The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,45

anymore. Creepy. Mr. Ankh was a superstitious man. I’m pretty sure it was his idea to seal up the room behind the wall too.”

“Did people think Hesselius’s ghost was in there?” Timothy asked. “Did you ever see anything?”

“Me?” Gavin laughed. “No. I’m not the seeing kind.”

Abigail bumped into the cart. It squeaked. “Upstairs, you seemed a little freaked out.”

“Well, yes, I was nervous,” Gavin said. “I heard your voices. I didn’t expect to find a couple of kids up there gathering dust.”

“Then why’d you make us give back that frame?” said Timothy.

Gavin laughed. “You wanna know why?” he asked. “First of all, it didn’t belong to you. Second of all … it didn’t belong to you!”

“Then it’s not cursed or anything?” Timothy blushed.

“It very well may be, if you believe in curses,” said Gavin, “but that’s not my concern. Nothing can leave that room. You see, there’s a lawsuit. Turns out, news of the room’s discovery got back to Dr. Hesselius’s relatives. They insist everything in that room belongs to them. No one’s supposed to touch it until the college settles the issue.”

“Who are his relatives?” said Abigail.

“His son, specifically,” said Gavin. “A sweet old guy who still lives in New Starkham. I don’t blame him for trying, the economy being what it is.”

“You’ve met him?” said Timothy.

“Sure,” said Gavin. “Came by the library a couple months ago. He hobbled up those stairs himself. Technically, he wasn’t allowed, but I gave him some time to look around. Unlike some people I know, he left without touching a thing. I actually hope he gets everything he wants, though most of what’s left in there is worthless, in my opinion. Still, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy. Losing his father the way he did.”

“You mean, his father, the child snatcher?” said Abigail, tossing a book onto the cart.

“Hey, careful with that,” said Gavin. He sighed. “Please. You know what I mean. He lost his twin brother too. Imagine how you would have felt if you were him.”

“I don’t think I really want to,” said Abigail quietly, “but thanks anyway.”

Gavin stared at her for several seconds, then shrugged. “People don’t inherit the sins of their parents.”

“Thank God,” said Timothy and Abigail at the same time.

“Let’s go,” said the librarian. “Enough chat.” He pushed the cart from behind the desk toward the bookshelves. The squeaky wheel echoed through the large room. “More action.”

Moments later, Timothy followed Abigail into the Ancient Religions section. “We’ve got to get back up there.”

“Where?” said Abigail. “The office?”

“That hidden safe,” said Timothy. “The baseball-card frame was right in front of it. It’s gotta be a clue. We should check it out.” He pulled a book from the cart, matched up the number on the spine, and shoved it into its place on the shelf. “Besides, after everything we’ve been through, there’s no way I’m leaving those cards up there. I don’t care if Gavin tries to stop us. I’d be willing to do some evasive action to get past him. Whenever we play basketball in gym class, I play pretty good offense.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Abigail, lifting another book from the cart.

Timothy shook his head. “What do you mean, not necessary?”

Abigail placed her book on the shelf. “The evasive action already happened, silly.” She reached into her back pocket. “I doubt we can get back up there without being noticed, but at least we’ve got these.” When she pulled out the three baseball cards, Timothy had to cover his mouth to keep from whooping. She held her finger up to her mouth and said, “Shhh.”

34.

They finished shelving the books and returned the cart to the front desk, where Gavin was hunched over some paperwork.

“Excuse me one last time?” said Abigail. “Say we wanted to … find Dr. Hesselius’s son?”

Gavin looked up, perturbed. “I’ll ask again,” he said. “Why should I be telling you this?” With a tiny smile, Abigail simply waved the microfiche printouts. Gavin rolled his eyes. “Research. Right.” He sighed. “I think I have his contact information in my office. Just a second,” he said. He went through a door behind the front desk. Moments later, he returned with a small white notecard, which he handed to Abigail. “This is all I have. I’m only doing this so you’ll leave me alone and never come back here, at least until the semester is over.” He glared at her. “Deal?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot,” she added quickly.

The two kids casually walked out the library’s front