even there. Wasn’t really listening. The woman’s words sounded like the wahwah blaring from the bell of a muted trombone. Reginald Grimes cared nothing for Curiosity Cat or the Pandemonium Players or the playwright currently darkening his doorway.

He was the exalted one, the high priest of Ba’al Hammon—the voracious creator, king of the two regions, and ruler of the underworld!

59

Before, anyone, else arrived, while his mom was upstairs slathering on her last layer of face paint, Derek Stone had rehearsal room A all to himself.

He pulled out the secret script the director had just given him.

He stared at the paper.

Uh-oh.

The words were gobbledygook. Thank goodness for Mr. Grimes’s phonetic translations!

“O, magnus Molochus.”

What could it mean?

“Nos duo vitam nostram damus ut vos omnes qui hue arcessiti estis vivatis.”

Okay. Something about noses and dames, which was what they used to call girls in black-and-white movies.

The door swung open. Tomasino Carrozza came bounding into the room.

Derek hid the secret script in his pants.

He’d have to work on this later. No more monster truck. No more Burnout Dominator on his PlayStation Portable. No more goofing off with Meghan and Zack down in the basement.

Derek Stone had work to do!

Reginald Grimes thought he was a great actor.

He had lots and lots and lots of work to do.

60

“Sorry if the room’s kind of messy,” the company manager said to the group of actors gathered around the snack table at the back of the rehearsal room. “Mr. Kimble, our custodian, didn’t show up for work today. First time that’s happened since forever.”

“You want a doughnut?” Judy asked Zack.

“No thanks.”

She looked at him. “You feeling okay, hon?”

“Never better.”

Zack wished he could tell Judy about all he had seen last night, because he and Judy had slain the demon of the crossroads together . Now, however, Mr. Willowmeier wanted Zack to fly solo. Why? Who knew? In Zack’s experience, ghosts had their own screwy reasons for doing what they did, even if it made very little sense to people on the other side of the dirt. It was what made phantoms so unfathomable.

He just wished one of the night fliers would drop by during the day and give him a solid hint about what it was he was actually supposed to do.

“This is so exciting!” said Judy, looking around the room. “Our first real rehearsal!”

“Yeah. Maybe I will grab a doughnut.”

“Okay. Then come sit next to me at my table, okay?”

“Okay.”

Judy went to greet her composer, who was spreading out sheet music on the piano.

“Five hundred people auditioned for my part,” Zack heard one of the actors say. “I was honored to be chosen.”

“Especially by Reginald Grimes!” gushed an actress. “I heard he saw a thousand women for my role.”

Zack wondered if anybody else had “auditioned” for his role as demon slayer. If so, maybe his understudy could go on, because Zack wasn’t sure he wanted to do whatever it was Justus Willowmeier III and the other dearly departed show people wanted him to do.

He didn’t want to keep dealing with the demands of the dead. In fact, he wanted dead people to leave him alone. He wanted to be an ordinary kid!

Of course, Zack still wasn’t 100-percent convinced that he had seen what he thought he had seen last night. It might’ve been an incredibly bad dream.

Maybe he and Zipper had never even left his bed or seen Princess Nepauduckett dangling in the elevator or met all those other ghosts outside.

But what if it was true?

What if Meghan, Derek, and Judy needed him to be a demon slayer—just like Mr. Willowmeier had said they did?

Zack grabbed two doughnuts.

61

Reginald Grimes swept into the rehearsal room, followed by his assistant, Hakeem.

“People?” said Hakeem, clapping his hands. “We have much work to do today. Where’s Miss McKenna?”

On cue, Meghan bolted through the door, followed by her mom.

“Sorry. I have a slight problem with the snooze function on alarm clocks.”

“Deal with it!” snapped Grimes as he glowered at Mrs. McKenna. “Who, pray tell, are you?”

“I’m Meghan’s mom.”

“Why are you here?”

“Uh,” said Meghan, “she’s my mom?”

The door flew open again and Mrs. Stone stumbled into the room, teetering on six-inch high heels.

“Good morning!” When she flashed her glossy smile, Zack saw lipstick on her beaver-sized teeth.

“And who are you?” demanded Grimes.

“That’s my mom, sir!” said Derek.

Mrs. Stone toddled forward. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grimes!”

He ignored her and slumped down into his metal folding chair.

“Announcement!” said Grimes. “Tonight, I’m hosting a small private party to honor our two youngest stars—Meghan McKenna and Derek Stone!”

“Sounds like fun!” said Derek.

“Oh, it will be,” said Grimes. “I promise. Only the children are invited. Let’s meet at seven p.m. out in the lower lobby.”