The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,35

the thing. Name the victim. Place a curse.”

“A jawbone,” Abigail whispered, turning pale. “But someone had removed it for cleaning.”

“Your grandmother was there that day, she said for inspiration, but what the heck does that mean?”

Abigail’s mouth dropped open. A few seconds later, she managed to say, “Don’t tell me you think Gramma—”

“I have no idea what to think,” Timothy interrupted. The windows were totally fogged with their breath, their reflections gone. They could only stare at each other now.

“Well, you want to know what I think?” Abigail shouted. She didn’t wait for an answer. She stuck out her finger and wrote on the window, carving into the fog in enormous block letters: U-SUCK. Then she pressed the yellow plastic strip that ran vertically up the wall next to the window, ringing the bell for the bus to stop.

A few seconds later, the driver pulled up to the curb and opened the door.

“What are you doing?” Timothy asked.

“I’m walking,” said Abigail, flinging herself out of her seat.

“Yeah, but where are you going?” he called.

She practically ran to the front door. “To disappear.” Timothy scrambled to catch up. Just before she stepped out onto the wet curb, she turned and said, “It’s just a stupid book.” She shook her head, disappointed. “There’s no such thing as a magical jawbone, Timothy. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You … butt-munch.” She started walking up the street, away from the bus.

Timothy didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just let her stomp home alone in the dark, not after everything that had happened, not after knowing all the things that might be out there waiting for her. But then he realized that he had just sort of blamed her for orchestrating the whole thing, which, if true, would make her safe after all.

Stupid stupid stupid! he wanted to scream.

“On or off?” said the driver, rolling his eyes.

“I’m off!” shouted Timothy, leaping onto the curb. The door closed swiftly, and before he could even think, the bus was pulling away into the night, its brake lights blurring red through the mist.

Timothy called out, “Abigail!” He listened for a moment, to see if he could hear her. From the river, the old foghorn wailed. The thunder called again, its voice a low growl. A streetlamp threw a hazy glow across the darkened storefront windows ahead. Timothy thought he could make out the shape of a girl running away from him, her silhouette becoming fainter and fainter as the shadows swallowed her up.

26.

After running half a block, Timothy had lost sight of her. Other than the sound of the growing wind and the continuous rumble of thunder in the distance, the street was quiet. He’d been thinking aloud on the bus, but he hadn’t meant to hurt Abigail’s feelings. He needed to apologize. Maybe he’d find her at the Mayfair? Timothy turned up his collar and began the ascent up the hill. What if she wouldn’t forgive him?

Several blocks ahead, Timothy froze. A dark figure appeared before him, standing underneath a streetlight. At first, Timothy thought it might be the shadow man. Then he realized that this figure was not nearly as tall. He also wasn’t wearing that long overcoat. No, this new figure wore a different kind of outfit. A tight-fitting uniform. As Timothy took another step forward, he noticed that the figure leaned against a crutch. “Ben?” he whispered.

Then the figure turned around and began to walk away.

Remembering the horrible conversation from that morning, Timothy hesitated, but as the figure continued up the hill, he again called out, “Ben!” By the time he reached the next stop sign, the figure was only half a block ahead. When Timothy called out one more time, the figure only continued his silent journey, as if he couldn’t hear his little brother, or didn’t care to respond. The rain began to fall harder now, blurring the night. Timothy wiped at his eyes, but the next time he looked up the street, the figure had disappeared.

Before he knew it, Timothy was standing just down the block from his house. Where had the figure gone? Timothy struggled to breathe, just like after a fast sprint during swim practice. He was too far away from the Mayfair to walk there now. And he certainly didn’t want to be alone. Shivering and afraid, he turned at the corner of Beech Nut, grateful that his house was just up the street.

Suddenly, the figure stepped out from behind a tall evergreen bush, and