The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,67

he answered. “It wasn’t part of the curse.”

“Then you showed up,” she continued. “I saw one of the Nightmarys come up behind you, and when you swung, your hand went right through it.”

“Right,” said Timothy. “An illusion.”

“An illusion,” Abigail echoed, as the idea seemed to sink in. From the darkness came a hushed exhalation, like a gasp through a crushed voice box. “That was not an illusion.”

The corpse was growing frustrated. Timothy and Abigail immediately turned to the cold metal slab, but without a handle to pull, they were trapped.

Timothy heard Abigail flip the lighter top open again. “Wait,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“It’ll sense us. Don’t light it yet.” They listened for a moment. The creature sounded like it was near the wooden column. “In the darkness, maybe it goes directly to the pole where we were tied. Like a habit?”

“Or what if it can see in the dark?” said Abigail. “What if it’s heading for us right now?”

Timothy pressed himself against the iron door. “I—I have an idea,” he said.

“Does it involve drop-kicking this skinny beast?” said Abigail. “Because if so, I’m totally up for it.”

“Not quite,” said Timothy. “But I’m thinking, if this corpse’s power comes from the tooth, maybe we should try to take the jawbone.”

“What do you mean … take?”

“I mean, if Harwood stuck the jawbone into its mouth and activated it, then maybe if we reach in, pull it back out, that would deactivate it?”

Abigail laughed. “You want to reach into its mouth? Are you crazy? How do we get close enough to do that?”

“Getting close won’t be the hard part.”

“And what if it doesn’t work, Timothy? What if it grabs us and … does whatever it does, before we get a chance to—?”

“I don’t know!” said Timothy. “But can you think of another option?”

Abigail was silent. A few seconds later, she said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You’re right. If we’re trapped in here, we’re going to die either way. And I’d rather keep my soul, thank you very much. I’ll light the flame. You do the jaw snatching. Deal?”

Timothy gulped. “Deal.”

Abigail pressed the flint button, the spark burst, and the flame flickered from her fingertips. The creature crouched near the column, scratching at the wood. At the sight of the fire, it turned its head and glared at them, then stood and once more began its slow shuffle toward the door. “Go,” Abigail whispered, “now.”

Timothy pushed away from the slab, barreling toward the mummy thing, his own arms outstretched in defense. As he came closer, he groaned. It had opened its jaw wide, prepared to chomp.

Timothy shoved his hand into the thing’s mouth, gripping the bone like a door handle. But before he could yank it away, the creature bit down, hard. The pain was unlike anything Timothy had ever imagined. He tried to pull away, but the pain only increased. His fingers were now stuck inside the creature’s mouth. It clasped his neck and began to squeeze.

Timothy stared into its empty eye sockets and saw his fate, lost forever in this hell of darkness. He kicked at the creature and managed to squeak, “Get … off … me!” The creature responded by dragging his face toward its own. It squeezed Timothy’s neck harder and leaned closer.

“Abigail … help …,” he croaked.

His peripheral vision darkened. He was losing consciousness. He kicked at the creature’s skinny legs again, but the corpse was surprisingly strong, and Timothy was getting weaker by the second.

Just then, light flashed next to his head, and something crashed into him. Timothy saw the creature fly against the far wall, before fresh darkness enveloped the room again. Abigail had sideswiped the corpse. She clutched Timothy’s arm, dragging him away. When they reached the iron door, she whispered, “Are you okay?”

“What took you so long?” he said, rubbing his throat.

She punched him in the arm. Then she hugged him. When she let go, he slumped to the floor. “Come on,” she said, “stand up. It’ll be back soon, and we need another plan.”

Leaning against the door, they listened for any movement. To Timothy’s surprise, he thought he heard a noise from the other side of the metal slab.

“Hello?” Zilpha called out. “Abigail? Timothy?”

44.

“In here!” they cried.

From the darkness where the creature had fallen, bones rattled. Timothy imagined it struggling to rise, shuffling through the pile of its former victim. “Hurry, Zilpha,” he called.

“There’s this wood plank,” said the old woman. “It’s heavy … but I think if I slide it …”

Timothy spun around, listening at the darkness, trying to