Chris Grabenstein - The Hanging Hill

“Aya. Don’t want to pass out. Too much to tell you.”

“Come on, Zip. Find us some food! Anything!”

Zipper took off, sniffing at all the trunks, sticking his nose into a bunch of the baskets, snorting up a storm. Zack looked around the basement and saw all sorts of fake food. Plastic fruit. The Cratchit family’s mammoth tom turkey—carved out of foam—from A Christmas Carol . On the rear wall, he saw all those gloves and gauntlets again plus a string of sausages. Wax sausages.

Zack looked again.

The gloves were no longer pointing to the right. All the fingers were aimed at the center of the room.

Zack turned around.

Now he noticed something else pretty peculiar: A quiver of arrows was pointing toward a spear, the tip of which was pointing toward a grandfather clock, the hands of which were pointing toward a parasol, the top of which was pointing to a stuffed pig on a platter.

Ghosts. They had their ways of dropping hints when they wanted to.

The pig looked like it was made out of plastic but the apple jammed in its snout looked pretty real. Zack plucked it out. Nope. More fake fruit.

But there was something hidden inside the pig. A folded sheet of paper. Zack pulled it out. Started reading it.

“Magnus Molochus …”

“Don’t!” cried the janitor. “Don’t!”

That was when Zipper barked.

“Find something, boy?”

Another bark.

“Hang on!”

Zipper was nosing outside the vents of a dented locker.

Zack opened the locker door. Inside, he saw some rolled-up blueprints, a rumpled coat, and a lunch bag.

“Score!”

Inside the bag was a moldy bologna sandwich in a plastic bag, Cheetos, Ho Hos, a Snickers bar, and a bottle of Snapple.

Zipper moaned like he wanted the bologna.

“Forget it,” said Zack. “It’s green.” Zack hurried back to the closet with the junk food that was so tightly sealed it had never gone bad.

“Here you go.” He tore the wrapper off the Snickers bar and handed it to Kimble. The old man wolfed it down in four quick chomps. Revived, he glared hard at Zack.

“Those words … the ones you were just saying …”

“‘Magnus Molochus’?”

Kimble nodded.

“They were written on a sheet of paper I found.”

Kimble gestured for Zack to hand him the paper.

“Do you read Latin, son?”

“No,” said Zack. “But I don’t think anybody does these days.”

“Oh yes, they do,” said Kimble. “The minions of Moloch. This is their resurrection ritual.” Kimble handed the paper back to Zack and started reciting its verses from memory. “‘O, magnus Molochus.’ That translates to ‘O, mighty Moloch.’”

“Okay.”

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

“What’s that mean?”

“We two our lives do give so all you summoned here might live.”

“Two people are giving up their lives?”

“Aya. That’s how the ritual works. It’s a swap, see? Two innocents for a legion of the damned.”

Zack glanced at the script, read the next line out loud: “‘Puer et puella, puri et fideles, morimur ut vos resuscitet.’”

Kimble translated: “Boy and girl, pure and true, we die so that He might resurrect you.”

“Wait a second. Is it Meghan and Derek?”

Kimble kept going from memory. “‘Animas nostras tradimus ut vestrae successus prosperos habeant.’ We give up our souls so yours will prosper well. ‘In ignem ingredimur ut vos inferna fugiatis.’ We enter the fire so you can escape hell.”

“Fire? Are Meghan and Derek going into some kind of fire?”

“Aya.”

“This is crazy. You’re telling me that somebody’s going to try to kill Meghan and Derek, burn them alive, so they can get somebody else out of hell?”

“Everybody else. All the demons.”

That hit Zack hard. “Pandemonium! When are they going to do this thing?”

“When the full moon rises.”

“That’s tonight! It was nearly full yesterday.”

“When it rises, the ceremony will commence. Both your friends will be offered up as a sacrifice to Moloch.”

“What?”

“They’ll be roasted alive across the lap of that statue you say you found downstairs.”

“The Minotaur!” said Zack. “How come you know all this?”

“Professor Nicodemus once made me recite those very same words.”

“The magician?”

“Aya. Seventy years ago, he made me say them out loud. Then he threw my baby sister Clara into the fire! I helped him kill her!”

92

“You look very pretty!” Judy said to Meghan when she came into the lower lobby and joined the group clustered near the door to the basement.

“My mom said I should wear a dress.”

“And I was right,” said Mrs. McKenna. “Come on, a private party with the director is a big deal.”

“I guess.”

“Have you guys seen Zack?” Judy asked. “Derek said he saw him downstairs.”

Derek blanched. “Not recently.”

“What?”

“I meant I saw him down here earlier.”

An elevator door slid open near the concession stand.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman!” Grimes called out as he glided across the carpet, trailed by his assistant, Hakeem.

Judy, who had thrown on a clean white blouse and a fresh pair of jeans, felt seriously underdressed: Grimes had on white tie and tails, a cape, and a turban. Hakeem was decked out in some sort of religious-looking robe-and-fez combo.

“Excuse me,” said Judy. “I need to run back upstairs. My stepson, Zack, is—”

“Already downstairs,” said Grimes. “He was kind enough to come by early and help us blow up balloons. Shall we?” He gestured toward the elevator. “I thought we might go upstairs first, take a quick tour of Dracula’s castle. You’ve seen the show?”

“Yes, sir,” said Derek. “It’s awesome!”

“Thank you.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Derek?”

“Were we supposed to wear costumes like you guys?”

“This?” The director laughed. “No. I’m going to perform a few of my grandfather’s magic tricks at the party! Thought I should dress the part.”

“Cool.”

“But first, I want to take you folks backstage, give you a guided tour. Show you how we pull off some of the illusions.”

He gestured toward the elevator.

They all stepped into the waiting car.

Hakeem pulled the accordion cage door shut. Pressed a button. The elevator rose.

“I wish Zack was here,” said Judy. “He loves magic tricks.”

“I gave your stepson a private tour earlier,” said Grimes.

“Really? That was nice.”

“I know.”

Hakeem held out a cloth sack.

“Cell phones, pagers, and beeping watches, if you please,” he said.

“Why?” asked Mrs. McKenna.

“I despise electronic interruptions,” said Grimes. “Your valuables will, of course, be returned to you immediately after our little party.”

Judy looked at Mary McKenna. They both shrugged. What the heck? They placed their cell phones into the sack. Meghan added hers. Derek tossed in his PlayStation Portable.

The elevator car stuttered to a stop.

The doors slid open.

Badir and Jamal were waiting on the other side.

They were both armed with pistols.

93

“I’ve had seventy years to think about what I said that night,” Kimble mumbled. “I memorized those Latin words. Found a priest who translated ’em for me, taught me all about Moloch.”

“Who is he?” Zack asked.

“Pagan god. Phoenicians worshipped him. Folks who lived in Carthage, what they call Tunisia these days.” Kimble reached for the bottle of juice Zack had found in the lunch bag, and took a long swallow. “A lot of ancient civilizations used to practice child sacrifice. Aztecs. Incas. Carthaginians.”